teeny boppers

I am very lucky to have some wonderful teenagers in my life right now. I remember when I was thinking about having kids one day, it wasn't babyhood that scared me shitless, it was the fact that those cute little babies were going to, one day, turn into teens. And then what?

And then they did. And I love them and I think they're the best creatures ever, and how could I ever think that babies were better ... But no matter how I try, I can't seem to shield my teens from some of the negatives associated with that age. It pains me to see them in pain: emotional, hormonal, and sometimes even physical. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do to prevent the ups and downs, all I can do is maybe lessen their impact. Being a teenager sucks. Sometimes it sucks a lot; sometimes it sucks a bit. The best I can offer my teens is to tell them that it will get better, and if not necessarily better then maybe different. Being an adult isn't all that much fun either. I think we just get better at coping. So ... I'm on a mission to provide the best coping skills to those teens I love. Wish me luck.

Dish of the Day: Beef Bourguignon

will they never learn?

I'm not a fan of reality shows. As a matter of fact, I think they are a cheap way to fill the airwaves (or rather the cables); it seems to be the preferred way these days, however. After all, who wants to pay for (occasionally) intelligent writing, sets, actors ... it's so much easier to stick a few cameras in already existing locales, with people who are more than willing to surrender their privacy and, if many cases, their dignity for their 15 minutes of fame. Oh, how sad.

And yet ... (you must have known this was coming) ... there is an occasional glimpse into the minutia of life that is, if anything, educational. I'm speaking of the CBC show "The Week the Women Went, Season 2". I've seen two episodes so far and each time I was left speechless. Yes, speechless. Actually, no. They had me yelling at the TV and those stupid men who were left to fend for themselves for a whole week! I realise that they pick towns which have an unusually high proportion of über-men already present, but please ... this can't possibly be for real! Unfortunately, it is. And these men pretend to deal with their womenfolk being away by making light of anything and everything in the female realm. Children? No problem. Let's pack them and take along to the work site; heavy equipment and other vehicles posing a risk? Nah, there are plenty of people around more than happy enough to save my brats when I get bored. And when all else fails, make the young girls who were left behind to tend to their little brothers and sisters. After all, they're female so they must know what to do. I especially "enjoyed" the segment about a man whose roof is leaking and has been leaking for the last two years, but instead of going up there and slapping a couple of shingles down he prefers to sit downstairs in the basement for hours at a time carving ducks. You heard me ... carving ducks. In the meantime, this leak is in the kitchen with water dripping (for two years!) on top of the stove where his poor wife has to deal with it day in and day out. His excuse is that the kitchen is HER domain and he never goes in there so it's just not a priority. Can you believe this man? Oh, but wait. She is now gone and he has to make dinner for the kids. On the stove. Where the water is dripping constantly. NOW it's bloody inconvenient.

I have to be honest here ... I am angry at these men. But I'm almost as angry at the women who have put up with this shit for so long. This isn't something that just started last week. This total disregard for women and their value has been going on for ever. And the fact that these women have allowed themselves to be treated like that is a travesty. Why? Why do we do that? Why do we let men get away with treating us like shit? I really would like to know this. If anyone has any brilliant ideas, I'd love to hear them.

Singer of the Day: Bonnie St Croix

oops, I did it again

I don't know why this happens but I killed another writer. I didn't mean to. I really didn't. But it really didn't come as much of a surprise; it had been a while since the last one. You're probably wondering what I'm babbling on about. It's simple, really. I have a rather bad record with authors I like and whose books I devour in large quantities. They die. Usually before they should. Or, more accurately, before I'm done with them. Whenever I expect more books (because I can't get enough), they die. John Updike has joined the likes of Timothy Findley, Robertson Davies, and Robert Ludlum. I read all their books and they die, leaving me wanting more ...

I've been an Updike fan for quite a while now, picking up his older books at used bookstores, always chuckling at his wry sense of humour. To tell the truth, I must look like a total weirdo reading Updike because I am rather audible doing so; a similar response I have to Nelson DeMille, one I've managed to not kill as of yet.

John Updike will be missed, terribly.

There are at least three writers I am rather worried about ... Just checked and Gabriel Gárcia Márquez is 81, John le Carré is 77, and Mario Vargas Llosa is 72. Things don't bode well for them, although I do wish them long and healthy lives, preferably full of writing.

A part of me is weary of finding new, younger favourites ... the question looms over my head: what if I kill them off too? I'd hate to have that on my conscience ...

Quote of the day:
Dreams come true. Without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them. -- John Updike

walk the talk

Every day I walk to and from work. It's not an unpleasant walk, most days. Most of the area I walk through is residential and only when I hit the part closest to the office does reality sneak up on me. There are a lot of homeless in this town and they all seem to congregate within a two block span of the street I walk on. The other part offers me an ever-changing panorama of local flora. Not so much right now, it being January after all, but even when the bitter cold is nipping at my nose, I see buds on some of the bushes and new growth in the perennials. It's heart-warming to see that the cold is on its way out, even if it does whip us here and there (5-10 cm of snow predicted for tonight/tomorrow morning). Brrrr.

But this wasn't going to be about the weather ... oh no. The topic today is my mind. Or rather, the need I have for a device which will record the very eloquent and damn right brilliant thought I have during my daily walk. This device would simply record what I obviously have a very hard time articulating out loud and by writing. Why is that? Why can't I ever remember all the great arguments I have for pertinent topics in my head?

But wait! There may be help on the horizon! Did you know that three of the finest universities in the US have been given a rather large amount of money to come up with a device specifically to do what I need? Yes, yes they have. And they're working on it. They call it a non-invasive brain-machine interface usable in humans that can translate intended (non-vocalized) speech and directional orientation into machine-readable form, i.e. a "thought helmet." Mind you, it's to take the form of a helmet but I'm sure I can make it look good. What? I can't have it? Are you kidding me? What do you mean it's for military use only? The military doesn't need mind controlled weapons! I need a mind controlled notepad! And then, my dear fellow blog enthusiasts, you would get the best writing imaginable (I mean, from me, not in general) and not these meanderings which have little connection to reality. I can so imagine myself in one of those cute helmets! I can :)

Author of the day: John Updike (who will be sorely missed)

starting point

I knew this was going to happen ... I've had all these great ideas for topics storming through my brain, especially as I walk to and from work (gotta do something to keep my mind of the numbing cold assaulting my face). Now, as I sit before this blank screen, I honestly have no clue where to start. I think I should just make a list (not here, I'd hate to give things away) and be very methodical about this whole blogging thing. The only problem with that approach is that I'm not a very methodical person. I tend to do most everything in fits and starts until I find my way and get comfortable. Then and only then can I really focus. So please forgive me if my rumblings are just that: rumblings. I promise I will find my way and get comfortable.

So, let's start tonight with a loud sigh of relief; relief that the week is over. Why are some weeks so tough? It shouldn't have been but it was agonizingly long. And to think that with my rather stress-free job and even more stress-free home life, what on Earth would make it so hard to make it through five little days? I think it was the fog. It had to be the fog. I definitely don't like the fog. It certainly wasn't as bad as back on the mainland but still ... the outside moved inside my head and made it all foggy too. I'm not at all surprised that they make movies where the fog is a character, usually sinister. There is nothing redeeming about fog. Nothing. OK, I've overdone the fog thing now. Sorry. But it really does suck. I'm looking forward to the sun again tomorrow.

Hmm, this wasn't a very auspicious start, I probably bored you to death. But stick around, it just might get better. Or not ;)

Movie of the day: The Fall (2007)

... a reluctant blogger ...

For a very long time I really couldn't understand why people blog. Why do they put out their thoughts and ideas for the world to see? Why do they think anyone cares? Is your life really that interesting? Should I not be living my own instead of sitting in front of the computer and reading about what some strangers do? It just made no sense to me.

And then I meet Dooce. OK, I haven't actually met her (although I almost did a while back when she visited Vancouver). What I mean is, I started reading Dooce and I started to care. I don't think it's Dooce's life that interests me per se; it's her irreverent ability to make me laugh and think and simply enjoy her writing. And that's what I look for. I'm very big on well written prose. Very big. So I read Dooce. Then I found Laid-Off-Dad and I definitely can't get enough of him. The bottom line is, other people's lives can be interesting and funny and a nice break from my work day. So I now read a number of blogs daily. There are some things it takes me a while to get comfortable with, like bok choy, for example, but when I do, watch out. I embrace it wholeheartedly. Except for bok choy. I'm only to the "I tolerate you in my soup" stage so far. Blogs, on the other hand, hold more promise.

That said, I'd like to make it clear that this is an experiment. It is an experiment in letting go. I am a ridiculously private person so it should come as no surprise that this little experiment is not an easy one for me. But I'm willing to give it a try. Expect variety. I have no idea which way to go, which is why the blog is called what it's called. In plain English it means "I digress". And digress I will. Often. I hope someone out there will join me on this little ride. Welcome.

Word of the day: Divagate