Touch You Last

Movie Marathon 7

2012-02-01T21:55:00.000-05:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, All Three Of You Who Still Periodically Look At This Site, here is the program for Movie Marathon 7(to be held on Saturday, March 3rd, 2012):

Unforgiven -- 10:00 AM

Robocop -- 12:26 PM

Black Dynamite -- 2:38 PM

When We Were Kings -- 4:27 PM

Wet Hot American Summer -- 6:11 PM

Hanna -- 8:18 PM

Bring It On -- 10:24 PM

Attack the Block -- 12:17 AM

Dead Alive -- 2:00 AM

Three... Extremes -- 4:01 AM

Enter the Dragon -- 6:15 AM

They Live -- 8:07 AM

Deepest apologies to the following movies which almost, almost made it: 13 Assassins, Big Trouble in Little China, Bonnie and Clyde, Diggstown, Double Indemnity, Showgirls, Super, The Adventures of Buckaroo Bonzai Across The 8th Dimension, The Wrestler. Maybe those movies will play in some alternate reality MM7. Or I'll just play them on the Sunday. If you're up for it.

Veronica, One and a Bit

2011-10-10T09:42:00.000-04:00

When I moved over to this new template (which I loooooove, by the way), it became immediately clear to me how long it had been since I’d posted anything about the kids. The most recent picture of either of them that pops up here was at least a year old. Way overdue for an update, and let’s start with Veronica.

I’m pretty sure she’s going to be the daredevil of the family. You always assume it’s the boys that’ll be jumping off stuff, tormenting your pets, and being fearless little pains, but that’s not Teddy at all. A sweet kid is Teddy, but Evel Knievel he is not. Veronica’s still a bit too short and slow to get into real trouble, but once in a while you get hints of what’s to come. She’ll do a chin-up off the edge of the entertainment centre. Or she’ll claw at Gunther until he gives her a wallop – and still keep after him. And she’s not afraid of us at all. When Teddy was this old, you could use your SERIOUS VOICE to get him to stop touching something. Veronica just turns, smiles, and keeps on messing with whatever it is you don’t want her to mess with. She’s willful. (She gets that from her mother. And from all of womankind.)

I see so many people in her. She’s got my eyes, clearly, and she has Sarah’s feet. She also has her bisnonna’s nose, I think. But then there are these other subtle ways that she looks like members of our family. She doesn’t look too much like Teddy – except when she’s sleeping and then the resemblance is uncanny. When she’s really involved in something, she looks like Sarah as a kid. Sometimes out of the blue she’s a dead ringer for my mom. And when she’s laughing, she looks like Sarah’s mom. Genetics, man. Crazy stuff.

She’s not walking yet, which is fine. Easier to keep track of the two of them when they’re not running in separate directions 24/7. I'm pretty sure she can walk, she just doesn’t. You can trick her into standing for a minute at a time, but the second she realizes you’ve let go of her hands, she drops. She’s starting to get chatty. We can get Mama, Dada, and Teddy (Tetty!) out of her. She’ll also do croaky Uh-oh (which is more often Oh-Uh). And for the first time this morning, when Teddy was trying to steal a toy away, she went, “No no no no no no no no no no”, so there’s that. She also has some go-to sounds. “Ye ye yeeee” and “OOOOoooOOOOoooOOOOooo.” I guess what I’m saying is, she’s mostly inarticulate. (She gets that from her father.)

She gives great smiles. Teddy too. Teddy gives a thousand watt, I-couldn’t-be-happier grin when he’s really happy. Veronica has this subtle little smile, and it can be a little hard-won sometimes, but it melts my heart. Great laugh to boot. She’s only just progressed beyond that baby laugh – that “huh! huh! huh!” goofy-sound. When she really gets going, she sounds like a kid. She’s growing up quick. It was the same thing with Teddy: from zero to six months, time passed normally – but then I put him down for a nap one day and when I went to wake him he was two. We don’t have any babies in the house anymore. It strange. Time for another one, maybe. Or maybe not right now. Let's talk about it next year.

2011-10-02T10:08:00.000-04:00

It’s Sarah who keeps this family running and heading in the right direction. She’s the Captain and the Engineer of this ship. All too frequently, I take for granted all of the things she does for this family –because she does so much. What are we having for dinner tonight, tomorrow, the next day? Do the kids have enough warm PJs that fit? Why did our water bill go up this month? What are we getting Dave’s niece for her birthday? What’s the optimal way to pack for this vacation? Are we investing enough? Where is that smell coming from? These are the question that are always on her mind, and they’re questions that never occur to me (especially that last one, because I’m always the one responsible for it).

These kids keep us busy. They get into things (Teddy), or they sleep terribly and force you to be up and on from dusk to dawn (Veronica). And there are the days where naps are totally uncoordinated and its twelve straight hours of kid watching. At the end of one of those days, I’m taking off my shirt and shouting “it’s Miller Time!” the second the kids’ eyes are closed. Sarah? She’s squeezing in the chores that the kids didn’t let her get to during the day. Girl works hard. Girl’s work day is long. And the salary is not so hot either.

When you’re so good at something, so dependable, you never get the thanks you deserve. Or maybe you get one off-hand thank you that’s supposed to last you the rest of your life. So this year’s post is about slowing down to say, Sarah – thank you. Thank you for taking care of us. Thank you for loving us so much. You’re the best, beyond what I’d even hoped.

MM6

2011-03-28T21:10:00.002-04:00

Holy crow, so Movie Marathon Six came and went already and I didn’t write a single word about it here. But that’s okay, because I also haven’t written about my kids, the amazing trip we just took, or frankly anything (good or bad) that’s happened in my life for the last six months or so. But I’ve been on Jorge’s site a bunch of times today, and he reports on this little party so consistently and exhaustively that I can’t let him go it alone.

Here are the lessons I’ve learned from Movie Marathon 6:

When choosing the lineup, trust your gut. This was probably the second worst lineup we’ve ever had. (MM1 was, inarguably, the worst. Some would say MM3 was a stinker, but that’s just the Suspiria/Sunshine stank that everyone can still taste. Other than that, everything played brilliantly.) I’m not saying we watched a bunch of bad movies this year, we just had too many dramas back to back. There was what felt like a six hour block where I felt like people were just putting in time. And all the movies that gave me grief were ones that I had a funny feeling about when I slotted them in. I thought, maybe I shouldn’t have two old timey movies alongside one another. Maybe I’m putting too big an emphasis on movies people haven’t seen. In both cases, I should have listened to my gut.

Put more effort into the fan films. I was super conscious of time this year, and also overconfident in my improvisational brilliance. For so many of those videos, we’d pitch a basic concept, maybe talk out the first two lines, then I’d announce, “OKAY, LET’S DO THIS THING! WE’LL FIGURE IT OUT AS WE GO ALONG!” Sometimes it worked. (See Jorge in New Jack City and Shelly in Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang.) Other times, it didn’t. (See me in North By Northwest and Micmacs.)

Make sure you’ve acquired the films well before the event. I left a couple movies to chance this year, and on the day itself it turned out we couldn’t watch House or The Black Hole. I don’t feel that bad about House because my gut was telling me it was going to be super-weird as opposed to super-scary. We subbed in [REC] at the last minute, and that turned out to be proper good and proper scary. I am sad about missing The Black Hole though.

Drink less. I came into the event with a bad cold and I was super tired after a series of late nights with sick kiddos, so I was pretty sure I’d fall asleep at some point in the night. To facilitate my inevitable passing-out, I drank one thousand drinks. This had me out cold by about 3:30am, and out of commission for the rest of the night. There have been stories told about some of the things I did while exhausted and intoxicated (or, if you prefer: extoxicasted), but I will not recount them here. Talk to Jorge, Chris, Shelley, Rebecca or Sarah if you would like to hear about the words I said, the deeds I performed, or the flatulence I flatulated.

Now, it’s very important to stress that I had an excellent, excellent time! This event remains one of my favourite days of the year, and as always, I had an absolute blast. I’m just emphasizing the negative here for my own sake, so I can make it ever better next time.

NOW, thanks to everyone who came and helped out. The long-distance travelers (Jorge and Rebecca), the bloggers (Jorge), the people who felt me up (still Jorge), the bartenders (Chris), the bakers and food procurers (Rebecca, Sarah, Cathy), the Chief Party Administrators (Sarah), the plot synopsizers and killer mixed CD-makers (Shelley), the people who gave up their second last day of mat leave (Cathy), the people who stopped in to ensure 100% attendance for all marathons (Isha), the people who took care of our oldest, most savagey child (Sarah’s parents) frankly, everyone who attends and supports this craziness. I love you I love you I love you I love you.

Oh, and for history’s sake, here’s the intended lineup:

The King of Kong

New Jack City

Once

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Singin’ in the Rain

North By Northwest

Micmacs

The Black Hole

House (Japan)

The Human Centipede

Machete

The Fall

And the actual lineup:

The King of Kong

New Jack City

Once

Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

Singin’ in the Rain

North By Northwest

Micmacs

[REC]

The Human Centipede

Machete

The Fall

I’m pretty sure I’ve forgotten how to write

2011-02-08T16:20:00.002-05:00

I can still string a sentence together, and I still understand the basic principles of grammar, capitalization, and punctuation, and all that – but writing just seems like so much work these days. I think (I HOPE!) it’s just a matter of being out of the habit, but to know for sure, that would require me to actually sit down and write something more often than every four months. I promise nothing.

What’s especially awesome right now: our upcoming cruise, our trial of zip.ca, Sarah’s recent mastery of her Nonna’s eggplant parm recipe, Teddy’s consistent sweetness and enthusiasm, Veronica hitting that everything everywhere is fascinating! stage, Modern Family, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, my beautiful dark twisted fantasy, old cheddar, the fact that VB is available at the LCBO, the lineup for Movie Marathon VI, the Nerdist Podcast, Angry Birds, Toronto Thumbs (despite my lack of participation there, or more likely because of it), Gravitee Wars, Uncharted, and Topper’s Pizza.

What kind of sucks right now: work.

This juxtaposition wasn’t spelled out to make you feel bad for me, but to provide myself with a little perspective.

Please don’t comment on this. I’ve been negligent here and I’ve been negligent on your blog, so comments will only make me feel bad. Unless you just want me to feel bad. In that case, comment away!

It Would Be Different, To Say The Least

2010-10-02T00:01:00.001-04:00

When I started out writing these birthday tributes to Sarah two years ago, I thought I should never make these posts about me. Sheesh. Only my third post in and I'm failing at that. But give me a break: if I'm going to be writing these for the next seventy years or so I can't tie myself up with rules. So this post is about all the ways my life would be different if I'd never gotten together with Sarah.

I wouldn't have gone to University -- After finishing high school, I entered my wilderness years where I worked a few crap jobs and made a few half-hearted, half-assed attempts at 'acting.' After this went on for way too long, it was Sarah who gently brought up the idea of trying something else. Going to school, studying writing. University brought new friends, and closer ties to some older friends. It taught me responsibility and independence. If I hadn't gone to school...

I'd probably have a terrible job -- While writing itself didn't become a career, writing was among a suite of abilities I developed that allowed me get a very decent job, where I'm still working ten years later. If not for Sarah, I probably would have kept on with the 'acting'. Career highlights would have included Bank Teller in Mutant X and Cashier in Zoey Busiek: Wild Card.

I wouldn't have any money -- I make okay money from my job now, but more than that, Sarah taught me impulse control. In the years before we were married, I bought 82 coffees and 12 DVDs a week, ate Quiznos two of every three meals, paid full price for every piece of clothing, and racked up a zillion dollars in ATM fees. Indeed it was a decadent, awesome lifestyle, but I would been broke-ass-broke for the better part of my life if not for her.

I wouldn't have traveled anywhere - I can't count the places we've been together over the years (literally, I cannot count them because there have been so many destinations I've forgotten at least half). This is all because of Sarah. Maybe saying I wouldn't have traveled anywhere is bit of an exaggeration, but I know my travel ambitions pre-Sarah. I might have gone on a Vegas trip without her (with twelve guys in one room in some off-strip rathole), and I probably one day would have built up to my Trip of a Lifetime -- to London. Pre-Sarah, I couldn't imagine any destination more exotic than London, so I would have gone there for sure. Around the time I turned sixty.

I'd be dating a girl who was very aimless or terminally unhappy - You'd think I'd dated a lot of girls like Sarah before I'd dated Sarah. (Okay, "you'd think I'd dated a lot of girls" is probably not something you'd ever thought, but let's pretend.) Anyhow, most of the girls I dated before weren't much like Sarah at all. The common theme: they were aimless, or unhappy, or both. And having kept tabs on them ever since (lazy, non-stalkery Facebook tabs), they don't seem to have changed much some fifteen years later. There was a bad dating trend before Sarah, and it was likely to have continued if she hadn't come around and shook things up.

There are a dozen other ways my life would have been different without Sarah, and maybe we'll visit those some other year. Suffice to say, I cannot imagine what my life would be like without her, and I wouldn't want to. She's made everything in my life better. She's made me better.

Teddy: Nineteen Months

2010-09-11T20:54:00.004-04:00

I sat down to write this, proud that I was hammering out a post so soon after the last one, then I realized when I’d originally intended to write this it was going to be called “Teddy: Eighteen Months.” Also, we’re only eleven days way from month twenty, which suggests I’ve been meaning to get around to this for close to fifty days now. Oy.

Teddy is hilarious nowadays. I’ve enjoyed every stage that came before this, but eighteen months and on has been especially fun. Every day, this kid makes us laugh out loud at something new. The other day before bedtime, we asked, “What’s your name?” Teddy said, “Not Jacob.” We pressed on and asked him again. His reply: “I don’t know.” Which is awesome because:

a) He is not in the habit of using whole sentences, and

b) He totally knows his own name
Just yesterday during dinner, he’d eaten two slices of ham and then asked for more. I said, “Really, you want another slice?” He said, “Yeah!” I said, “Really?” He said, “No.” I said, “Dude, do you want more ham?” He said, “No.” Then, “Yeah.” And then he burst out laughing. Because he was totally messing with me.

He’s gone through a real language explosion lately. From what seemed like only four or five words before, he’s now got yeah, okay, no, car, bus, ball, bed, mama, dada, papa, cat, Gunther, Moe, cheese, grapes, chicken, again, gone, bye-bye, uh-oh, ah-choo, shoes, socks, bear, up, out chair, don’t throw (and with shabbier pronunciation) Grandpa (Bampa!), Grandma-Nonna (Erma!), and crackers (Yackahs!) That’s just off the top of my head, I’m sure there’s more. It makes life so much easier when he can express preferences, when he can tell us he doesn’t want something before we go through the trouble of making it. And his comprehension is outstanding. You can say things like, “Go get your blue ball. It’s over there behind the chair,” and he’ll totally do it. (If he feels like it.)

He’s consistent in a lot of ways. He still loves cheese. And he’s still totally in love with Glee—his favourite number is the Journey Medley from the finale. (Conservative estimates would say we’ve watched that seventy times by now.) He’s also a huge fan of the park. I’m pretty sure I could drop him anywhere within a mile radius of our home and he’d find his way to the park behind our house in a matter of minutes. Likes slides; totally doesn’t care for swings. Likes when other kids are at the park, but just stands motionless and gawks at them for as long as they’re there. Dances, doesn’t sing. Submits to hugs, but rarely participates.

He seems super-old and huge to me now, maybe because he is, but probably because we’ve got a two week old in the house and Teddy just seems like Andre the Giant by comparison. He’s been really great to his sister so far. He likes to pat her head, he occasionally shares his favourite bear with her, and this morning—for no reason that I can explain—he picked up a tissue and wiped her totally non-running nose.

He’s a fantastic little kid.

Veronica: First Week

2010-08-31T12:48:00.008-04:00

Time passes in very strange ways when you have a newborn. Sometimes two days can seem like a week, then the passing of a week seems to whizz by in a blink. It's because you can alternate between incredible highs and awful lows several times in the same day. At noon you feel like a star and that you have everything under control, then at one in the morning you're in a fit of despair, then everything's totally cool again by breakfast. At this point in time, we're off that rollercoaster officially. Things are great and look to be staying that way. But damn, you really forget what those first few days can be like.

I'll go light on detail here because I suspect Sarah will provide the gory blow-by-blow on her sight shortly. At about 3am on the 24th, Sarah went into labour. With Teddy, the start-to-finish labour was epic, so we were both convinced that we had tons of time. But contractions were two minutes apart by 5am, and we were at the hospital and into serious labour just two hours after that. Mid-way through pushing, our midwife checked Sarah out and discovered meconium -- which meant the baby had pooped in utero. She notified hospital staff and a team of folks were standing by, ready to clear out baby's airway after the birth was through. But then the baby got stuck at the shoulders. While the same thing had happened to Teddy, this was a bigger baby and it turned out to be a greater effort to get her out. They managed to do it without any breaks or dislocations, and at 8:46, less than six hours after the whole thing began, Veronica was born. But she was blue, and she wasn't moving.

After the fact, I've been told that the awful colour and lack of movement isn't totally unusual, and that the midwifes and doulas all knew she'd be fine, but I was terrified she wouldn't make it. From birth to baby's first cries, it was probably only the space of 40 seconds or a minute, but it felt like forever. In the end, hospital staff had her air passage cleared out in short order, and she was pink and angry and just like a baby should be. She was also big: eight pounds, fifteen ounces -- outweighting the Tedster by eleven ounces. We had an overnight in the hospital and we were back home in the afternoon of the next day.

First day (post birth) was great, second day was great, third day: awful. We found out that she had a sort of weak, inefficient suck, and she wasn't getting much milk when she fed. She'd lost a little over ten percent of her body weight, which is officially not good. We had flashbacks of Teddy all over again -- thinking things were fine, feeling we had good instincts, then discovering a massive problem. It's a shitty feeling because once you learn your parenting instincts have mislead you, you start to second guess all the decision you're making and it takes a while to start trusting yourself again. But the midwife put a plan in place where we supplemented breastfeeding with finger-feeding to help improve her suck... and it worked perfectly. She improved in under a day and didn't need the finger-feeding anymore. That day she'd gained three ounces -- and two days after that she'd put on another seven ounces. That was yesterday. The midwife was thrilled with her latch, and Veronica is feeding like a monster, so everything is really great now.

She's very cute. She looks just like Teddy did as a baby, except for her giant cheeks (... and the obvious differences in their gender-related paraphernalia). She has Sarah's feet and Sarah's ears, and she looks like an angry bird when she's hungry (which Sarah does not). Good sleeper, easy to settle down, and just lovely is this kid. Teddy has been great with her so far, but I think he assumes she's French, because he keeps pointing to her and saying "bébé!" (More on him soon.)

So, getting to the end of this I realize it was more doom and gloom than I intended. The bottom line is that she's doing great, and that (while fatigued) we're doing great too.

2010-03-25T23:39:00.004-04:00

I'm in the midst of watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and, well, it's just there. It's not a bad movie; it's beautifully shot and it's interesting enough, but it's not great, and it's not vital, and it's not important. And it just got me to thinking. I've seen a lot of movies in the past few years. Movies that I thought were important (or great, or vital), and as it turned out -- only a very small percentage met any of those standards.

So... would anyone care to see my movie recommendations in those areas? Not in regards to whether you should see Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen (which you shouldn't, FYI), but whether you should see the Oscar Winner for Best Picture in 1960, or how many of the AFI Top 100 you should bother to check out. Is this useful information to anyone? Will you act on it? (<--that's the important question) If the answer is no, please don't post anything at all. But if you're interested, let me know, and all this meh movie watching might come to some purpose.

One Year

2010-01-20T11:01:00.000-05:00

Teddy, I’m addressing this one directly to you.

Your mom often asks questions about what I was like as a kid. I’m no good for answers because I can barely remember the start of this day, and my parents only offer up generalities: Dave was quiet, stayed in his room a lot, was on the computer all the time, was very pale. Frankly, we were afraid he might kill us in our sleep. So, I don’t know that much about what I was like as I kid, and what I want to tell you here is exactly what you were like when you just turned one.

Your favourite pastime right now is bouncing heavy toys off the hardwood floor. Actually, what you like even better is when you throw something against the hardwood and then it bounces under the couch. Then you try to retrieve it… and you can’t… and you get angry and shouty… and then we dig it out for you… and then you throw it back under. At present, that’s your idea of a good time.

You also like to slap the cats. Gunther especially, but that’s only because he’ll endure it. He’ll let you get three or four shots in before running away, whereas Moe won’t get close enough for you to clobber him. You’re also a big grabber of faces. When you first started, you’d reach out with just one finger and touch my lip, but now it’s all clasping, squeezing, pulling. If I let you, you’d probably twist my mouth into a corkscrew. (In case it needs to be said: I don’t let you.)

When you’re sleeping in your crib for any length of time, you push away from your covers bit by bit under you’ve somehow wedged yourself into a corner of the crib, and then you wake up angry. This usually happens between midnight and four o’clock in the morning. You also have a great talent for getting your soother stuck underneath you, typically in the small of your back. Again with the angry waking; again with the less than ideal timeslot.

Okay, fine – I’ve front-loaded this post with the ‘bad stuff,’ but the truth is that the bad stuff isn’t really that bad (and I’ve exaggerated all of it). The truth is: you’re an incredibly easy kid to raise. We lucked out with you.

You’re very funny right now, although when you make us laugh you never understand why. When you laugh back at us it’s that I don’t know what’s going on but I’m gonna act like I get it kind of laugh. Usually it’s your sounds that kill us, like a well placed raspberry. Or it’s the way you sway side to side in your high chair when you’re eating something you like. Or when you shift gears all of a sudden—you’re rubbing your eyes because you’re super-tired, and then out of nowhere you burst out laughing and break into jazz hands.

Crib-shenanigans aside, you’re a great sleeper these days. We’re into the third week of daycare and it’s got your nighttime routine down pretty solid. You have a great time at Daphne’s but you are wiped at the end of the day. 6:45, we go up, get you changed, give you a bottle; 7:00 I put you in your crib and you’re done. No fuss, no tears, just zzzzzzzs. You even cut two new teeth last weekend and still slept like a pro.

We suspect you’re extroverted (and you can thank your mom for that). It might be a bit early for us to label you that way, but you just seem to really like people. You’re ecstatic when someone you know comes by, and you’re even totally cool with the people you don’t know that well. You haven’t made strange yet, and call me optimistic but I don’t know if that’ll ever happen.

You’re a champ of an eater. I can’t name all the stuff we’ve put on your plate that you’ve gladly gobbled up. Nine nights out of ten, you eat what we eat, and it makes meals so very easy. Not to mention that, excepting purees (which are pretty much on their way out anyway), you feed yourself. To be honest though, your sippy cup skills could use a polish. (Full disclosure: you have no sippy cup skills. That’ll be the next frontier.)

Your favourite TV show is Glee—not that you watch much TV at all, but we show you a clip here or there. Your favourite movie is The Lion King—by virtue of the fact that it’s the only movie you’ve ever watched (and I’d suspect you paid attention to 12% of it). Your favourite album would probably be a tie between Snacktime! and the Teddy’s Playtime CD that Shelley made for you. Your favourite book is probably The Gruffalo from Aunt Beth (and by ‘favourite book’, I mean ‘the book you enjoy slapping the most.’)

You have huge eyes, and that’s the first thing that people compliment you on. You also have big hands and big feet; you’re like a puppy in that way. Neither me nor your mom are giants, but sometimes I look at your hands and think Geez, this kid’s gonna be huge. Maybe you’ll be a pianist. Or a magician. Or a bare-knuckle boxer. As a rule, I’m against any hobbies that are expensive or have me up early in the morning, so that leaves only one of those three as an option.

How has your birthday gone so far? Well, it started about five in the morning, so clearly you couldn’t wait to get it started. You had breakfast with your mom (blueberry eggos—a favourite of yours), I got you changed and dressed, played with you for longer than usual (see again: your wake-up time), then took you to Daphne’s where one of the kids said, “It’s the birthday boy!” the moment we came in the door. Tonight, your grandparents are coming by. Grandma Nonna’s making chicken and potatoes (another favourite), as well as a cake (which I’m hoping you get to crush, at least a little bit). Then we’ll get some phone calls, open presents, and put you to bed—surely exhausted. Ten or possibly twenty minutes after that, your parents will be out too. (In case we haven’t told you yet: your parents are rock stars.)

Happy birthday, Teddy. Hope you’ve enjoyed this first year at least half as much as we have.

2010-01-17T17:09:00.002-05:00

Oh, right – momentum. Yeah, I blew that resolution as fast as damn possible, but if it’s any consolation I blew all my resolutions. Huge. But my plan is to reboot as of today. There are two big mistakes I always make when I commit to something. First, if I fail for even a day, I immediately throw up my hands, say fuck it, and forget about even trying again. Second, if I pick a start date that’s some time in the future, I’ll squeeze in as much as that behavior I’m trying to avoid as humanly possible between now and then. (The ‘behaviours to avoid’ almost always involve sloth and gluttony, FYI). So anyway: here we are again, trying to get a routine going.

What’s really great, and what this post is really about, is that 2010 seems to be the year the bloggers came back. They all didn’t go away, obviously. Some continue to be pro-stars; some haven’t stopped blogging since the day they started. (A wise eye will see that those first two links go to the same great site.) But the majority of the folks I followed with real regularity became… irregular over the past few years. Now, Jorge is writing up a storm (on multiple sites, even), Kris has put up a truckload of posts, Rebecca is back at it, and even Jay is posting again (although I consider her latest both NSFW and NSFH.) Doppelganger’s back too, which I find especially noteworthy as she’s posted more in the first month of 2010 then all of 2009. It’s like the old days. I feel like we’re all a bunch of retired musicians who’ve come back and put on a festival for our old fans. Welcome to the Monsters of Classic Blog.

Momentum

2010-01-03T21:38:00.004-05:00

Starting is hard, at least for me. Once I establish a routine and find the rhythm of something, I have no trouble keeping it up. Actually, once I've got a patern down it becomes harder for me to stop. But starting off: I'll do almost anything to get out of those first two or three attempts. Anyhow, I'll stop beating around the bush and tell you what I'm trying to tell you. I want to become a serial killer. No, wait. That's not right. Sorry, I'm writing this and watching Dexter as I write this.

I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing. It's one of those resolution things. I'm not too particular about what I write, just that I do it. (That might change once I get my momentum on. Given enough time, I might get around to that erotic zombie novel I've been thinking about all these years.) Three hours a week of writing; that's the plan. It seemed like a pretty small commitment when I made it, but it gets larger and larger the more I reflect on it. Beyond putting in the time though, the real thing that makes me want to avoid writing is that I feel like I don't a have a single idea in my head. I think (I don't know but I think) that the ideas will come out of the habit. I problem solve though writing better than I do through just thinking about stuff.

So... here's me, putting in my time. That's forty-five minutes accounted for. (Yes, for real: that took three quarters of an hour to draft. I am that slow.)

Eleven Months

2009-12-31T09:00:00.004-05:00

Of late, the changes in Teddy seem to come on a daily basis. He’s broken out so many new skills, and it’s like they’ve all come at once. We’ll start with the big one: walking. First steps came over three weeks ago: he was holding onto the couch and then he turned towards Sarah and took three little steps before falling over. Before Christmas, we were able to coax him into walking back and forth between the two of us (as long as we were no more then two feet apart). In Georgetown, on the last day before we came back home, he really started perfecting it; fifteen to twenty steps at a go. Then yesterday, he performed a few turns and started catching himself with his hands when he fell forward (much preferable to the ‘I’ve just been cut down by a lumberjack,’ face-first plummet).

He’s had his first words too, as Sarah reported here and here. ‘Uh-oh’ is the most reliable one, followed by “Dad Dad Dad” – although you really can’t get him to say that one back to you (and it’s not totally clear that he associates the word with me). We’ve also had ‘cheese’ on and off, which he actually does associate with his favorite food in the whole world. And he says ‘Kee!’ almost every time he sees the cats – and shortly thereafter he’ll try to tackle or slap one of them.

Beyond the big things though, there’s a hundred little things. The figuring-things-out style developments. He’s got a few shape sorters and he’s only recently realized that the purpose isn’t just to bash them, but that you can actually fit the right shape in the right hole. (Overall success rate is very slim, and once he gets the triangle in the triangle hole he’ll immediately try to stuff the circle, the square, the remote control, and whatever else he can find handy in there. But still!) And he understands how to push buttons and pull levers. Cause and effect and starting to become clear to him. If he has a toy that plays a song he likes, he knows that if he pushes the right button over and over, that song will play again and again until daddy’s head explodes.

And he’s still not making strange, which is great. Especially on trips like what we’ve just came back from where he sees fifty different people in the space of four days. I mean, he’s still a bit confounded when he finds himself in a room that’s jam-packed with people, but he doesn’t lose it and he’s never shy.

He’s a great little kid. I have no right to complain about him ever, but I still do. When his sleep is junky, or when he’s slappy (we’re still trying to teach him ‘gentle’), or when he becomes an octopus and grabs a half dozen things that he shouldn’t back to back to back… I get frustrated. I need to be more patient, and it’s one of my resolutions for next year. All the times he’s adorable: when he laughs his head off every time I come home from work, when he’s talking to himself in his crib, when he tries to put his soother in my mouth – I’ve got to bottle up that stuff and then uncork it every time he’s being a menace, which isn’t that often.

I can’t believe he’s going to be one in just a few weeks. Having a kid has been a lot like starting my first big boy job: I can account for every day of those first six months, and then the rest has gone by in a blink.

MM5 - Closing podcast and thanks

2009-11-08T18:32:00.000-05:00

The dust has settled, the guacamole has been retired, and MM5 is done for another year. Good line-up, probably not the best one yet, but definitely less duds than any year prior. More of my thoughts and the thoughts of people far smarter than me can be found in our post-game podcast here. Be warned that the audio quality is a bit raw and goes from quiet to deafening on more than one occasion.

Before I stop talking about the Movie Marathon for another twelve months, I would be very remiss if I didn't thank the follow folks:

Sarah - While I'm the programmer for this show, Sarah takes on the much harder task of running this party. As always, the party was amazing. An in addition, she also did a lot of Teddy juggling and taxiing of people and babies to and fro. I couldn't and wouldn't do this without you.
Grandma Nonna and Grandpa - Sarah's parents took Teddy overnight and for a huge chunk of Sunday. Thank you so, so much for helping us out. I'm greatly in indebted, for many reasons beyond this, really, but certainly for this as well.
Jorge - For blogging it up all night like it was your job. (It is, but it's only an unpaid internship.) Thanks, dude. And your acting prowess, once again, was top notch.
Rebecca - For traveling, tweeting, and sharing the true reason why francaphone men are so bowlegged.
Chris - For your booze, mustache, and man-hugs (so, so many man-hugs).
Mark - For your excellent wirework.
Tania - For being okay with the way we man-handled your man.
Claire - For your rock-solid extra work in our Sunset Boulevard video.
Isha - For making time for this party, even though you are crazily pregnant. (Also, for not having your home birth in my home).
Shelley - For your unmatched sense of humour and your insastiable thirst for jagerbombs.
Michelle - For being our one and only first-timer. Woo!
Lorna - For not punching me in the mouth after the Bad Lieutenant video.

That's all. I had a great time. Sound like you did too. See you at MM6.

A movie and a half away from done

2009-11-08T06:56:00.003-05:00

Okay, so we're almost at the end. I haven't mentioned it yet (because it's true every year as it is this year) but all the good stuff is on Jorge's site. I had some funny feelings about the end of this movie list, and they've proven a little true. I was worried they wouldn't be edge-of-your-seat enough, or compelling enough to keep us going. Outpost wasn't all that scary (but the company kept the energy up). Moon is good, but it's more of a slow burn. You really have to give it some effort. Not a hell of a lot, but some. Anyways, it's good so far, but I don't begrudge anyone who's taking a powder right now.

More later. Tired, and can't compose a while lot of coherent thoughts.

Bad Movies in the Movie Marathon Serve a Purpose

2009-11-07T21:27:00.002-05:00

And that purpose is: to give me a chance to update my blog. I don't think it's just my lack of attention span leading me to say that Bad Lieutenant is a really bad movie. For reasons I don't care to explore just right now. Not just because Harvey Keitel had a terrible, completely awkward nude scene -- although that certainly didn't help.

Outside of this one, all the other movies have been really good. I think there were a few too many dramas early on and Lars and the Real Girl suffered as a result. Otherwise, everyone seems to like what's been playing.

Overall wakefulness: high. Drunkeness: moderate. If we can maintain those levels, or at worst swap them, we're gonna coast on through to 10am.

MM5 - Pre-show podcast

2009-11-06T22:58:00.008-05:00

We're less than twelve hours away now. Eeeeeeeee! Earlier today, Jorge and I recorded our thoughts, fears, hopes, and dreams about the event in a quick podcast. It only took us three takes. We had to delete the first two because it was filled with nothing but anti-French rhetoric. (All Jorge's.)

Anyways, enjoy.

Movie Marathon 5

2009-11-05T12:40:00.002-05:00

Clearly, once again, I’m behind on my everything. Movie Marathon 5 is less than forty-eight hours away now, and I ain’t said a word about it here. Don’t chalk this up to secrecy or anything, I just never got around to it. First off, here’s the line up:

Pumping Iron - 10:00AM
Last Night - 11:40AM
Sunset Boulevard - 1:55PM
Kung Fu Hustle - 4:00PM
Lars and the Real Girl - 5:50PM
Bad Lieutenant - 8:16PM
Bon Cop Bad Cop - 10:05PM
Near Dark - 12:16AM
Battle Royale - 2:05AM
Outpost - 4:14AM
Moon - 5:59AM
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - 8:12AM

As always, it’s from Saturday at 10AM to Sunday at 10AM. Unlike past years, we will not be contending with snowstorms, time changes, or hour long empty periods in the middle of the night as a result of math-related ineptitude. I’ll update here a few times during the day and I'll be tweeting away throughout. Jorge will be performing his usual super heroic blogging over at his site, and we’ll have AV material coming out the ying yang (with maybe an additional surprise or two over last year.)

That’s all for now. I’d write more, but frankly I’m just too busy NaBloWriMoing.

2009-11-01T23:55:00.002-05:00

Crazy short post to say that I'm jumping on the NaBloPoMo bandwagon too. Don't mock me. Your mockery makes me fail.

If I can make it two days, I'll make it through the month. Odds of me making it two days: 18%.

Monterey and Catalina

2009-10-18T22:50:00.002-04:00

We started our Monterey stop with a walk through Cannery Row, immortalized in the John Steinbeck classic (you guessed it) “Cannery Row.” Which I read once and thought was about canaries. No, no, while it’s true that I did read it, I actually don’t remember anything about it. I told Sarah’s parents, “I think it was about fish and sadness.” Which gave Sarah’s dad a chance to tell us an old Woody Allen gag: “I took a speed reading class and read War and Peace in forty-five minutes. It was about Russia.” All the old canneries have since been changed to shops and restaurants, but many of the facades have been maintained, and it made for a nice walk as we made our way to the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

We expected that Teddy wouldn’t be too jazzed by canneries or banners emblazoned with Steinbeck quotes, but we were pretty sure we could catch his attention with giant fish. And we were right. When Teddy gets excited, he gets shouty, and let me tell you that Teddy shouted at a whole lot of fish that day. Small sharks, clown fish, giant bass, starfish—all shout-worthy. Beyond this, we saw a group of otters super close up, a really small great white shark (I don’t think it should be considered great if it isn’t bigger than Gunther), and a pile of penguin (not a literal pile). After this, we stopped into El Torito, which is a Mexican restaurant that Sarah and her parents visited twenty-one years ago (and where Sarah’s mom had her one and only margarita). Our waitress was an excellent upseller, because we all ended up with double-sized drinks (except for Teddy, and Sarah’s mom—although she was more than happy to shoot back the side of Grand Marnier that came with my drink. I’m just saying.) The food—I should also mention—was excellent. Next: back to the ship and on to the next port.

After a sea day came Catalina. I don’t have a hell of a lot to say about this port. It was nice enough, but a bit of a snore. We probably would have appreciated it more if it had come earlier, but after San Francisco, Seattle… Catalina was just sort of there. It’s a getaway island for people from Southern California, eighty percent of it is a nature preserve, and car rentals are non existent (the best you can get is a golf cart). Having typed that all out just now, I realize: Catalina, it wasn’t you, it was me.

Anyhow, we had a meal at a restaurant that none of us remember the name of, took a walk to a casino that wasn’t really a casino*, and then we went back to the ship.

*In Italian, casino means ‘meeting place.’ So it was just a meeting place. That you had to pay sixteen bucks to get inside. And again: not actually a casino. We didn’t go inside.

San Francisco

2009-10-14T22:38:00.001-04:00

Let me start by admitting my big San Francisco fail: I didn’t have Rice-a-roni once in the two days I was there. Otherwise, it was a marvelous stop. I’ve mentioned it before, but one of my favourite things about cruising is opening the stateroom window first thing in the morning and seeing a brand new city outside. Well, this morning I’d slept pretty terribly and I was more invested in getting Teddy fed and changed, so I took a very token look outside. Right in front of us were three rooftops (part of the pier, I guess), that had all been just hosed with bird shit. Beautiful, I though. It wasn’t until Sarah took a peek out and said, “What a view!” that I finally looked beyond those rooftops, and there was the Golden Gate Bridge just beyond, and Alcatraz to our right, and the San Francisco skyline to our left. It was the best view of our trip.

Our first stop was a short walk down the way from our ship, to Pier 39. It’s an area that has become a hang out for a huge number of seals and sea lions. They’re very fat, very lazy, and very loud (which is true of me as well, if you replace ‘loud’ with ‘marblemouthed’). We took Teddy out of his stroller and gave him some excellent views of everything, but he was way more interested in staring straight down into the water, content to totally ignore seven hundred barking sea lions. From there, we took a walk through Fisherman’s Wharf, which is a pretty terrible place, really. It’s Niagara Falls without the falls. Touristy cities of the world take note: when a Ripley’s Believe It Or Not opens up in your neighborhood, it’s a good time to break out the napalm and start from scratch.

Next, we took a cable car ride, from the Hyde Street turn around at Fisherman’s Wharf to the end at Hallidie Square. Sarah was super kind and took a seat inside with Teddy, letting me stand at the very back of the car where you can basically hang right over the edge. I took a ton of pictures and some great videos. My favourite video is the first one, where the car just gets started. I’m clearly caught of guard, evidenced by the way I holler JEZUS! as the car whips around a corner and starts chugging uphill. After this, we took a trolley back to the ship, and Teddy and I both had epic naps.

We went for a second quick walk then, back to Fisherman’s Wharf, but particularly to the Musee Mechanique, which is basically an arcade with (mostly) old-timey videogames. Pong, yes, but also those insert-a-quarter, turn-the-crank, and watch the movie thingys. Strangely, they also had Big Buck Hunter 2, which I guess is a classic. After this, we met up with Katie. We love Katie, and with her being all West Coast, and us being all East Coast, and all that tension going on between the rap circles with which we are affiliated, we don’t get to see her too often. So even though we only had a few hours to spend together, we soaked it up. Katie took us to this excellent restaurant called the Slanted Door (an SF institution, so I’m told), and we chatted and went nom nom nom, and too soon after had to say bye to her. (Until the wedding! Woo!)

Our second day in San Francisco, Sarah’s parents were awesome and took Teddy with them, which allowed Sarah and me to beeline it over to Valencia Street. The day before, Katie had brought us presents, most of which were from 826 Valencia, which is a place I’d heard about but didn’t realize was in San Francisco. 826 is a tutoring centre founded by Dave Eggers that runs writing workshops for kids, (and where some of the tutors happened to include folks like Michael Chabon). 826 Valencia is also… a pirate supply store. (The story goes that when lease papers were being signed, the owners—who were after the space solely for tutoring purposes—were asked, “So, this building is zoned as commercial. What will you be selling?” they answered, “Um,… pirate supplies!”) It’s a hilarious place, where you can buy giant padlocks, designer glass eyes, a bottle of Scurvy Be Gone, anything to fulfill your piratey needs. They also have no end of novelty shirts, which I bought no end of.

Beyond this, we stopped at a taqueria to eat some kind of Super Burrito (and indeed it was super), walked very quickly through the Mission District, hit used bookstores, rode another cable car downhill and stopped at a Trader Joe’s where we bought a not good beer called Simple Times for the insane price of fifty cents a can. Also, after sail away I realized I’d made a large error at one of the restaurants. While some people leave their hearts in San Francisco, I left my credit card.

Seattle and Astoria

2009-10-08T01:30:00.001-04:00

It’s funny how you can see remarkably little of a city and still—within that short time—decide that you love it. But that’s what cruising is all about after all: getting a small taste of a five to ten cities all at once, deciding which ones you have to come back to (Sydney and St. Petersburg) and crossing some others off your list for life (Pisa, Auckland… pretty much all of the Scandinavian countries). Seattle is one of those places we will come back to, for more than just the length a cruise stop-over. I can’t easily say why I liked it so much. It’s not a single trait of the city, there isn’t one experience I can pinpoint—I just really enjoyed the time we spent there. The shops, the vendors, even just the lay of the city (what little I saw of it); it was all excellent.

We left the pier and navigated our way to Pike Place Market. It’s a multi-level, part indoor part outdoor series of shops, with tons of flowers, fruit, and other foodstuffs for sale. The vendors there actively hawk their wares—which is something that usually turns me off in a big way, but the Pike Place vendors have personality and confidence; there wasn’t that reek of desperation I’m used to those kinds of situations. Before getting to the Market, we’d been told that the original Starbucks was also located in the area. Those directions were a bit fuzzy though, so while we did have a coffee break in a Starbucks near the Market, I have no frigging clue if it was The First Starbucks. But it’s a cooler story if it was though, so let’s just say it was.

Out from there, we took a cab to meet up with a blog acquaintance of Sarah’s: Mighty Maggie. Sarah’s been following The Mighty One for a long time now and Maggie was extremely kind, letting us stop in for a visit. And she made us lunch! (Which was chickeny and noodley and peanuty and delicious.) We hung out with her highly cute kids, and Teddy behaved himself very well, and we just generally had a great time. Maggie’s super funny, and I regret not following her blog before now. Beyond this, we returned to Pike Place, bought some lattes and flowers, and pretty much packed it in. (Between Seattle and Astoria was a sea day, which I’ll leave out for now but might get back to in an End Notes post.)

Astoria came next. Unlike Victoria, where I had zero expectation, I had significant expectations for Astoria. Very low ones. I mean—I know next to nothing about Oregon, and if I don’t know much about something, it can’t be good or important. (See: economics, math, fashion, every continent that isn’t North America.) But as it turns out, Astoria is awesome! First, the locals are super tourist friendly—hanging out near the dock playing Johnny Cash tunes as you come ashore, or offering directions to downtown while letting you photograph their Mr. Muggs-style dogs. Second, there’s an excellent waterfront walk, where depression-era canning factories have given way to restaurants and wine stores, or in some cases have all but disappeared except for pilings and old beautifully ruined boat docks. Third, The Goonies was filmed in Astoria! (Approximate number of times Hey you guys! was uttered: 27.)

We walked into downtown, perused bookstores and thrift shops, purchased wine at a great place called The Cellar on 10th, and ate at an excellent restaurant called The Urban Grill. Beyond this, we’d intended to check out The Goonie House but it turned out that the tourist map was totally not to scale and we didn’t want to burn two hours there and back, so instead we checked out a comic book store where we looked at but did not buy and iron-on that said I HEART SLOTH. If that’s any consolation to you outraged Goonies fans.

Nanaimo and Victoria

2009-10-07T01:04:00.001-04:00

Here are a couple of reasons why Dr. Aunt Beth is awesome: she blocked off a whole ton of time to hang out with us while we were in town, she’s hilarious and great fun one hundred percent of the time, she’ll zoom you around in her futuristic cyborg car, and – if you’re lucky – she’ll recap the events of your stay. (Thanks, Beth!)

So let’s jump ahead to the single worst port I’ve ever been to: Nanaimo. This is not to say that Nanaimo is the worst place in the world, or even a bad place at all, it’s was just the most underwhelming stop on any cruise I’ve done. (Both Sarah and her Dad place Ketchikan at the bottom, but I missed the Alaska cruise.) Nanaimo has a decent waterfront, but otherwise it’s just a city full of condos. Which makes it a hard place to photograph. I’m instinctively drawn to shoot the largest buildings on a city’s skyline, so that’s what I did. And every time after the shutter went click, I realized I’d just photographed another goddamn condo.

It was alternately cold and rainy that day, so Sarah’s parents took the first spin around the city, and then came back to watch Teddy while we took our turn strolling around. We did a self-guided tour of The Condos of Nanaimo, we checked out a toy store (the name evades both of us), then we decided to stop off for a drink. We were on the lookout for any place that sold local beers on tap and we ended up at place called The Globe (which, for the record, looked completely respectable on the outside). Well, long story short, it turned out to be a strip club… with no local beers. (Sarah was willing to endure one of those indignities, but not both.) Unfortunately, we’d spent so much time looking for a seat and milling about the bar that I felt bad about just leaving. So I ordered a Heineken, drank it in three minutes under Sarah’s baleful glare, and then we scooted on out.

On the way back to the boat came the last disappointment of the day. Walking along the waterfront, we saw a little boat with a sign that read “The Dinghy Dock Pub.” It was a wee little vessel that maybe twelve people could cram inside. And I though, that’s damn fantastic. Even if the only thing they serve is warm Bud Light, if that boat is in fact a licensed drinking establishment, it’ll have redeemed this whole day. But: sadness. On closer inspection, it was a boat that ferried you out to some island pub. No drinks and no bartender on board. And so, I deem Nanaimo crap (as a cruise port, not as a living place overall. I’m sure it meets all of its denizens’ condo living and strip club needs).

Next came Victoria, which I think was a tremendous improvement over the previous stop, and everyone else thought was completely ungreat. Well, let me clarify: I came in with no expectations and was pleasantly surprised that it was several giant steps above Nanaimo; everyone else expected it to be Mecca for the over-ninety crowd (and everyone else’s expectations were met perfectly). Again, we started with another waterfront walk, this one leading us past the Parliament Building and the Empress Hotel (both lovely, though the latter wins for shaping their topiary like dinosaurs.

From there, we headed into the tourist trapery of the Inner Harbour and Bastion Square. Lots of places selling maple syrup, and flags, and t-shirts. We took about as much of this as we could take and then decide to reward ourselves with a drink. The good news: pubs had local beers in spades. The bad news: no minors are allowed in any of the pubs in Victoria. Now, I might be alone in this, but I find that highly weird. Especially when the minor accompanying us is nineteen years shy of drinking age, so no one’s gonna serve him, even if he does ask. But whatever; apparently Victoria didn’t want our money. We told Vancouver Island to smell us later, and we retreated back to the ship.

End note for Garrick (if you’re reading this). The pub in Victoria that shut us and our booze-hungry toddler out was called Garrick’s Head Pub. If you ever visit there, they’ll either anoint you as their king…or they’ll take your head, empty it out, and use it as a tankard. We tried to do some reconnaissance for you there, but no dice.

The next in a series of posts about Sarah on her birthday

2009-10-02T03:11:00.004-04:00

-- Last year’s entry --

I didn’t mention this last time, but Sarah is so very beautiful. I probably left that out before because it’s just so obvious. A few years ago, a very close friend of mine said to me, “Man, you’re really lucky. Sarah’s got it all.” I didn’t say as much at the time, but I remember taking that the wrong way—as if this friend was telling me in a fairly gross way how hot my girlfriend was. But reflecting on it even the next day, I understood what he was saying: she’s got everything. She’s smart, hot, fun, funny, sweet, loving—and while you can get most of those things in a girl, it’s so rare to have all of them.

Another trait that didn’t make the list last year: she’s excellent with money. That one’s not nearly as sexy-sounding as the first, but trust me: it’s a fantastic skill to have in a partner if it’s something you suck at yourself. This girl can sock away money like mad – but not in a scroogy, you-can’t-have-any-toys, no-fun kind of way. There’s nothing I’ve really wanted that I haven’t been able to have. Despite any of the times I’ve ever complained about not being able to constantly blow all of money on bullcrap, Sarah’s doubly restrictive with her own spending. This is a girl who will buy diapers for a good price on Monday, then kick herself because she found them on sale for forty cents less on Tuesday. This is a girl who’ll apologize for spending fifteen bucks at a consignment store. Which is not to say she’s a cheapskate. We have priorities in our life, one of which is travel, and while she’ll still find great deals, she has no qualms about sinking decent sums of money into a trip. She’ll always find the best balance between value and quality when it comes to all purchases. We have nice things, but our toothbrush holder isn’t from Pottery Barn, if you know what I’m saying.

Lastly, most importantly, and totally not new information to anyone who reads this blog: Sarah is an amazing mom. She has made all the right choices for this kid. She has endured an incredible amount for this kid. And her love for him is infinite. (I’m going to start speaking in generalities here, but maybe this next bit isn’t as universal as I think it is or as I want it to be.) When you’re young and you’re in love, you don’t want to share that love with anyone. You want to blot out all your partner’s old relationships; you want to drive away anyone who could be of the remotest romantic to them. Later, you grow up and that sort of ridiculous jealousy fades out. Then, if you’re lucky enough to have kids, you realize that sharing that love with someone else is so much greater than keeping it between the two of you. It makes your love for your partner that much more intense, after you thought it couldn't possibly get any stronger.

Sarah, again as always, I love you. I'll keep trying to be all that you deserve. I'm not there yet. But soon, I hope.

Damn, this kid travels like a champ

2009-09-25T22:39:00.014-04:00

Well, Teddy had his first flight today -- a five hour flight at that. And he was completely awesome. Absolutely no problems through the take-off or landing. He got a tiny bit cranky near the end, but we did happen to be flying over Calgary at that moment, so draw your own conclusions there. And his superstar behavior didn't end with the flight. With the three hour time difference, we really wanted to keep him up later than usual, and get him used to this crazy west coast time ASAP. Well, the little dude managed to stay awake until 7pm Pacific, which is wicked because his bedtime back home is 7pm.

Anyhow, I'm back in Vancouver for the first time in three years and things are pretty much as I left them. BC beers still make me sexy, I'm still the Mayor of Gastown, and saki probably still tastes like butane (I have no desire to reconfirm this fact). The first thing I'm always struck with when I land here is how subtely different it looks. There's something about the architecture, or the vegetation, or the basic city layouts... I don't know. If I was smart, I could put my finger on exactly what it was that strikes me as so different, but you and I know that I'm just not smart. Let me put it this way: driving through Vancouver seems a hell of a lot more foriegn to me than driving through Auckland did -- which says as much about Auckland as it does about Vancouver.

Beth and Tod have dropped by our hotel, and now they've gone out with Sarah to grab some food. I was strangely insistant that I would hold the fort here with the snoozing Tedster, even though I'm hungry enough to eat at least half the keys off this keyboard. They're going to bring me back some kind of delicious hippie food, and goddamn it I tell you right now, if I find out it wasn't made by hippies, Hulk will be very angry. If it was made by norms or straights or whatever the hell they're calling us these days... if it doesn't taste like unkempt beard, well then I'm just not gonna eat it.

Also, in honour of seeing Beth today (and it true Beth style), I was going to post a picture of what I'm wearing today -- and I did just take a few pictures with the intention of doing so. Sadly, the shirt I'm wearing has horizontal stripes... and even sucking in... well, let me just say: brother's looking a little obese today.

Seven Months

2009-09-07T14:04:00.000-04:00

So Teddy said his first words last weekend. It was the day after his baptism and I'd just gotten him up after a nap. He looked around at everyone there in our living room—my brother, my mom and dad, my nieces—and then he shouted out, "GAY GUYS! GAY, GAY GUYS! GUYS GAY! GAY GUYS!" His first words and the kid outs my entire family.

I suppose that doesn't count. Also not counting is the fact that he's said DAD DAD DAD about one hundred times, because just like GAY GUYS it's an accidental sounds and he's attached no meaning to it. When we stops saying DAD to the cats, the front door, a spoonful of oatmeal, or whatever gaggle of gay guys happens to be in my living room... and starts actually looking in my direction as he says it, maybe we'll count it then.

He also got a few teeth since last month. We were in Georgetown a little while back for a McLean reunion, and Teddy slept terribly for the whole week we were there. Then the day we got back, tooth one had popped out. Bad sleep mystery solved. (It turned out that it he wasn't just freaked out by Newfies, like I'd suspected). Tooth two came out a few days later. He's actually been sleeping really well lately. We did a bit of sleep training after getting back from G-town. We went with the Ferber method (aka "cry it out" -- which isn't as terrible as it sounds). I won't lie to you: the first night of sleep training was totally awful. But as soon as the next day, the difference was amazing. Since then, he's been sleeping like a baby (har har). Well, unless he takes a big, terrible, 3 a.m. dump, in which case it takes him a long time to go down afterward. He's like his dad that way.

He’s eating like a champ too. Boy loves his vegetables. He loves grilled zucchini and grilled peppers, and he’s a big fan of squash and corn (pureed). The corn smells delicious. On more than one occasion, I’ve half considered causing some massive distraction and stealing it from him when Sarah’s not looking. And his newest trick is hiding food in his palms. The meal is done, there’s nothing left on his tray, you go to clean him up and when you turn over his hands you find a perfectly palm-shaped piece of biscuit, or six or seven Cheerios—like he’s planning some magic trick. And now, watch these doves fly out of my onesie!

His favourite songs at present are "Arriva il Direttore" (introduced to him by his Grandma-Nonna), “The Cheapest Key” (introduced by his Mom), and “The Eye of the Tiger” (courtesy of my neice, Amy). We’ve just started getting him into Snacktime by The Barenaked Ladies, and if I had to guess I’d say he prefers the smart wordplay of Ed Robertson over the ennui induced by Steven Page.

I’ll end this one off with the most grown-up looking picture we have of him to date (though it was taken about one month ago). P.S. The shirt is not to be believed. He was up to maybe 45% at that point. Thanks, Aunt Beth.

2009-09-03T23:32:00.000-04:00

Hmm. Watching Let The Right One In and it’s scaring me all to crap. It’s not horrific so much as moody. And mood is something I don’t get. Alright, fine: that’s a lie. It’s not that I don’t get mood, it’s just that I can’t put my finger on exactly how mood is accomplished, and why it can be so damn freaky. I recognize it when I see it, but I can’t deconstruct it.

What’s really funny (and not ha-ha funny, but funny-peculiar) is that, while I’m enjoying the hell out of this movie, I also have this strong desire to be doing something else. Between work and Teddy, of late I’m accustomed to having small bursts of spare time. But don’t cry for me Argentina: I get my fair share of free time. It’s just that it generally comes in many short intervals. So when I have in excess of an hour of screw-around time in one continuous chunk, something just seems a bit off.

What else? Dunno. I haven’t totally forsaken this blog. I’ll be back again soon. Like, this-weekend soon, not four-months-from-now soon.

Six months

2009-07-19T15:33:00.008-04:00

Six months later and the time has not flown by. I don’t say this in a bad way. I love that it hasn’t all gone by in a blink. There’s been so much adapting and growing and general newness that the past six months have passed in very real time.

A few of my favourite things about him at the moment:

Sometimes when I come home from work, Teddy and Sarah are sitting on the front step. More often then not I’m in some kind of workfunk, but then Teddy recognizes me, bops up and down and gives me a big smile, and that bad mood is gone in a second.
He’s been working on b-sounds lately. “Buh! Buh! Buh!” And almost every time that he starts to say it, he’ll warm up first. He’ll mouth the words a couple of times, then he’ll whisper it buh, and then he start saying it out loud. Needs to be seen to really be appreciated, but sadly I don’t have a video.
But I do have a video of Teddy eating solid food, or you know, gumming it a couple of times, pulling a face, and then horking it out. In the attached video there are three quick clips. Clip one is from his first day of trying food, with Teddy tasting an orange pepper (a sweet pepper--we're not jerks). Clip two has him trying a plum for the first time (and not liking it so much). And clip three occured about two minutes later, where Teddy's liking plum a whole lot more.

Russian Voddie

2009-07-06T23:59:00.005-04:00

Hey, remember the other day when I was all, "I've got this bottle of Russian vodka, and it's crazy Russian! Like, I will never be able to figure out what it's called. Like, ever!"

Upon closer inspection, the name is not that hard to crack. Russian Standard. Woo. This may just be what comes out of the drinking fountains of Russian public schools.

NY/VT/NH

2009-07-04T22:26:00.009-04:00

Sarah has smartly captured most of the details of this trip, so let me just add a couple of notes.

I am young, fresh-faced, beautiful. I say this because I was carded three times trying to buy booze on our trip. Carded. THREE TIMES. For those of you who don't know or have forgotten: I'm a few months shy of thirty-four. But apparently, I'm the picture of youth. Oh beard-dye, is there anything you can't do?
Speaking of booze, we're sneaking a fair bit of it back with us. It's not like prohibition era smuggling--we're not bring back a truckload of whisky in boxes marked "maple syrup"--but we've got a few extra bottles in tow. We picked up Cruzan, which is this delicious and cheap rum that's nigh impossible to find in a non-flavoured variety. I've also got delicious Imperia, Russian vodka that's become an old Vermont liquor store standby. But what I'm most excited about this is other bottle of vodka we picked up, and I can't even tell you the name of it because all the writing on the bottle is in Cyrillic. That's some serious-ass Russian vodka, right there. I suspect the production process mysteriously involves sickles and hammers somewhere along the way.
Lunch on the first day was Friendly's. Dinner was Taco Bell. Lunch on the second day was Friendly's. Dinner, again: Taco Bell. This was both my lifelong dream and my worst nightmare.
We went to K-Marts in three states. Hence the second tag of this post.

2009-07-04T21:15:00.004-04:00

Let's face it: you don't need me anymore. I'm not dependable, I'm not topical; these days I'm almost always writing about my template which, I know, is just thrilling the shit out of all y'all. And Sarah's over there, blogging up a storm, giving you the goods.

Sarah spied my screen right now. "Are you blogging? Are you ACTUALLY writing something?!?"

I know, I know, I know. But you know what? Sometimes there are very legitimate reasons for not being about to write. And this long recent drought... has not been one of those times. Sometimes you have a brief, intensely busy period where you have NO TIME FOR ANYTHING. And then you get through that period and you have a justifiable lazy period. Then you pass, I mean really pass it, but then you just stay lazy. It's all about inertia, I think.

I'm going to try, seriously, to get my motion on again. In fact, I'm going to post this now, then charge my dying, dying battery, then I'm gonna post again before I go to bed. Yeah, you heard me.

Due to universal unpopularity, the rave template has been replaced

2009-06-29T23:05:00.002-04:00

You're welcome.

Almost Five Months

2009-06-08T20:35:00.008-04:00

Sarah’s been really great at suggesting some of the best baby books a parent should read, and I’ve been really great at convincing her to just give me the gist of them.

The book that’s particularly relevant to today’s post is “The Wonder Weeks” by Hetty Vanderijt and Frans Plooij. The weeks referred to are weeks 5, 8, 12, 19, 26, 37, 46, and 55, which are periods in your kid’s life where they undergo huge developmental leaps. Your kid acts weird for a few days (eats insatiably, sleeps like a coma-patient) and once they get to the other side, they’ve learned a new skill. Vocalizing, grasping for things, attaining massive gains in neck or leg strength, etc. Right now, Teddy has just emerged from one of the stormiest transitions—the eighteen to nineteen week mark. We were warned. The book told us: kids with established sleep patterns go all squirrelly, kids that were good eaters get all spitty-outty, and it makes the parents go WTF. True, true, and true. There were nights when he would wake up five or six times (as opposed to the awesome two or one), and there were times when he reacted to his bottle like you were trying to fill his mouth with hell. All the previous stages were a few days. This one just went on, and you couldn't help but think holy crap, is this the new normal. (And fine, I'll admit: we're a bunch of sucks. Because Good Teddy is GREAT Teddy, and Bad Teddy really isn't that bad. But you still can't help missing Good when Bad is in town.) Anyhow, the happy news is that he's through to the other side, and back to his old self. But now he's teething, so it's all about the drool, and the wiping of the drool, and drool-related barfs. Enough complaining though.

All kinds of stuff has happened, but I'll leave it there for tonight. I'll try to get back to this tomorrow, but I won't jinx this by officially calling in Part One in the subject line. I'll leave off for tonight with this—Teddy's passport photo, taken for a trip that we have lined up for Fall. Teddy managed to avoid the no-smiling rule, which should make the customs folk happy, but let's just hope there isn't an equally Nazish rule against drooling. Or giraffe sleepers.

2009-06-05T12:19:00.003-04:00

Just read this post from Blogger Buzz about all the third party templates out there. I'm trying this one out not because it reflects my lives-to-dance/goes-to raves personality (which, of course, it does) but just to see if it would cause my page to go haywire in some way I didn't expect. Seems to work just fine (despite a few widgets that need restoring). Interesting. Expect a lot of me frigging around with templates over the next short while.

2009-06-02T12:30:00.001-04:00

I remember having a conversation with my brother after my niece Rachael was born. She was a few weeks old at this point, and Barry was looking a little haggard, but no worse than to be expected. I was twenty years old, and I asked the most important question I could think of about parenthood: “How are you doing without the sleep?”

He said, “After a while, you realize you just don’t need it.”

Fast-forward fourteen years and that’s proved true. Sort of. My brother has a far greater capacity than I do for getting by without much sleep, and I haven’t turned out to be the superstar he’s been in that regard, but I’ve definitely learned to get by with a lot less. For at least the first three weeks, admittedly, I did not cope well with the sleeplessness. But after that, something happened. Things just… got better. Maybe my body realized that this is the new normal. And it’s not that I don’t feel tired, but I’ve just found a way to push that fatigue off to the side somewhere. I don’t nod off at my desk. I don’t find myself doing the shambling zombie walk. And I don’t superfly my pillow the second that Teddy falls asleep at night.

But let’s get back to that ‘sort of.’

Learn to lose about ten to twelve hours of sleep each week and you can still be a functioning human, but you lose a lot. You'll find that your memory's shit (and mine was already terrible to begin with). You retell stories to the same person three days in a row. You can have a conversation with someone—one that you've actively participated in—and forget what you just talked about in it's entirety only minutes later. You find yourself grasping to recall very simple words. "What's that thing will the pages? It's bound. There's, uh, all kinds of words inside it and stuff. Oh, right! Shit! A book!" On top of this, you forget how to be creative and to innovate. Minus the sleep, you can still be pretty good at things you know concretely how to do, but when it comes to learning something new or forging a path in unfamiliar territory (figuratively, but probably also literally), you're pretty much screwed.

But don't cry for me, Argentina—the sleepless times are pretty much my own doing. At this point, Teddy has a fairly reliable schedule and (night feedings aside) he leaves me lots of time for sleep. I just don't take advantage of the opportunity. I'll always squeeze in extra hour or two of wakefulness when I can, and while one day doesn't matter so much, it has a compounding effect as the days go on.

As of this moment in time, I'm in pretty good shape. I was rough as hell last week, with Teddy going through his stormy eighteenth week (more on that later), but I've had a few solid, smart nights of sleep since the weekend, so I'm good to go again. Don't worry, though—I'm sure I'll screw myself over real soon and I end up feeling like garbage again. By Thursday at the latest.

World Partnership Walk

2009-05-22T15:35:00.003-04:00

(Warning: you might be shocked to read something on this site that’s not driven entirely by my constant self-involvement. Bear with me, though; it’s worth it.)

On Sunday June 7th, we (Sarah, Yours Truly, and to a lesser degree, Teddy) are participating in the World Partnership Walk. The Walk is in support of The Aga Khan Foundation—a non-profit social development organization that focuses on addressing the root causes of poverty in Eastern African and South and Central Asia. The Foundation is active in some of the poorest places in the world, undertaking initiatives that increase access to education, provide financial support to foster entrepreneurship, and ensure the sustainability of resources in remote, rural areas. It’s a non-denominational organization with a special interest in enhancing the role of women in all of its programs.

The World Partnership Walk is in its 25th year, and has raised over $45 million for the Foundation. Further still, the money raised by the Foundation is leveraged to gather significant additional funds from organizations like CIDA.

We’d greatly appreciate any support you’re willing to give for this excellent cause. My donation page can be found here, and Sarah’s can be found here. (No donation page for Teddy yet. The little dude hasn’t gotten that whole walking thing down just yet. But he will be along for the ride.)

GO Train Observations

2009-04-28T08:03:00.002-04:00

The first thing is that the E-E-E tobicoke North guy isn’t around any more. That’s the GO employee who used to operate the intercom and call out the stops on the 7:45 train. Even when I first started this commute back in 2000, that dude was old, and you always thought this has to be his last year before retirement. I guess he finally finished. He wasn’t a stutterer in general—except when it came to that first E in Etobicoke North. Every day, without fail, “E-E-E tobicoke North, next station stop. E-E tobicoke North.” The new guy who replaced him is totally aware of the legacy he’s inherited, by the way, because he skips that first E entirely. Right now, we’ve just pulled away from ‘tobicoke North.

Second, and somewhat sadder than I expected this to be, I’ve seen no one I recognize on this train. I’m not talking about my actual friends here (although I’d be more than happy to ride along with them), I’m talking about the Gamer Boys and the Sad Divorcees. Have not spied any of them. Even the dude who'd been selling me my train tickets all these years is gone.

I hate most things about taking the train in, that’s no secret. But the one thing I really love and that I forgot about until yesterday morning, is the view of the Credit River after you leave Georgetown. You pull away from the station, roll past some houses and an industrial area, and then the ground beside the train drops, and about sixty feet below you see this little hidden valley where the Credit winds along and slips underneath the trestle. And on a good day there’ll be a half dozen deer wandering around. Every time I see that I think, I wish I knew that was there when I was a kid. It’d probably be bad form to sneak down there now and build some kind of fort, seeing as I’m thirty-three.

Another thought I’ve had lately—the public transit crown in the GTA is generally a good-looking bunch of people. They’re not to-a-person beautiful, but ‘reasonable attractive’ seems to be the norm. And I’m talking both girls and guys here. I say this because, waiting for the bus in Ottawa lately, I've been looking around and seeing an ugly-ass crowd of people. Sorry to sell out my city, but we’ve got an overabundance of shovel-faced, used-up looking people in Ottawa. People looking fifteen years older than they probably are; people who are American-style overweight. I don’t know what’s going on over there: I’m just reporting what I see.

Two sites I've been all over lately

2009-04-19T21:45:00.003-04:00

Apartment 613 - A blog maintained by a bunch of local folks who write about interesting goings on in the city of Ottawa. I found this while running down the directory of Ottawa bloggers listed on Ottawa Start one day, and of the twenty or so sites I got through, Apt 613 is the only one I've been frequenting. I like this site for a lot reasons: because it's updated all the time, because it's fun to see something featured (food/drink/event) that I'm familiar with, and—-most of all-—because they feature a ton of stuff I didn't have a clue about. This might come as a shock to some of you, but I'm not as hip as you think I am.

/film - I've been a follower of Ain't It Cool News for as long as I can remember having internet access, and while I used to love that site it has since gone to shit. There's either nothing new, or there are fifteen people reviewing the same movie, or if you're lucky maybe it's DVD column time--with it's token reviews and gimme-gimme Amazon links. (I'll admit the site's not all bad: I'm still loving the coaxial news and I keep up with the comics stuff.) Anyhow, /film has come along to fill the void. It's (sense the trend yet?) very frequently updated. Also very smartly written. Also: there are no !!!!!!!!!!s after every headline. Good stuff. Check it out.

(And yes, I realize it's hypocritical of me to put such high value on update frequency when I only post here once a season. What can I say? I'm a complicated man.)

Almost The Third Month

2009-04-05T12:38:00.007-04:00

Teddy smiles now. Actually he’s been doing that for quite a while and I think the first laugh probably isn’t too far off. I may have written this before, but I went into parenting thinking that the first three months would be a totally thankless slog before the kid laughed, smiled, or did anything to remotely suggest he liked me and/or knew who I was. I was prepared for that slog, but I’m pretty damn happy things turned out differently. We get smiles. We also get a little conversation. He’s chattiest during and after a changing, or really any time when he’s free of the tyranny of pants. “Ngah!” he’ll say. Or “Ngoo!” Throwing in “Kkkkkkkkhhhh!” upon occasion.

He’s also growing growing growing, which is crazily apparent if you haven’t seen him for a few days. Sarah and Teddy stayed on in Kingston for a little bit after Floriana passed away, and he was enormous by the time I saw him next. (He was a big hit with the family while in Kingston. The situation with Flo was pretty terrible, so it was great that Teddy could be around to cause some cheer.) And the weight he’s gained isn’t just face weight, he’s getting really long, too. His sleepers don’t have a very long lifespan anymore.

I started this post in draft about two weeks ago, and before I could finish and post, Sarah beat me to the punch at her blog. Check it out right now. Along with more detail about Aunt Flo, she gives a very candid portrayal of the many, many obstacles she’s faced trying to breastfeed this kid. It’s beautifully and honestly stated, and I can only add one thing. She’s given props to a lot of different people for helping and supporting her over the past two months, but you should know that she has been really incredible though all this. She’s gone through a lot of awful, painful days, weeks where it’s just one issue after the other. And while she’ll always be honest if she feels exhausted or miserable, she’ll never wallow. She’s crazily resilient. She’ll run into some kind of massive issue (i.e. a successive round of mastitis), then she’ll be upset, she’ll rant—but somewhere between four and twenty-four hours later, she’s got a gameplan; she’s moving on with her life. Teddy’s very lucky to have her, and obviously so am I.

That’s all for now. Sarah’s got a suite of photos at her site which I won’t repost here, but I’ll leave you with this video of Teddy chatting me up. I’d like to convince you that this didn't require forty takes… and in truth, it didn't. It was probably closer to nine hundred.

P.S. I’ll try not to go a month and half before posting next time.

The First Month

2009-02-16T13:31:00.015-05:00

As I write this, I'm finding it particularly hard to concentrate because Teddy is beside me in his swing, and the swing music is overly precious and deafening. He hasn't had a great track record in the swing (you're lucky to get him in there for more than ten minutes before he starts to scream bloody murder), so when he's actually in there and content I hate to mess with any of the conditions. Maybe it's the music that's making him chill, maybe it's the smell of my unwashed body that keeps his rage at bay. Whatever: I don't want to mess with it.

And holy crap: he's asleep. YEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

His sleep (or lack thereof) has been the biggest challenge, or at least the biggest challenge for me. He's also got thrush right now, which is no great shakes either, but at least with that we've adjusted to our new routine of filling his mouth with foul things and boiling the entire house once a day. With the sleep, each of his problem days have been a little different, and we get caught off guard every so often. Like last night from midnight to 2:30, where he woke shrieking every ten or fifteen minutes (but then was totally cool the second he was picked up and he went instantly back to sleep). He's a weird little dude. He seems to equally dislike the act of going to sleep and the act of waking up. As Sarah said: inertia is his friend. Sample below.

One thing that has really surprised me, (beside the dehydration, and the thrush... and the velocity of the pooping... and the the fact that our four week-old has a mullet) is that I've watched a remarkable number of movies since this kid has been born. It started thanks to late night wake-a-thons. Through the night, Teddy typically eats at 11pm, 2am, and 5am, and after he eats he's generally up for an hour to an hour and a half. So I quickly discovered that having a movie on makes the whole thing less boring. (You're thinking its heresy for me to suggest that my own child bores me, and I'm not saying it's true generally, but when it's 4am and his eyelids are closing at the rate of one millimeter every five minutes, rest assured that it is jezus boring.) Now that I know I've got this built-in movie time, I plan ahead, rewatching classics and old faves, catching things I've been meaning to see for ages. But those first few days it was just whatever was on. "Hey, Shanghai Surprise. I would... totally like to... watch... that. Hooray."

I've been back to work for a week and we've been very fortunate to have Sarah's parents backing us up at home. I found that first day back surprisingly easy, and then Friday came and I felt like a sack of hammers. Weekend was good though and I'm reasonably recharged.

And I suppose that's it for now. Oh, except that I don't think I've acknowledged (at least on the blog) that Sarah won that last bet. Obviously: yeah, Teddy looks way more like her than me. But take a look at that top picture again. Kid's got my hands.

Poor kid.

The First Week

2009-01-27T13:42:00.011-05:00

Dooce writes her monthly letters to Leta—she’s somewhere close to month sixty by this point—and they always make me think, how much is there to say? I mean, really. Month after month. Sure there are the important milestones—they start walking, they learn to speak, they come home wasted for the first time—but between these big moments I figure there’s just a lot of the same thing over and over and over again. Well, we’ve had Teddy for a week today, and I realize that the real question is, what do I have to leave out? How much can I tell before I lose everyone’s interest except my own? All complicated further by the fact that my time comes in drips and drabs. Two minutes at a time, maybe five if I'm lucky, before I'm off to deal with another blown out diaper, or off to give a bit of love to the cats (who feel so neglected they've learned to ride bicycles and speak French just to catch our attention).

And damn. I've been sitting here staring at the screen, burning daylight (figuratively), trying to figure out what to say. I keep starting and stopping because all the stories are big. So let's just say the important things. Labour was long; in parts exhausting, in parts really scary, and short of a few gravol, Sarah pulled the whole thing off drug free. Teddy was healthy, with all the right limbs and digits, and right off I felt pretty strongly like I knew what to do (generally speaking. Finer points like don't let the kid slam his feet down in the meconium after you open up his diaper for the first time have been coming through experience.) We've dealt with dehydration, we've been to a hospital to check out his jaundice, and we've learned that breast-feeding can be incredibly hard depending on your circumstances. There have been a hell of a lot more bad times than I expected there to be in the first week of the life of my kid (dehydration day being among the top three most awful days of my entire life), but the times in between have made up for it. I hate to use a cliched phrase like 'everyday magic' but it's the most appropriate one I can think of.

I can, and have, spent hours just staring at this kid. Often, I'm wondering who he really looks like, and I change my mind five times a day. He has looked like: my Dad, my Poppy, Sarah's dad, Sarah's nonno, and Sarah herself depending on the day and the expression. He'll stare back at you, and even though I know all he sees is some kind of blurry, shapeless monstrosity, I like to think he's fond of me too. The best stares are the I'm pooping stares. He frowns, gets a kind of pleading expression, and this is followed by wave after wave of poop reverberating against your lap, and all the while he never breaks his gaze, never even blinks.

Anyways, seven days in and we're still getting our bearings. Sarah's mom has been staying with us and she's been a godsend--keeping us fed, watching Teddy, and giving much-needed pep talks. On Thursday, more help is on the way with the arrival of my parents. So we're in pretty good hands. We're good parents, I think, but we need the backup. Maybe next week we'll have the entirety of parenthood figured out. Thus far: not so much.

Teddy

2009-01-22T21:43:00.004-05:00

Just a quick post (and two days late) to say that Humpy is Humpy no more. Let me introduce Teddy. Legally, he's Edward, but we're calling him Teddy because that's the way we roll.

I'm remarkably tired and I don't have that many more coherent sentences in me, so I'll end it here for now. The short version is:

Sarah did an amazingly job throughout a very long birth, and
Teddy's an awesome little guy

More to come...

This Vs. This

2009-01-07T18:53:00.006-05:00

I've got a twenty dollar bet going with Sarah. The last time I made one of these, it was about whether Humpy would turn out to be a boy or a girl. I chose boy, not because I really believed it but just to be contrary. Regardless, I won myself a cool twenty dollars. This new bet is about who Humpy's going to look like, me or Sarah.

There's strong argument either way. One of the first things I noticed when I started dating Sarah was that everyone on her mom's side looks alike. They call it The Demon Panetta Gene. Sarah, her mom, her Aunt Pat, and most of her Aunt Pat's kids look alike. Her Uncle Sergio's kids look more like Sergio than Sally. And her Mom's siblings themselves look either like their father or like members of his family. When Sarah visited her grandfather's family in Italy, she was taken aback by all the resemblances. She would find herself thinking, "That lady has the exact same legs as me!"

And the McLeans: same thing. My dad only had brothers, they had only sons, and the sons look like their fathers. With some exceptions. Like my brother. Who looks more like my mom. But he was adopted. (wuh?)

Up until recently, I'd figured this kid would have the hair and eyes of his mom. But then I was flipping through old pictures last week and I saw a photo of six month-old me, propped up in a chair and smiling a gummy smile.. and I felt this sudden, strange certainty that this kid was gonna be my clone. It's been at least a week now, and the feeling's still there. Sarah disagrees. "Hells no!" she says. "The Demon Panetta Gene will prevail!" (Maybe she doesn't use those words, but the intent was the same.)

So wish me luck. That would make me right two times in a row, and in the course of this marraige that's pretty much unprecedented.

2009-01-02T09:27:00.004-05:00

So apparently if your last post is incoherent and crazy, and then you don't post again for over a month, and all your twitter updates are about being drunk, then folks start to assume something's wrong. Straight off, let me assure youse guys that we're all fine here. We're just hanging out, chillin' like villains, and waiting for Humpy to arrive (he's not due for another two and a half weeks). Sarah's been feeling really good, generally. If she has a really long day, or if she spends a lot of time in the car (due to... I don't know, maybe some bullshit transit strike), she gets a little Braxton Hicks-y, but otherwise she's had a really good pregnancy.

I stepped away from the blog for a bit just because it's nice to do that once in a while. I'd intended to take a break after NaBloPoMo, maybe not for quite this long. But then sometimes when you have forty-seven things on the go, it's just nice to let one of them slide for a while.

My work has been prorogued over the holidays, which is a first. I'm managed a nice balance of getting things done around the house and totally dicking around. It's nice to be home, but weird. We're usually on the go whenever I have holidays, and despite spending my days mostly at home, time is flying by. It's amazing how knocking three things off a to-do list (clean kitchen, shovel driveway, colour beard) can make your whole morning and afternoon evaporate. It gives me a sense of what retirement will be like, the main difference being that by then I'll have probably given up on dyeing my beard.

Yeah, so… about last night

2008-12-01T12:49:00.000-05:00

For those of you who’ve already read and were wildly confused by the many posts from last night, here’s some explanation. Our friends Leanne and Derek were in town last night. Close to midnight I realized I hadn’t put up a post yet, so I started writing a quick ‘woo! I kicked NaBloPoMo’s ass’ entry. I stepped away to get a drink (one of many) and came back to find that Leanne hijacked my entry. Then we did a little back and forth posting which we thought was hilarious—problem being, spread out over multiple posts and appearing the opposite order it was written, it made zero sense. So I’ve deleted the older entries and pasted everything into one entry. I’ve thought about outlining exactly who wrote what, but I think that’s more or less evident. (Okay, I will say that everything after 11:52 is not me.)

11:23 PM
Really quick post to say: I did it! YEAH, ME! what did you do dave? Did you post? HUH? DID YA!? Also, I did eat A LOT of cookies today. ALSO, I did wear womens panties today. Just for a moment. Does that class me as 'different'?? Love makes me fat.

Love
Dave

11:28 PM
Okay, so that's what happens when you have a post, and then you walk away, and then some jackass named Leanne steals your computer and tells everyone THE TRUTH. And then, when you say, "One more," she's all, "I'm not made of what I used to be. I'm old. And sometimes I go to the bathroom in my pants."

Lame.

11:31 PM
And THEN he gives you the computer and encourages you to write more.

LAME

However, one more sounds better when it is followed by at least 5 more. I know he isn't going to go that far. Chicken or go Dave. Chicken or go.

11:32 PM
INAPPROPRIATE. Chicken or go meant a VERY DIFFERENT THING when I was your age. You know: twelve. Or whatever the hell you are.

Anyhow, I really do mean just one more. Because any more than that and I'll get the booze sweats and Sarah will make me sleep on the couch. Although I think I've already reach the point of no return. So: GIVE'R.

11:44 PM
YOU have to work tomorrow DAVE. You are NOT young anymore. You won't bounce back and you WILL get the drink sweats. EW.

Now, if you were hip and young you would bring out a tray of shots and talk about how this is the pre drinking ritual. THEN you would call a cab and take us to the peeeelers. THEN you would take us out to 'fancy' eating establishment and get some 'to go' food. THEN we would come back to your place and have 'one more'. THEN pass out.

Get real Dave. You won't have 'one more', yet you WILL pass out...cuz you are old and need sleep.

LAME.

Love
Leanne.
Xoxxoxoxo

11:52 PM
Hey there, Sunshine. Hey, Pansy. What's that sitting there? A shot. Whassamatter? You scared? I think maybe you're a little scared. Don't make me have all these shots by myself. Think of my wife. Think of MY CHILD. Drink it for Teddy, cause that's what I'm doing.

11:57 PM
I DO see them. I DO. I am sorta....my mouth watering...

Do I need to use my hands?
Can I get my mouth around that? Or do I only put half of that in my mouth and suck it back?

I feel...like a virgin. It has been such a long time since...well...the last time I did this.

OH BABY!

3 shots....all mine???!!

DEREK!! NOOO MINE!! DAVE? Ok wait for me!

12:03 AM
mmmmmmmmmmmmm good.

lizard.

What?

Bed.

12:18 AM
So...camera and drunk equals GREAT pictures!! MOVIES even!!!

OH I am fat! DELETE! NOW!!

Fat not me.

DELETE

DELETE!!!

Dave...sit down...you will never make good movies.

sorry.

WAIT.

You are having a good time, you get attacked by monsters...then you die.
ACTION!

That is a wrap

Highlights in Baby Holding

2008-11-29T23:07:00.004-05:00

Sarah's cousin Hannah was probably the first baby I'd ever held, and I must have been nineteen at the time. Her Uncle Fred (ten or so minutes after we first met) said, "Phew! She stinks! You hold her, Dave." And I did. I held her at arms length, like she was a scorpian or some kind of deadly snake. I could feel a room full of people all watching me, all thinking this guy doesn't have a clue, does he? After holding her for about ninety seconds, still as far away from my body as possible, somebody finally releaved me of this terrifying burden.
My nieces came next. I don't have a lot of memories of holding them as newborns because, frankly, newborns scare the shit out of me. I know that whenever I did hold them, I did it in the way that small children do: I sat on a couch and crooked my arm and someone put them exactly in place (and then removed them again without me moving an inch).
Huge jump in time here, but I think Jorge's baby came next. This was much the same as holding my nieces--me sitting like a good little boy while those with competence put the baby in my arms. I think I threw some standing up and sitting back down into the mix, but I was still mostly just frozen in fear.
The next baby I held was Blaine and Colleen's. Aidan came early so he was a little guy, but with Humpy arriving not so long from now I couldn't in good conscience shirk the baby-holding this time around. (This is probably a good time to explain why handling newborns scares the bejezus out of me: fear of letting the head snap back combined with fear of inadvertently touching the fontanel. It seemed impossible to avoid both of those danger zones.) Fortunately I was taught the ancient secret I'd somehow missed over the first thirty-two years of my life: make a V with your forefinger and middle finger, and support the head that way. This makes for very easy baby-transferring from one person to the next. Get your V in place first, then get hold of the rest of the baby. (I'm sure 98% of the world all knew this already, but this was BIG NEWS to me. So thanks for filling me in before. Assholes.)
Then this afternoon, we watched Mark and Tania's daughter for a few hours. Claire is just over four months old now, so she's not one of those teeny-tiny, bejesuz-scary babies, but it was the first time I'd been responsible for the entire care of a baby--feeding, changing, putting her to sleep, etc. (For the record: Sarah did all of the hard work (i.e work that related to poop), and her magical singing voice was what lulled Claire to sleep, but I like to think I was a contributing member of a team.) It went really well, all in all. She was tired, hungry, and confused by the bearded stranger at first and this let to some pretty serious screaming, but after a long nap she was golden, and we had a really good time taking care of her. It was confidence-building, and as a bonus we have that fresh baby smell all over the house. That's one for the Yankee Candle people: I want a candle that smells like baby. Hotcakes, that would sell like.

“Do you know what that is out there?” “Whatever it is, it’s winning.”

2008-11-28T22:49:00.004-05:00

Surprised to say it, but Cloverfield works for me. At least so far (54 minutes in). I don’t think it’s a spoiler if I give the very basic premise: giant monster attacks Manhattan, we follow the journey of a group of twenty-somethings trying to survive, and the experience is documented on handheld video camera. You can imagine that the camera part was the bit that made me feel a little dubious. But I’ve bought it. I haven’t real life bought it, but I've movie bought it. It’s about as realistic as an attack from an eighty foot monster—in a movie. What I'm saying is: I recommend that you check this movie out.

Two notes, though, before I forget. It’s rated PG, which makes me say, “Are you KIDDING ME?” So far, I’ve seen a totally exposed chest cavity and someone’s head explode into a mist of blood. Can we at least throw an AA at it? Second, the subway tunnel attack totally cribbed the head crab sound effects from Half Life 2.

I may or may not chime in later to say whether I liked it all the way to the end.

Update at 11:07PM - It stayed good right to the end.

From now on, I think I'd like people to refer to me as Stuntman Mike

2008-11-27T23:34:00.000-05:00

Death Proof is on right now. I think I liked this movie. I didn't see it in the theatre, but I caught the double feature (with Planet Terror) when it first aired on TMN. I remember being unable to decide if this movie was too talky by half or if that was what made it good. Quentin Tarantino has a great talent for finding unknowns and giving them great parts (Ving Rhames, Michael Madsen, whoever the hell plays Butterfly in this movie). He also draws out great performances from actors who haven't done much in a while (i.e. Kurt "Stuntman Mike" Russell). And he also has a really big, really obvious foot fetish--more obvious here than in any movie previous (and it was pretty goddamn obvious before). This would make a good Movie Marathon pick, if I didn't think everyone had already seen it.

And for the record, I don't want to be called Stuntman Mike because I espouse any of the virtues that this guy holds dear (I really, really don't), but because I just think it's awesome for someone to say, "What's your name?" and have someone else give the matter-of-fact reply: "Stuntman Mike." In fact, Humpy will henceforth be know as Stuntman Mike. Back me up here, otherwise Sarah's never gonna go for it.

One, Twice, Three Times a Humpy

2008-11-26T22:03:00.008-05:00

Twelve Weeks

A lot of you have heard this story before, but before we went to the first ultrasound I'd naturally assumed I wouldn't be able to make heads or tails of what I saw. I think that in my head I was picturing ultrasounds from the olden days, where they looked like photos of deep space or of someone's colon. But as you can see, while a little grainy, everything was easy to make out. My first thought was, "That baby is HUGE for twelve weeks!" forgetting that they'd magnified things about a thousand times. I also didn't realize that I was looking at still photographs. They'd get a good angle, snap a picture, and then hold on it to do measurements. But then a few minutes in, when the technician was looking for a new angle, the kid started rocking out. He (although we didn't know it was a he just yet) actually flipped over on his side and flipped back again, way faster than I ever thought something that small could move. And for the record, that's not a tusk shooting out of his head. It's his hand. A little wussup to all the people watching maybe, or possibly a gang sign. We'll see that again.

Eighteen Weeks

This is totally the 2001: A Space Odyssey shot. The second visit was cool because there was just so much detail: individual chambers of the heart pumping away, spine, clearly defined limbs, face (sorta), and of course--his goods. Actually the first shot was a between-the-legs shot. I thought, is that what I think it is? The technician said, "I think I see something there." We got away from it for a bit, she took some measurements of limbs and organs, then we got back to that area and the technician (a francophone) was all, "Ah, you can see his manhood." Looking at this picture again, this visit seems like forever ago. This was back when we were briefly flirting with naming him "Siemens."

Thirty-two Weeks

And today. At the second ultrasound, the technician noted that Sarah had a low-lying placenta. She said that in most cases the placenta migrates away, but she recommended a third ultrasound just to be sure. (Low-lying placenta means there is a serious danger of the placenta birthing before the baby. Placenta preceding baby = very, very bad, so if the placenta remains low late into the pregnancy you're guaranteed a C-section.) Fortunately, the placenta has moved so all is good. This ultrasound was the type I'd originally envisioned, because a lot of the time I didn't know what the hell I was looking at. When kiddo was smaller you could see everything at once, but at thirty-two weeks you only get small sections at a time. I confused the fingers for toes at one point. More confounding still was the head-on view of the kid's face. Both Sarah and the technician were like, "Ohhhhh, there's his little nose. And his eyes and his mouth! Hi, buddy!" And I might as well have been mashing my palms into my eyes for all the sense I could make of what I was seeing. (Then the technician rotated the picture about forty times until I caught on.) And as promised, there's that hand again, up my his face. I'm starting to think it's a handshake he's practicing. It's a secret handshake that only he and I will know. Or maybe he's doing the Thriller dance. Okay, let's face it: I have no good theory about what he's doing. A salute? His face is itchy? Surf's up? I've got no clue, people.

Last Gimmie

2008-11-25T23:02:00.001-05:00

So tired. Played dodgeball. Won. Arm: hurty. Eyes: burny.

Night, night.

An old man who doesn't understand those fancy interwebs

2008-11-24T23:01:00.003-05:00

That's what I feel like right now, because it took me forever to get a Flickr badge up on my sidebar. I mean I work on computers all day, I've got a half-dozen computer related interests that bleed into my evenings, but sometimes the most basic things don't come easily too me. Flickr was like a new language to me. A dead language. And if you've used Flickr, you know that's it not really all that complicated. Stupid today.

Regardless, I've got a few photos from the Movie Marathon up there. Finally. Am old. And slow. And incontinent (but that's neither here nor there).

2008-11-23T23:07:00.003-05:00

I'm watching The Last Man on Earth right now. It's from 1964 and stars Vincent Price, and it was the very first movie adaptation of the novel I Am Legend. Fifteen minutes in, and it's already five times as creepy as the Will Smith version. This movie works because, well... because it works. Vincent Price hasn't seen or spoken to another human in three years. He spends his days burning corpses, refreshing his food stores, and methodically searching door to door killing all of the zombie/vampires he can find. (Haven't gotten far enough in to establish what the creepy non-humans are.) Nights are spent barricaded in his home, while the zombie/vampires taunt him and try to scratch their way inside to kill him.

I Am Legend never worked for me because I didn't buy Will Smith's 'being alone has made me crazy' bit, and also because the CGI monsters were so poorly done that Big Willy might as well have been menaced by these guys.

And I guess the creepiness of this movie also suprises me because, despite an extensive filmography of horror films, to me Vincent Price will always be that guy from The Hilarious House of Frightenstein.

I told you, people

2008-11-22T22:04:00.003-05:00

This crib: she is assembled. It only took us about an hour and a half, there was no cursing, and we didn't break anything. Yes, we had beer, but it was victory beer.

You may have noticed that we've covered the matress with the kind of blanket only a crazy old cat lady would own. Let me be clear that this is not some kind of theme for the room. The blanket is simply there for the inevitable moment when Gunther decides the crib would be a good place for him to have a snooze. This does not explain, however, why we have that blanket in the first place. The answer to that question is simple: I am a crazy old cat lady.

2008-11-21T22:56:00.004-05:00

Operation Crib Assembly takes place tomorrow. Actually, we've got a number of tasks that will fill up our Saturday, but putting a crib together is the biggest one because it's the most difficult, frustrating bit of assembly you'll ever perform in your entire life. Allegedly.

For the record, I am not remotely worried about this task, but I've had at least four people warn and/or taunt me about it. "Oh boy. That's gonna take forever." "You're going to hate it and hate everyone around you by the time you're done." "I hope you've got beer in the fridge." Now I'm not claiming to be the handiest guy in the world, but how hard can this shit be? Does it involve welding? Do I have to assemble hydraulics? What is this secret complicating factor that I'm not aware of it? I'm not going to beat any world records putting this thing together, but if it has instructions and none of the parts are missing, I can probably figure things out. Sarah's parents are coming over and her dad will be helping me out. If the two of us are on the job and we still have trouble, well maybe I'm just not qualified to have this kid.

As a bonus, I'll have access to Ray's Magic Bag of Tools. This Bag was so named after we borrowed it to assemble all our new furniture when we first moved to Ottawa. It's a heavy canvas bag full of tool miscellany, and it just seems that anything you ever need is in there.
"Does the Magic Bag of Tools have any wood glue?"
"Yup."
"How about wire strippers?"
"You bet?"
"Geez... what about a level?"
"A small one, but yes."
"A brass screw-platted caster?"
"Four of them."
"What about an entire lathe?"
"He does. But it needs some assembly."

Write... or DIE!

2008-11-20T21:15:00.002-05:00

I'm writing this post on Write or Die, which is something I heard about a looooong time ago and then promptly forgot about--until Rebecca mentioned it a few days ago. She used it to catch up on a word deficit for NaNoWriMo. This is my very first time using it, and I have no idea what the consequences are. Which is making me very nervous. The idea is you have to keep writing at a certain rate, and if you slow down you're punished. I'm rocking mute right now, so if the punishment involves sound this is gonna be a bit of a letdown.

Okay, curious now. What happens if I stop? ... Oh boy, the screen turns a bid red-ish after ten seconds or so. Oh jeez, it gets redder and angrier if you keep waiting. REALLY making me nervous. Not sure why. Maybe it'll start showing scenes from Audition if I wait long enough. Damn it, the curiosity is killing me. Okay, gonna let it go for fifteen seconds. ... Eeeeee. Didn't die.

I seriously feel like someone's going to start strangling me if I blow it. ...

Just had a phonecall that put me away for about two minutes. Came back to an angry red screen but no other visible punishment. Okay, I'll have to give the sound a try this time. NERVOUS! …
…
…

HA! So good! I won't spoil the surprise for you. Go check it out for yourself. (And for the record, I was literally cringing while waiting for the Die Sound to strike up.)

Damn, I likes me some Rilo Kiley

2008-11-19T22:28:00.003-05:00

It's been a while since I've latched onto an album, listening to it every single day. I think high school would have been the last time really, back in the height of my drama nerdom where I played The Waltons Lik My Trakter or Bargainville by (*coughs, shuffles feet, mumbles*) Moxy Fruvous every single day for what must have been about two years. But just two weeks ago, I took Rilo Kiley's Under the Blacklight our from the library, and I've been listening to it ever since. Going in, I didn't know anything about the band, other than that they seemed popular with the hipster crowd. I knew and liked a few Jenny Lewis songs, but for whatever reason I expected her stuff in Rilo Kiley to be totally unenjoyable; experimental, with impenitrable lyrics, just so indie it hurts. Totally wrong, though. It's fun, catchy stuff start to finish. Under the Blacklight is an amalgam of a various styles and influences. It's hard to describe and I'm tempted to wiki it just to get a decent description (but I won't). There's more than a little disco in "Breakin' Up," part country part big band in "15," "Smoke Detector" is late Beatles, and "Dejalo" is a whole lot of I don't know what but whatever it is it's awesome.

Anyhow, check it out. It's one of those albums I can't imagine someone not liking. You can hear some of the tunes here. And as bonus material, you can download "Acid Tongue" here, which is free, legal, and all over good. "Acid Tongue" is Jenny Lewis solo, but it's still incredible. And did I mention free?

2008-11-18T21:45:00.005-05:00

Tonight we went to The Montfort Hospital for a birth centre information session. Of the ten or so couples there, we were the least far along in pregnancy. And of the expectant mothers there, Sarah was far and away the best looking. That's not just personally prejudice talking. Not to hate on a bunch of pregnant ladies, but there were a lot of shovel-faced people in that room.

But I digress.

The session was great, very practical, and delivered by one of the staff nurses. Info on when to head to the hospital, what to expect when you're there, procedures with a physician versus a midwife, forms to fill out, visiting hours for relatives, the closest place for coffee and sammiches, all the good stuff. The hospital is big on breast-feeding, and big supporters of midwifery--neither of which are a guarantee at other hospitals, so we think it's fantastic.

Getting back to ugly people, though, we saw some pretty unattractive dudes, too. There was a Powerpoint presentation in the second half of the hour, and it featured real staff and real patients. In any photos where pre or post birth families were featured, the women were quite pretty (remarkably so in the post-birth ones), and the guy: totally unhandsome. It reminded me strongly of this site. With the way I was obsessing over the many, many, oh-so-many ugly people around, Sarah accused me of being in a bad mood. And yes, maybe that was true, but that doesn't change the fact that the fugo to non-fugo ratio was way out of proportion.

Taking that second gimmie, and you can't stop me

2008-11-17T22:47:00.003-05:00

There was a long list of things I meant to do after work today, but I just couldn't make myself do anything (except take a pretty half-assed run). It's not fatigue, either. Well, it's not tiredness. I had an incredible sleep last night and felt totally normal this morning. I'm just low on something. Enthusiam? Gumption? Whatever it is, the tanks are empty. It's funny to think I need time to recharge from sitting on my butt and watching movies for a whole day, but that's what I need. And that method of recharging seems to involve making a very long list of things to do and then discarding that list.

sleepyhead

2008-11-16T20:23:00.002-05:00

While my tweets petered out and I didn't do an immediate victory post, rest assured that we made it to the end. Delirious was super-dated and pretty awkward to endure at times, but then you get to a skit like "Ice Cream Man" and you can almost see everyone in the room mouthing the words. After that was through, we put the house back in place, hung out for a bit with Rebecca, dropped Jorge off in Stittsville to catch his ride back to T.O., and then we slept real hard for about five hours. Since then, I've eaten and cleaned up, and done my best to shake off the cobwebs.

And now, thank yous. Thanks to the long distance travellers. Jorge, Rebecca, I hope your trips home were safe and mercifully quick. Thanks to my tech crew. Joe: the sound system rocked the house. Literally. And way to set that up in short order, too. Chris: thanks for the TV and PS3 loan, making this look like some kind of professional operation for once. Thanks to our first-timers—Shelley, Rebecca, Lorna, (and Claire!) I hope you enjoyed it and please come back for the next one. Thanks to my long-timers: Jorge, Isha, Cathy, Mark, and Tania. Four damn years now and you still keep coming back. You rule. And of course, thanks to Sarah. Pregnant as all get-out and you still had enough food prepared to feed a dozen people for two dozen hours.

I am loving, loving, loving our tribute videos this year. I think I've watched them each five times now, and I like them because they have such rewatchability. There's always something I didn't catch the last time around. Like Lorna's wineglass and dahling business in Lifeboat, Cathy clapping after the Iron Giant falls on his ass, or the way Isha's really starts cracking me with that lid after the second swing in that Audition video. I also love when someone comes in with the save when it becomes clear we never really had an ending planned, like Jorge's aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh fuck! in Glengarry Glen Ross (rated NC-17 for language and mature themes). Nice work, all.

I think I might start a flickr account, if for no other reason than to just put up some photos from yesterday. Maybe tomorrow; I just don't have it in me today. I don't even have it in me to create all the links I should for this post. I'm gonna be making some zees real soon. Like right around the time I click Publish Post.

MM IV - 8:17AM

2008-11-16T08:18:00.003-05:00

As of right...
...
...
...
now!--I'm the only one to not have nodded off at least once. It was down to me, Jorge, and Chris, but they've started making zees on either side of me. Audition was slow to start, but awesome in its complete over-the-topness (I know that we woke all the sleepers with our screams of auuuuuughhhhhh, and gaaaaaaaaaah, and ohgawdnaaaaaaaghhhh. Brutal. Totally. Not sure that we'll ever find something quite that... gross? Messed-up? Impression-leaving? I don't think The Mist played quite as scary as I thought it would, but the ending was a complete and utter downer--now that I think of it, one of many downer endings tonight. Now it's Tremors and despite the Kevin Bacon-ness, Paul Gross-titude, and Reba McEntire-ity, I don't think anyone is terribly compelled. But like I said: we're almost through. Just the shortish Delirious next, and we can all fall into blissful oblivion.

MM IV - 1:33AM

2008-11-16T01:33:00.002-05:00

So... oops. I used some bad maths and it looks like we have a whole extra hour of free time in the middle of the night. We're watching some videos of Jorge's kid, and then maybe we'll review some of the tribute movies we've made. There are five of us left standing at the moment: Chris, Shelley, Jorge, Isha, and me, although I think Joe should be back in action some time soon. Since last time: Hard Core Logo: good stuff, especially enjoyed the soundtrack this time around, and I think everyone liked it. The Oh in Ohio: really did not go the way I thought it would, right from the start. And it involved a lot more Danny Devito lovin' then any of us expected. Dolemite: weak, and sad. The trailer was eight times more awesome than the movie itself.

Audition is coming up next, and we're trying to get all the last-minute eating in while we can. I don't know that much about the movie, but the phrase "stomach churning" came up an awful lot.

MM IV - 6:40PM

2008-11-15T18:31:00.004-05:00

Okay, we're five movies in now and it's going nicely. Everything has played well so far, people are happy and fed (thanks, Sarah!), and our A/V material is wicked. Jorge is rocking some real time updates, videos and all. We're running pretty late at the moment, but I can slash some time off the dinner break and put us back on track. Death Race 2000 was so good I almost want to start every Movie Marathon with it. Butch and Sundance went... well. I was on the go for most of it, but it seemed to me that once the boys got to Bolivia, it got a bit long for people. Lifeboat: universally enjoyed by all those who remained conscious. The Iron Giant: we laughed, we cried; it became a part of us. Now we're into the highly profane (but no less awesome) Glengarry Glen Ross. Only slightly less profane than Glen and Gary and Glen and Ross.

Fourteen hours from now... I'll be drunk

2008-11-14T23:45:00.000-05:00

I've had serious ants in the pants all day, for obvious reasons. Work was busy, fortunately, filled with goal-setting. Not my favourite thing in the world, but it kind of forces you into active participation, and if I didn't have that diversion I probably would have lost my ever-loving mind with the waiting.

The house is 85% ready. Most of the food prep is done (thanks to Sarah), the house is clean and the cooler is stocked (thanks to me), and now we do some waiting. Chris will be coming by in a bit to drop off his TV, then I'll head out to the airport to pick up Jorge. I'll feed Jorge beer and make him help me move some furniture around, then I'll force him to go to sleep (with the assistance of ether, if necessary). My audio system arrives early tomorrow courtesy of Joe and Isha, and shortly thereafter, we'll be watching David Carradine run over people and overact.

...

Oh Jebus. And then Chris came, and there was TVs, and Mega Men, and I was late picking up Jorge, and there was presents, and beers, and 30 Rock, and I almost forgot to post this but didn't.

See you in a few hours.

Sleep, where I am a Viking

2008-11-13T17:23:00.000-05:00

Weeknights, my bedtime comes at midnight. That’s generally the earliest I pass out and that means I average seven hours of sleep a night. It works. It grinds me down a bit as the week goes on, but I usually catch up on a few lost hours over the weekend. Now, I’ve tried experiments with getting less sleep before which have always been unsuccessful. But this week I’m trying something crazy: I’m getting more sleep. I think it started Sunday, where I was half unconscious by 11:00, and rather than fight it like I usually do I just went to bed. And I felt really good the next day. It felt so nice I tried it twice. Then it occurred to me that there are worse weeks for me to be building up my sleep stores. So, all of this week I’ve been getting a full eight hours of sleep. I can definitely feel the difference. My concentration is better, my mood has been consistently good, in general I feel measurable more with it. I miss that hour, though. That’s a full on hour of Me Time I’m losing each night. It puts me really behind on my watching of bad late-night TV; behind on my stealing of automobiles from the good people of San Andreas.

Between you and me though, all this sleep-hoarding is the result of my fear that I won’t make it through this Movie Marathon. Sacrilege, I know, but the specter of last year’s quitting still haunts me. I know it was the right thing to do, and I know it was the result of bad movies, endless shoveling, and probably too much alcohol, but it has ingrained in me this fear that I’m incapable of pulling off an all-nighter anymore. I know it’s ridiculous, and I know that I’ll do it, but the fear is still there.

Oh, and we’re having this kid and all, so I might as well soak up the sleep while I can.

Three days and counting

2008-11-12T21:14:00.002-05:00

Of the twelve movies I need for Saturday, I have seven of them in my possession at this moment. Three others I can rent at pretty much any video store out there. The last two—Dolemite and Audition—are giving me grief. My go-to place for this kind of thing is Elgin Street Video. It’s a little place just two minutes away from where I work, and they’ve got a great collection of cult and arthouse films (but at the same time they’re not too proud to carry stuff like Roadhouse, Footloose, and The Thing). Sadly, they’ve let me down this year, 0 for 3 on the hard-to-get films (Dolemite, Audition, and Death Race 2000—the last of which no one was renting so I had to go and buy). My second choice video store in these instances is Invisible Cinema, which has an even wider selection of rare movies than Elgin Street. Problems being: a lot of their stock is in VHS, they have a limit of five rentals per customer, and the last time I was there the place reeked—like a Sumo Wrestling match had finished right before I walked in the door. They also revel in their collection of “Erotic Cinema” which (I can’t lie) makes me crazy uncomfortable. I always slink out of that place like I’ve been shopping for pornos. Disses aside, they do have both movies I need. But with their two-night rental policy (and the fact that no one lets you reserve movies these days), I’ve got to show up there on Friday hoping that no one has scooped up either movie out from under me.

Dolemite has been a pain in my ass before. The very first year of the Movie Marathon, I had to drop it last minute and sub in Superfly because I couldn’t find it anywhere. I’d buy it… but only for the right price. (The right price being under nine dollars.) I think it’s going to be hilarious… but terrible, and I don’t imagine I’ll ever want to see it again. I figured that—seeing as Rudy Ray Moore just died—I’d be able to find this movie everywhere. Not so. Just Invisible Cinema. Audition was also trickier than I thought. At least that one I can buy (at a highly inflated price) if worse comes to worst. If Dolemite isn’t in? I guess we’ll just have to watch the trailer over and over and over again.

The crying and the eating

2008-11-11T22:07:00.004-05:00

Most of the time, Sarah hasn't really been crazy hormonal during this pregnancy. There have only been about three days where she's been wacky, and I'll tell you about one of them. It was early on, three months in, and as soon as I walked in the door from work she said, "I have to warn you, I'm feeling really emotional right now." She was also extremely hungry. It was first trimester, and hunger often turned to nausea really quickly. So we threw together the quickest meal we do—bean burritos—and we dug in. We were talking about something. I honestly can't remember the topic, but I do remember that it wasn't especially contentious or frought with emotion, but that it had Sarah in tears thirty seconds in. Usually when she's upset, I'll console her, tell her it's okay, but this was just so... odd... I had to sit back and watch. Because she was really upset, but she was also really hungry. Which resulted in her crying and eating at the same time. I don't think the crying slowed her down one bit, either. And then ten minutes later, she was totally fine again.

Don't think I'm selling her out by sharing this either: Sarah finds this story as awesome as I do.

I so wish I hadn't used one of my gimmies yesterday

2008-11-10T22:56:00.004-05:00

Okay, I'm not that tired, but I was trying to tuck myself into bed by 11:00 each weeknight leading up to Movie Marathon. Alas.

So I mentioned the shower in brief yesterday. In further detail: my sister-in-law and my mom put together a shower for Sarah on the Saturday just past. It was largely McLean family and the place was packed by the time I left. (Like any good husband, I got the hell out of Dodge, killing time in a casino with some of the other men until the shower was over.) So having said that, most of my knowledge of the shindig is second hand. There was a ton of food, a truckload (or Protege-load) of gifts, and a variety of games. My personal favourite was: hold a paper plate on your head and draw a picture of a baby on it, prizes going to best and worst drawing. Everyone was extremely generous, and despite the fact that we didn't register, there was only one duplicate among the lot (and that was a teething ring, which is fine because we can throw one in the freezer whenever I'm chomping on the other one). Anyhow, everything went fabulously. Thanks, Wendy and Mom!

And in Touch You Last news, I stole the championship from my brother while I was there. He wins more often than not because he's more ruthless. He'll lay under your car so you can't drive away; he'll sneak back and get your twenty minutes after you think he's left. But thanks to the cowardly technique of touching him last and then hidding behind locked doors, I'm the big winner. But I don't have the trophy. I'll have to sneak into his house and steal it next time.

2008-11-09T22:26:00.003-05:00

I was going to write a good post today but, brother, I am wiped out. We were back in Georgetown this weekend for a baby shower that my family threw for Sarah. They did a fantastic job and everyone was incredibly generous. I'll go into detail about it tomorrow, but right now I've got to get my sleep on. I promise not to do too many of these excuse posts. Let's say I have two left between now and the end of the month.

And Vista, not so awesome

2008-11-08T22:41:00.004-05:00

I made the mistake of trying to install Microsoft Messenger on a Vista machine. First, I have a shit-ton of problems just trying to install the software. May or may not have been Vista's fault; I don't really know, because I don't really know how I fixed it. Past that, I go to run Messenger. Vista says, Windows Messenger has stopped working. Would you like to find out the problem? Indeed I would, I say. To help protect your computer, Data Execution Protection has shut down your program. No explanation why, or what the hell that even is. But it does give you the option for changing DEP settings. Okay, let's do that. After five minutes of navigating, I'm given this Sophie's choice of: Turn on DEP for essential Windows programs and services (currently selected), or turn on DEP for all programs except those I select. So I've got to potentially spread this application-cancelling bullshit to every application on the machine and then deselect it just for Messenger, or I can just give up now. (Notice that disabling DEP outright is not an option.) So, I go option two, again navigate for five minutes, and when I finally find and select Messenger, I'm told This program must run with data execution protection enabled. You cannot turn off DEP for his program. Really? REALLY? Thanks so much Microsoft Vista for saving me from other nefarious Microsoft programs. You stupid, stupid, piece of shit operating system.

Why Twitter Is Awesome

2008-11-07T19:59:00.004-05:00

I get it if you're afraid of Twitter. You think what imaginary space is this trying to fill? We've got Facebook, and blogs, and messenger, and how many damn outlets does a person need to express themselves? I won't get into trying to sell all the merits of it; that's been done by smarter people than me. I just want to share this screenshot. To me, the best part about Twitter is not getting to post my own stuff, but getting to read everyone else's.

My inability to make tea

2008-11-06T23:55:00.000-05:00

I think I mentioned that Sarah spent the majority of the first trimester nauseated. Lots of different things set her off. She had to eat right after waking up, to the point where she kept a bag of almonds in her bedside drawer. Sweet things turned her stomach, ditto anything acidic, and coffee quickly became a no-no. So, her morning coffee was replaced by water. Later in the summer after the nausea went away for good, she caught a cold. Morning tea came into regular rotation, and even after she kicked her cold, tea was still in demand. Which became my duty. I set the coffee machine, I get up first. So every morning when she was sick she would say, "Can you put the kettle on?" Getting the kettle on and making tea adds about fourteen seconds to my morning routine, so in theory it shouldn't be a problem. Except that it is. Because unless I'm specifically asked, I can almost never remember to do it. I think it's because I've established a routine and followed it for the past four years, and now a tiny tweak to that routine just does not compute. If Sarah doesn't ask my to do it as I'm crawling out of bed, there's only about a 15% chance that I'll actually remember. And even if she doesn't tell me, there's still a pretty good chance of failure. Today, I was all proud of myself for remembering to fill the kettle, but then I didn't actually turn on the stove. TEA FAIL!

The List of Movie Nerdery: Part 2

2008-11-05T18:53:00.006-05:00

Here's an important admission: I didn't always give the films my undivided attention. I usually did. I want to say I almost always did, but that would be reaching. Let's say nine elevenths of the time I had my eyes glued to the screen from start to finish. But sorry, some of the films were dead boring and, dammit, no one was paying me to watch them. Depending on the movie, there were three possible reasons why I didn't pay attention:

It was jezus boring

It was overly theatrical (either a play ineffectually turned in to a movie, or just a movie that felt like a play)

I was in a piss-poor mood that day.

For the most part, I don't regret not giving these films their due. The Life of Emile Zola,
You Can't Take It With You, Gigi: I really caught up on my Minesweeper while the three of you played. Cavalcade, Mrs. Minniver: I paid so little attention to you that I had to go back and read a synopsis right now to confirm I actually had seen you. The Apartment, The African Queen: I don't think either of you were as good as you were supposed to be, but I probably owe you a second chance.

And then there were movies I gave my full attention to that totally confounded me. Persona. Um? The Seventh Seal. Huh? No Country For Old Men. Wha? (I know it seems like one of these thing is not like the other, but I can't think of a single Coen Brothers movie I really appreciated the first time I saw it.)

Then there were other movies I thought I'd zone out on for sure. Movies I assumed must be greatly overrated, that I expected to feel indifferent to at best... and where I couldn't have been more wrong. Dances With Wolves is the perfect example. A Western, staring Kevin Costner, directed by... Kevin Costner. I heaved possibly the biggest sigh that had ever been heaved as I pressed play on that one--but it was brilliant. I'm no expert on portrayal of First Nations in film, but in my limited experience there's either the Crazy Injun depiction or the Noble Savage depiction. Dances With Wolves was neither. It was a studio movie centred about natives that treated them entirely without condescension. And sad to say, but I'd never seen that before. Life is Beautiful blew me away too. It's a comedy (or at least a comedic drama) about the holocaust. And it works! It's brilliant, and funny, and terribly sad.

Last and best were the movies I knew nothing about that I ended up loving. Ever heard of Going My Way? 1944 Best Picture winner staring Bing Crosby as a liberal Catholic priest sent to help out a failing conservative parish? Any bells ringing there? I doubt it. This. Movie. Was. Fan. Damn. Tastic. If you were raised Catholic (doesn't matter now if you're practicing, lapsed, or completely in denial), you will love this movie. The Best Years of Our Lives: also great. Three World War Two vets return home after the war and try to rebuild their lives. It sounds like a heartbreaking thing to watch, and it is plenty sad, but it's not a movie made to make you feel terrible. I liked this in the same way I liked Dances With Wolves. The dramatic structure of it, the message, all of that is far in the background. It feels like a movie about completely real people living real lives. These are experiences far from your own, but they don't feel like someone's impression or interpretation of how it must have gone, it feels like this happened.

So those are the highlights and lowlights of getting through this list. The Crying Game just came in from the library today. Woot. After that it's only five more. And what will I do with myself after I'm done? I don't know. Go outside? Read a book maybe? Who am I kidding--it's cold outside. And books are for suckers.

Barack Obama Elected President

2008-11-04T23:04:00.002-05:00

Holy, holy, holy shit. I'm actually in shock. Didn't realize until they officially called it, but I really didn't believe he'd win. (Ghosts of the 2004 election coming back to haunt me.) So. Very. Happy.

Nice work, America.

The List of Movie Nerdery

2008-11-04T17:46:00.004-05:00

What’s a shame is that I don’t have this mythic list anymore. In the Great Laptop Fail of August 2008, I lost the list... among many, many other documents. (I wish that the laptop had literally burst into flames, or announced “FAIL. FAIL. FAIL.” in its best HAL 9000 voice, but it simply decided to never boot again. Along with being shitty, it was a let down from a dramatic standpoint as well.) Anyhow, the List of Movie Nerdery was a spreadsheet I compiled one day when I clearly had way too much free time on my hands. The idea came to me after finding this list posted on Roger Ebert’s site entitled “102 Films You Must See Before You Consider Yourself Film Literate.” Nerd that I am, I popped this list into a spreadsheet and checked off what I’d seen, and it turned out I was batting about .350. I started thinking about other films lists I’d come across and wondering how I’d rank there, and a few hours later I’d compiled a megalist. Along with the Ebert list, I dumped in the AFI’s 100 Years 100 Films , all of the Academy Awards Best Picture winners , and the Top 100 Movies ranking on the imdb (because a brother cannot live on high fallutin’ art films alone). There was a lot of crossover between each list, and I think in the end it amounted to just over 250 movies. And I think I’d seen about 38% of them at the time (if I remember my complicated maths correctly).

When I made that list, I wasn’t intending to make it my mission to see every film on there. That would amount to something like three hundred hours of movie-watching, and my commitment to any project is lucky to go beyond about twenty minutes. But in creating the list, about a dozen films jumped out ones I’d always wanted to see, and I managed to knock those off over the next month or so. Then I tagged a few more. And a few more. And now it’s three years later, and I’ve got exactly six films left to see. What’s pretty remarkable (beside what a tremendous nerd I am), is that I haven’t had to rent any of these movies so far. Between the Ottawa Public Library and Turner Classic Movies, I’ve caught 85% of the movies I’ve want to see, and another 10% came from The Movie Network (which admittedly comes at a premium). Want to know what I have left to see? Sure you do! The final six are How Green Was My Valley (Oscar), The Crying Game (Ebert), Pink Flamingos, (Ebert), Red River (AFI), Trouble in Paradise (Ebert), and WALL-E (imdb). I don’t know about you, but The Crying Game and WALL-E scream double-feature to me!

Tomorrow: the highs and lows of getting through this list.

2008-11-03T21:32:00.003-05:00

Exhausted today for no good reason. Makes no sense, man! We fell back, we didn't spring forward. I should feel glorious. However: don't. I was going to do a post about my List of Movie Nerdery (which is totally unrelated to the movie marathon), but I just don't have it in me so we'll save that for tomorrow. I know this is a lame post, and yes I'm ashamed, but with thirty days of posts in a row these all can't be gems. At three days running, this is probably tied with my longest ever streak. Okay, this is only getting lamer. I'm going to stop now before I start using emoticons and telling you what pop song best describes my mood. (FYI: It's "We're All In This Together" from High School Musical 3.

;)

Fauna, Flora

2008-11-02T08:32:00.008-05:00

With Humpy on the way, we're spending like fiends these days. Car seat, bassinet, stroller, Baby's First Tranquilizer--all the essentials. And on top of this other stuff, we decided to get a new camera. Our last one was an absolute POS that got worse with age. If you took a picture, and you had the audacity to want to take another soon afterward, and God forbid if you actually used the flash, you waited forever for that damn thing to be ready for the next photo. I can't count the number of times I'd heard Sarah say, "I hate this camera!" Actually, the full line is, "Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! I hate this fucking camera!" Because Sarah is a big fan of onomatopoeic sounds, and also she was raised by pirates.

Our new camera is a Fuji Finepix S100 FS. Camera smarts is among the many types of smarts that I lack, but Sarah's dad is the camera guru and he directed us to this one. It's a bridge camera so it's not full on SLR, but it has film simulation mode, extended dynamic range, and a half dozen other great features I only half understand.

But seeing as we haven't really travelled much since picking it up and the baby's months away, I've only really taken pictures inside my own home. Aside from the photos of Sarah, I've also got twenty-two thousand photos of the cats, because I'm that guy. And beyond that, the only additional photos of interest were the pumpkins I carved for Halloween. Sarah took on the glamorous job of pulling out pumpkin guts, and I made with the stabby-stabby. I'm sure ninety-five percent of the word already knew this, but carving these guys made me realize why pumpkin faces are traditionally filled with triangular and zigzagy shapes: because pumpkins are goddamn thick and it's hard to finesse a knife into it. You just stab and stab and stab and hope that you end up with something face-like by the end. Leftmost pumpkin is a fine example of that. For the one on the right, I tried to get fancy. Tools included three different knives, a pencil, and a screwdriver. It came out looking like Sloth from The Goonies, which wasn't exactly the intent but worked well enough. And it gave me an excuse to holler "Heeeeey, yooooooou guuuuuuuuys!" at least four times a day.

Movie Marathon 2009 (Held in 2008)

2008-11-01T00:05:00.003-04:00

So we're holding next year's Movie Marathon this year, and we're doing this because, after Humpy arrives, staying up for twenty-four hours straight will probably be less of a novelty. It also means (ideally) that we'll have to shovel the driveway eighty-seven less times than last year.

This year's hootenanny is being held on November 15th, starting at 10am sharp. After much deliberation (more this year than any other) here is the night's lineup:

10:00 Death Race 2000
11:45 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
2:10 Lifeboat
4:00 The Iron Giant
5:40 Glengarry Glen Ross
8:20 Hard Core Logo
10:05 The Oh in Ohio
11:44 Dolemite
2:30 The Mist
4:50 Audition
7:00 Tremors
8:51 Delirious

Movies that were really strongly considered but didn't quite make it: Commando, City of God, 300, Zoolander, Boondock Saints, Beverly Hills Cop, and The Dark Crystal. Maybe next year, fellas.

After falling short last year, consider the unofficial title of this year's event to be Sleep Is The Enemy. This year, when I am thirsty, I will drink only espresso. And when I am hungry, I will eat only espresso. I will conquer sleep. Possibly forever.

Four Reasons Why Dodgeball Is Awesome

2008-10-28T23:02:00.002-04:00

You play a series of games in a session and a game probably only lasts three to five minutes. So if you play a shit game, that doesn’t matter because it’ll be over soon and the next game might be glorious. For example, today we played several shit games in a row. At one point, we were losing two to five. What followed was glorious game after glorious game, and by the end of the night we won six to five. Rock.
Chances are that every single player will have at least one superstar moment. Whereas in soccer or basketball, where you have you couple of star players that get all the glory, in dodgeball even your weakest, nothing-but-heart player can save a game or even an entire night with one good catch.
You get to throw an object as hard as you can at another person, and that’s totally okay.
I’m pretty good at it

Humpy

2008-10-26T11:58:00.006-04:00

So, Sarah’s pregnant. The reason I say this so cavalierly is not because I’m ambivalent or frightened, but because there are approximately three people I can think of to whom this would be remotely new information. And all the rest of you are thinking, “What the hell took you so wrong to write about it?” Good question. Here is a list of reason why I haven’t mentioned this before, ranked by lameness (starting with not at all lame and ending with highly, highly lame)

We wanted to wait until the kid was far enough along that we felt comfortable telling people about it

We wanted to make sure that we’d told all the people close to us in a personal way. I didn’t want to put up a post about it and then go, “Oh shit, we forgot to tell my mom!” (Not that we forgot to tell my mom. Also, not that my mom knows about my blog.)

I needed a good picture to post, which involved a vigorous approval process. That went a little something like this: “No. And not that one. Oh, I hate that! Please delete this one right now. No, right now so I can know that you’ve done it. No. No. No. Okay, this one. I guess...”

The longer I held back in writing about it, the more pressure I felt to make the post epic

I’m doing NaBloPoMo next month, so I need to save up all the material I can get

Sarah is just about twenty-eight weeks along and everything is going great. First trimester was awful for her; just near constant nausea coupled with just about every other pregnancy symptom a girl can get. Second trimester has been almost entirely good times, and I say this because I’m not the one wearing belly belt pants and getting booted in my vital organs. As of Tuesday, we’re officially into third trimester, so I’ll let you know how that turns out.
We’re having a boy, and I’m strangely reluctant to share the name here—even though we’ve told every single person who’s asked us. I will tell you what we call him presently: Humpy. It started as a joke, something to replace Cobra Commander, which had been our placeholder name at the start. But when we were at the Georgia Aquarium back in July and we learned about the humphead wrasse, I turned to Sarah and said, “That’s what we’re calling him from now on: Humphead.” Humphead quickly became Humpy, and while we used it jokingly at first it wasn’t very long before the name stuck and we starting using it in an earnest and affectionate way. “How’s Humpy today?” “Humpy’s on a growth spurt.” “Look, Humpy and Moe are hanging out.” And as you can see, Moe likes to perch on Sarah’s belly and purr, which always results in jabs of acknowledgement from Humpy. I personally have been kicked in the ear, the mouth, and the cheek by Humpy, but I haven’t yet been kicked out of bed (although I’m told this can happen).

Feedback

2008-10-21T11:46:00.002-04:00

Jorge: Dude, sorry to hear about your site.
Dave: Yeah, it sucks.
Jorge: Can’t you recover your old template.
Dave: No, I sort of… had a copy and... was dumb and then I… I, um… hurm. No. Maybe. No.
Jorge: …
Dave:
Jorge: …
Dave: Hey, you’re Captain High Resolution. How does this template look on your screen?
Jorge: Bad.
Dave: Like how?
Jorge: I dunno. It’s like MYNAMEISDAVEMCLEANANDLOOKATMYWEBSITE!
Dave: The font’s a little big?
Jorge: It’s huge. Loud. It’s just… really loud.
Dave: Hmm.
Jorge: I mean, it’s all personal taste, but to me it… it looks like a little kid made it.
Dave: Yeah.
Jorge: Like a kid, like a four year-old kid made it. He actually drew the headings on the screen with crayons. It’s like a four-year old kid with a dump in his pants and a face full of melted chocolate (we hope) has marked up the screen. And he’s screaming. He’s screaming the text as it’s written. DAVE MCLEAN HAS A CONTAGIOUS SMILE, AN INFECTIOUS LAUGH! And he’s getting chocolate on the screen and you can smell the dump and it’s just awful, it’s just fucking awful.
Dave: …
Jorge: …
Dave: …
Jorge: …
Dave: So you don’t like.
Jorge: I actually don’t.

Here's how this happened

2008-10-21T00:06:00.003-04:00

For a while now, I've wanted to reboot this site. I'd learned (so I thought) all kinds of web design junk a few months ago while putting together this site, and I figured I could apply it here. But then a) I took a lot of time off after the last project and forgot everything I used to know, and b) I didn't properly back up my old template. And so, we get the wonder that you see now.

I'm not just pissed about losing the old design. Actually, not having the old template is going to force me to tinker with this continually under I get something I like out of it. No, what makes Hulk angry is that I had an entirely free night on my hands after I got home from work, and then I immediately turned this site into balls. And then I spent about three and a half hours shoving around margins and recreating my damn blogroll. If you think the place looks like shit now, you should have seen in at eight o'clock. What a waste of a night.

2008-10-20T20:19:00.001-04:00

Man, I should really know better than to start dicking around with my template.

Officially a week later than it should have been posted

2008-10-12T21:34:00.001-04:00

When I graduated from grade eight, there were only eight guys in my class: Brady, Bob, Chris, Jeff, Paul, Tony, Steve, and me. We were all close—which I think came pretty naturally, there being just the eight of us—but what was more remarkable was that six of us remained that way even after school, jobs, and relationships brought us elsewhere. Now we’re mostly spread across Ontario, and it’s pretty rare that we’re all in the same place. My wedding was the last time all six of us were together, and since then it’s been just shy of four years.

Until last Saturday when we got together for Tony’s wedding. After four years, I think I’d built up some pretty big expectations for how the night would go—and I wasn’t disappointed. We assembled at the church, smiled, shook hands, each of us silently confirming that we all looked equally old to one another. Tony and his soon-to-be-wife Marie took to the altar, flash pots went off, and to the tune of shredding electric guitar it was wedding time! No, no—it wasn’t at all like that! It was a Catholic wedding, so—like mine and Sarah’s—it involved three-hundred minutes of the bride and groom kneeling, followed by a lecture from the priest that we weren’t allowed to throw rice, to say or do anything, or to show emotion of any kind. No, no—it wasn’t like that either! Well, it was more like the latter than the former.

With a few hours to kill after the ceremony, we went back to my parents’ place to hang out and catch up. Dad offered up his beer, Mom offered a fine spread of snacks, and it was good times at the McLeans, like always. Prior to getting there, I felt bad putting my parents out like that, bringing a truckload of people back to the house. But once we were there, I shook the stupid away and realized they actually wanted to see everyone. They wanted to see these kids who used to party in their basement and not clean up afterward; who used to wreck bathroom doors, picture frames, and liquor cabinets making cop movies. They wanted to see how (if?) everyone had grown up. And I think we all played the part of adults pretty well, although if we had a bit more time we totally would have made a new cop movie.

From there it was off to the reception. Tony and Marie were posted near the front door, getting pictures taken with every couple that arrived. Sarah and I were probably couple number eighty to have a turn and Tony was crazy-eyed by that point. “I don’t know where I am anymore,” he told me. “I don’t know what’s real, I don’t know what’s not, this guy keeps snapping away…” He trailed off, and we moved on into the hall. It was my first full-on Italian wedding and it was effing crazy with food. Antipasto buffet, manicotti, chicken and veal, lobster and crab legs, crepes with ice cream—these weren’t options, these were courses. And by the time the last course was through, the sweets table opened up. And the cake… sweet baby jebus, the cake! The cake was five cakes! The cake had its own transit system! Oy. So we ate and ate and ate, and we drank to match the eating. The speeches all went well, Tony delivering a filibuster, giving tribute to pretty much every person there. And then he sang to Marie. I called it. Hours before at my parents’ place, I said, “Tony’s going to sing at some point tonight, and it’ll either be Richard Marx or Billy Joel.” In the end it was “She’s Got a Way,” a much wiser choice than “Don’t Mean Nothing” (because you really need a mullet to pull that one off).

Throughout the night I got quality time with each of my boys (excepting Steve—who’s in BC training for the RCMP right now, and Dave Postma—who’s been MIA since 1986). We sat and talked, took a few nice pictures, and—damn it—we even danced. I’d had enough to drink (more than a few, less than too many) so that I didn’t really mind all that much. Then the wedding party broke out props for the dancers: giant sunglasses and goofy hats. I wore one of the hats for about two seconds until Chris told to me, with great seriousness, that I looked like a gay cowboy. After the hats came out, we got progressively goofier. The pictures on my camera reflect our devolution: there’s nice ones of the group, the hall, the bride and groom, then a lot of pictures of our drinks, of some unidentified (and hideous) tongues, and then it’s just crotch photo after crotch photo after crotch photo.

It was an excellent time, and there’s no way we can wait until the next wedding to get back together. We pledged to hook back up some time in the summer, possibly to drink more of Donnie’s beer, definitely to make a new cop movie.

2008-10-02T11:12:00.006-04:00

It’s Sarah’s birthday today and every year when this day rolls around, I consider writing a proper tribute. I’ve never done it before because I’m afraid I won’t get it right. When you describe your love for a person, you want it to be unique; no clichés and no one else’s words but your own. And you want to say everything. It’s a pretty easy task to fail at. So rather than try and say it all right now, let’s consider this the first in a continuing series of posts about Sarah. I’ll add to it and refine it over time until I do get it right, however long that takes.

What I forget most often—or at least take for granted on a near-daily basis—is how smart she is. And this is funny because that’s probably one of the first things you realize about Sarah when you meet her. First, she’s got a memory like no one else I know. If you’ve ever mentioned, say, your birthday, the names of your grandparents, your favourite colour, the first car you drove, anything like that… she will never forget it. She often tells people, “I have a creepy memory,” and it’s true. She’d make a great detective (or an excellent stalker). And couple this memory with a keen interest in all manner of topics: history, sports, science, pop culture, politics, economics. She’s always reading and always learning more, and it just seems to me to be an amazing amount for one person to know without forgetting a bunch of stuff they used to know. And she’s constantly thinking and planning; I don’t think her mind ever goes into neutral. When she’s quiet, she’s probably thinking about the mortgage crisis in the US, or meal planning for the next week, or mulling over travel ideas for three years from now.

And all that intelligence comes packaged with a really big heart. I think it’s far easier to be cold or distant when you know that much, when comprehension and recall come so easily to you. But if you know Sarah and you’ve ever been hurt or down, then you’ve seen firsthand that she will give you the greatest support. I’ve seen her talk for hours to friends (and occasionally strangers) who have needed an ear. I’ve seen her fly across the country to help someone out. She feels such great sympathy for her friends when they go through a hard time; it keeps her up nights. But she’s also someone you want around at your best times as well. She’s been the go-to girl at a ton of weddings. She’ll help you arrange your vacation (whether or not she gets to come along too). She has the smarts and the tenacity to put you in touch with the things you need, whatever that might be. And she has wonderful, contagious enthusiasm. She’s the only adult I know who will literally hop up and down with excitement. She’ll get incredibly excited on someone else’s behalf—over a new relationship, a new baby, a promotion, a move. She’ll be your cheering squad, your fan, and your closest of friends.

I’m very lucky and I’m profoundly grateful to have her in my life, and I know I don’t say either of those things often enough. Happy Birthday, baby. There’ll be more of this to come because I’ve just scratched the surface, but I’m glad to have finally made a start.

Ooooof!

2008-09-29T21:45:00.004-04:00

So I got hit in the crotch with the ball at last week’s soccer game, and it really got me thinking. It got me thinking that I don’t like getting hit in the crotch. No, actually (true as that is) it got me thinking about all the times I’ve taken a shot to the goods over the years. A little highlight reel played in my head on the drive home, and I haven’t quite shaken it since. So here, in chronological order, are the strongest crotch trauma memories I have:

1988 – This was the first time a girl just hoofed me right in the groin. It was Jen Crocker who did this to me. And I don’t really remember why (I probably said something sassy to her,) I only know that her junk-kicky reaction was a very disproportionate response. I also remember her turning to my friend Steve afterward and dismissing, “That didn’t hurt” as I lay there face down on floor.

1991 or 92 – We used to do all kinds of crazy shit on the school playground, and chief among my bag of tricks was walking across the top of the monkey bars. It was a good four feet off the ground so it was a brave (stupid) thing to do. And of course, it was only a matter of time—one day I missteped and came down crotch-first on one of the bars. I don’t remember it hurting as much as it should have, but I do remember the indignity of a playground full of kids watching me square myself. There was no concern; there was only laughter.

1993 – A bunch of us were swimming at Brady’s house. I don’t know what series of events led to what occurred, but for some reason I was marching up and down the side of the pool singing “Anchors Aweigh!” (of which, I really only knew two lines,) and once again, a quick misstep and my crotch met a hard ass surface. At least this time I could hide underwater and gurgle in pain, missing at least some of the laughter.

1995 – A bunch of my cousins were playing soccer, and I didn’t want to play so I tried to scale the goalpost instead. I made it about halfway up then slid back down. My cousin Frank, in goal, for some reason decided to grab my legs (splayed on opposite sides of the pole) and haul me towards him. ‘Hilarity’ ensued.

1996 or 97 – On and off for at least a year, my friends and I played a game called ‘Bag Tag.’ The game went like this: you throw something at the other guy’s crotch, and then you say, “Bag Tag: you’re it.” (That’s both the start and the end of the game.) Generally the throws were half-hearted, or poorly aimed, but I remember one time where I was sitting on a couch with my leg propped up on a coffee table, and Brady threw a tennis ball low and fast that shot underneath my propped-up leg and destroyed me.

September 23, 2008 – We’re playing indoor soccer and a lot of collisions are happening. In part because the playing field (a high school gym) is super small, in part because the floor is very slippery. The collisions are all minor—except for this one time where a guy steps in front of me to steal the ball at exactly the same moment I trip over my overly-long pants. The guy is about an inch ahead of me so I grab hold of him to stop my fall, but I can’t stop myself and I end up throwing this guy to ground. He turns around all WTF?!? but figures out what happened when he sees me sprawled out. We get up, the ball goes back in play, and right away one of the girls on the other team hammers it straight into my crotch. Coincidence? Payback? (Meh. Probably the former.) Either way, it hurt, and I didn’t like it, and a week later I’m still talking about it.

Dear Anyone Who Still Contacts Me Through My Hotmail Address,

2008-09-23T16:44:00.001-04:00

I’m shutting that bad boy down as of today. Why? Because I don’t really use it anymore. Because I moved to Gmail long, long ago. And because the only people that this e-mail applies to are the Window’s Live Hotmail Team, and a collection of fancifully named people who are all interested in increasing the size of my organ.

In semi-related news: as I logged on to Hotmail today for the first time in at least six months, I flashed back to the time I helped Blaine set up his first e-mail address, which happened to be on Hotmail. That address, in case you’re curious, was tugonmynuts@hotmail.com.

That is all.

This is why Photoshop is awesome

2008-09-21T20:51:00.007-04:00

This is a picture of my Poppy McLean. I don't know how old this photo is, but I'd guess he's in his mid-twenties. That's a head of hair I never saw in my life. He was all bald and Ziggy-like long before I was born (and you can see a hint of that just starting in the photo). We borrowed this picture from my parents for a little project we're going to be working on (more on that later) and as you can see it wasn't in the best of shape. Rather than hanging on the wall or putting it up on the fireplace mantle, I think someone held it in their balled-up fist for the past sixty years. But then Photoshop came along and smeared awesome all over it. Scroll down to see the cleaned up picture.

It wasn't push-button easy, but considering how frigged up the original was I definitely classify this clean up as Not Hard. It basically involved copying non-damaged, similar-looking parts of the photo and painting them overtop damaged parts (working at about 300x zoom). This took about three hours all told, but the time flew. There's certain types of meticulous work that I love, and restoring old-timey photos turns out to fit the bill. This didn't turn out perfect—that right arm gets a little gooey the closer it gets to the left edge of the frame—but it's pretty good for a first attempt.

Also awesome: the fact that he's holding a smoke. He was like the James Dean of Newfies, so I'm told.

…!

2008-08-22T17:16:00.000-04:00

It’s day three of Home Alone: The Dave McLean Edition, and all’s going reasonably well. I haven’t bought a single meal so far, the cats’ litter boxes haven’t become ziggurats of poop, and the house doesn’t yet reek of stale sweat and/or Wild Turkey. Yet.

I have to admit it’s incredibly weird not having Sarah around. It’s hard to describe, but everything feels ever so slightly off. I’ll be watching TV and I’ll suddenly think, “Holy crap! I forgot to…” but then I realize there’s nothing I’ve forgotten. Or this morning, stepping out of the shower, I had this strange sensation it wasn’t Friday at all, that I’d somehow missed Friday. Again—weird half-second of alarm, then I was fine. I’m not nuts, I’m not obsessing about this constantly; I just have these strange occasional flashes.

We’ve been apart before, obviously, and longer than the two-and-a-half days that have passed so far, but usually I’m terribly busy when this happens. I’ve been in Toronto for work, but my days and nights are always totally booked up then. And Sarah was away once for five-day work-related retreat—but that was just after buying the house so I was moonlighting as a painter of closets. But now, things are surprisingly quiet. Work is manageable, some other non-work interests have wound down, and our string of crazybusy, packed-to-the-minute weekends have come to a close as of last Sunday. So I’ve got loads and loads of time ahead of me.

Which I’ve wanted so very badly, I should note. It’s been a hectic couple of months and I’ve prayed for this summer to end so I could get a break. But now that I have it I’m afraid I have too big a break on my hands. I think most people are like me in that they need an optimal amount of free time. Too little and you get miserable. Too much and you waste it farting around. So in the face of too much free time, I’ve been creating an epic list of Things To Do (because you know I love To Do lists). Some of the items involve boring old chores (washing windows), some involve stuff I should have done months ago (murdering the old lady next door), some of it will be hard and frustrating (acquiring web smartz), and some of it involves outright recreation (going to the movies—because I can’t believe I live in a world where I haven’t seen The Dark Knight.) Delivering reasonable updates to this sadly neglected site is also an item on the list, so expect more here over the days ahead.

The Bachelor

2008-08-20T21:30:00.002-04:00

Sarah’s away for the next two weeks. I’ve been on my own for about five hours now, and so far the house hasn’t caught fire, and I’m not drunk beyond reason. I sense I’ve beaten most people’s expectations already.

She’s off to Vancouver for a few days to hang with Beth, and from there she’s meeting up with her parents and jumping on a cruise ship due for Alaska. I know, I know: nice life. Hey man, I’d be there too if I wasn’t out of vacation days (full disclosure: I think I have one spare day between now and October 1). So, it’s a sausage-fest at my house, what between me and the cats.

I’m not sure what the longest time is I’ve been in this house without Sarah. I suspect it’s no more than three of four days. (And this is exactly the kind of thing I’d get her to confirm for me if she was hear right now.) It’s sort of nice to have the place to myself, and I don’t think I’m a dick for saying that. I think probably ninety percent of people enjoy hanging all by their lonesome once in a while. That said, I know that the fun will wear off by Friday at the latest, and I’ll be talking to the furniture before the weekend's up. (Full disclosure: I’ve already talked to myself at least six times today.)

Baby, I miss you and I love you. Claim me some land while you’re up there. I found a tin plate and a prospector hat at a garage sale and I’m itching to make us a fortune.

Post that was just slightly too long for Twitter

2008-08-12T21:00:00.003-04:00

Back from our Tuesday game. Turns out "hit 'em where they ain't" is not a soccer phrase. Furthermore, they definitely does not refer to the people on your own team.

Humphead

2008-07-27T14:31:00.010-04:00

Sunday was our last full day in the city. After breakfast, we all met up at the Georgia Aquarium which is right next door to World of Coke… and also happens to be the world’s largest aquarium (or so the website says, and this may be a good time to mention that for every website I’ve checked out related to these posts, there always seems to be a claim that that particular attraction is the biggest of its kind. The biggest cast iron statue!! The spoutiest water spout!!! Let’s just say I’m having my doubts at this point.) That said, the Georgia Aquarium is very cool. For a lot of reasons.

1. They have a petting zoo of sorts. There are areas where you can pet (with two fingers only!) rays, small sharks, starfish, and (no way in hell am I touching that) shrimp.
2. There’s a huge sea lion tank, and the sea lions are totally OCD. In one corner, there’s a ledge and a door where the trainers come out with food. The sea lions would basically swim around for twenty seconds, then hop up on the ledge and nose around the door to see if food had arrived, then swim for twenty seconds, then come back to the ledge, and repeat, and repeat, and repeat. The best part was that this continued even after they’d been fed.
3. The aquarium has the world’s only whale sharks in captivity. Whale sharks are the only filter feeding variety of shark. There’s been outcry over their being kept in captivity in the first place, but there’s apparently so little known about them that this allows greater study of the species (so we were told by Jack’s friend Jim who works at the Tennessee Aquarium).

Otherwise, there were sea dragons, and otters, and turtles (oh my!), and a dozen dozen other fish. The only other one I’ll mention by name is the humphead wrasse. Awesome for being ugly. Awesomer for having the name ‘humphead.’ That’s since become an endearment in our household. We’re calling each other humphead, we’re calling the cats humphead, and I'll probably call you humphead next time we speak.

Red Steph and her posse—all having to work at 6am the next morning and with a three-hour drive ahead of them—said goodbye at this point. The rest of us went out for some lunch. We stopped by a Krispy Kreme (where being all the way from Canada scored us another hat), and I had a delicious cream (or kreme) filled donut. We also reconfirmed that Krispy Kreme serves terrible coffee (it tastes like repugnance). After this, we met up with Jack and Steph’s friend Erica at Mary Mac’s Tea Room. Mary Mac’s is just about as downhome a restaurant as you’re bound to visit. You can have country-fried steak, baked chicken with cornbread dressing, and sides of fried okra, sweet potato souffle with marshmallow topping, collard greens & crackling, and hoppin’ john. During our meal, the owner came over to make sure the country-fried steak didn’t taste like pot roast (between you and me: it did), and then she went around the table scratching everyone’s back. You don’t get that kind of service at Kelsey’s, is all I’m saying.

We said goodbye to Erica and went back to the hotel to hang out and talk for a while. Then, when it was getting closer to night, we drove over to see the Stone Mountain Laser Show. Stone Mountain is about a half hour’s drive from downtown Atlanta. It’s a state park built around a granite mountain (and in true form, the website assures me that it’s the “world’s largest piece of exposed granite.”) It’s also a site of some contention, because carved into the side of the mountain are three Confederate heroes: Stonewall Jackson, Robert E. Lee, and Jefferson Davis. The issue is not just that it’s a tribute to the Confederacy, but also that it was—at least historically—a site of KKK influence. I don’t note this as a condemnation of the place, but just to acknowledge the situation. As it finally got dark, everyone around had various glowy devices, swords, necklaces, etc. Georgia Steph bought us all some of those flexible glowy sticks—which we turned into headbands and bracelets and such. And then the show started, and it was a lot of fun. There was a sequence paying tribute to local sports teams, another one themed to “Devil Went Down To Georgia” that was especially good, and there was also a section that acknowledged the carved heroes and the civil war. Which wasn’t remotely contentious. The general message at the end was that the states became stronger and better after the unification of North and South. To close, the finale was a general tribute to America, which was to be expected, but the real surprise was that they played all of the verses of the Star Spangled Banner. Did you know the full version is actually four times as long as the one you're used to hearing? Because Sarah and I gave this wtf—are they making this up?!? look to each other. But, well, you learn something new every day.

And that’s it. We said our goodbyes, thanked Jack and Steph for a fantastic time, went back to the hotel, and headed home the next day.

One last thing before I forget. On the drive home from the laser show, we removed our glowy apparel and left it laying on the floor and around the back seat. When we got back to the hotel, the valet took my keys, glanced into the car and said (with all seriousness) “Are you guys coming back from a rave?”

Soylent Coke

2008-07-27T10:43:00.005-04:00

For the Saturday morning, it was just the two of us. Red Steph and her posse went shopping first thing, and Jack had gone home the night before. We started out with breakfast at the hotel, and then we wandered briefly through Centennial Olympic Park. The park replaced a fairly depressed part of the city back when it was constructed in the mid-nineties. There are markers engraved with the names of all the medalists that year (yeah Donovan Bailey!) and there’s also a sort-of waterpark—an area where jets of water shoot out of the ground randomly. There were a ton of kids splashing around in there, and with good reason because it was crazy hot out.

From here, we walked over to World of Coke. Coca-Cola, as you probably know, is headquartered in Atlanta, and World of Coke is exhibition is part museum, part entertainment complex, part gigantic suggestion to just drink Coke. You’re let into the main complex in batches, and you start in a holding room where one of the employees warms up the crowd. Our warm-up guy was actually incredibly entertaining, like could-have-done-stand-up funny. After this you’re brought into a theatre to watch an extended version of this commercial, which features voices of actual Coca-Cola employees (also quite funny). Done here, you’re finally unleashed on the main complex, where you can visit the different areas in the order of your choosing. We started off in Milestones in Refreshment which gave a history of the product and the company, and showed samples of the print advertising, bottle design, old timey delivery trucks, and vending machines from Coke’s past. Then we strolled through the bottling factory—which is significantly slowed down for the entertainment of the visitors. Next we went to this “4-D Secret Formula of Coke” show which was one of those motion simulator things I hate so much. It’s was almost entirely unremarkable so let me just blow the ending of it for you: the secret ingredient is You. That’s right, Coca-Cola is made of people!

But World of Coke makes up for this crapiness with the Perfect Pauses Theatre, which showcases the best of Coke commercial throughout the company’s history. You get some high nostalgia going on, with I’d Like To Teach the World to Sing, and the Mean Joe Green ad, but there’s also stuff we’d never seen before that was damn hilarious. For your viewing pleasure (and please don't skip this): Round the Fire and Natural Enemies—both from Argentina would you believe. (A quick note to say bless you YouTube. Is there anything you can’t do?) We ended the visit in the tasting room, where you can sample over 60 varieties of Coke products from around the world. It was sugary madness, I tell you. Some fun stuff from Africa and Europe… but holy crap was everything from Asia just terrible. Sarah has some kind of carrot beta drink that tasted like I imagine Vim might. Blaargh. On the way out, they give you a free bottle of Coke—which was cool in that it comes directly from the bottling line you tour earlier on.

We went back to hotel and relaxed for a little while, then we met up with Jack and Georgia Steph in the hotel bar. (For the record, we never once used these nicknames out loud, but it makes writing about the two Stephs soooo much easier.) Georgia Steph is our third cruise friend, and as I remember, the first one we actually met on the cruise. She’s smart and sweet and would—seriously—never say an unkind word about someone even if her life depended on it. She and Jack have a really great banter—they bicker and joke so well that I honestly think they should have their own radio show. After drinks and catch-up, Red Steph and the shoppers came back, and we all headed off to the baseball game.

Turner Field is just a great stadium. You’ve got a nice view of the city overtop of one wall, you’ve got (in my limited experience) the most crystal clear jumbotron you’ve ever seen, and you’ve also allowed to bring in your own food and drink. (How’s that for crazy?). Apparently, back when he still owned the place, Ted Turner freaked out when he discovered that the average family couldn’t afford a game and a meal because concession prices were too high. So it’s anything goes with food and drink there (short of alcohol, of course). We had great seats, in between home and first—which happens to be fowl tip territory but Jack promised to defend us with his trusty baseball mitt. The Braves got slaughtered (9 – 2 for the Nationals in the end), but it was an exciting game start to finish… and it wasn’t just fun, it was also educational. I actually learned how the hell this guy’s name is pronounced.

Hotlanta

2008-07-26T12:15:00.005-04:00

Day two brought us back to Atlanta, but not before a stop at Vulcan Park. Birmingham was (and I suppose, is) an iron and steel town, and to advertise this back in the day the city created a statue of Vulcan (Roman god of the forge) for the St. Louis world’s fair. It is the largest cast iron statue in the world, and allows me to finally tag my third Giant Things entry. We could have paid extra to climb the statue, visit the Vulcan museum, and possibly play in the Vulcan Playland (with a happy fun slide leading to a tank full of steel arrowheads?), but we went the cheap route, walking and gawking for free.

Then we drove back, passing Talladega Speedway (which I forgot to mention on the way up). We didn’t visit it—because we have zero interest in all things stock car—but Jack regaled us with stories of going there in his twenties. It was a booze-soaked time and totally violent. He actually watched a fight escalate to the point where some guy shot another guy in the head (more of a grazing shot though, and the guy lived, but still!)

Back in Atlanta, we had lunch at The Varsity, which is a legendary fast food joint. Once you enter, there’s a counter that seems about a mile wide, so you can line up in front of one of about thirty cash registers. And then you hear this: “What’ll ya have? What’ll ya have?” Sorry, that doesn’t quite capture it. It’s more like this, “WHAT’LL YA HAVE? WHAT'LL YA HAVE? WHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVEWHAT’LLYAHAVE?” I am not making this shit up. Cool place, once you get over the shouting. The food is good but super-greasy, and the area we sat in was set up like a classroom, where everyone sits in individual writing desks all lined up in rows. Here, the “they came all the way from Canada” line scored us a Varsity paper hat.

Our hotel was the Ritz Carlton, which I can honestly say was the swankiest hotel I’ve ever stayed in. I’ve stayed in as nice rooms before, but as far as the six guys attending us at valet parking, and the four other miscellaneous staff members greeting us on the way in, and the free champagne at check-in—from an overall standpoint it's unmatched.

Sarah was a bit wiped out so Jack and I had a quick nip of Wild Turkey in the room, and then we went for a walk ending up at some bar. I can’t remember the name of it, but the waitresses wore these little orange shorts, and there were owls everywhere. I think it was French. Houte E’res, or something? Anyhow, a short while later we were back at the hotel and Red Steph and her crew arrived. Red Steph was the second person from the cruise who conspired to make this Atlanta meet-up happen, and she drove down from North Carolina with two friends, Elaine and Adam. Red Steph is fun, funny, and loves to dance (at least in my limited cruise-based experience). So I’ve gotta say I was a little afraid that I'd find myself in a club at the end of every night, but thankfully it never happened. Not even once.

Once they were settled, we took MARTA (the Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority – a.k.a. the subway) in the direction of dinner. Jack took us to the Buckhead Diner, which was the best meal—in a series of consistently good meals—we had all trip. The Buckhead takes the layout of a diner, but cranks it upscale. I had a veal and mushroom meatloaf and chocolate chip crème brulée—both awesome. I also remember sampling some great appetizers; the calamari was incredible and so were the potato chips slathered with blue cheese. De and licious.

Would you like hard liquor with your chicken sandwich?

2008-07-25T21:15:00.005-04:00

On Wednesday night of last week, we drove down to Burlington, VT so we could catch the 6:15am flight to Atlanta. Yes, flying direct would have been easier, but by driving to the US first we saved twelve hundred damn dollars, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, Air Canada. Everything was completely on time, and we hooked up with Jack in the Atlanta Airport a few hours later. Jack was one of the folks we met on our Australia/New Zealand cruise, and one of the reasons we’d come to Atlanta in the first place. Great guy; friendly like you’ve never seen, easy going, with a natural curiosity about pretty much everything. We picked up our rental car, and then drove off towards Birmingham. Before arriving though, we made a stop at the Waffle House for breakfast. The Waffle House—if you’ve never been—is a crazily ubiquitous chain in the south. I mean it’s at every single exit off every highway. Sarah’s a little obsessed with the place, FYI. We had a decent breakfast—I tried grits (not bad with the addition of salt and butter), Sarah had a delicious pecan waffle, and Jack used a “these people came all the way from Canada” line (not for the last time) to score us free Waffle House pins. After this, it was back on the road.

As mentioned previously, Sarah likes to have visited more US States than her current age, so Alabama puts the total up to thirty-two. I don’t know that I had any prior notion of what Birmingham would be like, but both Jack and Sarah were surprised, expecting it to be more depressed, I suppose. Well, the downtown section at least is (and I know I overuse this word but I’m gonna go ahead and use it one more time…) lovely. Just a good looking city, with insanely friendly people. Thank God we were traveling with a southerner, because otherwise we would have looked like a couple of stuck-up arses. In Birmingham (at least in my experience,) you say hi to every single person you pass on the street. Totally unnerving at first, but after you’ve done it a few times you’re like, “Why don’t we do this back home?!? This is awesome!”

Anyhow, we were a little peckish around this point, and after some searching we ended up at Chick-fil-A. It’s a place I only knew though a Ben Folds song, but it turns out that it’s a pretty big fast food chain in the south. Decent chicken, I’ll admit, but what was really interesting was the sales pitch we got (post purchase) from the manager. The gist: Chick-fil-A is all about family values. We aren’t open Sundays and we don’t serve alcohol. (Then Jack informed us that Sundays-off started when the founder and his wife worked 115 hours between Monday and Saturday and had to take one day off to stave off death… and as for the no alcohol thing: kudos, fellas. That’s just so refreshing compared to all those jagerbombs I've been served over at the KFC.)

Next we went to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute. As I always say, it’s easier to write about the dumb things: things you didn’t enjoy, things that are terrible or boring. So of course, it’s very hard to describe the things that move you or haunt you. Like this did. While there are sections that deal with civil and human rights issues globally, the main focus of the institute is the American Civil Rights movement in the deep south in the 50s and 60s. Immersing yourself in it, there’s always so much you realize you never knew. Over to Sarah for the historic details: It was shocking to be confronted with the sickening amounts of intolerance and hatred that happened only years before your birth. The institute itself is right across the road from two key locales: the 16th Street Baptist church where 4 little girls will killed by a KKK bomb in the fall of 1963, and from Kelly Ingram Park, where in May 1963 Birmingham’s batshit crazy racist police commissioner Bull Connor (who had been removed from office but was refusing to leave) turned fire hoses and dogs on black children who had gathered and were singing religious protest songs. One of the most wonderful parts was an auditorium where they played the entire “I have a dream” speech. We were so used to only seeing clips of it that we were taken aback again by how powerful and articulate that man was. Barack Obama is surely channeling Dr. King when he speaks. I would recommend that any visitor to Birmingham not miss this spot. - S

We stayed at the Hotel Highland at Five Points South, which was a very cool little boutique hotel in the entertainment district not too far from the UAB. Sort of retro modern. We finished the night at the hotel’s martini bar where the waitress mixed up about three free drinks for no good reason, and that just spells good times.

(Almost forgot: for a pre-dinner snack we stopped into a place near the hotel for an order of fried green tomatoes. If only I’d eaten some chicken-fried steak, I would have complete a southern food triumvirate, between this and the grits.)

Black Dresses and the Paparazzi

2008-07-11T17:34:00.003-04:00

Kathleen Edwards is crazy pretty, let me just get that out there off the top. She also seems strangely approachable. Maybe it’s because she’s from Ottawa, or because she doesn’t take herself too seriously. I mean, if I found myself face to face with with James Taylor, I’d be so overcome by his New England charm and his shiny, bald dome that I wouldn’t be able to say a thing. But I feel like I could walk up to Kathleen Edwards on the street and just say, “Hey there, how’s it going! Can I buy you a shawarma or something?”

For her set, she wore a long, black dress that the emcee called ‘Oscar worthy’. (Rightly so.) A few songs in, she addressing the crowd: “This is the last day of my twenties. I wore this dress to sort of commemorate the occasion. I don’t usually wear dresses for a show because I’m afraid that a gust of wind will blow it up over my head, and then…” she gestured to the dozen or so photographers at the foot of the stage, “… and then the Ottawa Citizen will get the shot they’ve always wanted.” She played a lot of songs off her new album, but also threw in every song I was familiar with from the previous two. And she closed with “Back To Me,” which kicked my ever-loving ass it was so good. And it was drowned out only occasionally by my screaming “YEEEAAAAAAHHHH!” every thirty seconds. (CBC Radio 2 will have the recording available on demand, although it's up yet at the time of this post.)

Brian Wilson, on the other hand, was the lowlight. Probably the most depressing bit of live music I’ve ever seen in my life. He came out, sat on a stool, and let his band take the reins. When his turn came to sing, he croaked out some words, and occasionally he snapped his fingers to the beat (but awkwardly, like he'd never used his arms before), and there was just zero emotion on face the whole time. His band compensated with wild enthusiasm, and they were actually quite good; had Brian Wilson himself not appeared on stage, the show would have been so much better. And I know he has a history of severe mental illness, I understand that. I guess I just don’t understand why he’s touring when he so very clearly does not enjoy it. Neither did we, by the way. I could only take about three songs and then I had to walk away. And then the sound died completely for about ten minutes. Which, you know, made his set so much less depressing…

These Ribs That Show Through T-Shirts And These Shoes I Got For Free

2008-07-08T18:11:00.000-04:00

This will be a quick one because I’ve zero free time lately, but I also don’t want five days of concerts to pile up.

Sunday, we caught The Weakerthans play, which was officially the first complete set we’ve seen so far. They were out-friggin-standing. It’s always much harder to describe something you’ve enjoyed as opposed to something you didn’t. They played every single song we hoped they’d play… along with one we hoped they wouldn’t (which we’ll only refer to as “The song that makes Sarah cry and cry and cry.”) I think these guys have a universal appeal, which is remarkable when you dissect individual facts about the band. If I were to say to you “there’s this band from Manitoba, their lead singer used to be a member of the anarchist punk band ‘Propagandhi,’ and their lyrics are inspired by poetry, visual art, and philosophical works,” that sounds like a band that you don’t want to see. But I challenge you to listen to “Our Retired Explorer,” “Watermark,” or “Tournament of Hearts” and not enjoy the hell out of yourself.

Last night, we caught Matthew Good and James Taylor (as two separate acts, not one—which would have been weird). Sarah’s not a huge Matthew Good fan, and I’m not the superfan I used to be, but I still had a good time. Nice cross-section of his hits, and he sounds more or less identical to his records when you hear him live. Brother’s looking a little bloated, though. Check the Ottawa Citizen photo gallery if you don’t believe me (but do it soon because it’ll be buried in more recent pics as the festival grinds onward).

After this is what James Taylor. The place was rammed with people. I think we’d only ever seen it that busy for The White Stripes last year. He was great. I can’t help but compare it to Steely Dan. Lots of similarities: age, mellow(ish) set list, huge freaking band—but J.T. comes out easily on top in that contest. He’s got great presence. He’s a total gentleman, chatting casually with the crowd or introducing his band-mates. His song are just… better in general. And mellow, feel-good catalogue of songs notwithstanding, the band still rocked out from time to time (the kick-ass end of “Mexico” being the best example there). Sarah might chime in with a more complete song list, but I know he played “You’ve Got a Friend,” “Sweet Baby James,” “Carolina in My Mind,” all the classics, along with covers of “Everyday” (Buddy Holly) and “Hound Dog.” Big thumbs down to the version of “Steamroller” they played. J.T. spent the whole thing singing in this weird, lips-sown-together, fakey blues drawl. Entertaining for about eight seconds; after that it was like watching your dentureless grandfather try to rap after about twenty ounces of whisky.

If you’re curious whether or not Steely Dan blows, let me assure you that they do

2008-07-06T15:29:00.003-04:00

Sarah wasn’t crazy about either of the two bands I wanted to see on Saturday—Elliott Brood and Steely Dan—so she took the night off and Isha subbed in. We got to the grounds close to seven o’clock and heard a bit of Ladytron as we were walking through the grounds. I don’t know if they are in fact lady robots, but they sounded like they might be (in an entirely awesome way, let me assure you). We snuck over to the other side of the War Museum to get to the Black Sheep stage. The Black Sheep had five bands from the same label (Six Shooter Records), who were going to end the night with a five-band hootenanny. We caught about three songs by Luke Doucet—and he was fantastic. I wish we saw more, really. I’m not the master of music genres, but I’m gonna go ahead and label his stuff alt-country. He plays some muscular guitar (someone else’s words, not mine, but I think they’re apt). Check out some of his stuff here. (Henceforth and retroactively, I’ll be including links to each band’s New Music Canada page—in the case that they’re Canadian).

We had some time to kill, had a drink and some food, and saw a few songs by Angelique Kidjo, who wikipedia tells me is an afropop/afrobeat artist. Good stuff, high energy. In the middle of her set she sang “Gimme Shelter” and some guy next to us instantly blazed up like he’d been waiting days for that very moment. After this, it was back to the Black Sheep for Elliott Brood. And they were awesome. They write short and catchy songs, play only acoustic instruments (with piles of distortion from time to time), and as Isha said, “They make a lot of noise for just three guys.” Check out that link. Give “Oh, Alberta” a listen. Great stuff.

And then, Steely Dan. Sheesh. I mean, I went in with low expectations, and I only knew about two songs, but they were boring regardless of either of those facts. And I know they’re ninety or whatever, but they’ve got about forty-five people on stage so it makes you expect… something. Something kind of interesting. But it was just slow jam, after slow jam, after slow jam. I didn’t get a sense that anyone there was a particular fan of the band. It was just three or four thousand people listening to the band so they could say they saw Steely Dan once. We wisely took off after four songs and went back to the Black Sheep stage to see the Six Shooter hootenanny, which was so, so, so much better. Along with the folks we’d seen there already were NQ Arbuckle, Justin Rutledge, and Christine Fellows. Highlights included Luke Doucet doing a song accompanied by with his wife and his daughter (both of them sultry, the latter alarmingly so as she was probably twelve years old; Justin Rutledge leading the musicians and the crowd in “Don’t Be So Mean, Jellybean”; and the whole crew singing “The Weight” for the finale. Great night.

Oh, have you seen my goat? Seen my goat, seen my goat?

2008-07-05T15:19:00.001-04:00

This was an all-for-Dave day. Sarah was fairly ambivalent about the two acts we were going to see—Wintersleep and Feist—but she knew I was keen on both, so she toughed it out on my behalf. There was a scheduling mix-up with Wintersleep, and their set started a bit later than advertised. Off the bat they had a decent crowd, but a mass migration started before they even took the stage. People just wanted to get a good seat for Feist, and when the band did start their set, other folks were just turned off by the reaaaalllly long slow-groove instrumental they played first. Without even trying, Sarah and I moved forward about thirty feet just by filling in the gaps that opened up in front of us.

Overall, I was disappointed with the band. Given, I only know about three of their songs, but they’re not terribly compelling performers. It was a set that required patience and attention—which may have been on purpose. Maybe the band knew that all the casual gawkers would piss off to go see the headliner, and only the true fans would stay. It reminded me of Hawklsey Workman’s set when he was playing in the same timeslot as The White Stripes last year. So indulgent, so self-involved. Masturbatory, is really the word I’m looking for. Wintersleep wasn’t quite that bad, but I just wanted them to try harder. The last song we caught though was “Weighty Ghost” and it was entirely awesome.

After that, we pulled up a piece of grass in the main field and listened to a bit of Feist. We’d seen her a few years ago at Folk Fest and she’s really good. I know that’s a bland way to describe her, but I choose these words on purpose. She sounds great, she’s a good performer and a strong songwriter. I think she’s better suited to a small stage though. She puts on a very intimate performance—so at Bluesfest that’s great if you’re twenty feet from the stage, less so if you’re one of the other five thousand people there. But I don’t want to come down to strongly on her either way because we didn’t pay that much attention. We listened casually to about five or six songs, then took off and got back home at the very un-rock-and-roll time of 10:45.

God love you, JONNYTSTICLE

2008-07-04T12:29:00.004-04:00

I’d forgotten a lot since last year about what Bluesfest is like. I’d forgotten that ninety-five percent of the crowd always misses the first song because they’re too busy jockeying for a spot closer to the stage, or they’re texting “WHERE R U?” to friends they can’t find, or they’re making poor-quality cellphone videos of a band that’s at least half a mile away. (I find this all alternately annoying and endearing.) Another thing I forgot was that, at the bottom of the giant video screens on either side of the stage is a ticker tape displaying text messages sent in by the crowd. There, you’ll find DRUNKUNKLE’s insightful: “Tragically Hip RULES!” There, you’ll read the profound “I like beer” courtesy of JONNYTSTICLE. So very inane and yet so strangely compelling.

Where last year it took us a week to reach Bluesfest exhaustion, this time we’re coming in tired. We haven’t had a lot of downtime lately, so the thought of eleven days of concert-going has sucked the life out of us in advance. Knowing this, we’ve decided not to kill ourselves trying to see everyone.

And so, we showed up later in the evening and caught just one band: The Tragically Hip. I think I’ve seen them about six times in my life, and I remember not liking Gord Downie all that much at first. If you haven’t seen a Hip show, Gord is a headcase from start to finish. He’ll delivered stream-of-consciousness rants in between verses (check the famous killer whale tank rant from a performance in 1996), he’ll have weird props (a banana that he uses like a shaker; an endless supply of handkerchiefs), and he’ll dance and shout and mime and be as crazy as fuck. First time I saw him, I hated it. But it grew on me until I totally looked forward to it. But that appreciation has reached it’s apex at some point, because I’ve gone from eagerly anticipating it to just being amused by it, and in another three of four years I’ll be complaining, “Why can’t he just sit still for once and sing us a nice song.” Gordie was in fine form last night though—bending mic stands, paddling an imaginary canoe, performing fourth-rate magic with handkerchiefs. Not many rants though. There was only one that I remember: “To survive together, at an event like this, we have to become a family. We have to BECOME A FAMILY, GODDAMNIT!” He reminded Sarah of my Dad at this point. True enough, although my dad will more typically shout something like, “If you’re married to a woman for twenty-five years, you should get a MEDAL FROM THE POPE!” Or, “Where are the boys? Tell them to quit fucking around and GET SOMETHING TO EAT!”

Great show, though. Not a lot of new stuff, which is okay because I’m totally unfamiliar with their new album. They played “Wheat Kings,” “Fireworks, “It’s a Good Life if You Don’t Weaken,” “Poets,” “In View,” “New Orleans is Sinking,” “Grace, Too,” “The Lonely End of the Rink (Ugh),” and “Ahead By a Century”. Far and away my favourite line of the night was when Gord introduced that last one: “They’re all for the girls, but this one’s for the girls.”

Thanks so much, Facebook.

2008-07-02T23:20:00.007-04:00

Apparently Facebook knows that I'm thirty-two. And it suspects (perhaps rightly so) that I'm overweight. Evidence? you suggest. Sure: This is was on my sidebar when I logged on just now. The thing about this ad (other than the fact that ultra (or extreme, or über, or especially) green tea probably won't make me this freakishly ripped) is that someone, somewhere saw a similar ad and said, "Yessir, that there seems like a good investment!" Someone had to believe it... and then buy it -- the result being that UltraGreenTea's Marketing Department got all chubbed out and ad crazy. This is probably the same guy who answered the first Viagra spam.

Yes, this is my theory: it's one guy. For every instance where we say, "And then some guy ruined it," ninety-five percent of the time, it's the same guy. This is the guy who answered the first Nigerian money scam, the guy who fell for the first pyramid scheme, the guy who first invited Jehovah's Witnesses inside his home and was all, "This is a fan-tastic religion you fellas got here! If only my the rest of my neighbourhood knew about it..."

So we've gotta find this guy, is what I'm saying.