All over Austria and across the music world, people are celebrating the 250th anniversary of the birth of Wolfang Amadeus Mozart. They sure don't write music like that anymore. If I actually owned a copy of Amadeus (and I'm really surprised that I don't) I'd be watching it tonight.
On a sadder note, it's also the 29th anniversary of the Apollo 1 fire which killed Ed White, Roger Chaffee and Gus Grissom.
AD ASTRA PER ASPERA
(A ROUGH ROAD LEADS TO THE STARS)
Bon Jovi definitely puts on a good show.
They performed for 2 and a half hours and kept the crowd (mostly female and swooning and screaming) at a fever pitch. We had absolutely amazing seats and we got to soak up the view from the totally kick-ass Video board above the stage.
I wasn't able to get the Blackberry out and blog during the show as I did with the opening act because I was thoroughly enjoying myself. And with all the screaming I would have been hard-pressed to form coherent sentences.
Penny and I noted that they really found a formula for good music and stuck with it while managing to balance a maturing approach to their work. Of all the "hair" bands that emerged around the same time, I'd say Bon Jovi was a smarter bunch because they wrote solid Rock Anthems but with a more intelligent feel.
Funny moments of the night included:
As for the band, Jon is....Jon. With less hair. Tico is still a ball of energy and raw power and one of the better drummers in the business. Dave Bryan (keyboards) looks unsettlingly like Peregrine Took after too much Ent water. Richie Sambora has not aged well. He looks like Tommy Lee but with fewer tattoos/piercings and more clothes. He can, however, still sing and his guitar work hasn't missed a lick.
I'd love to see them in a smaller venue just for fun, but I don't think I would have traded the arena experience for anything. Well, except maybe the chance to boot Tico off the kit for a set or two...
Penny remarks that she would have traded the arena experience for something too, but I cut her off before she could offer further details.
Some things a husband just doesn't need to know. *grin*
Greetings from the 15th row of the Air Canada Centre where Penny and I are listening to the opening act for the Bon Jovi spectacle. These guys are The Luminols. A surprisingly good band with guitar tones reminiscent of Alex Lifeson's work on Moving Pictures.
So far so good, now bring on the boys so we can ROCK!!!!
Apparently this is what lunch hours are for.
Numenorean
To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla
Could be worse. At least I'm not a cave troll.
So Canada took a big shift to the right with the election results. Personally, I tend to lean a bit that way, but Stephen Harper scares the hell out of me.
Quite the reversal of fortune with the hockey game tonight. We posted an 8-1 win. I feel better.
I'm almost finished Short Story #2. Penny has been helping me with the edits. She's a far more talented writer than I am and very adept and finding the shortcomings in my prose. I'm wondering what I should do if I get a number of them going??
This beer I just finished tasted like another one. Dunno if I should.
1:08. Still not tired.
I will *not* have another snack. Even though my choice accompanied the beer quite nicely.
Tuesday will be another late night as Penny and I are off to the Bon Jovi concert. I'm pretty excited, but Penny and her friend 'Al' are beside themselves with giddiness. Me, I'm hoping for a rocking show. I think Penny and 'Al' are hoping to get onstage or backstage. ;-)
There is still window trim to be sanded and painted. I think that's Wednesday's task.
Thanks to Miz Cricket, I have SuDoku on my blackberry. It rocks. Besides, I had to do something to deal with my Spider Solitaire addiction.
I'm not tired yet, but I'll wrap this one up.
(Hey Kal, your fly is open.)
Here's hoping I have a better night than last week. The above picture pretty much sums up the opinion of my play. ;-)
(All things considered, I'd rather be playing hockey than waiting for election results. I know its important and all, but I have a feeling we're in for a fundamental shift in Ottawa.)
I heard from the Captain about our wounded warrior.
Steve had 10 stitches to re-attach the end of his finger and the tip is broken. He'll be out for 3 weeks. He said it was throbbing like hell, but the percs the doctor gave him were kicking in when I spoke to him Friday evening. He said he's doing OK.
Yikes. I had 5 when I opened my fingertip while slicing a bagel. I can't fathom 10.
Heal quick, Stevie. We'll need ya for the playoffs! :)
My DW reminded me this morning that it was ltlme's birthday.
(25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25)
Of course, discretion prevents me from revealing her age. I can say that she's not yet counting backwards. But I'm pretty sure I'd give it up for a quarter.
(25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25 25)
(Subliminal messages? Me?)
...for the Steve's Painting squad last night.
Late games are always tough to manage for some guys and we never really know how many bodies we'll have on the ice. Most of the guys I play with (good guys, all) are blue-collar/trades folks. There are a handful of Cube rats and IT geeks. Most of the team have shifts to manage or very early work hours, so being up late doesn't always work for them.
Last night we were putting out 8-8 record up against the top team in our division. Because of a re-alignment and an unbalanced schedule, we had not played them this season. We did our best with a short bench against a full team, and a fast-skating, hard-shooting one at that. I actually felt I played well but couldn't really do much to stop the goals that did go in.
Mid-way through the 3rd period, the Captain (a heart on his sleeve kind of guy....very emotional on the ice, but pretty calm when off it) came off the ice after a particularly frustrating shift and slammed the bench door pretty hard. I don't know if it was on the opening slam or the closing slam, but somehow the guy who was coming on to replace him got the top of his right ring finger caught in the door.
These doors, I mention, are metal framed and pretty heavy.
He was sliced pretty badly and there was much concern as play was stopped and Stevie raced off the ice with the Captain and one of our walking wounded who's already on the injured list. Paul, our Captain, felt absolutely dreadful because he feels a certain responsibility for Stevie getting his digit in the door. I dunno how that will shake out, but we're pretty concerned and we hope Steve needs nothing more than a few stitches and a couple of weeks off from the game to heal.
As for me, I actually felt good about the game and how I played (a rare thing, as you know) but a few minutes after that, I misjudged a slapshot coming towards my blocker and would up taking the brunt of the shot on the outside of my forearm.
Ow....
So I have a nice lump and a bruise as a reminder of the 5-2 loss.
But I'm certain Steve's reminder, to say nothing of Paul's, will linger longer than mine.
Author's note: This is a fairly raw, almost unedited tale. It is published under the Creative Commons License.
Just Plane Lucky
So there I was. Crashed; and a lot farther from civilization than I was comfortable with. I didn't quite plan to spend the afternoon this way but then again, if my plane could talk, I'm sure it would offer a similar opinion.
My plane. Oh boy. I don't think she'll forgive me this time.
I know what you're thinking. A plane can't feel, right? I'm crazy, right? A little non compos mentis, perhaps? I beg to differ. Ask any cowboy about the bond he develops with a good horse. Ask any sailor about the connection they serve aboard a good ship. Likewise, just ask any pilot...a good plane can come to mean an awful lot to a pilot who has taken it to the edge, especially if it brings the pilot home safe and sound.
I was running my own air cargo business some years after I left the Air Force. I tell you, I got to fly some of the best stuff in those days. I started in Hurricanes, and then moved on to Spitfires and then Typhoons, until a rather nasty crash landing rendered me healthy enough to fly, just not healthy enough to take on the rigours of a fighter aircraft. After getting out of the hospital, I found myself transferred to a Transport squadron; the ultimate blow to a fighter pilot's ego and prestige. I mean, no self-respecting aerial warrior wants to be seen inside a cargo plane, let alone being seen at the controls of one of these lumbering beasts.
Lady Luck being my guardian angel, I was blessed with a new Squadron Leader who had suffered a similar fate. In his office he told me that when he was a young pilot, he had crashed a biplane fighter some years before the war, but had managed to convince the higher-ups that he could still fly, so he got a slot in a bomber squadron. Six months ago, he took command of this rather rag-tag Transport squadron. The greybeards at Group HQ figured that some of his "dash" might be just what the squadron needed. Their faith in him was rewarded when the squadron successfully flew some particularly hairy resupply missions in decidedly unfriendly skies. Looking back, I knew he did the right thing by me as I was leaving his office to go find my billet. He said, "I know you were a good fighter pilot. But not everyone can cut it flying a transport. Keep that in mind during your transition training."
Well, that did it. He went for my ego. In my naiveté, I figured I'd show the old boy.
I shouldn't have spoken too soon, because my initial experience with the venerable old 'Dakota' was somewhat below my usual standards. To be completely honest, my first landing had - in the immortal words of my instructor pilot - "...all the grace of a clumsy cow walking across a field of marbles." This was a somewhat humbling and galling comparison for a guy with more than his share of difficult flying under his belt. However, a fighter pilot doesn't know the meaning of the word "quit" and I slowly mastered the intricacies of flying the loveable "Gooney Bird".
As time went on, my experience flying fighters served me quite well as I flew some rather high-risk missions towards the end of the war. The squadron's unofficial motto was "no mission too dangerous" and we managed to nurse home some rather tattered and battered birds after some of these missions. I grew to understand that it was harder to fly the Dakota than it was to fly low-level missions in my beloved "Tiffie', because the Dakota couldn't shoot back.
So what does all of this have to do with the plane being mad at me? Well, for a lot of those 'high pucker factor' missions, I flew the same plane over and over again. When I think about it, I'm not sure how that happened, because we weren't really "assigned" to a particular aircraft like we would be in some fighter squadrons. In fact, I never even noticed it until my crew chief pointed it out to me. It seemed like every time he had his airframe gang patching up a large number of flak holes in an aircraft; invariably that aircraft was a Dakota with the tail number "303" with your truly being the most recent pilot-in-command.
The final half-dozen mission I flew before the end of the war were all in 303 and she never failed to bring me home safely. Allied air power might have had control of the skies, but ground fire was a real hazard on some of the resupply drops we had to do in those final days. My very final mission before I rotated home was through the worst storm experienced in over half a century. But I had a full load of wounded soldiers headed back from a forward hospital to a rest area and I was damned if I was going to let some storm prevent them from making it there safely. 303, bless her, carried us all there safely.
After the war ended, I found myself a little adrift. After being demobilized I kept up my pilot qualifications and took odd flying jobs here and there and I managed to make enough money to keep myself afloat and start some savings. When the air force finally got around to selling off surplus aircraft, I figured I could parlay some of my meagre savings into an air freight operation. Of course, making a bit of money doing the one thing I loved wouldn't hurt either. Unfortunately the airlines were also on the hunt for cheap, surplus planes now that air travel was the new big thing and I'd need to make sure that I got a bird I could maintain (mostly) on my own...so, no "hangar queens" for me. I'd flown a lot of different planes in the years since the war, but I figured that a surplus Dakota was just the thing for me.
Lady Luck was with me again when I was ready for the auction. The supply officer from my old squadron had managed to stay on in the air force after the war. He was a rogue, completely disdainful of higher authority and a first-class scrounge. In other words, he was my kind of rogue. We stayed in touch over the years and I knew he'd give me the inside track on the birds for sale. I knew he'd collect the marker later, but he told be which lot number to bid on. "If the paperwork can be believed," he told me over the phone, "she's not too high on airframe hours and the engines are almost new."
After I made a couple of mocking references to his creative accounting and paperwork skills, he responded with a vague comment about a certain squadron smoker and a certain Dakota pilot later discovered somewhat intoxicated in his favourite bird (minor no-no) giving a very personal cockpit tour to one of the local "birds" (major no-no.)
My faith in his information was immediately and miraculously restored.
We exchanged a few more good-natured barbs before we said good-bye. I knew he'd given me reliable information for the auction. One week and a substantial portion of my life savings later, I was walking down the rows of surplus Dakotas looking for my new bird. The aircraft had been mostly stripped of their air force markings but here and there you could still see some of the tail numbers and roundels. When I looked up to confirm that I had the right plane I dropped the papers I was carrying. There, just visible on the tail...but was it possible? I blinked and looked again.
It was 303.
I stood in front of the plane absolutely dumbfounded. I uttered a quiet prayer of thanks to fate and I started my usual walk-around. For all the abuse she had taken, she was in remarkably good shape. The Air Force had certified all aircraft for auction as "flyable" but it was a relief to see that there wasn't much I'd have to do to get her completely ready for business. I finished my walkaround and opened the rear door so I could check out her insides. I could see that the main passenger/cargo area was more-or-less fitted out as I walked up to the cockpit. Pushing the curtain inside, I slipped into the pilot's seat and I closed my eyes and felt an almost tangible warmth come over me. It was like being reunited with a long-lost love. I opened my eyes to look around the cockpit, noting some familiar dents and scratches with a smile, a note taped to the back of the cockpit wall caught my eye.
Dear Flyboy,
I told you I'd find something. See if you can practice some of that "safe flying" we hear so much about. Try not to bend the bird. Now you really owe me.
- The Scrounge
Dear Flyboy,
Figured I'd find you up here. Bernie is ferrying up in the chopper. Will take a
while because we've been dropping fuel for him since we got the radio message.
Almost missed you except for the big orange paint smear on the ground. Did you
forget to unload it?You still owe me.
-The Scrounge
I don't know how, but I'm sure 303 knew when to drop that clipboard on my head to wake me.
At least I know what happened to the paint.
END
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Canada License.
Callie mentioned on a recent post that she played around with some photo recognition application at My Heritage. The idea is that you can play with the Beta version and upload a picture of yourself to see what celebrities you look like.
I did mine, just for a laugh. Apparently I really look like this guy.
*shrug* Could be, I guess...you decide.
Am I an ABBA love child?
...I just got back from the license office where I finally picked up my Veteran plate.
(the number is, of course different than this sample)
Am I too young to be a "Veteran"? I know I'm "too young" to be in the Legion, at least to my own stereotypical view, but there I are anyway.
I have to say that I'm touched to see many provinces and states across North America adopting this trend.
So if you see a Veteran, give a honk and a wave.
For a change, the planetary alignment was such that DW and I had an entire day to devote to the basement. We both admittedly had some difficulty seeing the finished 'body' of work when all we could see was the skeleton (i.e. the exposed studs.)
However, we treated ourselves to a bit of a sleep-in on Sunday morning, went out to fuel up at Rotten Ronnie's and went downstairs to tackle the remaining work. Yours truly had to finish a couple of sections of wall framing in a rather tricky alcove at the base of the stairs, and DW busied herself with plastering until we were ready to move on to the drywall, because that's definitely a two-person job when you have to move full sheets around.
One of the real "joys" of this place is the fact that the basement floor is anything but level, a fact which has really played hell with some of the cuts and measurements. It just makes for some interesting positioning of the drywall and the framing if you look at things too closely. If I had to do it all over again, I probably would have taken a different approach, even with having to complete someone else's work (which is what we're stuck with at the Shagwell-Stone manor.)
As an example, I was ready to cut the second-last piece of drywall for that pesky alcove and I decided to actually take a few moments with my measurements. When I checked, I saw that my top wall frame and my bottom wall frame measurements were about 2" off. Yikes. Now, I knew that my framing solution was dictated by that mass of poorly-planned ducting, but I wasn't quite prepared for that particular "oops". Fortunately, my choice of building materials totally saved my can. The advantage of steel track and studs is the ability to reposition things as required. I'll spare you the gory technical details, but suffice it to say, I took advantage of a well-placed joint in the top track and repositioned just about everything so that the framing was, well, almost square. We figured we could apply some strategic positioning and fastening of the drwall too handle the rest.
And, ya know...it actually worked.
We have WALLS!!
It's actually a pretty sizeable task off our shoulders. Granted, we still have to finish adding things like corner beading, then plastering everything to make sure it's ready for priming, but it's a hell of a lot closer to "done" than it was at 11AM on Sunday.
The larger tasks are getting the sub-floor in and deciding on flooring, as well as hanging the drop-ceiling. My smaller tasks include getting the door installed on the partition, adding the bi-fold to the pantry, and some other assorted carpentry jobs.
We got a whole pile of work done this weekend and it actually feels like we have a liveable basement.
I was reading Ed's blog this morning and I was inspired by his post about lurking. I know that some of the folks in my daily canon have some neato-o tools that let them see, for example, types of visits and duration and even where they show up in Google/Yahoo searches (some of the criteria that trigger duff's site as a result are really hilarious.)
But it's safe to say that on any blog there is a bit of an imbalance between lurkers and commenters. Normally, this isn't an issue. I know that I lurk sometimes on some blogs. As ltlme has observed sometimes you either have nothing to say, or sometimes the comment you thought was brilliant in its originality has already been posted. Ed summed it up nicely: "sometimes my comment mojo is gone." He's right. Sometimes there really is nothing to be said and there are times when you might only have time for a quick read/update of someone's latest blog but no time for comments. In other cases, I read the blog but I'm not sure that a comment is appropriate. Motherdear has been writing her "Big Girl" series for a while and I admit that it leaves me at a loss for comment. Maybe its one of those stories where a comment simply isn't required.
However, I wish to announce the start of Mossy's de-Lurking Week. Yes, for this entire week, lurkers and visitors old and new are invited to comment and make their presence known. I place no restrictions on comments at all. If you don't have anything to say, even a comment like "Hi, Mossy. [bloggername] was here." would be acceptable.
Take a moment and show yourselves!!
It wasn't until the Deejay mentioned it that I clued in.
Of course, you'd think that with yesterday being the 12th I might have had some semblance of awareness, but....well, such is life.
I knew all sorts of people in places I worked in who got right twitchy when the dreaded day rolled around. Personally, I figured it was because there might be a run on the movies of the same name at Blockbuster moreso than any superstitious worry.
Despite some of my own superstitions, I don't worry about this day. It happens and I'm not going to spend the day second-guessing myself.
Yeah I know it's a short post. At least I didn't pull a Kal.
With apologies to duff, I couldn't figure out a way to articulate my 5 bad habits. I know I have bad habits, but since they're a little difficult to encapsulate and because I didn't feel up to a treatise on my personal shortcomings, it languished in draft mode for a while before being binned permanently.
Besides, those who know me already know my bad habits.
I did, however, come across an interesting Meme from Frank and Ava and it appealed to me, so I decided to do it.
Four Jobs I've Had:
Four Movies I Would Watch Over and Over:
Four Places I've Lived:
Four TV Shows I Love to Watch:
Four Websites I visit Daily:
Apart from my daily canon of blog reads, I can usually be found reading any of the following:
Four Favourite Foods:
Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now:
As I write this it is around half-past twelve...
Astounding...this email post took 48+ hours to deliver. Wonder where the slow-down was?
*Note: This blog was originally emailed from my blackberry, but for some reason it never showed up.*
As I write this it is around half-past twelve and I'm recently home from a rather late hockey game (a 2-1 win for the good guys, btw) and I am, as is usual with these late games, wide awake.
DW is fast asleep, although I know she hoped to be awake when I returned and there was a very sweet note on my pillow to give me a late night smile.So, in the absence of any real fatigue I sit here in Penny's rocker/glider with a well-chilled can of Tuborg watching a re-run of Voyager and sending out a note to my blog readership. (I've babbled on ad nauseum about the disadvantages of late hockey games so I'll spare you the needless diatribe/crying jag.)
Life just feels 'good' these days but I can't necessarily put my finger on a reason why. God knows that work has been a bit of a drag (no disclosure here for fear of getting 'dooced') so I know that's not it, but I'm just feeling happy about me, life, love and all that sort of thing. I admit to being a bit of an early bloomer when it comes to my curmudgeon skills, so I can't really fight it when I feel one of these moods. My inner cynic is, of course, clawing to get out but I'll keep the beast at bay for a while.
Times like this, I don't have a care in the world. Actually, I have 'em. But they seem to matter a little less.
Hopefully today smiles upon you all.I must go.
My cat has decided that my chest is a good spot to occupy.
You'd think that after a full day of household construction and a weekend of errands that DW and I would have dropped off to sleep quickly.
Not so.
We each had a fitful, restless sleep...trading snoring sessions and waking frequently. Of course today is the first day back for the Wondertwins so sleep was needed by all with none to be had.
Maybe I'll sleep when I'm dead?
For those of you in the studio audience who were anxiously awaiting news on the state of the basement work, I can provide the following update:
a) Ducting was capped, re-routed, removed, taped, fixed over the Christmas break. (pictures to follow
b) More plastering and taping was performed today with amazing deftness by DW.
c) The wall by the Breaker panel had its remaining studs put in, and the wall by the water main was completely installed this evening by yours truly.
Of course, this work did involve one trip to Home Despot to grab a few things (steel stud track, end/edge trim, corner beading and a few non-basement items. Purchase of the week was a laser level, complete with tripod, from Canadian Tire. Saved my bacon on the wall by the water main and will be an absolute godsend when we finally get to the drop-ceiling.
We're both insufferably pleased with ourselves for today's work.
Keep smilin'!
Sometimes there's a lot to say and no good way to start, other times you're staring at a blank posting form wondering whether or not you should even add something.
However, I think I need to pay tribute to today's idiot. I heard this little gem from the radio as I was driving to the train this morning.
It does indeed make you wonder what your kids might have stashed in their bedrooms. Freakin' disturbing, if you ask me.
Having said all that, I am NOT making a call for "gun control". Better policing, better customs investigations....that works better than an knee-jerk reaction I've seen. Although I think the parent in question might be wondering whether or not she could have done something different.
Not judging...just speculating.
Kudos to her for taking the right step and going to the police right away.
...DW has responded to Motherdear's warning to Larry about his prolonged absence.
Thank heavens for an open and unfettered celebrity media machine, otherwise we could never have learned about his fate.
Personally, I'm just hoping for a postcard.
When it comes right down to it, there's something to be said for owning the DVDs of a favourite TV series.
Now I know that some of you don't bother watching re-runs. Some of you do watch re-runs but you won't watch a movie twice or read a book twice. Me, I don't get that. I watch re-runs. I'll watch movies over and over and I'll re-read books ad infinitum (much to DW's everlasting confusion...okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but she admits that she doesn't "get" my book thing.)
Of the many things DW and I have in common is an appreciation for the brilliance of M*A*S*H, so we were really excited when the series started coming out on DVD a few years back. We started collecting and re-enjoying the series. We had both forgotten how many little tidbits had been removed from the show in the name of increased advertising. In fact, some of the best bits of the storylines were lost to syndication, but fortunately they remained on the DVDs.
With DW working though the bulk of the holiday week, I decided to give myself a little marathon. I'd pop in a season of the show and sit and enjoy while indulging my scale model habit and drink in all the humour and subtle commentary without the vulgar interruption of commercials. I tell ya, it was a great time to be had. I could watch in near-perfect solitude and bide my time until my DW came home.
M*A*S*H.....great for what ails ya over a quiet holiday week.
Hello and Happy New Year to all!
DW and I are having a rather relaxed start to the year after seeing '05 off in good fashion. Dtrini, Bonnie, Big Guy from work and his wife were over at the Stone/Shagwell residence for a fun evening. Much food was consumed and a lively game of Balderdash was had. DW and I finally got to bed around 3:30 after cleaning up in the kitchen. Unfortunately for her, she's been dealing with a very sore neck and upper back, so she drugged herself into unconsciousness with a suitable painkiller and we crashed for the night.
I was up a couple of times but finally was awake around 10. DW was still fast asleep and since I was loathe to wake her, I settled in with a book and enjoyed the time to relax. DW finally stirred, rolled over and asked what time it was. I gazed at the alarm clock.
"Oh, its about five to twelve."
DW: *pause* It is NOT...
Me: yes, its 11:54.
DW: *groan* oh my GOD....I thought it was around 8:30 and I was about to kill you for being up so early.
Nothing quite like a near-noon sleep in to start the New Year off right.
So here we sit in our jammies, noshing on the leftovers from last night and watching 'The Fellowship of The Ring' and just relaxing until The Wondertwins come home sometime this afternoon.
Its a brief solitude, but we'll take it.
May your New Year start just as well.
9 days without posting.
Very unlike me.
Unfortunately, work has sapped most of my energy and attention these days. I'm doing my level best to get a lot of things done before I take some time off between Christmas and New Years'.
Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere....I'm just....busy.
I looked back in my calendar and realized that I missed helping you celebrate a major personal holiday last week.
Forgive me, pal.
Kal tagged me for one of those "dig in your archive" posts.
Only one problem: my 22nd, 23rd, and 24th posts aren't long enough or content worthy for this little exercise.
What to do? Do I violate that sacred oath that binds me to obey the tag, the whole tag, and nothing but the tag? If I sin, is there a confessional?
Help a brother out, will ya?
Don't get me wrong. I like the B-52's just as much as the nexy guy. However, hearing those endless Ray Manzarek-like organ riffs and the choruses of "Rock Lobster" playing ad infinitum in my empty skull is enough to drive ya batty.
Every so often I pay attention to the song, then I'm reminiscing about the early 80's and mentally roller-skating at the local rink.
*sigh*
I'm sure, if I really applied myself like my parents and teachers told me, that I could do *way* better on this test. I...I...I just *know* I can.
But I sure wouldn't be married anymore if I did.
This is defined as self-inflicted death doing something monumentally dumb. Whether or not this leaves someone eligible for a Darwin is a matter of some debate.
I draw your attention to this article.
The mother of our late, lamented dearly departed has called for a ban on these "pen guns"
Right.
That's the equivalent of banning pharmaceuticals to prevent overdoses, or Mama Cass' family calling for a ban on roast beef to avoid senseless chokings.
Granted, this death is a tragedy for its sheer preventability and I do question the necessity of such firearms on the open market. There's a reason why any group using firearms spend so much time on safety precautions; to prevent dumb shit like this from happening.
If the NRA and their supporters want to enforce their somewhat misinterpreted rights (insofar as I understand them, and I'm not an expert) under the Second Amendment, let there be a campaign on safe handling instead.
Maybe that makes too much sense.
(I'm sure I'll piss someone off with this post, but....)
I'm not particularly interested in the miserable year that will occur, if DW's prediction (77) also holds true.
Its been a busy few days at the Stone/Shagwell household.
We got an early start on Thursday with a phone call from my father that his wife had died. She was diagnosed very early this year with a rather pervasive brain tumour. She had been suffering a variety of health problems which forced her retirement from GM. After a couple of years of treatment for related issues I guess they figured out this was the cause.
Anyway, she got a 12-18 month prognosis and didn't even last that long. So the funeral is Sunday.
I can't say I particularly want to go because my father and I aren't that close anymore and I certainly wasn't close with his wife (spouse #3). I think I can count on both hands the number of times I saw her over the course of his time with her. A sense of family obligation is overhwelming my relative ambivalence. (Pun intended).
(Yes, its a complicated relationship with much unpleasant history that may be the subject of a future blog.)
In other news, we have been working away on a few things DW has been demonstrating her considerable taping and plastering skills on the new drywall downstairs. (Reno #1). I took some time yesterday to do some woodworking, specifically, a very simple, yet functional cabinet for many of the add-ons for my drill press. I do love Shop Notes magazine for all those little ideas (Reno #2). Today was spent on things Christmas-y. Its in this sort of thing that DW and I agree to disagree. For me, holiday decorating, etc lost its allure many years ago. DW, while not so fussy about the holiday itself, loves the decorative/crafy aspect; particularly because of the Wondertwins. The pre-wired fiber-optic and lights-included Christmas tree was dragged up from the basement and installed. While one doesn't require a joint degree in Civil and Electrical engineering to assemble this thing, it doesn't necessarily hurt. However, the tree was set up and all the lights work. (Reno #3). Of course, one can't have a tree without all the remaining household decorations being put up. Down came the fall garland from the banister and up went the two piece pine garland. We dug through the various boxes to find numerous snowman-related decorations, along with stockings, wreaths candles......the list is almost endless. We even found a string of lights which come with a little controller that lets you change the blink pattern. This is one seriously long and high tech string of lights. We tested them out while laying the whole string on the floor, trading bulbs with a string we were going to dump off to DW's ex (along with all the other decorations we located and that he'll refuse to put up.) We put up the lights running from around an upper floor doorway, down the banister and around the main post at the bottom. But if anyone can tell me why (after extensive testing and troubleshooting) the strand controlling the blue bulbs refuses to work... *sigh* My contribution to the decorating was the can of spray snow which is now artfully applied to the front windows and the storm door. (Reno #4)
So that's the news and I...am.....outta here! (Thank you, Dennis Miller)
"...that is the question which preoccupies us. Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the..."
Aw, fuck it.
Yeah, its Wednesday. I want to blog but don't have the faintest idea what to say.
I'm disappointed to note that I seem to be de-evolving in the TTLB ecosystem. Granted, I won't attain primate status, but having dropped back to insect I fiind myself disappointed.
Of course, DW put it all in perspective for me when I kvetched about it. "So remove it. Do you blog because you like it or do you blog because you need the attention?"
(Do I really have to answer that?)
Another childhood staple has gone.
Stan was the co-creator of the "Berenstain Bears" book series. He and his wife, Jan, authored the books along with Ted Geisel (a.k.a. Dr. Seuss)
I remember reading those books until the covers practically fell off. What J.K. Rowling is doing for kids now, Stan, Jan, and Ted did for kids when I was young. The books got kids to read, and to learn while they were being entertained. The tales were timeless and just as fun to read today as they were 30+ years ago.
Their sons are carrying on the legacy...
Bill Engvall is never around when you need him.
A late night disaster (masquerading as a hockey game), coupled with less sleep than I prefer has made for a rather interesting morning.
I'm working up in The Bunker today and had to leave the house early for the drive. I forgot that part of my usual route is closed for construction, so I had to take a less-than-ideal road to get here. It was raining and dark, just to make the drive that much more fun.
Upon safe arrival at the bunker (a miracle all on its own), I discovered that not only had I left my lunch behind, I had also managed to leave the house without the power supply for my laptop.
I'll take my sign any time, Bill.
Edit: I forgot to mention the little love note left on my pillow from my DW when I rolled in from hockey at oh-dark-hundred last night. At least the evening ended with a smile. :)
After reading a note on canoe.ca about the fallout from the season-long antics by this 'spectacle of nature', I tracked down the actual arbitrator's ruling on the whole sordid affair.
This guy is a poster child for overindulged, ego-centric athletes with too much money and not enough humility. He needs a serious reality enema.
Read through the transcript and you'll wonder why he didn't get the boot sooner. I'm pretty sure Lawrence Phillips can tell him what life is like "on the outside".
http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=2234819
What a knob.
Arnold is dead. Mr. Miyagi, too. *sigh*
CNN Obit for Pat Morita.
I think I preferred his M*A*S*H guest roles better.
Not directly inspired by Kal's recent post, but...
Captain Jean-Luc Picard- You are the thinking
person's captain. You contemplate everything
before putting it into action. While you are
indecisive at times, you do so to insure an
equatable solution no matter what the cost.
Which Star Trek Captain are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
All things considered, this isn't a bad choice. I kinda like Archer, though...
I know it sounds like a bad poker hand, but I've been tagged by my DW and by Duff.
10 Years ago I was: just moved in with my girlfriend (at the time) and working for a placement agency as a headhunter and not really doing very well at it.
5 years ago I was: recently promoted to a managers job at the corporate training centre, and about to split from the g/f above (mutually and amicably, I should add) and generally feeling like the world was my oyster.
1 year ago I was: Contemplating wedding plans and step-parentage and many other things.
Yesterday I was: Feeling work-frustrated but going home to my "happy place" doing some more reno work on the basement.
Five snacks I enjoy:
Five songs to which I know all the lyrics:
Five things I would do with $100 Million:
Five places to run away:
Five bad habits:
Five things I would never wear:
Five favourite TV shows:
Five biggest joys in my life:
Five favourite toys: (toys? um, how about tools?)
I'll tag dtrini :)
Back in my high school days, I played drums. I'm sure my father would have preferred for me to stick with the saxophone, but he supported my interest and enthusiasm.
I was largely unschooled and relying on a reasonably good sense of rhythm and listening to other people play. One of my major influences was Neil Peart. Of course, most drummers get into equipment specifics and we know all sorts of kit minutiae...and I recall slavishly drawing out the layout of his massive kit over and over and over (hey, its a Drummer thing....)
Anyway, I've always been a Rush fan and a great admirer of Neil's, not just as a performer, but also as a literate and articulate person. One of my more treasured possessions is a handwritten postcard from him (20 yrs ago, now) offering thanks for a piece of fan mail I sent to Modern Drummer magazine. (Note to self: Get that framed!)
So one of my colleages happened to wander over to my veal-fattening pen cubicle just around lunchtime and mentioned, "I dunno what kind of music you like, or if you're a Rush fan or not.."
Me: "I'm a huge Rush fan"
JF: "They have one of Neil Peart's drum kits on display down at Sam the Record Man. I think it's there until 3."
Me: ...
Holy crap...
So....off I went down to Sam's...walked in....found it.....drooled and dreamed. There's something to be said about the latent power of a set of drums.
And just for those of you who want to appreicate a virtual "Neil" experience, check out this jaw-dropping animated sequence.
Tell me....why did I sell my kit 10 yrs ago? (oh yeah...I needed the money...and you can't serenade someone with drums)
Its gonna be a nasty winter season if the recent forecast is any indication. Normally T.dot manages to escape the early onset and the current trend is that the flakes don't usually appear until the fat guy and his herd do their annual thing. I know that its winter and it's the Great White North, but hey...just because I experience the season doesn't mean I like it. The weather guessers tell me that I can expect not one, but two snowfalls this week.
This was definitely not in the brochure.
Shocking everyone, the Blue Meanies turned in a stellar performance last night. For my part I was pretty bored in the first period, facing exactly one shot on goal. However, the heat got turned up in the second and kept at a good simmer during the third. It was some furious forechecking and persistence that won the game. I just did my bit to keep us in it. A few goal mouth scrambles, one stopped breakaway and one very memorable stop off the top shaft of my stick just kept the team amused. For all the really shitty games I play, I occasionally get one like that to remind me why hockey is fun.
However, that same fun can't be said about my beloved Argos and their second-half collapse on Sunday. So much for a return trip to the Grey Cup... *sigh*
Speaking of poor suffering bastards, Larry has surfaced. Apparently he's been working his tail off and still managed to find himself on the outs with his boss. Go send some love and support his way, will ya?
If you're looking for a laugh at someone else's expense (C'mon.....I know you are, and don't try to tell em different) check out "Nobody Cares about Joe", a slightly Canadian-obsessed hockey fan in Ohio. Check out his story about a midget co-worker. Personally, I thought it had potential to be a successor to Digi's "FIB" tale with a little more creative effort.
For the life of me, I don't know why I do this to myself, but I really need to stop the late night "I had a late hockey game and can't sleep so I'll watch TV and nosh" thing. Got some wicked acid reflux this morning. *ugh* I'm definitely too old for this shit.
On the home reno front, inbetween trips for the boy's Cadet obligations tonight, I think I'll get started on laying out and cutting some of the steel studs for the remaining basement walls. I should be able to get *some* of that work done easily, especially because the cutting of the studs is such a breeze. (There's a joke in there somewhere, I just know it.) I just have to figure out how to work around the ducting.....but I do love a challenge. I'll save the wiring of that damned outlet for later. I'm not brave enough to tackle the breaker box yet.
Hello again, gang. It's been a loooooooonnnnng-ass weekend, but a very productive one. Okay, so the weekend kinda stretched into today to get everything done, but why split hairs?
With the exception of installing the bi-fold door, the new storage area under the stairs is DONE!
Here we see some of the steel stud wall prior to all the drywall being added (as told during the last chapter.) Please note the silly-ass ducting layout in the upper-right corner. Fucken' subdivision construction...
Here's my DW armed with the drill helping to put up one of the last sheets on the partition.
Et, voila! We have WALL!
This weekend's efforts were focused on enclosing the basement stairs and adding drywall to the area under the stairs so we can have a nice, tidy storage space.
(Sidebar story: We went to Home Despot to get everything we needed for this weekend. Unfortunately, my F-i-L's van was only 46" wide on the inside, rendering it useless to carry a large amount of material 48" wide. Fortunately, HD kindly makes a 10' cargo van available for short-term rental for folks to take larger items home. But even in a place the size of the 'Bee, they only have ONE van available. When we went in, we figured we'd manage one of two things: we'd either get the van, or we'd arrange to have all the stuff delivered. It was a pretty simple list, really: 10 sheets of ½" drywall, one sheet of ½" G1S plywood for backing the stairs, 2 1"x10"x8" and 2 1"x8"x8' boards for shelving, plus assorted hardware, drywall corner beading, etc. etc. HD tells us that we have to have our purchase done before we can ask for the van. At 1:15 PM it had gone out and it was 3-ish when we arrived.
So, we got it all done and DW went to see about the van while I got the stuff out to the loading area outside. She calls from the desk to tell me that the van just went out and wasn't expected back for another 90 mins.
SHIT.
We can get the stuff delivered on Monday, but we really, really, really wanted to have it all available to work on Sunday. Brilliant woman that my DW is, she suggested that we see if we can get a van from one of the rental places for a quickie rental. After a moment's confusion about cargo vans vs. cube vans we were told there was one available where we rented last time. Only one snag: They closed at 4:30 and it was 3:58.
Long story short, I raced to the rental place and grabbed the van, unfortunately leaving DW guarding our hoard in somewhat chilly weather. Needless to say, that was a scramble we didn't want to go through again.)
On the way home, we snagged a brad nailer (nice & cheap, too) to help us with the stair work.
Unloading was a complete bitch, but we managed to get everything we needed downstairs and ready to roll.
The in-laws came over later than night and enjoyed the hockey game and a nice buffet meal with us. DW was downstairs sorting out the last of her massive Avon order for The Girl's choir and I sat upstairs with F-i-L discussing various options for the ceiling of the basement area and some imminent plumbing issues for the move of the laundry room to the basement.
Sunday rolled around and we got right to work. Okay....so we slept in and got to work at 11AM...again with the hair-splitting!
We started in on the backing for the stairs. I got to break in my circular saw, complete with laser guide. Apparently you need to look like a CSI tech if you have a tool with on-board laser.
The brad nailer worked like a dream and the stair backing went in with no problems. I took a moment to admire and appreciate the handiwork from the inside.
In typical Stone fashion, there's one little visible error. On one of the backings I had the good side facing inwards, revealing a nice knot. We decided to make the best of it and commemorate the error in carpenter's pencil.
However, we had our stairs backed!! Eventually we'll carpet them, but that will be one of the final steps in the basement project.
We added the drywall to the back of our new storage area before putting up shelves. We decided not to plaster or spackle the space in there because the drywall was just to make sure that stuff didn't slip off the backs of the shelves between the studs. (NOTE to the bright-light previous owner who did some of the original partition wall work years ago...studs are 16" ON CENTRE, not 16" apart....moron) After the drywall went up, the shelves were next. A pretty good off-the-cuff job if we do say so ourselves. We've added a small fluorescent light behind the stairs to provide a bit of illumination, but here's the finished space. (Note that the distortion is because of the camera lens and the short distance, not a lack of 'square' on my part.)
All that needs to happen now is getting the bi-fold installed and we can seal that all off.
As we crawled, weary, into bed last night we felt good about the work. Our home is really taking shape and we get to take all the credit. (cuz that's what its all about, really.) *grin*
Oh, yeah...and its about the power tools, too.
I'd like to note that with the photo uploads and other things going on it took ages to get this post done. Friggin' slow Blogger...
DW will laugh when she reads this...
It never fails. I run into some kind of roadblock and call for help. Then, while I'm waiting, I manage to figure out a solution. You'd think I would learn, but...its like lighting a smoke while waiting for the bus. No sooner is it lit than the bus shows.
Here's my "Rule of Three" meme:
Three names I go by:
1. (the real name)
2. (Surname diminutive)
3. Spiffy
Three screen names I have had:
1. (#2 above) the Argo Fan
2. Spaceman Spiff
3. Mossy Stone
Three physical things I like about myself:
1. eyes
2. forearms
3. legs
Three physical things I don’t like about myself:
1. waist
2. nose
3. chest
Three parts of my heritage:
1. Canadian
2. British
3. Scottish
Three things that scare me:
1. bumps in the night
2. uncertainty
3. confinement
Three of my everyday essentials:
1. a Book
2. Learning
3. Surfing
Three of my favorite musical artists:
1. Rush
2. Chicago
3. Rik Emmett
Three of my favorite songs:
1. Limelight - RUSH
2. Middle Ground - Rik Emmett
3. Something Happened on the Way To Heaven - Phil Collins
Three things I want in a relationship:
1. wickedly hot sex (check)
2. partnership/balance (check)
3. humour (check)
Three lies and truths in no particular order: (you figure out which ones are lies and which ones are the truth)
1. I love driving to work
2. I can make bread
3. I prefer tea to coffee
4. I can play the clarinet
5. I am blunt
6. I get things done on time
Three physical things about the opposite sex that appeals to me:
1. eyes
2. legs
3. smile
Three of my favorite hobbies:
1. reading
2. model building
3. woodworking/carpentry
Three things I want to do really badly now:
1. go home
2. get accepted to my MA program
3. get tea
Three careers I’ve considered:
1. Police Officer
2. Architect
3. Teacher
Three places I want to go on vacation:
1. Tuscany
2. Scotland
3. Halifax
Three kid’s names I like:
1. dunno
2. dunno, jr.
3. dunno III
Three things I want to do before I die:
1. Get my MA
2. Post back-to-back Shut-outs
3. Learn to fly
Three ways that I am stereotypically like a boy:
1. I'm handy with tools
2. I like cars
3. I'm lousy with paying bills
Three ways that I am stereotypically a girl:
1. I can do basic sewing
2. I can iron
3. I watch Gilmore Girls
Three celeb crushes:
1. Marina Sirtis
2. Trisha Yearwood (yeah, I know...I know...blame it on her guest spots on JAG)
3. Jacklyn Smith
Three people that I would like to see post this meme: (they won’t but here goes)
1. Digi
2. Larry
3. you
Blogthings didn't have any cheesy Memes to work with today, so I'm putting it out there for my loyal readership.
Send me a tag or a meme.
I'm definitely having one of those "I feel so freakin lazy I could just go back to bed" days. Again, it seems to be a case of "so much to do and no idea where to start." I am, of course, referring to work.
Since there's not much I can do about that today, I'll blog. (Shades of Kal weighing the options of blogging vs. Madden 2004)
Last night's hockey game was fugly from the opening face-off. I won'r reveal the final score, but collectively we didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory. We definitely mailed that one in.
This weekend looks to be a relatively busy one, with The Boy needing to be at Cadets for 0630 Saturday for a trip to participate in a Santa Claus parade, then I think The Girl has her choir practice and then my out-laws are apparently coming over later that day and my father-in-law is making his van available for the picking up of large items like more drywall and other things. This bodes well. Apparently he wants to make use of my table saw that day. Fair trade? I think the jury's out on that one. ;-) Sunday? Who knows.
Barring some kind of renovation disaster (yeah I know I just spit in the eyes of the gods...I'll deal) we should be able to make some good progress on drywall and wall framing. Will I get it all done? Probably not. There's some fairly complex boxing that needs to be done around the breaker box, to say nothing of running wiring for a switch (shit...gotta pick up an outlet box, too) and figuring out how to work around the ducting (shit...gotta check out how to cap some of the ducts we're taking out) and getting some of the plumbing sorted out for the new laundry space.
Home reno? I love it all. I really think the basement will look good once its all done and I can definitely say that the bulk of the work was done by the owners, rather than a contractor. (of course, if it looks like shit, I'll blame a contractor. *grin*)
No, I haven't forgotten about pictures. Time has been my enemy this week.
(Update: DW tells me that The Boy's feet are still rather sore so he's out for the parade this weekend and for extra drill. I offered to wake him at 5:30 anyway just to make sure he got the full, rich experience for the weekend and all that.....no takers, but I'll keep working at it.)
(** to eventually be accompanied by photos**)
My DW and I put up a wall between us this weekend.
Um...
Between us, my DW and I put up a wall.
Hmmm....nope.
How about...
My DW and I finished drywalling a partition wall this weekend. Good? Yah? Really??
Yeah, I know it's taken a while to get it closer to completion, but we're busy people. This weekend was a classic example. With Remembrance Day being a government holiday, I was off. After the parade that morning I raced back to meet the gas fitters who were coming in to set up the line for a new stove. Well, not really "new", but "new to us". The stove came courtesy of my brother-in-law who wanted to swap out his gas stove at his 'to-be-sold' house with the electric one we had. Of course, since stoves don't fit in Intrepids or Saturns, we needed to rent a truck to handle the dirty work.
So...truck was rented, picked up late that afternoon, our stove loaded, stoves swapped....
And then it was Saturday. The truck had to be back that afternoon and DW and I were kidless, so we were pretty much free to make use of the truck to get to our favourite place: Home Depot.
6 sheets of drywall and the accompanying sheet metal trim later...
We actually made some good progress and managed some workarounds to deal with a few little 'construction landmines' that cropped up (as they inevitably do.) DW demonstrated more of her home reno prowess with one particularly bright suggestion about dealing with one metal-stud-not-meeting drywall-correctly 'gotcha'. I need to be reminded occasionally that the simple solutions are often better than my complex ones.
Proof of the successful wall installation was discovered when DW passed through the open doorway and hit the as-yet-unwired light switch as she headed for the storage area. We both enjoyed a good chuckle over that one.
The partition is no longer naked, and we even added another drywall sheet to the partially finished outer wall of the basement. We have something like a plan for the gordian knot of ductwork and a realistic approach for my tonne of books and their eventual shelves.
Tonight I'll see if I can get the partition wall built for the stairs and get that drywalled in while DW is out.
I'm loving it....so far. Just don't make me wire anything. ;-)
It looks like the Resistance has finally toppled the evil Recondo empire.
You just gotta love when blogs come together...
"Romeo Romeo Mike, this is HQ...send SITREP, over."
"Romeo Romeo Mike, Roger. SITREP and aerial recon photos to follow, over."
"HQ, prepared to receive, over."
"Romeo Romeo Mike, SITREP as follows: Forces deployed as per Orders received at 1900 Zulu time."
"Reconaissance elements crossed the Line of Departure at H-Hour..."
"...followed by the mechanized infantry elements at H-plus-1, over."
"HQ, roger so far, over."
"Romeo Romeo Mike, SITREP continues..."
"Peacekeeping patrols from the UN were encountered by the Recon element at H-plus-5, and negotiations continued with the Canadian troops manning the patrol vehicle. The patrol was bought off with the latest "XXX Hot Chicks of Hockey", as well as "Curling Gurls Gone Wild" DVDs, over."
"HQ, roger. Will pass that along to the Intel folks at G-2. Good work, over."
"Romeo Romeo Mike, SITREP ends, over."
"HQ, roger. President Chloe and the UPC Forces are depending on you. May Mattel be with us all. HQ, out."
When you're out parading today, and I know you all will be, make sure you have everything that you need, and that your accoutrements are properly affixed to your blazer.
1. Your Royal Canadian Legion membership pin.
2. Your Poppy.
3, 4. Your Medals (Commemorative Medal for the 125th Anniversary of Canadian Confederation 'Canada 125', and your Canadian Forces Decoration 'CD', respectively.)
Add to that your well-loved black beret and regimental cap badge, crisp white shirt and regimental tie and you will be all set.
Remember to take a moment to remember the fallen at 11AM. Remember those among us now who give of their time doing things like this:
And like this:
They shall not grow old,
as we who are left grow old.
Age shall not weary them,
Nor the years condemn.
And at the going down of the sun,
and in the morning,
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.
"For the Fallen" - Lawrence Binyon, 21 Sept 1914.
As much as I'd like to stay in denial, I can feel the oncoming winter chills in the air. I'm not quite at the stage where I need my heavy coat, but I'm thinking about looking for my gloves when I get home from work. I also note with some delight that the heaters are on in my bus.
~shiver~
An ugly loss for the team last night. I'll take the lion's share of the blame for that fiasco.
(On the chills note, I'll have to start bringing my hockey equipment in from the garage...it won't be warm enough for it to dry out. )
I can't believe how fast yesterday seemed to go. The whole day went by in something like a very productive blur. I felt that I got a lot done...which makes up for the days when I work 'n' work 'n' work and seem to get *nothing* done.
Speaking of work, I'm gonna fire up the laptop and keep plugging away on the way in. Might as well strike while the iron is hot....
(I love mobile blogging...)
I had an epiphany this morning.
11:30 hockey games really stink.
The mighty squad lost 3-2 in a rather uncoordinated effort last night. *sigh* These things happen.
I allowed myself the indulgence of a much later train so I could enjoy a relatively rush-free morning while my brain recovers from its low-wattage situation.
At some point I may be to old for this, but for the moment, I'll cope.
---------------------
On a wholly unrelated note, I an still feeling my literary frustrations. Like DW, I feels there are stories in me that are aching to get out. I know I'm "writing" here, but these are rather piecemeal efforts. Hell, I'd even like to author a book on training & educations stuff, but.....
I can start, but I admit I'm a lousy finisher. I can see the stories and thoughts in my head, but there's a brain-to-pen disconnect that stifles the whole process. I doubt that anything I'd come up with is even publishable (no, gutter-brains...its not dirty stuff. *sheesh*). I just don't know if anyone would even think its worth putting into print.
Ah well, if the stories finish, they get finished. Maybe I'll share them here.
Train arrives...subway calls.
Some will say its about time, and others will say it isn't deserved.
Any way you slice it, the arguments sum up Damon Allen's nomination as a finalist for the CFL' Most Outstanding Player award.
DA is a real study in contradiction, but I admit that it wasn't until the last few years that I've really paid attention to it.
For example, here's a guy who has passed for over 60,000 yards, but he's never passed for more than 5,000 in a single season. He's not a big guy by any means, yet he has also managed to rush for over 10,000. He has never (in 21 years) been the MOP, yet in the Grey Cup games he's played, he usually winds up as the Game MVP. I've seen him create forward yardage from nothing and elude tacklers on broken plays, and I've seen him make some brutal fumbles (the dying seconds of the '99 Western Final spring to mind.)
However, the man gets full marks for longevity and sheer perseverance. Very few people can play a professional sport for 21 seasons, and more importantly, be playing some of the best games of your life in that 21st season! Add to that his ability to rise above his critics and continue to play his game....the man is a marvel. Although Head Coach "Pinball" almost reverently describes him as a "freak of nature".
Congrats, Damon. I hope you get the recognition you deserve come awards night. We know that your Hall of Fame trip is all but assured.
A few non-connected thoughts and observations to start the day.
First, a welcome to Joe and his "Nobody Cares" blog. He seems to have an affinity for Canadians, Llamas and hockey porn (you'll just have to see what I mean).
Next, a slightly belated Happy Birthday to Larry. The monkey man was probably working his tail off and didn't have a lot of time to celebrate the event. DW and I sent him suitably amusing cards, so between our greetings, Dani's mermaid pic, and whatever The Steph comes up with, I'm sure he'll feel suitably 'feted'. (Sorry for the lack of 'accent circonflex'. I can't get the BB to handle more complex symbols.)
With a tip of the hat to the legendary Calvin & Hobbes parental surveys....A recent opinion poll conducted at the Shagwell/Stone residence regarding global stepfather rankings came back with a surprising result. Apparently I am now ranked first among step-dads in that vital '11 y/o boy-girl twins in East GTA' demographic. The results have a margin of error of 30-40%, 5 times out of 7. The poll results were given to me in the form of a touque, suitably embroidered with "#1 Stepdad". Who am I to argue with the math? (Pictures to follow. I'm touched beyond words. According to DW, this was entirely The Girl's idea. This is what happens when DW takes her to the mall.).
Its a gorgeously sunny day here. Apparently ltlme's prayers worked. 'Nuff said.
I might actually get to drift back into Drill Sergeant mode in the near future. The Boy is more involved with his Cadet group and I offered my assistance to the Officers there. Having taught a *lot* of basic training, I'm pretty sure I can square-bash with the best of them. It would definitely be theraputic....my parade boots and drill cane are around somewhere...
And so ends this mid-week missive. Enjoy!
(Edit: In response to overwhelming demand, picture proof of my Step-father ranking is now available.)
Wow...apparently I've received two nominations for the month of October. Best Comedic Post and Best Comment Trail.
Aw, shucks...
Its perfectly ghastly outside this morning. Nary a patch of blue to be seen. Kind of a featureless morning which renders everything in sight just a little less crisp and 2-dimensional.
I used to hate days like this in the army. We'd be cold, damp, and miserable. Nobody wanted to do anything. Motivation on Sunny days was never an issue. Anyone who has spent time in the big green machine can attest to that. Of course in my gig, the prospect of spending the day in an open jeep, crammed with supplies, equipment, weapons and 2 other bodies with the prospect of imminent downpour was just soul-draining.
"Aw geeze Sergeant-Major...why am I getting up?"
"Get your ass and your soldiers moving, Sergeant Stone....its your responsibility. "
Oh yeah.
Meanwhile, back at home...
"Aw, honey, can't we just stay in bed and snuggle?"
DW: "No, poohkie. You have to go to work. "
Work. Oh yeah.
There are far worse fates, of course. I mean, I could have no job, making the out-of-bed-getting somewhat problematic. Or, perhaps, I could be off to my job in the fullery. (Go look up "fuller" on a Wiki somewhere.) Having woken up in both of those situations, literally for the former and figuratively for the latter, I suppose I shouldn't complain. I'm doing what I love (even though I don't always love everything I do - which happens in every job.) Life just adds its own variables to every day.
Speaking of ghastly variables, hockey was a somewhat gruesome affair last night. Hallowe'en night is always tough because you never know how many players you'll have. Apparently our opposition wasn't burdened by this concern as they iced a full team to our 9 skaters. After my brief hiatus, I can't say I played particularly well, but as a team I wouldn't say any of us were candidates for Central Scouting. We probably played the best team in our league and even if we'd had all 14 of us, we would have had our hands full. Ah well, I know I played a good second period, and the guys said we were lucky it was only 5-3.
Ages ago, in a previous guise, I lamented the cancellation of a Masters' program I was really keen on. While DW and I were in Vancouver, I checked with the U again to see if the program was on. I actually think that it is. Gawd, I hope it really is. I really, really, really want into this program. Part of my challenge for a post-grad is that pesky undergrad that I'm missing. So finding just the right program is important. I don't want to do just any old Executive MBA, because it seems like everyone and his dog has one. (My apologies to all dogs who don't yet have their MBA). No, I need the right program. One completely applicable to my current work and one that will give me the education credentials to support career advances (not to be confused with sexual advances, which are something else entirely). For someone who was smart enough to be a good student but too unmotivated to make it happen, I'm actually pumped about school again. I really am. I know it will reall!
y be a tough 2 years if I get in, but...how could it not be worth it? The program itself is virtually (no pun intended) all distance education. The brain trust figures I'll need to dedicate 10-20 hrs per week to the effort while courses are on. There is a 3-week residency requirement where I'll have to go to the campus and I'll be working 6 days per week while I'm there. However, the prospect still excites me. I mean, I think of the doors that could open for my career. I think about how I can put some of this new knowledge to use at work. Wow. If I could dance in my seat here on the train, I would. Pretty sure I'd get some weird-ass looks, though. I could babble on about the whole school thing, but I'm sure that both of my loyal readers are already bored witless.
So, I wait for their response to my email. Think positive thoughts for ol' Stoney on that one.
On to more positive thinking.
It is positively grey outside. But I think I caught a glimmer of sun.
This bodes well.
