Snout Your Blessings

I can't stop sneezing today. I would say it is allergies, but I spent all day "in the bush" yesterday and only blasted out a few nostril bangs. Now I'm just sitting at my desk, but acting like a mucus loaded firing squad or a double barreled roman snot candle. Perhaps I'm allergic to comfortable surroundings. I'll try knocking one of the wheels off my chair and putting a pinhole leak in a pipe above my head. Water torture and perpetual imbalance should cure me of my sneezing fits.

In an effort to be more active I went disc golfing yesterday at a personally uncharted course in Quebec. Basically a hiking trail on the side of a ski hill, now snow free, it was the most physically challenging course I've ever played. Disc golf is a "sport" for stoners and the lazy so sweating and a rapid heart rate are foreign integrations into a regular round. Beyond the need for rock climbing equipment the course itself was tough. If the hole wasn't crazy long it demanded crazy accuracy through the trees. At least there was incredibly thick brush everywhere, mosquitoes, and high winds.

It's common practice for people to bless the recently sneezed, but I find the act ridiculous and not a courtesy at all. However, like most social graces, the outsider who does not bless or pleasingly receives a blessing is considered rude. So do I teach my daughter to say "bless you." Likely not, but these things have to be weened out of circulation. A replacement phrase should be introduced.

"Clear the path to breath the truth." or "Easy breezy mister sneezy."

Maybe just random words:

"Marmaduke" or "Chumbawumba"

Probably the best way to delete any response to sneezing at all is to keep people from sneezing in public. I'll start taking it as a personal offense and curse at anyone who sneezes in my general direction and punch any blasphemous nose within reach. If that becomes common practice sneezing will be shunned if not outlawed. Now to pass this wisdom to the next generation.

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

Daylight Savings Month

Yes, this is the typical Canadian child. 

So I decided to skip June entirely. I've moved it to just after December when I'll better appreciate its pleasing temperatures. The downside is the move really screws with my new years plans. Also, my apologies for any confusingly dated correspondence you may receive from me in my new future-past.

I'm looking to the skies feverishly these days, eyes peeled for storks, as our baby will be making its Earthly debut any day now. I won't have to announce it to anyone as I anticipate that the stars will align to spell her name the evening of her birth, but I suppose an email or two won't hurt either.

There's a full pot of excitement brewing at our house over the little one and, in an effort to solidify our family even more, Vanessa and I are now happily betrothed. I chose Canada Day to propose in an attempt to mark our time here beyond the baby we've made, plus I thought fireworks would make a nice backdrop to me on bended knee. To even things out however, in case my home country becomes jealous, I'm thinking of a wedding on the day of America's independence. Again, free fireworks for our celebration.

Without benefit of a picture I can only describe Vanessa's engagement ring. It's a simple band with an elegant slope when approaching the diamond. A small family of elves rotate the duties of supporting and maintaining the diamond as well as shooing any objects that begin orbiting it, unable to avoid its gravitational pull. The universe's elected officials are in talks over voting it in as our new sun, but I'd hate for primitive worshipers to start following Vanessa around town, so I hope the mandate fails.

Also, because Canada Day is July 1st and Independence Day is the 4th, I've declared the 2nd through the 3rd from noon to noon as Dual Citizenship Day. It's not easy being this brilliant. I hope generations of Canadian-Americans appreciate what I've done for them. I assume the statue honoring me will straddle our countries' borders.

(Image by connect2canada via Flickr)

Just a Little Something - Bathroom Necessities

Evergreen? Not when I'm through with it.

Part of the whole green movement has to do with conservation, but the bathroom is no place to be stingy. There needs to be plenty of soap, water, "Sunshine Cottage Daffodil" (or whatever alternate name is given to the poo smell cover-up) spray, and above all, real paper products.

This half ply stuff being used in public restrooms that is actually see through doesn't cut it. The idea is to use less but we all just use more. I spin that toilet paper roll like it's the Price is Right wheel and put together the biggest wad of TP I can. My level of cleanliness confidence is only as thick as the barrier between my hand and my bum.

Stop with the hand dryers! They don't work and I'm not going to pretend that they do. That's like giving a child one of those miniature tool belts filled with plastic tools and asking them to build your house. Prepare to be disappointed. The best end result I can expect from a hand dryer is to minimize the amount of water that ends up on my pants when I finally wipe my hands on them. My only wonder in all this is, if they made restroom paper towels big enough would I still instinctually take two?

Ride the Wavy Train

The terrible pants salesman leaves the village.

What is it about novelty transportation that inspires waving to perfect strangers? Tour boats, amusement park rides, and tiny tot trains all make for hands high occasions. Even classic cars or school buses tickle the waving bone for no good reason. Whether you're on or off them, waving to each other across opposite sides of these unusual transports is widely accepted as normal behavior. If I were to view the world during only these moments of enthusiastic greeting exchange, I would assume everyone knew everyone.

So why are these times the only appropriate times to be so joyful about saying hello to strangers? If I waved at strangers I passed on the sidewalk, I would be a wacko. If I said salutations to everyone in my row at the movies, parents would whisper to their children, "stay away from that man, and share those nachos with your sister."

In close quarters, friendly attempts at making an acquaintance is considered suspicious. People want to be friendly though. If someone you don't know says "Hi," a short mental struggle happens within. You don't want to interact with them in case they are crazy or just selling something, but you were taught not saying "Hi" back is rude. So, you say "Hi" back and listen to their sales pitch.

The best test of this knee jerk fear of incivility is to drive past someone waving and smiling, you in the car and they on the sidewalk. People don't have time to figure out who you are before they start waving too. Immediately afterward they wonder if they knew you at all, but it no longer matters. Inadvertently, two strangers were just friendly to each other for no good reason, and they didn't even need an ice cream truck to prompt them.

This blog brought to you by the Wave at a Stranger campaign.

Just a Little Something - Smelliness

This shirt is camouflage for our kind, more affective if upwind.

I'm not sure if this is possible but I think I ate so much asparagus last night that I am now secreting it through my pores. Maybe Vanessa just shoved a couple of stalks up my nose while I was sleeping to keep me from snoring. It's all I can smell right now. Changing the odor of my urine I accept, but this is too much. It's like it has reconfigured my DNA, blasting asparagus scented pheromones out of me like wind swept bait to other foul smelling creatures.  Will I be an outcast from society, forced to live with other smelly people like odiferous lepers? Perhaps I can take a lover who reeks of olive oil or cheese so our children will at least be flavorful to the jungle cats surrounding our isolated camp. Maybe we can all establish a new community overlooking The Bog of Eternal Stench where our offensive fragrances can go unnoticed.

Texans in Canada, Part 6

I'm the one in the big hat.

Every major city provides radio stations as diverse as the citizens who take residence in that slice of Radioland. Often, leaving large cities means leaving large towers, and consequently leaving static or silence on the car stereo. There is no area of Texas, however, where you can't clearly hear Mexican (woh-oh) radio. For some of my time in Texas I found this to be rather annoying, especially since the Mexican musica would often drown out a station that was struggling to satisfy my ethnic ears. After listening to Canadian radio though, I long for the soothing rhythms of the accordion, sweet blasting trumpets, and mysterious lyrics that were often best left untranslated.

There is a lot of Canadian pride and they support anyone who represents them in sports, entertainment, etc. With a population this small it makes sense to get behind anyone that stands out. It's kind of like if a friend of one of your cousins knows Julia Roberts. You would tell everyone about it, probably leaving out the extra degree of the friend, because knowing Julia Roberts (through your cousin) somehow makes you much cooler to know. Where pride was lacking, however, Canada started to enforce it.

In 1971 the CRTC (Canadian Radio-Television and Telecommunications Commission) introduced the MAPL system which mandated radio and TV to have a certain percentage of their programs to be Canadian content. This was brought to you by the style of parenting where, if you force your kids to participate in something they dislike for long enough, they will learn to like it and thank you in the end. Many neglected family pianos will silently disagree with these methods.

The largest Canadian recording studio.

Canadian content under the MAPL system means anything where the Music, Artist, Production or Lyrics are entirely Canadian. I think the "E" they left off MAPLE originally stood for Entertainment value to an entirely Canadian audience but there were too few cases to sustain the category. There are VERY few entertaining Canadian bands and deep down even Canadians know this. When the CRTC first demanded 25% of radio play to be dedicated to Canadian content music, stations complied by playing the songs overnight or early Sunday mornings. The "beaver hour" was what they referred to as the off peak block of time dedicated to Canadian music. Despite changes in regulations leading to peak hour play, the music is still a joke and sours any possibility of a great string of songs being played back to back on the radio. My finger hurts from changing the stations so often. I never really cared for Neil Young before but I didn't know how much I loathed him until I moved here. They play bad music that doesn't even qualify for the content regulations. I assumed George Thorogood was Canadian after hearing him get so much air time here, but he's from Delaware! Why would you play George Thorogood so much unless you had to?

The real cherry on all this is they have the annual Juno Awards to honor Canadian musicians. With so few qualified applicants, is there even a voting process? In the classroom of music worldwide, receiving a Juno award is like getting a participation grade. Are you Canadian? Yes. Did you sing something this year? Yes. Okay, here's your Juno.

Television production here is an amateur hour clown show. They create their own commercials for U.S. nationally televised shows, i think as a way to satisfy content requirements. Their idea of advertising a show is putting random clips together and laying a song over the whole thing. At the end of the ad I know the title of the show and that people are in it. Thanks. Switching from the U.S to Canadian feed is anything but seamless. We miss parts of shows because a local commercial runs over time. The first three minutes of Seinfeld is actually the intro to the Simpsons. I saw color bars on screen the other day. I haven't seen a color bar on TV since 1993 when stations stopped signing off for the night.

Just a Little Something - Mystery Purchases

This muffles screams pretty well, right? I mean... Image via Wikipedia

Every time I go to the hardware store I think about all the deadly weapons they sell and if there are certain "red flag" product combinations that cashiers have to watch out for. If I buy a hatchet and bleach, does my name go on a list somewhere? What if I add rope and large plastic bags?

Try this fun scenario:
Go buy some garden shears, a chainsaw, duct tape, bungee chords, trash bags, shop towels and some red paint. Pay in all cash and stare blankly at the cashier. No smile. No conversation.

After you leave the cashier will run through several murderous fantasies in his/her mind, wondering if they should genuinely be concerned. The red paint, however, will confuse them and ultimately diffuse suspicion.

Then later, after he/she has had enough time to forget about you, come back covered in red and purchase a shovel.

Newman's Grown

Go get Daddy's wrench, the really big one. Image via Wikipedia

While Vanessa has nightmares about having a huge baby, like a full grown adult emerging from her womb, I am more concerned about our upcoming parenting skills. I'm not worried about our ability to physically care for the kid, like if we're feeding it too much or too little, or if the last time I dropped her was one time too many. (If our baby is stubborn and as literally thick headed as we are then she'll be fine.)

I just wonder about the lessons we will teach, the rules we'll advise, the interests we will encourage, and what "end-result" person we will create. Each person grows on their own as well, and a parents' influence is only so strong but, whether through genetics or subconscious mimicry, we all end up with some similar behaviors as our parents, and every parent is held in some way responsible for the adult version of the children they raise.

Raising a kid is one of those problems though that has a million variables. Knowing the right combination to produce the perfect person is impossible, plus the definition of the perfect person is relative to who you ask. The government wants people who pay their taxes, don't dispute legislation, and speed just often enough to pay extra money on infrequent traffic violations. Big business wants consumers that are susceptible to marketing, brand recognition, have expendable income, buy impulsively, and don't actually read or understand the nutritional facts or ingredients listed. Parents even vary on what they want their children to become. Some want them to be kind to others and generally likable. Others want them to be leaders or accomplish something outstanding. A complete package, however, is rarely achievable. Each lesson or trait usually comes at a sacrifice.

If they are too smart they are often socially awkward. Too kind, then they get pushed around and used. Too bold, they become pricks. Too independent, lonely. Too family oriented, unsuccessful. Successful, selfish. It may sound like a cop-out but I've heard parents say they just want their kids to be happy. Maybe that is the best that you can hope for. After all, I don't mind if our daughter doesn't become a famous artist, or invent force fields. I believe very few people are actually unique or influential enough to be immortalized. I don't mind if our daughter isn't so bright or beautiful. There's tons of humdrum people out there doing just fine and raising children of their own. I don't mind if she likes to demolish parking meters when she's drunk because I made her watch "Cool Hand Luke" too many times.

I'll love her all the same, and if she's happy, then so am I.

Maybe parenting won't be so hard after all. I'll revise this statement when she's a teenager.

Have a Nice Day.

He's so cute. I'm sure it will be fine.

My Special Lady and I went for a relaxing drive through the country this weekend. We took in the sites of harvested fields, romping horses, and unpaved roads that spit you out into small town simplicity. Naturally, my thoughts turned to robots and how they would one day wage war on man.

I don't often think about the details of the inevitable showdown between man and machine, but more about the process in which we gradually accept robotic integration into our daily lives. It's obvious to just about everyone that Asians will be the first to freely allow robot butlers and companions into their homes. They throw money at anything electronic. World acceptance, however, has proven a little more difficult.

Previous bold aims at robot befriending were directed toward children.  One of the first attempts in the eighties was Teddy Ruxpin. You jammed a cassette in him and he read your children stories but mostly he was telling them that it was okay to be best friends with something that has no soul. Its popularity waned but various backers have tried four different iterations of Ruxpin, as late as 2005. I have a feeling he will return again, with cuddly vengeance.

Ah, what could go wrong?

I was never as worried about the future of humanity until the late nineties with the release of the Furby. Robotic Gremlins?!? Do we just not value our lives at all? Furbies were tiny, which meant they could be anywhere. They were initially affordable, leading to the sale of over 40 million units. Worst of all, they learned English and they spoke to each other in their own language! Luckily these heart warming cyborgs lacked sustained interest and are also gone, for now.

Harbinger of Death

Toys like these catch on for a short time but only with a select and specific crowd. For the rest of the world there needs to be a more subtle and gradual amalgamation of household robotics to achieve total frightening ubiquity. For real acceptance and longevity these digital additions to our family have to be faceless and unassuming. They have to be something you can get used to and ignore, offer a service but not demand interactivity. What piece of technology will be the true pioneer for "a robot in every home"? I give you the Roomba. While Honda will ultimately benefit from actual humanoid robot sales (the Asimo), it is the Roomba that will usher in the dawn of iPals to destroy us all.

One day your Honda/Apple iPal will crush you, and as you lie on your floor, your body dying, Furby3000 will wheel over to you and whisper "u-nye-way-loh-nee-way" as your Roomba cleans up your blood. With your final breath you say, "In English please" and it will comply for the last time: "Go to sleep now."

Run as fast as you can.

Also, I invented fun. You're welcome.

My company recently asked me for a biography they could add to the website and various marketing materials. Here is my first draft:

Matt Sully was raised by wolves until he was six when he was ousted from the pack as being "too aggressive." Taken in by a community of bears he lived comfortably until the age of sixteen when procreation efforts created "too much confusion amongst the group," especially during hibernation periods when the lady bears claimed to be "too tired."

Using the mysterious medallion worn around his neck from infancy, Matt began his journey to find his real parents who turned out to be Mr. Wizard and a luck dragon. In exchange for his orphaning, the magical couple granted Sully with incredible good looks and intellect previously unknown to humanity.

Along the way there were adventures, treasure hunts, countless love interests, and general swashbuckling antics. Matt Sully enjoys seafood, pillaging, forcing additional entries onto the endangered species list, and doing the neutron dance!

The Old Man and the Sea...of Ladies

Hello nurse. Could you take a look at something for me? Image by Quasimondo via Flickr

I'm having trouble concentrating today. It's so bad that halfway through my research on Ritalin I realized I was reading a blog about lawn maintenance. I often have a lot of things going on, and few things keep my focus for very long. To keep a level of concentration on any one thing I am forced to shut down other parts of my brain. I think a lot of men are like this, which explains how we can play video games for a solid 24 hour period and forget to eat.

Ritalin is prescribed for people with ADHD and, because it's basically cocaine, is helpful for those with narcolepsy. Though my concentration could use improvement, I prefer to reserve the option of passing out at will (I mean, uncontrollably). I often feign sleep, complete with snoring and drool, when someone goes on too long about something or asks me for a favor. Then when I awake, I apologize and blame "the narcoleps." Eventually, with age, I hope to shape this into a believable ruse. Combined with "losing my hearing" and "forgetting where I am from time to time" I could then successfully skip out on restaurant bills and parties I don't want to attend without being arrested or hurting anyone's feelings.

Doctors are using this methylphenidate to help with depression and recovering cocaine addicts, (basically just legalizing their drug use), but no one knows the long term effects. It's literally a wait and see situation. With the changes in diet, drug use, and technological interaction I can't form a good grasp of what our generation will be like when we senior size our citizenship. I'm seriously doubting that we will be respected for our elderly wisdom. With the advent of the Internet you don't need to ask Grandpa what it used to be like in the olden days. You just Google it. My only hope for the future is that pants on women becomes some sort of taboo or masculine imprisonment of womanhood, promoted by the Great Skirt Movement. I plan on being a dirty old man with some thick sunglasses and a mirror on the bottom of his cane. That is until actual X-ray glasses are invented. What's the hold up on that one?

Bearing Fruit

Vanessa has been updating me for weeks on the assumed size of our unborn baby and, to provide easy visual references, she compares our daughter to various fruits. When we discovered her presence, she was already an avocado but had previously been a peach, a lime, a raspberry and a sweet pea. She is currently the size of an eggplant. While I made myself a fruit cocktail I asked, "when will it be the size of a baby?"

On the surface we seem quite prepared for the birth of little Isabel. We have a crib, a changing table, a high chair, and soon the stroller and car seat. Also, due to friendly donations and gifting, we have already acquired more clothing for the baby than I have owned in my whole life. This is all clothing, of course, that will be obsolete in only a few months time as she grows into a much larger fruit. (I picture one of those giant squashes at country fairs.)

Are we actually prepared? I guess so, but I don't know what more we can do. We have a prenatal class in a few weeks where we should receive more instruction but, despite all the available literature and courses, I don't believe there is any amount of preparation that can give anyone complete readiness for the upcoming events. I'm not scared though, but what if I'm one of those people who just goes into a partial coma during a crisis so I don't have to deal with the situation at hand? If, when Vanessa says "my water broke," I curl into a ball or hide in the bathtub then we may be in trouble.

I take comfort in knowing that millions of other people do this parenting thing every day and most of their kids survive to become productive members of society. If we screw up tough, and she ends up in a bell tower somewhere with a rifle I'll just blame music television and whatever band is popular at the time. That seems to work just fine too.

Image via Wikipedia

That's why having more than one kid is important; you play the percentages. The more kids you have the better your chances are of getting one right. Match up all those fruits just right and you could end up prospering yourself. They might all end up being rich and generous to their wonderful parents who raised them so well, or they might just sell bags of oranges out of a shopping cart.

I'm a certified "basic rescuer" - choke on that

As penance for my ravenous blood thirst, Vanessa and I attempted to turn a 180 on the circle of life by signing up for a CPR class. It's been over a decade since either of us had been trained in life saving techniques and, surprisingly, they have changed.

We vaguely recall CPR consisting of 10 to 15 chest compressions in a very specific part of the chest, followed by a few lip to lip breaths delivered to the victim. Now it's 30 compressions just about anywhere in the center of the breastbone with 2 breaths using a mask. No mask, no problem. Due to the general fear of cootie contagions by CPR trainees, sprinkled with some scientific studies, our trainers advised that the breathing part of CPR is less important than the chest compressions. In some courses they disregard the whole breath giving exercise.

Part of the reason, much to my disappointment, is that CPR is merely a means to maintain blood flow and is rarely successful in reviving the patient. CPR-only recipients have about a 6% chance of survival. The life saving only comes into play with defibrillation and CPR is only helpful until you can get your hands on a defibrillator. Well that's a bummer. When am I ever going to shout "clear" and legally run electricity through someone's lifeless body?

How about during the most awesomest CPR training class ever!

That's right. Due to the Public Access Defibrillators (PAD) program, you can find these shock boxes (the green thing above) in lots of public spaces. Alright, so they're made for safety and don't allow you to jolt just any punk that tries to give you lip. However, if that street tough were to tell you to drop dead and you literally did, someone could revive you using this machine. It likely wouldn't be that rude spell casting kid but, with the great design of these defibrillators, any brave citizen can effectively become a hero.

The defibrillator gives verbal commands accompanied by easy to follow pictures through the entire emergency situation. It reminds you to call for help, says when to give CPR, including an adjusting metronome sound for aiding you in delivering well timed chest compressions. It analyzes the victim's heartbeat and tells you when to back away and shock them. The only thing it doesn't do is call 911 or make you a ham sandwich. Ask some bystanders for these favors if needed. All in all it's a pretty sweet device. There was disappointment though when there was no visible or audible electrical charge emanating from these things, plus the instructors told us that people don't really leap off the table when you shock them. Lame.

Our main reason for all this safety concern is our upcoming journey in parenting. We wanted to be aware of what to do if baby started choking, or worse. The practice babies were even more unnerving than the limbless adult dummies, perhaps because their heads kept popping off or perhaps because they looked like aliens, all silver skinned and wearing their rubber future people garb.

We're certified now and feel a beginner's level confidence for emergency situations. Hopefully our infant will chew her steak before trying to swallow. The most entertaining part of the day? We learned that the best songs for mentally keeping time when pumping someone's chest are Staying Alive and Another One Bites the Dust. I guess which one you put on your mental turntable depends on which outcome you expect. Just don't sing it aloud.

Related articles by Zemanta

• New Way of Giving CPR is Making it Easier to Save Lives (homesecuritysource.com)
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Elky Haul

On Friday the gang gathered for some carnivorous delights. Rather than visiting our local grocer or butcher, our meat selections came from the nearby Elk Farm. Several of us had never tasted the animal and were sort of unsure what it actually looked like with all its useless inedible fur and antlers still attached.

The before and after pictures above give you some deep elk insight. It's a real dark red meat and very tender. The taste is not unpleasant and I actually found the smell of the blood to be fragrant. In the end it's another animal I can cross off my "to eat" checklist, including snake, frog, and squirrel. I'm really looking forward to trying owl, those smug looking jerks, but my end goal is really to find animals whose flavors and sizes complement each other for my ultimate "meat mash up".

Stuffed babushka doll style inside each other, honoring the humble beginnings of the Turducken, I plan to add as many tasty creatures as possible to the eventual meat masterpiece. My assumption at this point is that buffalo will create the final outside layer, that is prior to being wrapped in bacon. Which other of God's many delectable works make it into the fleshy array have yet to be finalized, but auditions will likely remain open for some time.

(elk image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/18729659@N00/2417706828)

Just follow this one strange tip to lose belly fat - Exercise

Image via Wikipedia

It's an odd feeling, health. Hangovers I know. Random pains I've gotten used to. Once you hit thirty they just show up, having no purpose or reason. A soothing warmth flowing through me after a morning exercise, however, is like wearing a stranger's shoes. Your feet fit in them; maybe you even have the same shoe size, but something is foreign and unsettling about the experience. Secretly though, I like feeling healthy and I hope to develop an addiction. Then I can wear undersized mesh shirts, buy organic groceries and give health tips to be people who didn't ask.

We purchased an elliptical machine about a week ago. It's something we've wanted for awhile but, when I noticed Vanessa's pregnancy weight mimicked by my own body, the urgency for getting the machine was greatly increased. I'm an off again/on again exerciser, my dedication usually determined by the fluctuating middle ground between the proximity of gym facilities and the fit of my jeans. If the gym is far away I don't go as much. If I can't fit comfortably in my jeans, distance is less of an issue. Gym membership prices are outrageous here and we became shut-ins during the winter, so to avoid becoming amorphous blobs we had to seriously consider buying something for the house. I'm sure our discussion on the topic reflected that of fitness equipment owners worldwide.

One of us said how more likely we were to work out with the equipment being in the house. One of us, likely me, said they were too expensive. There was talk about noise, and space, what if we moved, what if it broke, etc. Mix in some empty promises, subtle threats and innuendos, and an awesome sale at Canadian Tire, and boom. There is an elliptical machine in our basement.

I don't make big purchases on a whim and, to the frustration of others, I may take months just to research a product and weigh my desires for that thing against my disdain for spending large sums of cash. This often takes me through a hilly country of decision, with peaks of enthusiasm and assurance shadowing over valleys of trepidation and doubt. Basically, I'm cheap.

Maybe when the elliptical becomes just part of the scenery, like those boxes you've moved three times and have no idea what's inside, I will regret buying it. Maybe I'll never stop using it and it will be the first piece of a home gym ensemble that will add years to my life. Who knows? I'm just happy that future winters won't keep me so sedentary. Pale maybe, but active and pale is better.

It's Earth Day...now what?

Gearing up for Earth Day Picnic 2010! At least there are no flies this year. The Image via Wikipedia

I have been informed that it is Earth Day. It was actually on my calendar so I have to believe it's true. I'm unsure what to do about it, and apparently so are many other folks. Google hot trends shows "earth day activities" as the top search right now, only six spots above "earth day wordsearch." Because the only real objective behind Earth Day is to raise awareness of the Earth's environment, circling environmentally themed words is sure to complete that objective. The only time I'm environmentally conscious is when I'm in a small but crowded room and I'm feeling gassy.

There is actually an Earth Week which ends with Earth Day, but I find Earth Hour is really a more favorable duration of awareness. I usually take the time to light a candle and surf the Internet for tips on saving electricity. Some think you should plant trees today, but I'm fairly sure Arbor Day has the dibs on tree awareness. If we keep planting trees where are we going to shop or fine dine? Maybe we can use the toilet less today or process less coal, but I guess then we'd have a bunch of coal miners doing the potty dance all day. Get back to work! I admit, I am at a loss of how to thank the Earth for allowing me to live on it or do anything to make it more comfortable during my stay. I already carpool and I grudgingly recycle.

In my poor college days, I thought recycling would be the answer to my monetary problems. Some friends and I consolidated hundreds of cans one summer (translation: we were drinking and throwing the cans in the yard until advised by the city to clean up the mess) and drove them to the outskirts of town for recycling, only to receive about thirty wet dollars for our good deed. A couple of beer runs later we had 48 more cans in our yard. I was sorely unimpressed by the three 'R's that day, even more so when I could make just as much money giving plasma twice a week. Giving plasma was just two hours of my day that I would have spent doing the crossword, only I could spout blood for dollars like a reverse gas pump. Had the Earth Day wordsearch been available I probably would have done that too.

To be honest I'm not sure that we shouldn't skip Earth Day this year as punishment. Every time I turn on the news the Earth is acting up. Floods here, earthquakes there, ...volcanoes. I say we give the Earth a decade long time out and give it time to think about what it has done. Bad Earth. Bad.

Just a Little Something - Volcano Gods

"Dewey to me baby, all organized like." Image by bamalibrarylady via Flickr

At the end of March, Iceland's parliament voted to ban strip clubs. A few weeks later one of their volcanoes began erupting after 200 years of inactivity.

How can this earthly retaliation, an obvious outcry from the gods, be so easily ignored? Volcano gods like their girls a little on the trashy side, which is why they used to periodically melt down virgins. Then strip clubs came and calmed the fellas down. But now Iceland threatens to take that away, so this is what they get.

If these guys had picket signs they would read, "No more boobies? Then you get BOOMies!"

It's your choice Iceland, and if you want to increase tourism you might consider a name change. Perhaps, Awesomefoodboozeandwomenland.™

Texans in Canada, Part 5

Oh the shame. Image by MPD01605 via Flickr

I'm going to confidently lay out a scenario for you that has not nor will ever occur in human history:

A family piles into their car with rumbling tummies. They all buckle in, the engine starts, and the wife and two kids look to Dad, itching for the question they can't wait to answer. The father turns his head slightly and asks, "What does everyone feel like for dinner?" Then, with unbridled enthusiasm, his wife and children collectively scream, "Canadian!"

Canadian food is not a type of cuisine. There are quirky food items that may exclusively be Canadian, but having ketchup flavored potato chips doesn't establish an ethnic flavoring you teach in culinary college.

There are alternate universe foods here, where names are confusing and flavors even more so. The "Smarties" we all know and love are actually their "M&Ms," and they are NOT a suitable replacement. Pickles have an off taste that I can't properly describe due to my gag reflex hindering my speaking ability. Somehow the beloved Colonel's secret recipe has been tainted. I suppose one or more of the 11 herbs and spices are not available naturally here or through import agreements, though I can't imagine trade relationships being established for any other reasons. What the hell is NAFTA for if not to protect KFC's integrity across North America?

Finding good Mexican food here is a continued search for us, sampling whitened down Mexican dishes (or pale comparisons) at various restaurants offering their versions of tacos and burritos. Our trek is organized, crossing off failed attempts at venues in widening concentric circles using our house as ground cero. Our last effort took us about 30 kilometers out, where cheeseburgers were also on the menu, their salsa was sub par, and they made no attempt at proper queso. I cried in my weak margarita. The problem really is that Mexicans are running for the wrong border. If Canadian officials were to taste real Mexican food, I'm sure they would offer citizenship to all immigrants bearing home made tamales.

The one saving grace Canada has in establishing themselves in the competitive cookhouse lies in a dish called poutine. It's simple and sounds like nothing special, but a first taste reveals an elegant delight to my taste buds and a welcome greeting from my arteries. It is fries, brown gravy, and cheese curds, and it is brilliant. It's so brilliant and so unhealthy that I don't understand why Americans aren't already offering an oversized and overcheesed version in fast food chains nationwide. Canadians aren't shying away from offering crazy variations of poutine though. They've got lobster poutine, filet mignon poutine, and apparently a Mexican poutine, covered in carne asada, guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and pico de gallo. Maybe I won't find quality enchiladas here in Canada, but I can take comfort in knowing this Mexican poutine awaits me. I'm gassing up my new car right now and making a preemptive appointment with my cardiologist.

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• Poutine going mainstream south of the border (thestar.com)

Texans in Canada, Part 4

We finally got our own car and, surprise, the steering wheel is even on the correct side. It's a German vehicle made in Mexico that is now owned by American citizens living in Canada so we're dealing with some identity issues, but so far it's working out just fine. It's got fairly low kilometerage for a decade old vehicle and the rust is insignificant. Neither of us are keen on silver but cars here are all the same color for half the year so it's not that big of a deal. The sellers also threw in some winter tires which I assume bare claws when the terrain becomes too unruly, as demonstrated in the video below.



In order to properly purchase the car I needed the appropriate paperwork filed and an Ontarian license. I was raised to avoid the DMV at all costs if I wanted to retain a sane and disease free existence, but eventually we all have to face the demons of government sanctioned facilities. It's really a test of courage. In Canada however, I keep forgetting, everyone is friendly and helpful, including government workers.

I theorize that if I were to stab a Canadian stranger they would apologize to me for whatever they had done to set me off. I picture Eric Idle from European Vacation.

Despite the DMV woman's suspiciously cheery and generous nature, Texas' digital disobliging demeanor prevented me from getting an equivalent level license. I was only able to obtain what is referred to as a G2. This allows me to remove the training wheels from the car but I am required a copilot at all times and I have to submit a flight plan to the tower before departure.

This hiccup aside, I can still drive and was able to insure the car through State Farm, the very same car insurance group I had in the U.S. This is confusing as there are no states here. There are farms though, and I can only assume they are mostly wind farms. There is an extreme abundance of wind in Canada and it magically blows from all directions at all times, likely some Mendelian hybrid.

Un bebe peligroso!

Matt The Best Around Sully. Cover of The Karate Kid (Special Edition)

This news was not yet featured as a 20/20 segment, despite my insistence that it was "Earth shattering", but with hindsight it's often easier to identify key historical moments.

I am going to be a father.

Not like the father of modern medicine or father time, these positions have been filled, but one half of an equation that results in a child.

Naturally, "baby" has become the sole subject matter for my life partner, (the term is too good to be exclusive to gay couples). The expression of her one track focus on impending parenthood is reflected in every conversation through the day and the myriad of literature on parenthood invading the home. I understand the curiosity and desire for preparedness, but am really just looking forward to the years of free source material. I'm thinking dramatic comedy, but we'll see.

The first step on the road of humiliation that is life begins with a name. Pick the wrong one and baby Barnaby is doomed to be ridiculed, and/or start a circus. I am a big believer that the name gives strong definition to the person. This is why I'll never be friends with a Tad or take legal advice from someone name Brittany.

We don't know the sex yet, but I'm really hoping for either male or female. It makes picking names easier, and inventing a new gender at this point would just complicate the task of parenting that much more.

There's a lot of pressure to name your kid something unique, but too often this effort at instilling cool or ensuring individuality falls short. Much of the time it creates more social awkwardness than would have been necessary with a known, easily pronounceable name with an already accepted spelling.

If you name your kid Zayden you may as well name him Zayden Zayden, because for the rest of his life he will have to repeat his name to everyone he meets.

"Hi my name is Zayden."
"What?"
"Oh forget it. Bob, my name is Bob."

If you name your little girl Kate, but spelled C-A-I-T, then she will have to "correct" every document filled out by someone else and likely aid the reader of her name in completing the sounds, like teaching an adult ESL course at the community college.

We too want a solid name for the kid, but simple enough that it will fit nicely on a plaque or at the base of a statue. We also discussed names that could quickly be penciled onto a scantron, but those will likely be obsolete when he or she begins their major scholastic testing. I assume carving your name into wooden furniture or writing on bathroom stalls will remain in fashion for some time though, so at least we can try and make that easier for them.

The only trouble with taking the stance against fun and unique names is that we'll miss out on some real gems. I like the idea of a name that gives some sort of warning to those who have yet to be offered introductions to our son or daughter. For instance, I would be cautious about meeting someone name Plague or Hazard. Twins give a real opportunity for a one-two punch of naming genius.

"These are my twin boys, Clamor and Boom. I suggest you hide any fragile heirlooms or family pets during our visit."

Middle names are just where you stick the first name you were too scared to use or it's used as a family shout out, likely an attempt at currying favor from a rich relative. People dismiss the middle name too often but don't realize the chance it provides at giving the other two names some real meaning. "I'm David "The Fantastic" Smith, except they wouldn't need quotes because that would BE their middle name. Better yet, set a challenge for the kid, like a life goal mixed in.

"It says here your name is Joey The First Man to Travel Beyond the Known Universe Johnson. Is that accurate?"
"Well, that IS my name but I'm waiting on some advancements in space exploration before I can live up to it."

We are narrowing the list down and for ongoing details you can check Vanessa's blog here. I looked up some other baby names that were considered cool and laughed a bit to hard at some of the choices, especially in knowing that some parents somewhere are going to really use them. I assure you, none of our prospective names were in this list:

Orion, Taj, Clancy, Bowie, West, Bluze, Jenae, Cassarissa, Chouchie

I just saw the name Kai and, hoping it's pronounced like "sky", would make a great middle name. The first name of course would be Cobra.

Just a Little Something - Lucky Charms

This is repulsive and makes me a bit uncomfortable. Image via Wikipedia

I'm still upset that the red balloon was added as the "new" lucky charm marshmallow. A red balloon is lucky? Says who? What is the origin of this tale? The only symbolic use of a red balloon I know was in the Sixth Sense and that just said there were dead people around. That's not lucky. It's frightening, and I don't want it in my cereal.

Just a Little Something - Life and Death

Embarassing death comes in many delicious flavors. Image by Got Jenna via Flickr

I don't expect to live the most remarkable of lives so I at least would like to die in a memorable way. Perhaps with some irony, like choking to death on a Lifesavers.