I have a better reason than most people to defend Bell Canada when it comes to their disinterested customer service, bumbling administrative practices, non-existent communication between departments (Phone, Internet, TV) and overall shoddy service.
Growing up, Bell helped put food on our table, so I’ve always been inclined to cut them a little slack and treat their seemingly inevitable mistakes like you would the cherished family pet that’s grown a little long in the tooth.
Shucks, so what if Spot just piddled all over the floor, remember when he was a puppy and used to sleep at the foot of your bed? Gosh, that was cute.
S has had so many problems with Bell over the years that she flat out refuses to deal with them anymore. If it was up to her we would have switched all our services over to Rogers years ago.
It’s only out of my misplaced sense of loyalty that we have stuck with Bell after their many, many screw ups.
And it’s not just S. I’ve never met anyone with something good to say about Bell. So for years I have stood up for the company, despite the horror stories from my friends and my own less than stellar experiences with the company.
I justified my actions by fooling myself into thinking that all big telecom companies must have these kinds of problems. Otherwise customers, fed up with being treated like nuisances instead of assets, would simply have defected en masse to another company, right?
Wrong.
It’s time to realize that despite all the warm fuzzy memories you might have of Spot that your house smells like piss and your carpets are ruined.
Its time to say goodbye to Bell Canada.
Now it’s important to mention that I don’t have anything bad to say about most of the individuals I’ve dealt with at Bell. For the most part they are helpful, pleasant people simply trying to do their job from within the confines of a bloated bureaucracy.
It’s not the customer service reps that are the problem, it’s the god damn customer service.
This story deals with the trials and many tribulations I had dealing with Bell Canada and their inability to move my current services to a new address.
I’m sorry, but there’s no easy way to condense 15plus phone calls into an easily understood narrative. What started out as a simple move order quickly descended into series of marathon phone calls; in which if I wasn’t correcting some error they made (with steadily eroding patience), it was listening to their eternals sales pitches and snippets of elevator music while languishing in the infernal limbo known as ‘being on hold.’
Timeline of events.
1. Call Bell a month before the move to arrange the moving our home phone, internet and televisions services.
Snag #1: We want to keep our old phone number when we move to our new address, which apparently is some bureaucratic nightmare on their end that necessitates Bell calling us back to inform us if such an outlandish request can even be processed. Said call never comes.
Snag #2: Our television and internet service is currently run off the same box, Bell ExpressVu for condos. When we move to the new house these services will need to be split off from each other. From here on in, the TV will run off a PVR receiver and the internet will run off a modem. Never again shall these two services be joined in holy matrimony. This is less of a snag and more of a bureaucratic knot that needs to be untangled.
Snag #3: We need to cancel our television service outright and sign up again from scratch. This is because Bell ExpressVu for condos clearly doesn’t service homes and therefore we need to set up a new account if we want television service. Only, I’m not authorized to cancel our television account. Despite the television being in my name for the last two years and despite the fact that my name is on the bill every month I’m not authorized to close the account. No, because my wife made the initial call two years ago only she has the power to close the account.
And my wife doesn’t talk to Bell anymore, not after five straight months of consistently overcharging us, telling us the error had been noted in the computer and that the oversight would be corrected on the next bill. At which point dealing with Bell became my exclusive responsibility.
2. S calls Bell to cancel television service.
3. I call Bell to set up installation of new television service. At this point I think I should mention that when I call Bell it’s never me dealing with one person. No, I have to be shuttled to every individual department (Phone, Internet, TV) whereupon I’m expected to tell each Customer Service Rep my story from beginning to end, from who I am, to what I want and to when I want it.
And after every conversation I get the rep to repeat back to me what it is the conversation has been about and to confirm the particulars of the move order.
4. I call Bell back to confirm that we can port our number over to the new house. The customer service confirms that this is possible. I double check the details of our move order (with all the various departments) and sit back, secure in the knowledge that nothing can possibly go wrong.
5. A week later, when scanning my credit card bill, I notice Bell has charged me twice for the PVR I ordered to go along with our new television service. When I call them up to fix the error, they have no record of me setting up the new television service. Despite giving them my name, my current address, my new address and my credit card number it takes them 45 minutes to locate my file.
Once again I double check the details of our move order (with all the various departments) and sit back, secure in the knowledge that nothing else can possibly go wrong.
6. Bell Canada cuts off our phone service two days early, on a Saturday morning. Although she has a cellphone my wife prefers to use the home line. And in fact, this is the number that most people call us on.
Since we have people who need to get in touch with us regarding details of our impending move (and only know our home number) I call Bell’s emergency repair line, where I sit on hold, for a long, long time. Finally, when I reach a human being, I explain the situation. The rep tells me that he can have the phone turned on tomorrow morning. In reality, the phone service is activated the following night, roughly 12 hours before it was due to be disconnected anyway.
No credible reason is ever given for the early disconnection.
Once again I double check the details of our move order (with all the various departments) and sit back, secure in the knowledge that this time nothing else can possibly go wrong.
7. Bell cuts off our phone, TV and internet service promptly at the scheduled time. I call from work to confirm all our move information is on file. I confirm the details. I am not re-assured. Our phone and internet service is schedule to be set up two days later. A new modem is scheduled to arrive at the same time because the internet is no longer connected to the TV.
A tv technician is schedule to come out to our house in four days and install our television service.
8. The phone is not activated when it is supposed to be. The modem does not arrive. I call Bell inquiring why and I am informed that I apparently contacted the company and asked them to cancel the phone technician. I’m aghast. First of all, I didn’t even know we needed a phone technician to come out to our house. In fact, I was specifically told that the phone could be set up remotely, by flicking some switches somewhere else. And secondly, WHY ON EARTH WOULD I CANCEL THEM?
After some long baffling conversations with the CS Rep I also find out that they have no record of our ordering internet service at all.
Since I’m having this conversation from work I’m trying, and failing, to keep an even, reasonable tone of voice.
I arrange to have the internet set up and reschedule the phone tech.
As has become my habit. I confirm that the television tech is still scheduled to come tomorrow and install our tv. Unfortunately, they have no record of the order, until they find that the work order has somehow been mysteriously filed under my cell phone number. I hang up phone and cry quietly at my desk.
9. Ten minutes after I hang up the phone a Bell TV tech calls to confirm his appointment for later today. After correcting his error I begin to suspect I was a bad person in another life and this is karma’s way of balancing the scales.
10. The next day, my wife calls me from my house to say that the Bell tv technician is there but is unable to install the satellite as a tree blocks the dish’s line of sight. This is the only a reasonable explanation for a problem that I’ve heard from Bell yet.
However, the technician refuses to hand over the PVR we purchased, and were charged twice for, and recommends we call Rogers instead. Despite my wife’s insistence the PVR was ours and we bought it outright, he will not relinquish it. Jackass succeeds in making a pregnant woman cry.
11. I call Bell. I have a two hour conversation with them about phone, internet and their shoddy treatment of customers. I cancel the television service.
12. I order television service from Rogers
13. I write this post.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Shot vs. Snatch
An interesting article sent to me by a friend about the nature of the shot vs. the snatch.
I pretty much agree with the article in its entirety on the subject.
For me one of the defining aspects of the shot, vs. the snatch, is that for shots to work effectively directors need to be conscious of not only their frame composition, but their mise en scene as well.
I think strong mise en scene (camera com\position, movement, lighting AND set dec) has given away to a strong focus on set dec and lighting effects. I remember watching some behind the scenes crap for VAN HELSING a couple years ago and watching Hugh Jackman stumble around a gigantic sound stage with half a dozen cameras following his every move. I was disappointed by that, because it showed that clearly the mise en scene was incidental to whatever the actor was doing.
Now VAN HELSING was a crap action movie and can’t really be expected to live by the mantra of the ‘shot’, but for me I thought it was an extraordinarily lazy move on the part of the director and it showed a lack of respect for the medium he was working in.
A modern director who I find is really effective at making shots look like snatches is Spielberg. But it’s all a lie. You might think he’s letting the set dec run the scene, but even his throwaway shots are all carefully composed and constructed (MINORITY REPORT, WAR OF THE WORLDS) The defining aspect what makes a snatch is not the length of time it’s on screen, but whether it serves to add something more to the story beyond just driving the narrative forward.
What I like about the shot is that, when used properly, you can capture really great performances with a single take. I love watching old comedies where two actors run a scene from beginning to end in one go. They’ve studied the HELL out of the dialogue, they know where all the comic beats are and they really take the time to refine their performances before it even gets to post.
Again, when I watch behind the scenes stuff these days it seems that most performers are lucky to spit out a single line before someone screws up and they have to do it all again. Only they never do. They never run a scene through from beginning to end. They’ve got so many cameras going that they take the scene one line at a time and as long as they’ve got each line on tape somewhere they can cut up the scene so that it makes narrative sense. This might be why I’ve gone off improv-comedies in recent years, because it’s mostly about assembling the funny from wildly unrelated material.
The shot gave us one of my most vivid movie memories ever, the slow realization that creeps over Jack Nicholson’s face at the end ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST as he begins to understand whats happening to his life inside an insane asylum.
Tarantino definitely knows the power of capturing a changing emotional resonance in a single setup. The first scene in Basterds was powerful becuase you got to watch the tension and emotion creep over the farmer’s face during his interrogation.
I pretty much agree with the article in its entirety on the subject.
For me one of the defining aspects of the shot, vs. the snatch, is that for shots to work effectively directors need to be conscious of not only their frame composition, but their mise en scene as well.
I think strong mise en scene (camera com\position, movement, lighting AND set dec) has given away to a strong focus on set dec and lighting effects. I remember watching some behind the scenes crap for VAN HELSING a couple years ago and watching Hugh Jackman stumble around a gigantic sound stage with half a dozen cameras following his every move. I was disappointed by that, because it showed that clearly the mise en scene was incidental to whatever the actor was doing.
Now VAN HELSING was a crap action movie and can’t really be expected to live by the mantra of the ‘shot’, but for me I thought it was an extraordinarily lazy move on the part of the director and it showed a lack of respect for the medium he was working in.
A modern director who I find is really effective at making shots look like snatches is Spielberg. But it’s all a lie. You might think he’s letting the set dec run the scene, but even his throwaway shots are all carefully composed and constructed (MINORITY REPORT, WAR OF THE WORLDS) The defining aspect what makes a snatch is not the length of time it’s on screen, but whether it serves to add something more to the story beyond just driving the narrative forward.
What I like about the shot is that, when used properly, you can capture really great performances with a single take. I love watching old comedies where two actors run a scene from beginning to end in one go. They’ve studied the HELL out of the dialogue, they know where all the comic beats are and they really take the time to refine their performances before it even gets to post.
Again, when I watch behind the scenes stuff these days it seems that most performers are lucky to spit out a single line before someone screws up and they have to do it all again. Only they never do. They never run a scene through from beginning to end. They’ve got so many cameras going that they take the scene one line at a time and as long as they’ve got each line on tape somewhere they can cut up the scene so that it makes narrative sense. This might be why I’ve gone off improv-comedies in recent years, because it’s mostly about assembling the funny from wildly unrelated material.
The shot gave us one of my most vivid movie memories ever, the slow realization that creeps over Jack Nicholson’s face at the end ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO’S NEST as he begins to understand whats happening to his life inside an insane asylum.
Tarantino definitely knows the power of capturing a changing emotional resonance in a single setup. The first scene in Basterds was powerful becuase you got to watch the tension and emotion creep over the farmer’s face during his interrogation.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
It came from the Labour Day parade...
Snapped this photo yesterday during yesterday's Labour Day parade.
Look at little Stevie. He sure seems grumpy. Maybe it's because Canada is going to end up at the polls again this fall\winter.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
My crazy ass TIFF 09 sched
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 11
5:45 Perrier’s Bounty
11:59 Daybreakers
SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 12
12:00 Jennifer’s Body
3:00 The Dirty Saints
3:00 The Dirty Saints
6:00 Up In The Air
SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 13
9:30 Cleanflix
11:30 The Men Who Stare At Goats
2:30 Valhalla Rising
9:00 Whip It
MONDAY SEPTEMBER 14
9:00 A Serious Man
12:30 Survival of the Dead
3:00 The Road
9:00 Leaves of Grass
TUESDAY SEPTEMBER 15
9:15 The Jonses
3:45 Capitalism: A Love Story
6:00 Bad Lieutenant
WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER 16
9:00 Hungry Hills
12:00 Youth in Revolt
3:30 Blessed
3:15 Bitch Slap
THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 17
9:00 Damn United
11:45 The Private Lives of Pippa Lee
3:15 Solomon Kane
5:15 Passenger Side
FRIDAY SEPTEMBER 18
11:00 Beautiful Kate
12:30 The Invention of Lying
4:15 The Boys are Back
9:00 Mr. Nobody
SATURDAY SEPTEMBER 19
10:00 Solitary Man
12:00 Hugh Hefner Doc
3:45 Hole
6:00 White Stripes Doc
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
I'll never tell...
When S first broke the news to me that we were preggers I wanted to call up everyone I could think of right then and there. That I have poor impulse control will come as a shock to no one.* I’m the kind of person who wants to give Christmas\Birthday gifts as soon as I buy them. Waiting for the actual day to come around is pure agony. But, in this case, we decided to wait a week and tell our families on Mother’s Day, purchasing two Happy Grandmother’s Day cards and patting ourselves on the back about how clever and funny we were.
Our families were thrilled. And naturally they understood the need to keep things under wrap for the time being. But this task turned out to be easier said then done. I didn’t develop poor impulse control all on my own, it’s a learned behaviour. For nearly a month now my mother has been driving herself nuts because she’s got such great news and can’t tell anybody what it is. When she got a phone call from my uncle on Mother’s Day we nearly had to restrain her. And it doesn’t help that she keeps buying things ‘for the baby.’
“That’s a real nice high chair you’re buying, who’s pregnant?”
Our reasons for keeping this good news a secret are fairly typical. A woman has a greater chance of miscarriage in the first three months of a pregnancy. After about 12 weeks those odds drop dramatically. So it’s best to just wait and see how things are going before you tell people something you can’t take back. Or, as our doctor put it, ‘don’t tell anyone that you wouldn’t tell if something went wrong.’
Since Mother’s Day we’ve managed to violate our own Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy almost half a dozen times. S was forced to tell a couple people at work so they would know there was a legitimate reason why she couldn’t look at certain patients. And I insisted that I get to tell at least one of my friends so I’d have an outside opinion I could consult whenever some crazy idea pops into me head.
“Don’t tell S, but I really like the name Diana Prince if it’s a girl. Whaddya think?”
We’ve plugged the slow leak but I’d lay money that at least some of our friends have clued in to what’s going on. S’s crew are always on the look out for changes in behaviour. Everyone and everything is suspect. When S took a couple days off work due to her unrelenting morning sickness we started getting quizzical phone calls from her co-workers, not-so-subtly fishing for information.
Apparently we’re also predictable creatures of habit. We went out for dinner with some friends and when S had a 7up instead of her usual beer my ex-roomate piped up with “Wassa matter, you pregnant?”
For me the tricky part is remembering that not everyone knows. I’m plotting the next six months of our around our forthcoming ankle biter and it sometimes slips my mind that I have a secret I’m not supposed to be sharing. So when someone asks why we’re so determined to move before the fall I have to have a credible lie ready to tell them.
Our families were thrilled. And naturally they understood the need to keep things under wrap for the time being. But this task turned out to be easier said then done. I didn’t develop poor impulse control all on my own, it’s a learned behaviour. For nearly a month now my mother has been driving herself nuts because she’s got such great news and can’t tell anybody what it is. When she got a phone call from my uncle on Mother’s Day we nearly had to restrain her. And it doesn’t help that she keeps buying things ‘for the baby.’
“That’s a real nice high chair you’re buying, who’s pregnant?”
Our reasons for keeping this good news a secret are fairly typical. A woman has a greater chance of miscarriage in the first three months of a pregnancy. After about 12 weeks those odds drop dramatically. So it’s best to just wait and see how things are going before you tell people something you can’t take back. Or, as our doctor put it, ‘don’t tell anyone that you wouldn’t tell if something went wrong.’
Since Mother’s Day we’ve managed to violate our own Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell policy almost half a dozen times. S was forced to tell a couple people at work so they would know there was a legitimate reason why she couldn’t look at certain patients. And I insisted that I get to tell at least one of my friends so I’d have an outside opinion I could consult whenever some crazy idea pops into me head.
“Don’t tell S, but I really like the name Diana Prince if it’s a girl. Whaddya think?”
We’ve plugged the slow leak but I’d lay money that at least some of our friends have clued in to what’s going on. S’s crew are always on the look out for changes in behaviour. Everyone and everything is suspect. When S took a couple days off work due to her unrelenting morning sickness we started getting quizzical phone calls from her co-workers, not-so-subtly fishing for information.
Apparently we’re also predictable creatures of habit. We went out for dinner with some friends and when S had a 7up instead of her usual beer my ex-roomate piped up with “Wassa matter, you pregnant?”
For me the tricky part is remembering that not everyone knows. I’m plotting the next six months of our around our forthcoming ankle biter and it sometimes slips my mind that I have a secret I’m not supposed to be sharing. So when someone asks why we’re so determined to move before the fall I have to have a credible lie ready to tell them.
Friday, July 24, 2009
An ode to meat
S was so happy in the early days of the pregnancy that her normally weak constitution had apparently dodged the morning sickness bullet. When we were informing a select group of family members about our impending peanut she proudly drew attention to her lack of morning sickness. Apparently this was enough to tempt the gods of irony because soon after her declaration she started piling up stomach turning food aversions like a squirrel storing its nuts before winter.
There’s only one way to figure out if a certain type of food is going to make you nauseous. And that’s the hard way.
Losing tomatoes was unfortunate, but hardly devestating. Losing red meat at the height of BBQ season? That’s a body blow.
I’m not going to lie to you, I’m fairly big on eating meat and taking it out of my diet has not been fun. I’ve caught myself daydreaming about hamburgers and sausages as I struggle with whatever vegetarian concoction I’m trying to pass off as lunch. Just because rabbits can get by on lettuce doesn’t mean I should.
Oh sure, the first day of our new eating regimen was fantastic. I got to empty the entire fridge of all meat products and spent my time at work happily munching on pepperettes. I was blissed out, new baby and complete possession of all the household meat products. What more could you ask for? But all too soon the fridge was empty and my dinner plate was filled with these strange and unusually shaped objects called ‘vegetables.’ It was tough. Vegetarianism is all well and good, enforced vegetarianism is tantamount to torture.
Sometimes I can’t stand it. The smells of meat are everywhere. At night the scent of BBQed steaks waft in through open windows. Co-workers heat up their lunches, spreading the enticing odour of leftover meatloaf everywhere.
I am awash in the heady perfume of red meat and unable to do anything about it.
There’s only one way to figure out if a certain type of food is going to make you nauseous. And that’s the hard way.
Losing tomatoes was unfortunate, but hardly devestating. Losing red meat at the height of BBQ season? That’s a body blow.
I’m not going to lie to you, I’m fairly big on eating meat and taking it out of my diet has not been fun. I’ve caught myself daydreaming about hamburgers and sausages as I struggle with whatever vegetarian concoction I’m trying to pass off as lunch. Just because rabbits can get by on lettuce doesn’t mean I should.
Oh sure, the first day of our new eating regimen was fantastic. I got to empty the entire fridge of all meat products and spent my time at work happily munching on pepperettes. I was blissed out, new baby and complete possession of all the household meat products. What more could you ask for? But all too soon the fridge was empty and my dinner plate was filled with these strange and unusually shaped objects called ‘vegetables.’ It was tough. Vegetarianism is all well and good, enforced vegetarianism is tantamount to torture.
Sometimes I can’t stand it. The smells of meat are everywhere. At night the scent of BBQed steaks waft in through open windows. Co-workers heat up their lunches, spreading the enticing odour of leftover meatloaf everywhere.
I am awash in the heady perfume of red meat and unable to do anything about it.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Baby on board
That’s right, we’re pregnant.
That sounds weird. Because, um, the last time I checked, I lacked a lot of the anatomy necessary to carry a baby. But I can’t tell people ‘oh, my wife is pregnant,’ because, as she points out, she didn’t get knocked up by herself. Someone else had a hand in this, someone who looks an awful lot like me.
Although I’ve been sitting on this post for over two months, at the time of its writing I’d known we’d been preggers for two weeks. And I don’t think I’ve slept soundly through the night since we found out the good news. And it is good news, great news in fact. But it’s also terrifying and frightening. I don’t know anything about being a parent. I still spend a healthy part of my weekends watching morning cartoons. Now the giant man-boy, more concerned with comic books and computer games than one-sies and strollers, has less than nine months to pull his shit together and start laying the foundation for a new kind of life. A life that incorporates the DINKs we used to be with the overworked, overstressed and overrun parents we’re about to become.
Despite what I think (and hope) I can already conclusively say that our pregnancy won’t be much like this. In fact all of my knowledge of what to expect when you’re expecting comes from TV. And apparently that bastard has been lying to me half my life because I don’t know anything.
All I have is questions, and a big gaping black hole between my ears where the answers are supposed to be hiding. So I do what I always do when I bump against something I don’t understand, I grab all the books on the subject that I can find and read the shit out of them. Although rather than solve my dilemma in this case it really only seems to be lead to even more questions. But I take solace in the fact that they seem to be more focused and relevant, somewhat along the line of When is a good time to start bottle feeding? as opposed to, Babies come out of where now?
But what I’ve really noticed is how the arrival of our little peanut has caused me to take a good long look at myself. As S would say, only I could take our pregnancy and use it as an excuse to make it all about me. But she’s not quite right. I’m looking at myself because now I have to make some very real choices about what kind of parent will I be.
How will my parenting style differ from that of my own folks? Or, even more chilling, what will the similarities be? Will I be able to find the right line between doting parent and disciplinarian-for-hire when necessary? What sort of experiences will I expose, or not expose my child too? And when? I don’t even like cleaning the cat’s litter box how will I manage dirty diapers. Oh god, I was a horrible teenager, will my kid be as bad as I was? How will I deal with that?
You can boil all these questions down to a single thought, what kind of person am I?
Because you can’t really take responsibility for someone else’s life until you’ve got a pretty solid understanding on the elements that make up your own.
I’ve got a lot of thinking ahead of me, and some pretty important decisions that are going to come out of it all. This is the pre-season right now*, where I get the luxury of doing all the work on paper and making strictly theoretical plans. It’s a time to blue sky and imagine all the wonderful potential for the season ahead. But soon enough, the regular season will come and I need to make damn sure that I’m prepared. Because that’s when reality sets in and the choices I make won’t effect just me anymore.
*Oh god, I’m using sporting metaphors to illustrate child rearing. This is how it starts.
That sounds weird. Because, um, the last time I checked, I lacked a lot of the anatomy necessary to carry a baby. But I can’t tell people ‘oh, my wife is pregnant,’ because, as she points out, she didn’t get knocked up by herself. Someone else had a hand in this, someone who looks an awful lot like me.
Although I’ve been sitting on this post for over two months, at the time of its writing I’d known we’d been preggers for two weeks. And I don’t think I’ve slept soundly through the night since we found out the good news. And it is good news, great news in fact. But it’s also terrifying and frightening. I don’t know anything about being a parent. I still spend a healthy part of my weekends watching morning cartoons. Now the giant man-boy, more concerned with comic books and computer games than one-sies and strollers, has less than nine months to pull his shit together and start laying the foundation for a new kind of life. A life that incorporates the DINKs we used to be with the overworked, overstressed and overrun parents we’re about to become.
Despite what I think (and hope) I can already conclusively say that our pregnancy won’t be much like this. In fact all of my knowledge of what to expect when you’re expecting comes from TV. And apparently that bastard has been lying to me half my life because I don’t know anything.
All I have is questions, and a big gaping black hole between my ears where the answers are supposed to be hiding. So I do what I always do when I bump against something I don’t understand, I grab all the books on the subject that I can find and read the shit out of them. Although rather than solve my dilemma in this case it really only seems to be lead to even more questions. But I take solace in the fact that they seem to be more focused and relevant, somewhat along the line of When is a good time to start bottle feeding? as opposed to, Babies come out of where now?
But what I’ve really noticed is how the arrival of our little peanut has caused me to take a good long look at myself. As S would say, only I could take our pregnancy and use it as an excuse to make it all about me. But she’s not quite right. I’m looking at myself because now I have to make some very real choices about what kind of parent will I be.
How will my parenting style differ from that of my own folks? Or, even more chilling, what will the similarities be? Will I be able to find the right line between doting parent and disciplinarian-for-hire when necessary? What sort of experiences will I expose, or not expose my child too? And when? I don’t even like cleaning the cat’s litter box how will I manage dirty diapers. Oh god, I was a horrible teenager, will my kid be as bad as I was? How will I deal with that?
You can boil all these questions down to a single thought, what kind of person am I?
Because you can’t really take responsibility for someone else’s life until you’ve got a pretty solid understanding on the elements that make up your own.
I’ve got a lot of thinking ahead of me, and some pretty important decisions that are going to come out of it all. This is the pre-season right now*, where I get the luxury of doing all the work on paper and making strictly theoretical plans. It’s a time to blue sky and imagine all the wonderful potential for the season ahead. But soon enough, the regular season will come and I need to make damn sure that I’m prepared. Because that’s when reality sets in and the choices I make won’t effect just me anymore.
*Oh god, I’m using sporting metaphors to illustrate child rearing. This is how it starts.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Game changer
Good afternoon,
I thought I'd shake things up a little bit.
That sound you hear is my heart thundering in my chest. Carry on.
Denied
Damn.
We didn’t get the house. There wasn’t even a bidding war. In the end we just couldn’t agree on price. And, to be honest, the seller didn’t even try.
It’s too bad. I won’t deny I’m a little bummed. Once you get to the stage where you’re willing to make an offer on a place you start to envision yourself living there and you can’t help but get emotionally attached. Thankfully our cold money grubbing hearts were still functioning and we didn’t chase after the price. Which means that we still have enough sense to realize that the allure of home ownership ain’t worth draining our bank accounts over.
I really thought we had a shot at the place.
The house is significantly overpriced given its condition and the neighbourhood. It’s been sitting on the market for two months and already had one considerable drop in price. We probably would have been willing to meet his selling price if the place didn’t need so much work done to it.
I suspect that that owner has a number in his head that he’s not willing to go below, even if that number scares most potential buyers off.
Who knows, with so few houses on the market these days maybe he can afford to wait until the supply dries up so much that someone will have to meet his price because there are no other options available.
Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking and hopefully we’ll have a little more luck with the next place that tickles our fancy.
We didn’t get the house. There wasn’t even a bidding war. In the end we just couldn’t agree on price. And, to be honest, the seller didn’t even try.
It’s too bad. I won’t deny I’m a little bummed. Once you get to the stage where you’re willing to make an offer on a place you start to envision yourself living there and you can’t help but get emotionally attached. Thankfully our cold money grubbing hearts were still functioning and we didn’t chase after the price. Which means that we still have enough sense to realize that the allure of home ownership ain’t worth draining our bank accounts over.
I really thought we had a shot at the place.
The house is significantly overpriced given its condition and the neighbourhood. It’s been sitting on the market for two months and already had one considerable drop in price. We probably would have been willing to meet his selling price if the place didn’t need so much work done to it.
I suspect that that owner has a number in his head that he’s not willing to go below, even if that number scares most potential buyers off.
Who knows, with so few houses on the market these days maybe he can afford to wait until the supply dries up so much that someone will have to meet his price because there are no other options available.
Meanwhile, we’ll keep looking and hopefully we’ll have a little more luck with the next place that tickles our fancy.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
First Loves
I’m trying really hard not to get attached to the first house we looked at.
Oh we’ve kicked the tires on a couple other places, but we haven’t seriously considered anything after seeing that first place.
So we’re going back to look again. Only this time we come armed with family. My B-I-L and my father, armed with decades of construction experience, are going to help us look a little more objectively at the house we’re coveting.
They’ll be able to see beyond the future dream world of birthday parties, Christmas dinners and personal space we’ve constructed into the harsh reality of the now. The now where the plumbing leaks, the electrical needs work and that back porch is going have to be replaced. And all those things cost money.
Our biggest advantage. The house has been on the market for two months, with one price drop.
Mayhap the price has a little more flexibility left in it?
Oh we’ve kicked the tires on a couple other places, but we haven’t seriously considered anything after seeing that first place.
So we’re going back to look again. Only this time we come armed with family. My B-I-L and my father, armed with decades of construction experience, are going to help us look a little more objectively at the house we’re coveting.
They’ll be able to see beyond the future dream world of birthday parties, Christmas dinners and personal space we’ve constructed into the harsh reality of the now. The now where the plumbing leaks, the electrical needs work and that back porch is going have to be replaced. And all those things cost money.
Our biggest advantage. The house has been on the market for two months, with one price drop.
Mayhap the price has a little more flexibility left in it?
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Extra money
We were fortunate enough when selling to get a bit more than our asking price. This was entirely unexpected. We even had a lowest minimum offer, below our original asking price, that we were willing to accept. So when our place took off we were content to earmark this ‘extra’ money for agent’s fees, home inspection costs, lawyer fees and all the ancillary costs that crop up during a scenario like this.
The last thing I want to do is get into the mentality that since we sold for more than we wanted, we can turnaround and use the extra cash to buy a bigger place than we originally expected.
Not happening.
There are a whole plethora of reasons why that’s not going to happen. But for me, I want to avoid any scenario where we end up taking on more debt than we have too. If there’s one thing S and I can agree on it’s debt is bad. (I’ve seen too many episodes of TIL DEBT DO US PART to know that some couples don’t necessarily agree on that.)
So we’ve got a price range we’re happy with (350-400k), a neighbourhood we’re circling like predatory birds and enough money in our pockets to give us options.
Not to shabby.
The last thing I want to do is get into the mentality that since we sold for more than we wanted, we can turnaround and use the extra cash to buy a bigger place than we originally expected.
Not happening.
There are a whole plethora of reasons why that’s not going to happen. But for me, I want to avoid any scenario where we end up taking on more debt than we have too. If there’s one thing S and I can agree on it’s debt is bad. (I’ve seen too many episodes of TIL DEBT DO US PART to know that some couples don’t necessarily agree on that.)
So we’ve got a price range we’re happy with (350-400k), a neighbourhood we’re circling like predatory birds and enough money in our pockets to give us options.
Not to shabby.
Monday, July 6, 2009
A done deal
Wow.
So we sold our place and the whole process was lightning fast.
I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been a renter many times but when I moved in with S I just moved into the place she was already living in so we never had to take the step of house hunting together.
After two weeks of back breaking labour to get the place ship shape and three days of lurking in movie theatres or bars until it was late enough to slink home we got an offer.
Correction
We got six offers.
I thought the days of multiple offers were dead. Don’t believe the hype.
I thought the whole thing would be done with offers that had been faxed into the agent’s office. I was shocked to find out that a couple agents were actually going to come in and present to us directly. I was grappling with my best poker face as each agent sat down and presented the particulars of their offers. On the whole I was just aiming to be pleasant about the whole thing because soon we’ll be in the same position and it doesn’t pay to piss off karma if you can avoid it.
Anyway, we were obviously spoiled with a plethora of options. We were able to sell with the terms and conditions we wanted, ones that gives us enough time to look for a place without being rushed.
We’re already pouring over RE listings and driving through neighbourhoods. I think we’ll be all right when it comes to generalities (neighbourhood, location, style) but I suspect we might clash a little bit when it comes to the specifics.
But who knows. I’ve been wrong before.
So we sold our place and the whole process was lightning fast.
I didn’t really know what to expect. I’d been a renter many times but when I moved in with S I just moved into the place she was already living in so we never had to take the step of house hunting together.
After two weeks of back breaking labour to get the place ship shape and three days of lurking in movie theatres or bars until it was late enough to slink home we got an offer.
Correction
We got six offers.
I thought the days of multiple offers were dead. Don’t believe the hype.
I thought the whole thing would be done with offers that had been faxed into the agent’s office. I was shocked to find out that a couple agents were actually going to come in and present to us directly. I was grappling with my best poker face as each agent sat down and presented the particulars of their offers. On the whole I was just aiming to be pleasant about the whole thing because soon we’ll be in the same position and it doesn’t pay to piss off karma if you can avoid it.
Anyway, we were obviously spoiled with a plethora of options. We were able to sell with the terms and conditions we wanted, ones that gives us enough time to look for a place without being rushed.
We’re already pouring over RE listings and driving through neighbourhoods. I think we’ll be all right when it comes to generalities (neighbourhood, location, style) but I suspect we might clash a little bit when it comes to the specifics.
But who knows. I’ve been wrong before.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Moving
Our house went on the market this morning, nearly two weeks to the day that we made the decision to sell. And we’ve already got four showings booked. Not bad, eh? While it seemed like an easy choice at first, practically a no-brainer, it became tougher and tougher as we lurched closer to our sell date to steel ourselves to the task at hand.
We got bogged down in conflicting schedules, the rigours of back breaking labour, illness and yes, unexpected sentimentality.
(We can’t move now. It’s right downtown. And so convenient. What’re we gonna do in the sticks? I love this place)
I admit. I got a little miffed when I had to put the bulk of my belongings in storage. Apparently, everything I own is repellent to potential female buyers.
That vintage Dawn of the Dead poster?
Gone.
My precious books?
Gone.
Clothes?
Gone.
Everything was hidden away to make the place seem larger, roomier, more inviting.
And then there was the endless cleaning, packing, and repacking.
One of my favourite sayings is ‘no matter how well a move is going, it’s never really going well.’
Well, this is like that. Only worse. Because this is the pre-pack. A lot of what we shipped out, is gonna have to come back in while we look for a new place of our own. And when we move? It’ll all have to be packed…AGAIN.
Bugger.
I can’t afford to be sentimental about this place. I can’t afford to think about how this home is the place where I met my wife and where we have lived together (for better or worse) for the past 4 years.
Or how soon, if they aren’t already, complete strangers are going to be tromping through halls (don’t they know I just vaccumed those?), looking in my cupboards and making judgement calls about our design choices. I know it’s not personal, they’re just looking for their own little piece of paradise.
But I happen to think it’s pretty perfect already.
We got bogged down in conflicting schedules, the rigours of back breaking labour, illness and yes, unexpected sentimentality.
(We can’t move now. It’s right downtown. And so convenient. What’re we gonna do in the sticks? I love this place)
I admit. I got a little miffed when I had to put the bulk of my belongings in storage. Apparently, everything I own is repellent to potential female buyers.
That vintage Dawn of the Dead poster?
Gone.
My precious books?
Gone.
Clothes?
Gone.
Everything was hidden away to make the place seem larger, roomier, more inviting.
And then there was the endless cleaning, packing, and repacking.
One of my favourite sayings is ‘no matter how well a move is going, it’s never really going well.’
Well, this is like that. Only worse. Because this is the pre-pack. A lot of what we shipped out, is gonna have to come back in while we look for a new place of our own. And when we move? It’ll all have to be packed…AGAIN.
Bugger.
I can’t afford to be sentimental about this place. I can’t afford to think about how this home is the place where I met my wife and where we have lived together (for better or worse) for the past 4 years.
Or how soon, if they aren’t already, complete strangers are going to be tromping through halls (don’t they know I just vaccumed those?), looking in my cupboards and making judgement calls about our design choices. I know it’s not personal, they’re just looking for their own little piece of paradise.
But I happen to think it’s pretty perfect already.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Review: Stratford Festival - West Side Story
S and I went to see West Side Story at the Stratford festival last weekend. This was a Christmas gift from my sisters and their respective bfs. WSS is easily in my top five movies of all time and will always provoke some strange looks from my friends when I bring it up. But I watched it so many times as kid that my love for the film is ingrained in my bones. You could say its almost like my Goonies. (A film that I firmly believe can only truly be liked if you watched it as a child – which I didn’t)
Anyway, there’s not a lot for me to say about the play. The energy was up, the acting was solid and even though it was still in previews the whole play felt polished, but not overly so. Which is a good thing. You can’t watch a Romeo and Juliet rip off with frantic streetwise dance fighting and want to see a performance that’s too controlled. I think the play is more about the energy and the heart than just getting everything just right.
The thing about WSS is that when it was first preformed it was a contemporary take on a classic play. But for the most part that slant is now solidified in amber, stuck firmly in the late 50’s and early 60’s. I’d love to see a modern look at the play using backdrops and costuming from the 21st century. What would that WSS look like?
Chilina Kennedy as Maria and Paul Nolan as Tony were spot on delivering heartfelt soulful performances. And even though I freely admit I’m overly wedded to the film version of the musical it was nice to see that the play paid homage to the film but wasn’t afraid to own the space and make it their own thing. A satisfying mix of comfortable old favourites and new thinking.
My biggest complaint is that the use of the thrust stage meant that sometimes the action was blocked by other actors. On a couple occasions something ‘big’ was happening on the far side of the stage but I couldn’t see it because the chorus\dancers were filling the space in between. It only happened for mere moments, but it was jarring enough to take me out of the play whenever it occurred.
Anyway if that’s my biggest beef, I’d say you’re sitting pretty.
Anyway, there’s not a lot for me to say about the play. The energy was up, the acting was solid and even though it was still in previews the whole play felt polished, but not overly so. Which is a good thing. You can’t watch a Romeo and Juliet rip off with frantic streetwise dance fighting and want to see a performance that’s too controlled. I think the play is more about the energy and the heart than just getting everything just right.
The thing about WSS is that when it was first preformed it was a contemporary take on a classic play. But for the most part that slant is now solidified in amber, stuck firmly in the late 50’s and early 60’s. I’d love to see a modern look at the play using backdrops and costuming from the 21st century. What would that WSS look like?
Chilina Kennedy as Maria and Paul Nolan as Tony were spot on delivering heartfelt soulful performances. And even though I freely admit I’m overly wedded to the film version of the musical it was nice to see that the play paid homage to the film but wasn’t afraid to own the space and make it their own thing. A satisfying mix of comfortable old favourites and new thinking.
My biggest complaint is that the use of the thrust stage meant that sometimes the action was blocked by other actors. On a couple occasions something ‘big’ was happening on the far side of the stage but I couldn’t see it because the chorus\dancers were filling the space in between. It only happened for mere moments, but it was jarring enough to take me out of the play whenever it occurred.
Anyway if that’s my biggest beef, I’d say you’re sitting pretty.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Trying to keep an even keel
This article encapsulates a lot of the fears that plague me these days. S and I are lucky enough (knock on wood) to still have jobs. But all around us friends are losing theirs and it’s hard not to feel nervous about the future. We’re on the verge of taking the next step, house and a fam, at time when things could change at any moment. We’re talking a lot of extra costs. S and I are budget masters but nearly doubling our mortgage and the costs of kids means increasing our risk when we should be doing the exact opposite.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Random Photo of the Day
Truth in advertising. I love this photo. To many of my ultimate pictures are boring profile photos because I'm forced to take them from the sidelines. I got lucky with this one and was able to sneak away and shoot this from behind the endzone, hence the straight on perspective.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
President's of the United States of America concert
I'm covered in bruises from moshing like it was 1994, but it was a great concert nonetheless.
Unfortunately the camera wasn't charged so I only got a few photos.
Friday, March 27, 2009
list of life
Oooooooookay. Deep breath everybody, deep breath.
I’m almost there. I’m nearly 30.
30!
I’ve been flashing back to high school chemistry class a lot over the last couple of days. For reasons that have long ago been lost to the mists of time, my lab partner and I used to scream out ’30!’ whenever we had to work on an in-class project. We thought ourselves pretty amusing and we never failed to crack each other up. I’m sure to our partially formed brains we were comic geniuses, but I wonder if maybe we’d just been inhaling too many fumes from the bunsen burner.
So whenever someone mentions my 30th birthday, I hear a newly post-pubescent voice scream ’30!’ in the back of my head and away I go.
People make such a fuss over aging these days, and the importance of hitting those all important decade milestones. I feel like I should have something more insightful to say about the gravity of hitting the big 3-0.
And I’ve got nothing.
Oh, when I went to my hairdresser last night I was a little bummed out that apparently I had a bunch of grey hairs in the back of my head where I couldn’t see them.
I also know that I’ve been trying to convince myself that my opponents on the Ultimate field are insanely fast. When in reality the truth is I’ve lost a step or two.
And eating smarter became a necessity a couple years ago as my expanding waistline told me that my vaunted metabolism had finally crapped out.
So yes, I’ve certainly noticed the effects of aging and no, I can’t say that I’m overly enamoured with it.
I used to have something in my wallet called the List of Life. I made my first list in high school when I was inspired by a guest speaker who said that making a list of things he wanted to accomplish in his life helped to keep him grounded over the years. My first list was fairly juvenile and had very little to do with reality. But the list helped me set some of my first concrete goals and gave me a sense of purpose. I finally had an idea about what I wanted to get out of my life.
I kept that list in my wallet and I took great pleasure in being able to cross off some of the more mundane items on it. (Graduate high school, get into my first choice of University)
Later on, during a particularly gruelling time in University, I revised the list, dropping some of the wilder items and adding rather lofty career goals. That revision helped to refocus and reinvigorate me at a time when I was feeling overwhelmed by the pressures of post-secondary education.
(At that time I also created the first ever appendix to the list. A series of bullet points about the elements I thought were crucial to good filmmaking. A goodly portion of my university angst was centered around the difficulties in shepherding my film projects through to completion.)
The List of Life 2.0 languished in my wallet for years, becoming delicate and frail from being folded and unfolded so many times.
The last time I remember seeing it was on my first date with my now wife. In a fit of hubris I had the balls to pull that list out of my wallet and show her the many things I planned to accomplish with my life. To her credit S read the list and managed to avoid laughing in my face.
Since then the list has been misplaced, most likely to prevent further degradation to it’s worn folds. An in-depth search about a month ago failed to turn up even a trace of it.
As I approach my 30th birthday (30!) it was inevitable that I would succumb to a certain amount of reflection about how I got to where I am today. I find myself wanting to create yet another list, not just to remind me about what I want to get out of life, but also to remember what I have accomplished over the course of my time here.
The list of life meant a lot of things to me. It was a physical reminder to keep striving to reach my goals. It was the repository of the hopes and dreams of an optimistic and naïve 15 year old. It was where a struggling artist scribbled a hasty manifesto about his art. It was the first time I opened up in a meaningful way to my wife.
I intend to rewrite that list, because I can’t stop wondering what it will mean to me now.
I’m almost there. I’m nearly 30.
30!
I’ve been flashing back to high school chemistry class a lot over the last couple of days. For reasons that have long ago been lost to the mists of time, my lab partner and I used to scream out ’30!’ whenever we had to work on an in-class project. We thought ourselves pretty amusing and we never failed to crack each other up. I’m sure to our partially formed brains we were comic geniuses, but I wonder if maybe we’d just been inhaling too many fumes from the bunsen burner.
So whenever someone mentions my 30th birthday, I hear a newly post-pubescent voice scream ’30!’ in the back of my head and away I go.
People make such a fuss over aging these days, and the importance of hitting those all important decade milestones. I feel like I should have something more insightful to say about the gravity of hitting the big 3-0.
And I’ve got nothing.
Oh, when I went to my hairdresser last night I was a little bummed out that apparently I had a bunch of grey hairs in the back of my head where I couldn’t see them.
I also know that I’ve been trying to convince myself that my opponents on the Ultimate field are insanely fast. When in reality the truth is I’ve lost a step or two.
And eating smarter became a necessity a couple years ago as my expanding waistline told me that my vaunted metabolism had finally crapped out.
So yes, I’ve certainly noticed the effects of aging and no, I can’t say that I’m overly enamoured with it.
I used to have something in my wallet called the List of Life. I made my first list in high school when I was inspired by a guest speaker who said that making a list of things he wanted to accomplish in his life helped to keep him grounded over the years. My first list was fairly juvenile and had very little to do with reality. But the list helped me set some of my first concrete goals and gave me a sense of purpose. I finally had an idea about what I wanted to get out of my life.
I kept that list in my wallet and I took great pleasure in being able to cross off some of the more mundane items on it. (Graduate high school, get into my first choice of University)
Later on, during a particularly gruelling time in University, I revised the list, dropping some of the wilder items and adding rather lofty career goals. That revision helped to refocus and reinvigorate me at a time when I was feeling overwhelmed by the pressures of post-secondary education.
(At that time I also created the first ever appendix to the list. A series of bullet points about the elements I thought were crucial to good filmmaking. A goodly portion of my university angst was centered around the difficulties in shepherding my film projects through to completion.)
The List of Life 2.0 languished in my wallet for years, becoming delicate and frail from being folded and unfolded so many times.
The last time I remember seeing it was on my first date with my now wife. In a fit of hubris I had the balls to pull that list out of my wallet and show her the many things I planned to accomplish with my life. To her credit S read the list and managed to avoid laughing in my face.
Since then the list has been misplaced, most likely to prevent further degradation to it’s worn folds. An in-depth search about a month ago failed to turn up even a trace of it.
As I approach my 30th birthday (30!) it was inevitable that I would succumb to a certain amount of reflection about how I got to where I am today. I find myself wanting to create yet another list, not just to remind me about what I want to get out of life, but also to remember what I have accomplished over the course of my time here.
The list of life meant a lot of things to me. It was a physical reminder to keep striving to reach my goals. It was the repository of the hopes and dreams of an optimistic and naïve 15 year old. It was where a struggling artist scribbled a hasty manifesto about his art. It was the first time I opened up in a meaningful way to my wife.
I intend to rewrite that list, because I can’t stop wondering what it will mean to me now.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Fitness
The new multi pronged fitness plan isn’t exactly proceeding as...planned.
As opposed to Ulti which is a fixed time, week in week out. My rock climbing and yoga schedule is much more flexible. In this case flexibility is more of a hindrance than a help. Flexibility means it can get bumped or re-scheduled because something else came up that needs to take priority. Just this one time though, I swear, we’ll get back on schedule next week.
Meanwhile I’m scarfing down rabbit food and fat free yogurt so my weight doesn’t balloon.
To recap. The rock climbing is awesome. It’s exactly what I wanted. A fun workout that doesn’t seem like a workout. I’ve only got an opportunity to do it once so far. But the plan is to make this a weekly event and I have every intent of following through with that. Next week. I swear.
Hot yoga is a more challenging experience and the jury is still out on that. My first pass saw me lose five pounds from sweat alone. It was a draining experience, but in the end I did feel very relaxed. I can’t say I enjoyed it though. That’s not going to stop me from trying it for about a month and then re-examining the matter. I didn’t like Ulti the first time either and now I can’t imagine my life without it.
Speaking of which. Less than a month before the Spring season begins. I can’t wait.
As opposed to Ulti which is a fixed time, week in week out. My rock climbing and yoga schedule is much more flexible. In this case flexibility is more of a hindrance than a help. Flexibility means it can get bumped or re-scheduled because something else came up that needs to take priority. Just this one time though, I swear, we’ll get back on schedule next week.
Meanwhile I’m scarfing down rabbit food and fat free yogurt so my weight doesn’t balloon.
To recap. The rock climbing is awesome. It’s exactly what I wanted. A fun workout that doesn’t seem like a workout. I’ve only got an opportunity to do it once so far. But the plan is to make this a weekly event and I have every intent of following through with that. Next week. I swear.
Hot yoga is a more challenging experience and the jury is still out on that. My first pass saw me lose five pounds from sweat alone. It was a draining experience, but in the end I did feel very relaxed. I can’t say I enjoyed it though. That’s not going to stop me from trying it for about a month and then re-examining the matter. I didn’t like Ulti the first time either and now I can’t imagine my life without it.
Speaking of which. Less than a month before the Spring season begins. I can’t wait.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Weekend
Ahhh.
The weekend.
Those precious 48 hours where your time is hypothetically your own. With S working this weekend that last statement finally has the ring of truth to it. I could spend my time wisely, catching up on schoolwork or entering the three boxes of books I have stashed in the car (We've sold seven books in February, so we're doing extratordinarily well right now...ha-cha-cha).
BUT.
I have a new addiction. Civilization IV (with expansion pack). For the last month of my life this game has taken up every increasingly rare spare moment I have. In a bid to shake me out of my reverie my wife has threatened divorce and\or physical violence with varying desgrees of sucess.
I've always had a weakness for the Civ franchise (thank you for that Adam) but C-4 has become the perfect outlet for an overworked me.
For the most part I've suceeded in weaning myself off the game. Only that was before the prospect of 48 Chris-centric hours were streched out before me like a field of candy and free comic books.
I mean, I'm strong. But I'm not that strong.
The weekend.
Those precious 48 hours where your time is hypothetically your own. With S working this weekend that last statement finally has the ring of truth to it. I could spend my time wisely, catching up on schoolwork or entering the three boxes of books I have stashed in the car (We've sold seven books in February, so we're doing extratordinarily well right now...ha-cha-cha).
BUT.
I have a new addiction. Civilization IV (with expansion pack). For the last month of my life this game has taken up every increasingly rare spare moment I have. In a bid to shake me out of my reverie my wife has threatened divorce and\or physical violence with varying desgrees of sucess.
I've always had a weakness for the Civ franchise (thank you for that Adam) but C-4 has become the perfect outlet for an overworked me.
For the most part I've suceeded in weaning myself off the game. Only that was before the prospect of 48 Chris-centric hours were streched out before me like a field of candy and free comic books.
I mean, I'm strong. But I'm not that strong.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
RRSPect
So,
The RRSP deadline is almost here. I made one final contribution and managed to find some extra cash to top up some of my funds.
I'm a couple years late to the RRSP party so I have a bigger unused contribution amount than most people. I'm trying to winnow that amount down, but, well money doesn't grow on trees.
This shit takes time yo.
But, I think I've done a lot better than last year at contributing my RRSPs. Considering this is all taking place in the same year I got married, took an unexpected field trip to Oz and watched the financial markets commit hara-kiri I don't think that's too shabby.
Now to beef up my emergency fund. (I have got to stop reading Turner's doomsday blog)
The RRSP deadline is almost here. I made one final contribution and managed to find some extra cash to top up some of my funds.
I'm a couple years late to the RRSP party so I have a bigger unused contribution amount than most people. I'm trying to winnow that amount down, but, well money doesn't grow on trees.
This shit takes time yo.
But, I think I've done a lot better than last year at contributing my RRSPs. Considering this is all taking place in the same year I got married, took an unexpected field trip to Oz and watched the financial markets commit hara-kiri I don't think that's too shabby.
Now to beef up my emergency fund. (I have got to stop reading Turner's doomsday blog)
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Silly season
Rumours of my demise have been greatly exagerated. I've come out the other end of the Awards\Magazine\Conference silly season, shaken, stirred, but not broken.
Although if forced at gunpoint, I would have to say it was a near thing.
So now happens to be the time of year where I step back from the hustle and bustle of the world and peer closely into "what else is going on in my life."
I'd really like to up my physical regimen. I dropped down to one game a week and I quickly saw the unfortunate reprecussions of that choice in my weight and my stamina. My intent was always to pick up yoga and rock climbing and give something other than frisbee a try. The time to put that plan into effect is now.
Stace and I are considering buying a home. We're not stupid people, just people who are considering taking the next step in our relationship at a very inopportune time. The alternatives are to act now or wait out the financial apocalpyse first. Only there are no guarantees the latter will end anytime soon and we'd kind of like to get moving on the former now. So we're researching our asses off and going into the house buying thing with our eyes fully open.
Financially it's save, save, save time. I'm topping up my RRSP's this week and hoping I come within spitting distance of my maximum contribution amount. I think this year may get me close enough to max out completely next year. That would be nice. I'm still working on repairing the emergency fund after the wedding and Oz trip and I'll feel much happier about the state of that by the summer.
My birthday is coming up. No comment. I feel fat and flabbtastic as it is. No need to mark that milestone with celebrations.
I'm way behind on my reading and I need an injection of some quailty film making ASAP. But there's not much else happening for me right now. Mostly I'm trying to catch up on all the little things that I had to put aside during the aforementioned silly season.
Q: Who knows what little forgotten work gems are going to crawl out of the woodwork now?
A: The Shadow knows.
Although if forced at gunpoint, I would have to say it was a near thing.
So now happens to be the time of year where I step back from the hustle and bustle of the world and peer closely into "what else is going on in my life."
I'd really like to up my physical regimen. I dropped down to one game a week and I quickly saw the unfortunate reprecussions of that choice in my weight and my stamina. My intent was always to pick up yoga and rock climbing and give something other than frisbee a try. The time to put that plan into effect is now.
Stace and I are considering buying a home. We're not stupid people, just people who are considering taking the next step in our relationship at a very inopportune time. The alternatives are to act now or wait out the financial apocalpyse first. Only there are no guarantees the latter will end anytime soon and we'd kind of like to get moving on the former now. So we're researching our asses off and going into the house buying thing with our eyes fully open.
Financially it's save, save, save time. I'm topping up my RRSP's this week and hoping I come within spitting distance of my maximum contribution amount. I think this year may get me close enough to max out completely next year. That would be nice. I'm still working on repairing the emergency fund after the wedding and Oz trip and I'll feel much happier about the state of that by the summer.
My birthday is coming up. No comment. I feel fat and flabbtastic as it is. No need to mark that milestone with celebrations.
I'm way behind on my reading and I need an injection of some quailty film making ASAP. But there's not much else happening for me right now. Mostly I'm trying to catch up on all the little things that I had to put aside during the aforementioned silly season.
Q: Who knows what little forgotten work gems are going to crawl out of the woodwork now?
A: The Shadow knows.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
On the road again
So.
Over the holidays S and I were involved in a collision.
Everyone was fine, even if there were a couple of scary moments (oh look, that car is getting AWFULLY close to my side window, and it seems to be coming ever so quickly).
Unfortunately, after the accident, our car was a write off. I’ve been driving my parents Win(d)star around for the past three weeks and I won’t cry at all to see the back of that particular whale. The slightest gust of wind is enough to push this thing all over the road, which can be a little scary when highway driving, white knuckles all the way.
So after some fruitless and highly frustrating outings we’ve finally closed the deal on our replacement vehicle.
It’s the exact same model.
It’s the exact same colour.
It’s the exact same year.
Only it has 40,000 less km on it, as well as a remote starter.
Upgrade?
Over the holidays S and I were involved in a collision.
Everyone was fine, even if there were a couple of scary moments (oh look, that car is getting AWFULLY close to my side window, and it seems to be coming ever so quickly).
Unfortunately, after the accident, our car was a write off. I’ve been driving my parents Win(d)star around for the past three weeks and I won’t cry at all to see the back of that particular whale. The slightest gust of wind is enough to push this thing all over the road, which can be a little scary when highway driving, white knuckles all the way.
So after some fruitless and highly frustrating outings we’ve finally closed the deal on our replacement vehicle.
It’s the exact same model.
It’s the exact same colour.
It’s the exact same year.
Only it has 40,000 less km on it, as well as a remote starter.
Upgrade?
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Fit and (just) bearing it.
So.
Every day this week I’ve gotten up before work and put in about half an hour on the Wii Fit. If you know me at all, (and you don’t…thanks a lot of caring….jerks), then you know that when it comes to getting up early in the morning, voluntarily, during the work week, you’ll find that to be an extremely improbably event. Unless, you know, you were handing out free bacon or something.
You aren’t handing out free bacon are you?
You’re much more likely to win the lottery, or become the first person in the history of the planet to teleport to the moon, rather than see my ass role out of bed without hitting the snooze button on the alarm less than three times.
I likes my sleep I does.
Fun fact. If my wife doesn’t turn off her alarm fast enough in the morning she’ll find that I’ll reach over top of her half awake self and do it for her. Which will allow her to fall quickly back to sleep. And nothing bad ever happens.
Anyway. Back to the story. Me. Up early. Wii Fit.
Surprisingly I’m enjoying it. I’ve written off the aerobics and games as nothing more than amusing light and noise, but the yoga and strength exercises seem to have some value. I also like charting my mostly insignificant weight loss. Perhaps I’ve become inspired because the Wii has chosen to calculate my Mii character as overweight and plumps up my avatar accordingly. It’s not fun to watch that chunky little version of myself toddle across the screen, presumably chasing after some mythical Wii Doughnuts.
Whatever the reason, this new fitness regimen has part of my morning routine. Finally I can exercise in the privacy of my own house, without having to shamefully hide my body away from the judgemental eyes of the casual gym-goer. Now that’s Wii-tastic
Every day this week I’ve gotten up before work and put in about half an hour on the Wii Fit. If you know me at all, (and you don’t…thanks a lot of caring….jerks), then you know that when it comes to getting up early in the morning, voluntarily, during the work week, you’ll find that to be an extremely improbably event. Unless, you know, you were handing out free bacon or something.
You aren’t handing out free bacon are you?
You’re much more likely to win the lottery, or become the first person in the history of the planet to teleport to the moon, rather than see my ass role out of bed without hitting the snooze button on the alarm less than three times.
I likes my sleep I does.
Fun fact. If my wife doesn’t turn off her alarm fast enough in the morning she’ll find that I’ll reach over top of her half awake self and do it for her. Which will allow her to fall quickly back to sleep. And nothing bad ever happens.
Anyway. Back to the story. Me. Up early. Wii Fit.
Surprisingly I’m enjoying it. I’ve written off the aerobics and games as nothing more than amusing light and noise, but the yoga and strength exercises seem to have some value. I also like charting my mostly insignificant weight loss. Perhaps I’ve become inspired because the Wii has chosen to calculate my Mii character as overweight and plumps up my avatar accordingly. It’s not fun to watch that chunky little version of myself toddle across the screen, presumably chasing after some mythical Wii Doughnuts.
Whatever the reason, this new fitness regimen has part of my morning routine. Finally I can exercise in the privacy of my own house, without having to shamefully hide my body away from the judgemental eyes of the casual gym-goer. Now that’s Wii-tastic
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
2001: A Strike Odyssey
I feel sorry for the York students currently suffering through (yet another) TA and contract faculty strike.
I went through the same roller coaster back in 2001 and the experience was not a pleasant. It’s extremely unfortunate that in a contract dispute between the TAs and the administration only the students will suffer. When this whole mess is done the TAs will keep on teaching and the school will keep on running, but the students will have lost two months, and counting, and they’ll still need to wrap up their school year.
Chances are the administration will extend the school year by another month, at least that’s what they did when it happened to us. But that’s the only favour they’re like to do anybody.
1. Students will still have to be out of their apartments and residence rooms at the same time. The administration will extend the school year, but they won’t extend your room lease, meaning those unfortunate enough to live on campus will have to couch surf for that month.
2. Students will lose a month of summer employment. Either they start job hunting late, when all the good jobs are gone, or they’ll have to do double duty, going to school and working a summer job. There’s a difference between a PT job you do during the year, and a summer job, which often comes with FT houts.
3. All the students projects will be due immediately. Yes they may extend the school year by a month, but, um, duh, they’ve still been our for OVER TWO MONTHS. So students will have the same amount of school work to do, but a month less in which to get it done. And if you’ve read point number two, some students will now have jobs. Hurrah! Yes, some profs will drop an assignment here or there. But trust me, if my experiences at York are indicative of what may happen, the majority of profs will insist that ALL the work still be completed, on time, because that’s how things work ‘in the real world.’
For the students at York this strike is like being caught in a divorce between two angry parents. Only the children will be hurt.
I went through the same roller coaster back in 2001 and the experience was not a pleasant. It’s extremely unfortunate that in a contract dispute between the TAs and the administration only the students will suffer. When this whole mess is done the TAs will keep on teaching and the school will keep on running, but the students will have lost two months, and counting, and they’ll still need to wrap up their school year.
Chances are the administration will extend the school year by another month, at least that’s what they did when it happened to us. But that’s the only favour they’re like to do anybody.
1. Students will still have to be out of their apartments and residence rooms at the same time. The administration will extend the school year, but they won’t extend your room lease, meaning those unfortunate enough to live on campus will have to couch surf for that month.
2. Students will lose a month of summer employment. Either they start job hunting late, when all the good jobs are gone, or they’ll have to do double duty, going to school and working a summer job. There’s a difference between a PT job you do during the year, and a summer job, which often comes with FT houts.
3. All the students projects will be due immediately. Yes they may extend the school year by a month, but, um, duh, they’ve still been our for OVER TWO MONTHS. So students will have the same amount of school work to do, but a month less in which to get it done. And if you’ve read point number two, some students will now have jobs. Hurrah! Yes, some profs will drop an assignment here or there. But trust me, if my experiences at York are indicative of what may happen, the majority of profs will insist that ALL the work still be completed, on time, because that’s how things work ‘in the real world.’
For the students at York this strike is like being caught in a divorce between two angry parents. Only the children will be hurt.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Hey! Look at me!
No. Seriously. Look at me.
It’s long been a source of bemusement for me that the day I got my new laptop I was going to leave the dating world forever and finally get serious about this writing stuff. All I had to do was get this ONE DATE out of the way and I could finally clear my schedule of any and all distractions.
How was I supposed to know that the woman on that one date would end up being my wife?
That was three and half years ago and while I’ve dabbled at writing since then I’ve only done enough to take the edge off the disease. I’ve never given myself over to the lifestyle change necessary to produce a completed work.
Well, all that is changing.
I’ve bought a new laptop, again.
For the past few months I’ve been winding down my external commitments, putting firm boundaries on how much time extra time I spend at work and brainstorming like made on some of the insanity that’s been bubbling around in my head.
Hence, no new entries here. What could I say? I’m tired of reading and analyzing the works of others as my sole contribution to the artistic world. I want to start participating in an actual dialogue.
So I am.
This is not a New Year's resolution or a spur of the moment whim. I've been working at shaping my schedule around this moment since the wedding. This is about doing.
It’s long been a source of bemusement for me that the day I got my new laptop I was going to leave the dating world forever and finally get serious about this writing stuff. All I had to do was get this ONE DATE out of the way and I could finally clear my schedule of any and all distractions.
How was I supposed to know that the woman on that one date would end up being my wife?
That was three and half years ago and while I’ve dabbled at writing since then I’ve only done enough to take the edge off the disease. I’ve never given myself over to the lifestyle change necessary to produce a completed work.
Well, all that is changing.
I’ve bought a new laptop, again.
For the past few months I’ve been winding down my external commitments, putting firm boundaries on how much time extra time I spend at work and brainstorming like made on some of the insanity that’s been bubbling around in my head.
Hence, no new entries here. What could I say? I’m tired of reading and analyzing the works of others as my sole contribution to the artistic world. I want to start participating in an actual dialogue.
So I am.
This is not a New Year's resolution or a spur of the moment whim. I've been working at shaping my schedule around this moment since the wedding. This is about doing.
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