All Your Life Has Lead Up to This Moment…

Dear Solitary Reader: Did you ever spend hours upon hours doing something that everyone else told you was pointless but you had to do it anyway? No, I’m not talking about work.

There are these little things, these little habits, these little hobbies. These are the things that we use to whittle away on the great wooden block of life when we only have a few moments. “I don’t have time to do much, I shall just play some Bejewelled Blitz until supper” 15 minutes later the garbage still needs to be taken out and you’re frustrated because you can’t get to the frenzy level.

I remember as a kid watching The Last Starfighter. I always wanted to be like the main character who beat the game and got to go fight in an intergalactic war; but for me the game of choice as a kid was one in an entirely different vein: Tetris. I played that game for hours. Every lunch hour in the computer room I was dropping the 4 line bombs; if nerd had been street I’d be one hip gangsta doofus.  As it was I was just a doofus.

I have never lamented all those hours playing Tetris; but I never kidded myself that they had any use; but it turns out I was wrong.

For you see Solitary Reader, I am moving. Not from the Fortress, nae never that; I am taking the physical body that contains the mental mind you read before you, yea unto a new location.

Everyday we’re packing boxes and as I place this right there, and that right here, I can hear the Tetris music in my head (doo doo dooo doo, doo doo doo doo da doo doo – you know it really doesn’t look like much written down) and I can fit piece after piece in box after box. It doesn’t just stop there; as I pack box after box in to the Mazda five again I hear the music and box after box fits as snugly as a bug in a rug (tangent: time to clean the rug if it has bugs).

I’m getting so good at this I fit our 46” TV into an egg carton. True story.

So stay the course my friend. There will always be garbage, there will not always be Bejewelled Blitz (come on, we all know they’ll replace it with BB 2.0 “Kickin’ the Family Jewels”). Eventually you will realize that all the time you spent slack jawed and drooling at the computer was a form of training for something, not necessarily greater, but necessary.

Another Oil Disaster

Dear Solitary Reader:

I was going to do a touching article on how the World Cup is bringing everyone closer together in my office; well, it isn’t, so I can’t do that. The German guy almost kicked the Serbian guy in the nads when his team lost today; the English guy isn’t talking to anyone and the French guy is crying over his cheese. Shameful. International sport is NOT bringing together my office,  it’s tearing it apart!

And so, I trolled the Interweb looking for something to call news. It wasn’t long before I found it. 

Now we’re all aware of the biggest, oiliest disaster since Geraldo Rivera’s hair ruining the Gulf of Mexico; the CEO of BP obviously took a dip in the waters off the Florida coast to coat himself in that slippery crude before he went before Congress because he slid through those questions like a Pelican through the hands of a rescue worker.

But now, while surfing the Internet on a lazy Friday evening, I have found the second greatest threat to the world’s oil supply: palaeontologists.

In the news today there’s this: Alberta scientists discover largest bed of dinosaur bones. When I first saw the headline I thought they were intimating that the dinosaurs had all died in the midst of an orgy, but such apparently was not the case; these chaste little Centrosauruseseseses were, most probably, wiped out by a tropical storm.

Now if I recall my high school biology the single greatest source of oil is still the blood of a baby Smurf (which is why gas costs so much because a baby Smurf doesn’t have a lot of oil in it and the the oil goes sour in the adult Smurfs, contaminated by their rampant smoking and drinking); but the second greatest source of oil comes from the bones of dinosaurs.*

And now there’s a bunch of paleontologists running around Alberta waking up dinosaurs from their years of long rest, disturbing the ghosts of the Centrosaurus and stealing their bones.

So now not only has BP deprived the world of millions of gallons of oil by letting it get contaminated with salt water; but scientists have just stolen millions …. and millions… of barrels of oil from the future by running off with these bones.

Thanks Science. Thanks ever so much.

* In the course of researching this article I learned that oil is no longer thought to come from bones of dinosaurs, but rather a fossilized plankton ancestor – let’s call it dinosaur plankton. WAS NOTHING THEY TAUGHT ME AS A CHILD REAL? Dammit, I refuse to believe you – this new spin on the creation of oil is merely the work of the same scientists who took away the Brontosaurus – they were obviously afraid people would fear that without the Brontosaurs the world’ oil supply would diminish much faster. Despite learning this, I wrote the article anyway.

Counting Green Lights

Dear Solitary Reader: I commute pretty close to 2 hours a day and I don’t like the process.

Some people, who count themselves wise or perhaps just read it on the side of a Starbucks cup,  say its not about the destination, its about the journey but to those people I say: bean curd! The whole point of driving is to get from point A to point B as safely and quickly as possible. It’s too bad not everyone can share my opinion.

I could go into a whole host of reasons why I don’t like driving (okay, its not that I don’t like driving its that I don’t like driving with other people on the road) but that’s not what this is about. The other day I had myself a realization.

I was on the way home from work and it was one of those days where I seemed to get every red light – even the ones that are pedestrian controlled that never turn red. I tried for the most part to let it slide of me, and was fairly successful, for I have come to the realization that I can rage against the machines in front of me and get home at 4:15, or I can take it easy, relax and listen to some music and get home at quarter after four. This is not the first such day that I have felt that all the lights were against me.

But the light changed  for me yesterday when I realized that its not that all the traffic lights in my path were red; its that I only noticed the red lights and ignored the green ones. I was taking the green lights for granted and the red lights as a personal affront. This is more than just a red light green light situation, this is a realization of my own view of the world.

Where, along life’s highway, did I become so bitter that I stopped looking for the good things and appreciating them for being in my life; have I become blind to all the green lights in other areas of my life? Simply, yes.

Many people have said it in many different ways: it all amounts for being grateful for the good things you have. And its not to say the bad stuff isn’t bad – because bad stuff happens and bad stuff sucks – but its about shifting my viewpoint just a little.

And so, for the first time this morning I counted green lights on the way to work, and you know what? I WAS RIGHT I GOT ALL THE RED LIGHTS!

Heh, just kidding. Seriously, I got at least 3 times more green lights than I got red. So if you’re going through a rough period and things are getting you down a) I hope you get through it but b) take a look around and count all the little green lights life has given you. It won’t solve the problems you have, but maybe it will make you feel better.

There, that’s my motivational speech for the day. Tony Robinson has nothing to be afraid of… well except looking in a mirror… man that dude is ugly… (red light)… but he IS rich (green light!).

Every Day Danger

Dear Solitary Reader:

Today I went to work, driving my car most of the way (I portaged it about 3km up some rapids just to see how Lois & Clark might have done it – ahem, Lewis & Clark), parked in my underground lair – ahem parkade – and took the elevator. Just as I do every day. But this time there was something different.

This time when the two half doors of the elevator closed and like a good compromise, met in the middle, I perceived something sinister about the experience.

Now I can attribute this sinister feeling to any number of things.

• I’d been up for more than an hour at this point and hadn’t yet had that first sip of coffee.
• The doors gave a slight hitch just as they closed, like the last breath of a man dying from alcohol poisoning
• I drank the last of the Strawberry Kiwi juice and that stuff was really concentrated at the bottom – so who knows what the hell it was doing to me.  Maybe I didn’t even portage after all… Arrghhhhhhhhhh
• I’m just plain out of my gourd.
• etc

What, I thought watching the doors meet in the middle like a fat man’s belt, would happen if those doors wouldn’t open again? I would be stuck. Now as far as dangers go its pretty mundane – let’s face it I would be stuck in an elevator with a full travel mug of coffee and a book I had just bought. Heck… throw in a bean bag chair and I might just do that tomorrow.

But if I was stuck in there forever for some reason I could die. There wasn’t even anyone in there I could go all Alive on if I got stuck in there after I’d eaten my lunch!

All around us every day there are things that come and go and cross our paths that could kill us. It’s enough to make you paranoid. Did I make you paranoid? heh cool.

Cars – a car is a couple of thousand pounds of metal, fibreglass and death; we put people behind the wheels of cars that we would never give a gun – and they’re all over the place! Elevators. Appliances. Electricity. Segues (I don’t trust’em). Subways (the transportation). Subway (The restaurant). All of these things can kill you if you don’t watch out.

Next time you hop in an elevator watch the doors. Think about what you would do if they never opened again.

Here’s just a few of the things that could get you.

Spill Over

Dear Solitary Reader

Before I start, I’d just like to take a minute to mention all the people who felt the need to correct me on my last post – that whole 35/prime number debacle – and say the following: screw you all! You people who get your jollies pointing out the flaws in other people disgust me.

I don’t believe in math anyway. Don't try to frighten me with your sorcerous ways, Math Lover. Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes, or given you clairvoyance enough to find the rebels' hidden fortress... oops… sorry nerd blackout there for a moment.

Heh seriously – good catch – there’s a reason I only managed the 13th percentile in the math equivalency of my MBA test (for the record I got 99th percentile in the bullshit portion).

So anyway…

We’re now in the 50+ day of gallon upon gallon of oil leaking into the Gulf of Mexico; the only thing flowing faster than the oil into the gulf is the bullshit from BP. It’s been covered everywhere (the story, not the gulf although that’s getting close) and perhaps one of the most interesting facets is how everyone is blaming Barak Obama.

Now, I’ve never been a big fan of Obama – not because I liked Bush but because Obama is a politician and I don’t like politicians – but honestly, are the people of the US expecting their president to load up a Nerf Super Soaker with Dish Soap and spray’n’wash some pelicans? Or maybe he should hop on Sea Force One with a cargo load of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers and start scrubbing the ocean clean?

Before the election everyone thought Obama could walk on water, maybe now that the water in the gulf is a little thicker he actually can; but one thing seems for certain, that dark smudge doesn’t just seem to be sticking to the southern US Coastline but to Obama’s reputation as well.

I think its time that Barak took a hands on approach to this situation as we’re reaching a crisis level both politically and environmentally. There’s only one thing he can do: assemble a team of today’s best, brightest and toughest and send them down in a submersible to cap that leak. You can’t just send anyone though, you have to make sure you get a team that will get the job done; with that in mind I propose the following team:

Captain Morgan Freeman: He might not know how to pilot a ship but his calm soothing voice will help to depressurize any stressful situation – hell that man’s voice is so smooth it might just depressurize the ocean and he could talk the oil into slowing down. With Roy Scheider now on his eternal Seaquest, Morgan Freeman is the only viable choice.

First Mate Bruce Willis: This man has been through for Die Hards, Demi Moore and a Fifth Element. There is nothing he can’t solve and no terrible situation he can’t endure. He’ll be the guy that gets it done if anyone will. He can just stare at the hole until it closes up itself because it knows it’s the right thing to do.

Sharon Stone: There’s no good reason to have her on the ship (or on the Earth for that matter – oooo burn) but she is contractually obligated to be on every risky underwater mission, movie or otherwise.

Steve Buscemi: We all know that on a trip like this, so far below the surface with death a possibility every nanosecond, someone is going to crack under the pressure. Having Steve Buscemi along will take the guesswork out of who is going to crack – we all know its going to be him. He will start, endure and finish the trip strapped to his bunk so he can do nothing to make the situation worse.

Plex: the magic robot from Yo Gabba Gabba – he should really be useful. Together these 5 sturdy adventurers will do the impossible and save our fractured mother earth.

And really, should the unthinkable happen and they fail worse than BP already has, they’re just actors so there’s no big loss.. well except for Morgan Freeman… and Plex.

Life With a Crawling Daughter

Dear Solitary Reader:

Well I hit 35 over the weekend and it failed to bring about the miracle of maturity that my wife was hoping for: sorry dear, maybe next year (but don’t hold your breath).

And because I’m older and wiser, here’s some numerology billshit: 3 is a prime number, 5 is a prime number and 35 is a prime number – therefore I am currently in my prime. Next year however it will be a different story as I will be divisi-Bill by 1,2,3,4,6,9,12, 18 and 36.  Ghastly. I know. 37 however should see a return to my prime.

In other, more important, news yesterday I watched my daughter crawl from the living room into the kitchen on hands and knees. For the last couple of months she’s been utilizing the army crawl and has perfected the art of falling backwards from standing to end up in the ideal belly crawl position. It’s like watching a G.I. Joe figure come to life.

All that has changed as now she has discovered the  increased mobility that comes with crawling on hands and knees, and as Ben Parker said: “With great mobility comes great responsibility – for the parent.” At least I think he said something like that.

When the boy started crawling I don’t remember the fear setting in; but my son, like his father, was a lazy kid. Oh sure, he could crawl, he just didn’t see any point in it. My daughter however has all the curiosity of a Mythbuster, but none of the responsibility to the insurance companies to keep her from exploring everything she shouldn’t be sticking her fingers in or putting in her mouth.

Now don’t get me wrong I’m happy for Daughter. Her world is opening up; blossoming into a realm of possibility where every room might hold something new and around every corner is an opportunity waiting to be explored. It’s just as a parent my wife or I now have to follow her around to make sure there isn’t a petrified Willow (cat) around the corner waiting to lash out or to make sure we didn’t leave a pair of scissors on the table (which would explain why the cat was petrified… and bald).

I propose a mathematical hypothesis: The relationship between a parent’s ability to get something done is inversely proportionate to a child’s mobility. That is to say – the more the kid can shimmy, the less time the parent has to get anything done because he or she is chasing after little Jr. who’s chasing the cat with the hedge trimmer.

The formula would look something like this:

Free Time = (Speed of Parent)(hrs of sleep)/# of children)
                                (speed of child)(proximity to nap)

I foresee this being fairly useful for day planning.

*Warning: formula has not been perfected yet. Any accidental holes in the space time continuum are entirely the fault of the user.