Another country heard from...

OK, so it's been a while, but this is wrong

2010-09-27T09:45:00.000-04:00

Earlier this morning while savoring the last cup of espresso before TLATO made it downstairs, I was catching up on emails and such.

I went to Facebook and looked around.

Something I saw made me stop dead in my tracks and re-read - in the event that perhaps my early morning bleary eyes were playing tricks. But no, there it was in all its glory.

A Facebook ‘friend’ had posted his morning status update and referenced his visit to a local drive-thru facility at a ubiquitous Tim Hortons.

Seems his order for a large black coffee was messed up; he received a tea with milk and sugar. OK, so perhaps not a great way to start off a day, I'll grant you that but beyond that, there really is no excuse

It's the statement made that really irked me. "Some Timtard screwed up..."

Now to put all this in perspective, please understand that this fellow is very well liked - including by me. He truly is a good guy. At times, he can be a bit of a diamond in the rough. This statement in a public forum, however, was the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull.

While I may not be one of Tim Hortons’ biggest fans, I do, however, have utmost respect for any organization that makes a point of hiring either mentally or capable physically challenged individuals. My local Timmies is one of those. Hats off!

I do not believe that this fellow meant any disrespect. It came out. It's there. It's most unfortunate.

It's unlikely that an employee with ‘issues’, perceived or otherwise would be put at the front line of a busy drive thru early in the morning. They may well be behind the scenes, fulfilling orders.

My point, the apparent order error likely occurred in the final stages of the transaction when chaos can so often ensue – especially when busy. It's entirely inappropriate to suggest, albeit without any malice and certainly minus any forethought, to suggest that any individual working in an outlet such as Timmies is retarded.

That is not fair.

And it is most certainly wrong.

I apologize.

March 17, 2010...

2010-03-17T09:38:00.002-04:00

In some parts of the world, today, March 17, many people feel the need to embrace their inner Irish-ness and in their own way, celebrate St. Patrick's Day. Wearing an article of green clothing, drinking green beer at noon or even searching for that elusive pot of gold.

Slainte!

However, could we all, please be very clear on one thing: you may refer to it as St. Patrick's Day or even St. Paddy's Day but, NEVER, as St. Patty's Day. That for some unexplained reson is the North American abomination that this 'holdiay' is often wrongly referred.

The same people that brought you New Year's, likely created this, too.

People, St. Parick's Day, or St. Paddy's Day.

Clear?

And another thing...

2010-02-25T15:03:00.000-05:00

Meant to advise that I received a clean bill of health from my Cardiologist, Dr. Brian MacKenzie out of Peterborough. I went for another exercise stress test on January 29
and all was well.

In May will have another exercise stress test, once again with the introduction of Thallium - that radioactive stuff to see how the blood flow in and out of my heart is. You may recall this was the test that started this whole thing rolling.

Say what!?!?!?!?

2010-02-23T21:59:00.000-05:00

Graffitti on a washroom wall in a Starbucks in Peterborough:

"No prorouge, Harper"

Stephen Harper may be many things to so many people; I had no idea that he was the new spokesperson for easy, breezy beautiful Cover Girl.

Hmmmmm...

Mea culpa...

2010-02-23T21:46:00.000-05:00

I know; I have not exactly been diligent in blogging of late.

No real excuses.

Will attempt to make more of an effort in future.

Seriously... who shot a rabbit... opened their lunch... passed gas...

2009-12-04T17:22:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting in my office catching up on emails at the end of a Friday afternoon.

There are three of us in here. Me, the dog Ben and one of our cats, Rocky.

There is the unmistakeable odour of something gone terribly wrong in here.

I'm trying to narrow it down. I had a goat curry roti for lunch; could be me. Ben? May have eaten a cat turd or two... Rocky? Rocky just left the room and something really nasty, evil and altogether wicked followed him on the way out the door.

Apparently, he, too, had more than enough.

Me and the dog are close behind.

"Wow... it's a little crusty in here..."

2009-12-03T11:26:00.001-05:00

These few words are not exactly what one wishes to hear laying on a hard and quite uncomfortable table in a room so cold, you can practically see one's breath.

That short statement came from the lips of Dr. Paul Daly, my cardiologist at Toronto General Hospital in the early afternoon of November 12, 2009 as he was negotiating one of the arteries leading into my heart.

I swear I could feel the 'English' he put on the catheter wires as he attempted to open this artery that was, by all accounts 99% blocked.

The procedure was a resounding success - as the image to the right will attest. On the left side, you can see clearly to the right of a dark, shadowy 'roadway' there is nothing; this would be where the blockage of plaque occurs. The image on the right shows that very same artery, now wide open after the painless insertion of a small, drug-eluting stent.

Amazing. Truly.

In an earlier post I stated that I had never experienced any symptoms that would have alerted me to this condition. There was no pain in my chest. No shortness of breath. Nothing.

Now, however, I feel great, energized even.

I can only surmize that my previous state of normalcy was bad -- relatively, for me.

My thanks to all medical staff at PRHC and TGH for their diligence, thoughtfulness and dedication.

Obviously, I cannot say enough about my former family doctor, Dr. Carolyn Brown... except, again, thank you!

Socialized medicine rules!

He may be (in)famous, but he does not presume...

2009-12-03T10:13:00.002-05:00

Not to make a big deal about this, but to date, in this whole Tiger Woods thingie, one small point has stood out - to me, at least.

In a voice mail allegedly from his Tiger-ness to one of his alleged female friends, inspite of his celebrity, the individual does not say, "Hey, it's me." Rather, there is a hesitant, "Hey... it's, uh, Tiger." This call was to a woman whith whom he allegedly had an affair for two years or so.

Some might say that the reason for the specific ID was to avoid confusion with other male friends... Others that he makes no assumptions and was taught some manners by his parents... Others still that he collects a royalty each time he refers to himself by name.

Thoughts? Discuss.

Jobs for the boys...

2009-11-22T08:56:00.001-05:00

An unusual title for an article, I’m sure you’ll agree. Allow me to explain.

In the past week or so, I've skated around something major that occurred in my life. Nothing terrible, thankfully, but certainly made me a little introspective and most of all, grateful.

The next couple of posts will be about this incident and the repercussions from it.

The post title is an expression my Mother uses a great deal, especially when it comes to describing, specifically, cronyism.

Lately, however, she has been bandying it around with alarming regularity especially in conversation when it comes to Ontario’s oft negatively smeared health care system and the practice of referrals from one doctor to another. Most of the time Mum would liken a battery of expensive and possibly unwanted and perhaps unnecessary tests, all on the tax payers tab, to supplement the income of medical practitioners. For the record, this was the very same woman who had life-saving surgery earlier this year to remove an aortic aneurysm – two of them, in fact.

As we all know, Ontario’s health care system is beaten up so regularly by critics, pundits and armchair quarterbacks, there are times when it must surely feel like a piñata.

There were many occasions lately, that I too, had to reluctantly agree with Mum’s point of view.

Until the other day, that is.

When we moved into the Kawartha Lakes region six years ago, we could not find a family doctor. My wife, Sheryl and I went on waiting lists. In Peterborough there was not even a true walk in clinic; there was one you could call, hope to get through and secure an appointment with whatever doctor was on duty in the clinic that day. However, if you missed a window of opportunity when the lines were not busy, it invariably led to disappointment. We ‘kept’ our doctors in Toronto.

In the late fall of 2008, we were advised that, if we were interested, a new-to-the-region doctor was opening a practice. Did we want to arrange an interview? This process allowed both parties to talk frankly with one another. It was at this interview that I first met Dr. Carolyn Brown.

Carolyn attended the University of Toronto where she received her medical degree in 1977. From there, Dr. Brown moved to Calgary Alberta where she completed the Family Practice residency program in 1979.

For the past 12 years, Dr. Brown and her husband Dr. John Ashbourne worked in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia.

At the end of the interview, we agreed that we would ‘test drive’ each other. Sheryl, too.

In the spring of 2009, Dr. Brown scheduled a full physical for yours truly. From that, I was referred to an allergist (nice enough fellow) but I could have confirmed I was allergic to cats – we have five of them. Due to chronic sinusitis, I also saw an ENT specialist and ended up having my sinuses cleaned and scraped – again.

Due to my being a certain age and the fact I am diabetic, have experienced elevated blood pressure and cholesterol issues (all well managed through medication and lifestyle) and a family history of heart issues on both Mum and Dad’s side (mild issues), she wanted to refer me to a cardiologist, Dr. Brian Mackenzie – for a thorough look see, to establish a baseline. I had never exhibited any symptoms, chest pains, shortness of breath – nothing directly associated with a heart issue.

“Here we go again,” I thought as I heard my Mother’s voice repeating her cynical mantra.

A series of tests was ordered over a six week period, including an EKG, being installed for a Holter monitor (this also involved vigorous and quite random shaving of my chest) and finally having a stress test where a radioactive substance, Thallium, was introduced to my system through an intravenous line as I exercised on an ever-inclining treadmill. Images are taken then and a few hours later.

A couple of weeks later I sat down with Dr. Mackenzie and we reviewed my results. Now, as many of you know, I have rediscovered exercise after having a hip replacement three years ago. I would work out at least five times a week, usually an aggressive cardio session, taking aerobic classes with spandex-enrobed nymphs and older folks like me who wanted to be healthier. Anyway, it seems that there was something ‘unsettling’ that he could vaguely see on the images. Given that I had exhibited no symptoms, he spoke of anomalies and false positives. He did, however, advise that the only way to be certain was to undergo an Angiogram which he then explained in detail.

At this time, Sheryl and I were about three weeks from moving house and we were up to our ears in boxes as we packed. Plus, ironically enough, I was completing ‘The Bug Stops Here©TM’, an innovative educational comic book project for Peterborough Regional Health Centre. Timing was not great. We compromised and agreed that we would schedule the procedure for shortly after the move.

October 23 was the day. Reluctantly rising just after 4.00am, downing a couple of thick double espressos each standing over the kitchen sink, we drove the two hours from Barrie back to Peterborough. Sheryl sleepily asked where my insurance policies were and inquired if they were up-to-date.

The hospital staff we encountered that day at PRHC was fantastic. Caring and human. Treating all including, this big lug, with respect and dignity. One nurse, Cathy, proudly told me she had recently completed her power tools course at a large box store as she wielded an electric shaver and proceed to create a crude and rudimentary ‘Peterborough landing strip’ in my groin! Any questions I had, they answered. When I joked with them, they joked right back. Without crossing any line, real or imagined.

My surgeon for the procedure was Dr. Peter McLaughlin. He spoke with me beforehand and described in detail what he was going to be doing. I was kept comfortable and warm in very a cold environment and given a mild sedative to take off the edge.

A short time later, I was wheeled into the procedure room, an even colder place like a walk in meat locker (sic) with monitors, wires, much expensive-looking equipment and what I thought was way too many people.

I was covered with special blankets to shield most of my body from the potential harmful rays of the diagnostic imaging equipment that would monitor the progress of the wire that was inserted though my groin and travelled up into my heart. Images were taken from all angles and finally, a contrast dye was injected so that definitive pictures might be taken. This was an odd sensation. I was forewarned I would feel a warm flush-like sensation. I thought that my bladder had voided then and there on the table!

Moments later, it was done. The actual procedure likely took less than 15 minutes. Radiation vests and spatter guards were removed and I was returned to the recovery area. To my safe little cubicle with beeping monitors and friendly faces.

Presently, Dr. McLaughlin came in and asked how I was, then punched a few keys on a multi-coloured keyboard and brought up an image on the flat screen monitor. I listened intently as he spoke softly yet with gentle authority.

One of my heart’s arteries was 99% blocked with plaque. I heard 99% and it seemed to echo in my mind for minutes. McLaughlin explained everything. And although not completely unprepared, I managed to ask reasonably intelligent questions. For the record, cholesterol is 80% hereditary, 10% environment and 10% lifestyle.

There are three courses of action; medicinal (pills); PCI (Percutaneous Transluminal Intervention; and, a coronary bypass. Even while we were talking, Jeff Dunlop, the energetic Regional Cardiac Care Coordinator was burning a CD of my images and preparing a package to be overnighted to the Angioplasty group at The Toronto General Hospital.

I was contacted by TGH a few days after the angiogram and was advised that an angioplasty was scheduled for November 12 and would be performed by Dr. Paul Daly. There will be a pre-op consult November 6. Things continue to move forward in an expeditious manner.

So there we have it. No symptoms, no obvious warning signs and more than likely, within a few weeks I will be in Toronto having the problem fixed – one way or another.

So, the maligned system can and does work. For me, at any rate. Jobs for the boys? Perhaps, but to everyone at PRHC – my thanks. Especially Melanie, my lead nurse. To Dr. McLaughlin and Mackenzie – sincere thanks and gratitude. To Dr. Carolyn Brown; I will never be as skeptical again about the medical profession. Your professionalism, doggedness and diligence led to my heart problem being discovered.

For that, I will always be grateful.

Nothing quite like it...

2009-11-19T08:52:00.001-05:00

OK. Hands up all you readers who suffer (is there any other more appropriate word?) through either an occasional or frequent migraine headache? OK, sisters, hands down; we know all about you!

I come by mine honestly enough; both my Mum and Dad had them as adults but pretty much grew out of them in later life. I'm told that I was a ‘victim’ as far back as my infancy.

Fast forward a decade or five and on the morning of November 12, I came down with one for the books.

Readers will know this was the day I was a ‘guest’ at the Toronto General Hospital. I was to have an angioplasty (more on that in other posts). Waking up at 4.00am that morning and crawling from the warm comfort of bed, I realized that I had a headache. Just a headache. Given I was under instructions not to take anything by mouth from midnight on (dinner the evening before was finished at around 7.00pm -- dubbed, The Last Supper by TLATO); I declined to chew on a few generic-branded acetaminophen with codeine. Also, no two, double espressos this morning. And, I drove to the hospital through darkness and soon-to-become-searing headlights.

By the time I was checking in on the 6th floor of the Eaton Wing at TGH, my once annoying headache had begun to mutate.

There was absolutely no anxiety on my part regarding the pending procedure; I was actually looking forward to it and could not blame the war drums in my temple as being symptomatic of (obvious) stress. I will put it down to not enough sleep, any breakfast and caffeine withdrawal.

Sensing I was not feeling 100%, the ever attentive Danielle, my day-shift nurse that morning, gave me a couple of Tylenol. Way too little, way too late.

At around 11.30am, an orderly arrived to take me to the catheter lab on the second floor. Well-meaning, he began to ratchet the head end of the gurney, causing mini whiplash-like incidents. By the time I was in the elevator, the small piercing lights were already searing into my eyeballs. I felt horrible. Nauseous. Pain sweats ensued. By the time I was wheeled into the very cool procedure room, I was in the throes of a full blown migraine attack.

The cardiologist took one look at me and requested a complete scan of vitals. All was well. Except, of course for the pain in my head. They determined that the procedure would proceed and since I am allergic to morphine, shot a dose of fentanyl into my IV delivery system. For good measure, a nurse stayed by my side with cold compresses – and a vomit bucket.

The lights in the procedure room were unlike anything I had seen before -- unless you count two weeks previous when I went through an angiogram. There lights are unusually bright and depending upon what is occurring in the room, blink on an off. Even through closed eyes, I could still feel their effects.

Due to the fentanyl I did not even feel the dye being injected into my heart. The pain over the next two and a half hours did begin to diminish, but not vanish.

In post op, I was provided with Percocet -- and a fresh gown. Dehydration due to profuse sweating did not help my condition any.

For the rest of the day, I was prescribed additional Percs and ultimately Gravol since the nausea returned with a vengeance.

By the time I was taken from my bed and made to walk the 6th floor, the migraine had pretty much been conquered. Thanks to medication, rest, TLC, a cheese sandwich -- and lots of ice water.

Much like my parents, the frequencies of these often vicious and debilitating attacks are reducing.
But they can still occur. Sometimes without any warning whatsoever.

As much as I hate them, over the years, I have learned to respect them. Sound weird?

Obviously, you have never had the unfortunate pleasure...

Say what...?

2009-11-16T07:59:00.004-05:00

Just last week I was a guest at one of Toronto's largest hospitals, Toronto General Hospital.

Located on the eastern edge of Chinatown, this world class facility is a part of the University Health Network.

Now before we go too much further, let's not misunderstand anything here; this entry is only intended to have you scratch your heads and 'say what?'

So, while 'checking in' at 6.25am on the morning of November 12, I was to be admitted to the 6th floor, East Wing in the Peter Munk Cardiac Centre until approximately 10.00am the following day.

Thanks to an exhaustive pre-op conference the week before just about anything and everything I had experienced health-wise was on file.

That morning, I was, once again asked if I had any allergies. Affirmative; morphine. Hold on, what about cats? What about sulfites? What about MSG? Morphine is, for me, a deal breaker. It's serious. I neglected to mention the other three since I was in a hospital and did not think that I would be served Asian food with a glass of bad red wine while stoking a purring feline. But ever cautious as hospital staff are, a special allergy wrist band was prepared. Fair enough.

After a successful procedure and some time spent in recovery, I was shuttled back to my semi-private room (could have had private but I could not remember if my insurance (for which TLATO and I pay a healthy monthly premium covered me.). No matter

Lying relatively still for the next four hours or so, my nurse at that time, Danielle, inquired if I would like some dinner. Now remember; no food had passed my lips since about 7.00pm the evening previous. I was famished. A request was made that come suppertime, Mr. Taylor would like a hot meal, please and thank you.

A couple of hours later, a sheepish individual from the hospital kitchen left me a tray and said that there was no hot meal for me this evening. A plain cheese sandwich would be it. Did my 'request' come down too late? Au contraire. The hot meals being 'served' that evening, all apparently contained MSG.

This became the talking point at the nurses’ station.

Go figure. A world class health facility, preparing food with a major preservative which many people react to.

I may have been better ‘served’ ordering broccoli with beef from a nearby Asian restaurant.

H1N1... is this the new xbox360?

2009-10-30T07:57:00.002-04:00

OK, hear me out on this one.

Right now there is general confusion about the H1N1 vaccination clinics and procedures.

Now we are hearing that there may not be enough vaccine, that you may actually contract this flu virus before you have an opportunity to be vaccinated.

Supply and demand, people.

With the latest and greatest gaming systems, months in advance, information is slowly and deliberately leaked to the public. Even a supposed high price for a system is softened by 'reviews' from 'respected' sources within the video game industry and others who have been beta-testing the console and its limited array of games for months as they sit, slack-jawed in front of a monitor exercising their thumbs and potentially a part of their brains.

It all comes down to hype.

So, in a strange and convoluted manner, the same thing appears to have occurred with the H1N1 vaccine. Not all clinics are open at this time. Folks, supposedly those considered high risk, are lining up for hours to get a shot because they are scared. A week ago, I dare say that the majority of those people were going to side step the issue of an H1N1 shot. The media, in all its wisdom, has reported on regrettably isolated incidents and, perhaps (let’s hope) inadvertently, has created something bordering on near hysteria.

Why? To sell newspapers? To have more listeners or viewers tune in to their stations and thus create more demand for advertising dollars?

Let's hope not.

However, at this stage in the game, I'm just waiting for this headline:

"GET YOUR SWINE FLU SHOT NOW AND AVOID THE CHRISTMAS RUSH"

And, to make matters worse, this shot, is free.

They're everywhere...

2009-10-29T08:10:00.006-04:00

I now have this strange mental image of St. Peter at the gates to heaven, wearing a blue vest and greeting all newcomers!

While this may follow a trend created by Costco, the words 'full service' and 'vertically integrated' when it comes to this seem strangely out of place. It seems that even in death one can earn loyalty rewards - the final indignity!

Meet Sammy...

2009-09-20T17:29:00.004-04:00

'The Bug Stops Here' narrative is mostly told from Sammy's point-of-view. Children lead a more uncomplicated life and do not (usually) have to deal with all the small and large trials and tribulations adults deal with daily. Do not be mistaken, however. Most kids have active imaginations and their dreams can be only too real - even literal, sometimes. Soon you'll see what Sammy sees in her dreams after visiting her Grandma in hospital...

Remember... The Bug Stops here - with you!

The Bug Stops Here!

2009-09-15T10:19:00.005-04:00

It's now official!

The world will soon start to hear about this fantastic and innovative social behavioral program,
‘The Bug Stops Here©TM' .

For the past few months, much of my time has been consumed with this worthwhile project; we have worked with Peterborough Regional Health Centre (PRHC) and key staff members in Infection Control and Communications.

It’s certainly not a new idea, but it’s an initiative whose timing is perfect. At the end of the day, it’s all about improving hand hygiene everywhere. In our homes; in restaurants; in health care facilities; everywhere. While this program is PRHC-centric and addresses hospital-acquired infections, specifically Clostridium difficile (C. diff), with the recent activity in the media and health care centres the world over regarding H1N1, hand washing is something everyone needs to be more vigilant and diligent on an ongoing basis.

At the end of the day, washing hands needs to be second nature, just as buckling a seat belt, securing a child in an infant car seat or even not drinking and driving.

Don’t even think about it. Everyday it should be second nature.

1. Whenever your hands are obviously soiled
2. After using a toilet
3. After blowing your nose or even covering a cough or a sneeze and,
4. Before eating, drinking or even handling any food

Obvious? Of course it is, but all of us is likely guilty of NOT washing as often as we should. Regardless of whether it’s with soap and water or using a hand-sanitizing lotion or gel, we all need to do our part to protect ourselves, our loved ones and each other.

Remember, ‘The Bug Stops Here©TM’ – and it all starts with you!

Like a bad day with Dr. Seuss...

2009-09-08T08:36:00.004-04:00

Remember the fun and games experienced a few months back when an 'island' lodged itself to our shoreline? Yes, that's when I fell into the lake...

Anyway, about a week ago, I returned from the gym one Saturday morning. "Look out the window, near Bev and Roger's place", said TLATO. "There's a big surprise for you!"

There it was. In all it's bullrush glory. The same island that I had managed to move months beforehand.

How it made the return journey, I do not know. Was it given a hand by some neighbour? Again, the facts are cloudy here, too. Regardless it was back.

At first I laughed and almost ignored it. “Not our problem anymore,” I thought to myself – “We sold the place and that's that!”

Apparently, it was not going to be that easy. Saturday I was cutting our grass on the old John Deere and I kept seeing this 'beast'. By the time I had finished, I knew that the island had to go. Somehow.

So, Monday morning, when good friends Bob and Nancy came over to launch their canoe and go for an exploration trip on the lake, I asked if they would mind assisting once they had their few hours of relaxation.

Later, upon their return, I slipped on an old t-shirt, bathing suit and water shoes. I grabbed my boat pole and waded into the surprisingly warm water. This time, I did NOT extend the pole.

Shoving and heaving, I managed to move the beast. I was afraid that it may have started to root to the bottom of the lake near our shoreline, but fortunately that was not the case.

Bob and Nancy positioned the bow of their canoe in the centre of this mobile land mass and started to paddle. Vigourously. Naturally, this floating eco-system would not co-operate and until our intrepid paddlers got the hang of this uncooperative mass, were experiencing a world of frustration.

Meanwhile, one of our neighbours watched the whole affair from the comfort of a padded chair on his power boat. Smiling and occasionally waving, no offer was made to assist...

Eventually, Bob and Nancy were able to maneuver the mass into the current and it slowly started to move. Downstream. I must admit that we were hoping it would take a detour and self-navigate to our neighbour's dock.

This was not to be.

Lesson learned? Immediate neighbours, for whatever reason, may not be your best resource. Leave that honour to the Braleys.

We'll miss them terribly when we move.

Loons in the land of the rising sun?

2009-09-04T13:38:00.010-04:00

Where we live, it's not unusual to hear the plaintiff call of a loon or two at night and in the early morning hours from the bay near our lakeside home.

The fact that we are still hearing them at this time of year means one thing and one thing only; muskie have not eaten them!

These days, it would appear that Japan as a nation may soon become familiar with the very same sound that reminds us we live in a beautiful part of the world. It seems that the wife of Japan's incoming prime minister, who is, by all accounts, a lifestyle guru, a cookbook author and a retired actress. Heck, if a retired actor can become head of the most powerful nation in the free world...

Miyuki Hatoyama has publicly stated that some 20 years ago, she was abducted by aliens and taken to the planet Venus. Further, she has also stated that she knew Tom Cruise. In a previous life. When he was Japanese.

Her previous husband apparently dismissed the abduction statement as a dream. Her present husband, incoming prime minister Yukio Hatoyama, sees things a little differently.

"I feel relieved when I get home. She (Miyuki) is like an energy-refueling base."

Cue Twilight Zone theme music and quickly fade to black...

Thanks to The Toronto Star's news services.

Fall already?

2009-08-27T08:36:00.004-04:00

So what's with the weather?

Recently we've been experiencing some hot and really steamy days of weather -- in between rain and tornados. Did I mention that we lost part of a Black Walnut tree during that particular storm?

This morning, lakeside, it was 5 degrees Celsius! 5 degrees.

Really?

What the heck is going on out there?

Personally, I would much rather have the cooler temperatures. TLATO? Not so much. Complaint after complaint this morning. Noises were being made about going down to Florida...

Chia chest... a sight for sore eyes

2009-08-11T18:35:00.000-04:00

Almost six years ago we moved from the city, Toronto to the quieter, sedate region of Ontario known as the Kawarthas.

After stumbling through more than 60 houses in person, TLATO found our home.

We have done much work to it over the years and yes, it is our castle.

However, as many of you are now aware, we are moving the end of September to a different part of Ontario, Barrie – or as DJ put it, ‘the gateway to Muskoka’.

That as may be.

Finding a family doctor was mission impossible. Late last year, Carolyn Brown returned from a long stint in Saudi Arabia to continue practicing here. (Why is it so called professionals, such as lawyers, doctors, dentists and the like practice? Will they ever get it right?)

I digress.

Our names came up in the doctor lottery and we finally had a family doctor.

This spring, for the first time in years, I had a full physical. Dr. Brown, being new to the region, thought that at ‘my age’ I should be baseline tested for practically anything and everything known to man and medicine.

And so began batteries of tests, needles, blood work, prodding and probing that no person over the age of consent should have to go through without at least one witness/chaperone. Eventually dignity is cast aside like those stupid smocks provided in hospitals and the like. Americans have the right to bear arms; me, I bared my bum on more than one occasion.

I have had chronic sinus problems since I was a kid; off to an ENT guy and an allergist. Sinuses scraped and washed and needles stuck into me and they discovered I was allergic to cats. Big surprise. I could have told them that and saved our beleaguered system mucho dollars in tests. We have five cats at home. I live with it.

Although I like to work out at least five times a week, it was determined that I needed to have my heart checked out. So, I had an echocardiogram. I’m going for a stress test next week.

This brings me too yesterday. I was to be fitted with a Holter monitor. This device would be checking my heart rate for about 36 hours or so. “Remove your shirt and sit in that chair,” demanded a smooth talking (except for the clicking) tongue-studded female technician. I did as I was told. I swear I never saw this next part coming. I was ‘attacked’ with a razor and parts of my chest; abdomen and sides were dry-shaved with Bic’s finest. All the better to attach electrodes to my skin, I was told.

Lovely.

My upper body now resembles a Chia Pet with a severe case of Alopecia.

Some women pay a small fortune for a ‘Brazilian’. I received a hospital special – for free.

I can’t wait to remove this thing at 7.00am Wednesday. The comments in the locker room should be fun later that evening.

You will note that this is one post that will not have a photographic reference…

Mea culpa...

2009-08-02T11:37:00.009-04:00

It was TLATO who reminded me earlier this morning that it had been some time since I had posted anything to this blog.

She is absolutely correct. (There, proof for the record that I do give credit, where credit is due.)

To say that things have been more than a little hectic these past weeks would truly be an understatement...

OK, here are some of the details...

For some time now, we've been looking to downsize our home. As much as we both love it, there is truly an amazing amount of work required to keep it in 'shape', inside and out on an ongoing basis. We were even considering moving into town (Peterborough).

A few months back, a business opportunity presented itself. It was of great interest to both of us, especially Sheryl. It would mean, however, we would need to move to a different part of the province - Barrie, Ontario.

Nerves have been fraught and tensions running high. Commuting to Barrie from our place is four hours per day - assuming the traffic and weather co-operates. We knew we would have to move. However, we were not going to buy or even look at another house until we knew what was happening here in our mini, country estate.

A couple of months back we changed realtors. Things started to happen. More showings. Greater interest. Finally, one day, three women came through the house with their real estate agent. If they spent 10 minutes going through everything, I may be exaggerating. Our agent called to see how it went. I replied that I did not think it had gone too well. Our ever-optimistic agent said “You never know…”

The next day we received a call. “They want to present an offer tomorrow at 9.00am.”

Long story short, a good, clean offer was presented. Couple of small conditions, nothing that could not be dealt with by both sides with a little effort.

Interesting fact; the buyers had/have yet to physically see the property. You see, their daughters and daughter-in-law had been charged with finding Mum and Dad a home. They had moved to Canada’s left coast 15 or so years before and they were now ready to return. Their family lives in and round this region.

So, for them, there’ll be a homecoming at the end of September – September 30, to be precise.

Now, we were free to look for ourselves. TLATO had already been scouring listings for weeks beforehand and did have a short list of possible prospects. An agent was recommended. Sheryl met with them a couple of weeks ago. Pretty much the first house she went into that day was the one we ended up putting an offer on.

Those conditions were waived last week. We take possession September 22.

Does this mean the end of an era? Will this blog fold? Will OmemeeOzzie be just another fond memory?

How does BarrieBen sound?

Irritable Middle Aged Guy: As Luck Would Have It

2009-06-21T22:36:00.000-04:00

Irritable Middle Aged Guy: As Luck Would Have It

Thunderstruck

2009-06-14T18:18:00.001-04:00

My 10-year-old nephew, Jackson playing a live gig with an AC/DC tribute band, 'For Those About To Rock' in Toronto last night, June 13, 2009.

This talented kid lives and breathes music and practices daily -- even his parents, Joanne and Andrew don't mind! His younger brother, Bendan got his first guitar a few months ago. Look out world!

Passing the time in a bedroom in Brooklin

2009-05-31T21:28:00.001-04:00

Here's another post on behalf of my 10-year old nephew, Jackson. Someone find this kid a band!

Zack update...

2009-05-30T21:15:00.001-04:00

Sheryl had The Dude fitted for a ‘cone’ yesterday since he was licking the area where he was almost eviscerated – sorry, accidentally cut.

He’s feeling quite sorry for himself and acting pouty and depressed. We had him sleep in our room last night – with Ben. Not a problem. Except Rocky kept on trying to open the bedroom door most of the night. He would have succeeded too, (he usually does) except TLATO had barricaded the door with a large cat stand. Even Rocky could not budge the door and the weight of the stand. But boy, did he try.

We both have headaches this morning thanks to his all night endeavours!

It's just like a Dr. Seuss tale...

2009-05-30T21:12:00.002-04:00

The damn weedberg came back.

Have to find a way to move it into the channel where the current can take it to someone else’s shoreline.

We have a house showing later today – figures.

Meanwhile, I’m heading out to an address on Cowpath Trail north of Bobcaygeon. That really is the address. Cowpath…

PS. Came home to find that the weeds were no longer our problem. You're welcome, Carole and Bruce!

A disasterous day... Part 2

2009-05-28T22:06:00.002-04:00

OK, so the word disaster may be a little strong, but this evening's event was the proverbial icing on the cake that was today.

One of our cats, Zack is prone to nasty mats in his abundant fur.

Earlier today, Sheryl spent some time removing a few from him.

Apparently she missed a doozy.

I was in the middle of preparing dinner and TLATO had found this massive lump of matted fur on Zack’s belly.

For particular stubborn mats we have taken to using a seamstress tool, a seam ripper. Very effective, yet razor sharp. Extreme care is always exercised.

So, we assumed our de-matting positions; I held the cat down and Sheryl picked.

As she was picking, I noticed a fleck of crimson on his white belly. It was blood. Neither Zack nor Sheryl was aware of what had happened. I looked more closely and observed a slice in his belly, about 3 inches in length. There was blood, but it was not bleeding profusely. To me, it looked as if stitches would be required.

It was a complete accident.

We called our vet and were referred to the emergency veterinary service – which tonight, was our vet’s practice, but not Dr. Jeff.

Sheryl was and is quite upset. Zack seemed unaware of his wound.

At the vet’s it was determined that Zack would be anesthetized and the wound would be cleaned up and up to 8 stitches applied.

The little bugger is staying overnight – once again.

Coincidentally, we take Ben in tomorrow for his shots and heartworm medication. All told, it’ll likely be an $800 bill between both animals.

As we’ve said before, these guys are a part of our family and we do whatever we believe is necessary and relevant when it comes to their health and welfare. Too bad they don’t seem to appreciate the lengths we seem to go to, some times. Oh yes, any other mats Zack has will be removed.

A disastrous day ... Part 1

2009-05-28T21:38:00.006-04:00

I may well be a wanted man.

There is a possibility that the Ministry of Natural Resources, the Ministry of Oceans and Fisheries and the Trent-Severn gnomes may well have a bounty on my head.

I innocently and inadvertently disturbed the hatching habitats of many fish, likely ending the existence of thousands if not millions of lives.

I fell into the lake face down and fully clothed, landing on recently laid and fertilized clumps of roe as they lay unsuspecting and totally unaware of their pending fate…

Early this morning as I let Ben out to take care of business, I glanced toward the lake, specifically at part of our shoreline. A large floating 'island' of bull rushes had detached it from some part of the shoreline and made its journey to the southern end of our lake. It decided to call it a day as it managed to lodge itself on one of the guy ropes of my still elevated dock.

Scratching myself and draining a double espresso, I declared I would move this object after I had showered and shaved.

As I walked in the drizzle to the water’s edge, I had a boat pole clutched firmly in one hand. Approaching the ‘weedberg’, which by now had attracted a couple of red wing blackbirds, I began to lengthen the telescopic pole. I found a firm spot on the ‘berg and pushed – hard. The island began to move. I found a better vantage point and stuck the pole into the roots of the ‘berg and gave a mighty heave.

It was at that precise moment that the pole decided to de-telescope.

I fell in. Fully clothed. An almost perfect belly flop (the Eastern Bloc judge might not have given a perfect 10).

The weedberg, propelled by an offshore breeze, decided to head back to shore as I scrambled over the lake bottom like some frantic creature from a B-movie of yesteryear.

In disgust, I walked up to the house. I was greeted by TLATO. “Wow, it’s really raining heavy now!”

She had not seen me wipe out future generations of assorted species of fish.

She did, however, wish she had and practically pulled a muscle from laughing so hard.

In truth, for the first swim of the year, the water was not as cold as I might have expected. I did, however, twist my lower back slightly and the shin on my left leg is looking quite raw and bruised.

Meantime, the fish continue to count their losses.

Thanks to Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre...

2009-05-28T10:51:00.004-04:00

Yesterday, my Mum, Anne Davies underwent a major surgical procedure performed by Dr. Robert Maggisano, the head of Vascular Surgery at Sunnybrook Health Sciences Centre.

Maggisano had been monitoring the steady growth of an abdominal aortic aneurysm that had been discovered during some routine tests a few years back.

About two months ago we received the news we had all been expecting yet dreading. The ‘beast’ had grown to the point where the medical opinion was that it needs to be removed before it caused irreparable damage. Further, the possibility of performing a less invasive procedure was not going to be an option. This was to be major. An incision would be created from just under the breastbone all the way down to the pubic area.

Wednesday May 27, 2009 was the day.

We were all aware of the severity of the procedure and of the list of potential complications in the event Mum survived the surgery.

At around 6.00am, my five siblings, me and one of twelve grand children (and it was Alyssa’s birthday, too) descended upon the pre-surgery waiting area. Everyone was alert and the usual Taylor-style gallows humour was evident as Mum was prepared for admission and then for her surgery.

Maggisano had thought that us all being there to see her being wheeled into the OR would do wonders for her morale and inner strength. It was tough for all of us watching this suddenly frail woman with moist eyes and a forced smile being wheeled away from us down a long hall. Somehow we all managed to hold it together.

We had been advised that the procedure itself should take 4 – 6 hours. The surgery would commence at 7.45am – give or take a moment or two.

Slowly and wordlessly, hugging and touching one another, we shuffled to the patient waiting area of the Cardio Vascular Intensive Care Unit.

We spoke. We joked. Large families have special bonds. I’m the eldest. My youngest sister, Lindsey, is 12 years younger. We’re the closest and, in some ways, quite similar. Ever-present volunteers approached us with a coffee trolley. Only Lindsey and I wanted something – tea and cookies.

As the morning wore on, we each agreed this was good – the longer Mum was in surgery, in some ways, the better. At about 11.15am, Lindsey, Ross, Alyssa and me went in search of a place to eat some lunch.

Sitting at the table about to have soup and a sandwich, Lindsey’s phone rang. Almost as one, the four of us looked at each other anxiously and thought, “This can’t be good news…!”

Turns out there were two aneurysms. The smaller one was calcified. Both were safely removed and the repairs were done. Maggisano made the comment that the procedure was a little more “technical” than anticipated but all was well. The next few hours would be critical.

An hour later, Alyssa and I were the first to go into ICU to see Mum. She was, unexpectedly breathing on her own without assistance, but she looked so small, so vulnerable in a seemingly enormous bed surrounded by monitoring equipment and the best health care staff OHIP could provide.

She was awake, but was out of it. Her skin felt cold to the touch. Lights flashed intermittently. Digits changed constantly on a large LCD monitor bedside. Unfamiliar sounds echoed around her. The medical staff was amazing and so reassuring all that afternoon and into the night as we each took turns to spend a few moments with Mum.

Her amazing inner strength and resilience (some might call it stubbornness) prevailed and over the next few hours began to progress – to the point she almost got feisty in a manner that those that know her, would recognize immediately. Mum was coming back.

She had a good night and will be moved to a room, out of ICU later this morning.

On behalf of my sisters, Beverley, Karen, Joanne, Lindsey and brother Ross and my nieces and nephews, Kristen, Nicolas, Graeme, Natasha, Michael, Alyssa, Max, Jackson, Brendan, Max, Sammy and Alexander and all other family members and friends, our heartfelt thanks to everyone at Sunnybrook especially Dr. Maggisano and Marg Gadke who went out of there way to ensure that this family have their Mother to celebrate more birthdays and family events in the months and years to come.

Oh yes, Mum’s not too happy to hear that she should not be driving for at least six weeks. How is she going to see everyone?

Meet the latest musical sensation from Ajax, 'Sons of Beaches'!!!

2009-05-04T14:14:00.001-04:00

Eat your heart out Sum 41; there's a new band in town, Sons of Beaches.

That's my 12 year old nephew, Max on guitar on the left. Recorded at the Wing Shack in Whitby May 3, 2009 -- the bands first official gig.

For those of you keeping track, Max is cousin to Jackson, whose screaming rendition of AC/DCs 'Thunderstruck' you may recall from a few months back on this very blog.

Another nephew, Graeme has also been doing some musical dabbling, of late -- there is more to come, we're all told.

And, while on topic, another nephew, Michael has been musically inclined for years, too.

My second youngest nephew scored his first electric guitar this past Christmas.

Look out, Simon Cowell!

I'm even leery about sneezing...

2009-04-30T10:10:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I underwent a minor surgical procedure; a left endoscopic antrostomy. Basically, had the left side of my nose and sinuses "cleaned" out.

For many years I have suffered with chronic sinusitis. My nose has been broken at least five times and has, at one point, been "rebuilt". I've had a similar procedure more than 20 years ago.

This time was different; no packing at all. Of course, as soon as I bent over to put socks and shoes on, my nose started to "leak". To be expected, I was told. Ruined one very good t-shirt, though.

Now, the day after, things aren't too bad. Throat is sore due to tubes to allow me to breathe through the surgery and my nose feels like I have a bad cold - to the 10th power. I believe I would pay $100 for the ability to give a great honking blow right now. Of course, I am not permitted to do that for at least three more days. I'm even not exercising until at least the beginning of next week, too.

Only time will tell if there has been success.

The jury is still out.

Somewhere, a village mourns the loss of its idiot...

2009-04-21T13:31:00.002-04:00

I think that there is a certain head of the Canadian Auto Workers (CAW) union that requires a healthy dose of reality and a smack up side his head.

Ken Lewenza apparently continually cites previous ‘mega-million dollar concessions’ the CAW and its membership has made to Chrysler, Ford and of course, General Motors. Mr. Lewenza is reluctant to talk with Chrysler and its President, Tom LaSorda who has stated that for Chrysler to remain viable, CAW workers must reduce their hourly compensation package by $19 per hour, bringing CAW workers in line with non-union workers at Japanese automotive makers, Toyota and Honda.

People, the hourly wage and benefit package proposed is $57. $57. Per hour.

Mr. Lewenza further blusters that, “The company (Chrysler) has certainly drawn a line in the sand.”

Federal Industry Minister Tony Clement has also publicly stated that these cuts be made to assist in saving the company.

While to me, a life long-not-employed-by-anyone-remotely-connected-to-the-automotive-industry sees little wrong with the manufacturers and the government’s position, I must admit I have a hard time dealing with the inane and obviously selfish rhetoric being spewed by Mr. Lewenza.

Mr. Lewenza stated for the record that the economy would suffer worse if they (CAW) considered and accepted the proposal from Chrysler because autoworkers would have less to spend.

Perhaps this union boss would do well to consider the economic implications of a life with no Chrysler, no Ford or no General Motors. As visions of picket lines dance fervently in his head, what, Mr. Lewenza would the economic impact be then?

While I am not a supporter of North American automotive manufacturers or unions, I do support the occasional dose of harsh reality and acts of realism.

Wake up and smell the 10w30, you fool, before you force action that may have drastic implications for more than you and your membership.

A small piece of Ontario history...

2009-04-20T11:53:00.003-04:00

... is no more. Late Saturday evening April 18, 2009, the Red Barn Theatre at Jackson's Point, burned to the ground. And on the eve of it's 60th anniversary, too.

Fortunately no one was hurt and somehow, the intent is to press on with the milestone celebrations.

Little wings...

2009-04-20T11:22:00.003-04:00

The other evening, while Sheryl and her friend Nancy were still down in Florida, Nancy's husband, Bob and I went out for a messy, non-wife-sanctioned dinner. Wings!

We headed over to Wild Wing on Tower Hill Road and ordered beers and wings - is there a better food pairing out there?

Bob's choice was relatively tame, your basic BBQ honey-garlic variety. Me, on the other hand, ordered the Hometown Hottie - a four fire, Thai inspired offering.

Not bad.

While there, I could not help but notice how some folks eat wings. I tend to strip the bones clean like a pirhana (as does TLATO) - you should see what she does to a lobster - it's not a pretty sight. Some patrons eat them like an ear of corn, pinkies extended high and leave the best parts behind. When wings were introduced in Buffalo, New York back in 1964 as bar food and they cost $0.05 per pound, that approach is understandable. Today, with 20 medium-sized wings going for around $19, how can you NOT eat every last piece?

It's the right thing to do!

Weather-related...

2009-04-20T10:21:00.003-04:00

Today, from my office window looking out onto our normally reasonably docile lake, there are white caps. The weather forecast says there are winds up to 45kmh coming from the South East. Seems stronger than that to me.

I have given up counting the number of "thudsplats" I have heard this morning as misguided birds foraging for food this spring day get caught in the gusts and hit our very large glass windows. Four out of five cats are running around eagerly (Merlin being the exception), taking great pleasure in the misfortunes of birds of all sizes careening off the glass to the ground below, and as only cats can, seemingly pointing and gloating (that would be, specifically, the Dude) at the stunned birds that attempt to catch their breath and senses after hitting windows at a velocity greater than the wind speed.

The strong winds are also bringing chunks of ice from water much further north as they, the lake 'icebergs', prepare for their final melt in our slightly warmer lake waters.

Isn’t nature grand?

Meanwhile, back at the doctor's office...

2009-03-20T14:25:00.005-04:00

Continuing on from the tale of the dairy-challenged receptionist... Sitting in the doctor's office after tests were conducted and the doctor is talking with me while dictating his notes.

I have to admit I first thought that my ears were playing tricks. The doctor was spelling out what seemed like every sixth or so word. Granted, some were medical terminology, so mistakes are expected. But as I tuned in, many of the words were those used in every day conversation by the majority of people.

Politely I inquired what he was doing.

I'll paraphrase: "I've got all this high-priced university degreed help out there, and do you think any one of them can actually spell? A university degree and they can't even spell."

Ordinarily, I end posts with a witticism or something. Unable to here. It's really quite sad, isn't it?

Say what?... part two

2009-03-16T20:52:00.005-04:00

I'm telling you, sometimes this stuff truly does write itself. The following is just so preposterous, how could I possibly make this up?

While at my allergists this afternoon, I was waiting in the waiting room, reading a magazine and dying to scratch a powerful itch.

The relative silence of the day was interrupted by the young lady answering the telephone.

"Hold on a minute... I'll ask."

At this point she turned to her co-workers and the following six words tripped out of her mouth making her an instant shoo-in for, at the every least, honorable mention in the March 2009 Darwin Awards...

"Is coconut milk a dairy product?"

There was silence for a few seconds. Another patient, rolling his eyes, wondered aloud if this individual had ever attempted to milk a coconut.

Believe it or not, she then answered the individual who was holding the line. "No one seems too sure. I'll ask the Doctor and call you back."

Somewhere a village is mourning the loss of their very own idiot and I suspect there may be an advertisement posted in the local paper's "Help Wanted" section - (decidedly) unskilled labour.

I have a witness to this event, a young lady who was just as incredulous as me, and who happens to be a client. Regretfully, we were both in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tick, tock...

2009-03-03T18:00:00.010-05:00

That sound you hear is the incessant noise from a clock counting down.

I'm referring specifically to the now world-renowned Octomon, Nadya Suleman and her 15 minutes of fame.

This will be the longest 15 minutes. Ever.

With 14 kids under the age of seven, there will be oh-so-many milestones and events over the ensuing years that will ensure this individual remains in someone's spotlight until the final sibling is laid to rest -- which, one truly hopes will be many years from now.

In fact, last week, an offer was made to our collagen-enhanced, unemployed single Mom to star in an adult entertainment movie. Yes, that's right, folks. Porn.

Surprised? Don't be. Personally I think that offers like that are the tips of the proverbial iceberg.

I have my own thoughts on what some of them might be and will share at a later date. Care to add your $ 0.02 worth?

And before I forget, is it just me, but when I look at the photograph I've attached to this post, is it possible that Octomom and Jar Jar Binks may have been separated at birth? You be the judge.

And another thing; how many of us know of other unemployed and single Mothers of 14 children who regularly visit a nail salon and frequent Starbucks? I'll make it easier; how many of you know any unemployed single Moms with any number of kids that have similar habits? And meanwhile her parents are about to lose the house sweet Nadya and her soccer team plus three substitutes presently live.

Somewhere in the background I can hear Edgar Winter and his band playing one of their best known tunes, "Free Ride"...

A time and a place ... for everything...

2009-03-02T10:06:00.003-05:00

Just the other day in Kettering, Ohio, police charged a woman who was allegedly driving her vehicle while using her cell phone and simultaneously breast-feeding her child (if ever their was a true "Octomom" reference, this might be it).

The woman was observed by a concerned citizen who alerted the authorities who in turn tracked her down using her vehicle's license plate number.

When confronted by officers, she allegedly stated that she was breast-feeding and would not let her child go hungry. Fair enough - except she was driving a car at the time and must have had the child on her lap, not strapped in, never mind in a car seat.

The woman was charged.

Now, before any of you get all hot and bothered about breast-feeding in public, know this. The charge was not for that act. It was for child endangerment.

The woman faces up to 180 days in jail and a $1,800 fine if convicted of the misdemeanor.

Remember this: it's not about the boob, stupid; it's about the stupid boob.

A sign of the freakin' apocalypse...

2009-02-28T15:19:00.002-05:00

Most Saturday mornings you'll find me doing the rounds of grocery stores and supermarkets after an early morning workout at the gym.

While not necessarily a coupon clipper, I do look through the weekly grocery flyers before heading out.

This morning, due to a sale on lean ground beef (for Ben), I found myself at the new Loblaws Superstore in Peterborough.

Parking my truck, I grabbed a couple of shopping bags from the back and with my quarter clenched firmly between my fingers, braved the minus 18 degree temperatures to grab a shopping cart.

Inserting my quarter and then doing the cart release dance, my eye was drawn to the right hand corner of one of the cart's baskets. There was a cup holder. A cup holder on a shopping cart.

Give. Me. Strength.

What's next? Satellite radio and air bags?

Too perfect...

2009-02-24T10:37:00.006-05:00

Oh, the delicious irony of it all.

By all accounts, a few weeks after launching the first wide-scale layoffs in the company's history, Microsoft Corp. is admitting that they managed to screw up a key part of their austerity plan.

It seems as if the company is asking some recently laid-off employees for a portion of their severance back. Apparently an administrative glitch of some sort caused the software maker to overpay.

No one is admitting to how many of the 1,400 workers laid off in January were actually overpaid nor has the amount of overpayment been revealed.

Microsoft is asking those former employees affected, to return the excess dollars via cheque or money order within two weeks.

As might be expected, Microsoft shares sank $ 0.54 on Monday to US$ 17.46. From a PR standpoint alone, unless the amounts are truly ridiculous, you’d think that Microsoft might have considered taking the high road and absorbing the fiscal hit on this one. I suspect that the value of their shares that day would not have fallen 3%.

Source: AP 02/23/09

Every dog has his day...

2009-02-23T17:25:00.004-05:00

It was two years ago on this day that our Ben (Labernese’s Obi-Wan Kenobi) was born to Blossom (B2).

It’s hard to believe that what we first saw as less than five pounds of feet and fur, has developed into a handsome, well-behaved adolescent, just shy of 100 pounds. He will not be fully grown until he’s around three, so another year to go.

Coincidentally, I took Ben to see Dr. Jeff today; Ben occasionally get’s a build up of yeast in his ears. As patient as he can be, he does not like us cleaning them – which we do attempt to do regularly. At some point during the night, he scratched the inside of one ear. He let us look at it this morning and allowed us to clean around the angry red area he had created. The look of relief on his expressive face was obvious after we gently applied some Polysporin.

One of Dr. Jeff’s techs, Patty, took Ben in back and added some disgusting goo to both ears while Jeff administered an anti-inflammatory shot to afford some release from the rawness and irritable discomfort he was experiencing.

At the end of the day tomorrow, he’ll return and Patty will dig out the debris and gently clean the inside of both ears. A couple of swabs will be taken and then analyzed, to ensure that it’s not a bacterial infection.

Meanwhile, for dinner this evening, the birthday boy (who’s a little groggy from the anti-histamines in the shot) will dine on choice scraps of beef tenderloin.

TLATO and I will be feasting on leftovers.

Who says it’s a dog’s life?

Snake eyes

2009-02-22T20:17:00.003-05:00

Care to speculate how many folks were anxiously sipping their first cup of coffee or vainly attempted to hear their breakfast cereal talk back to them, all the while scanning newspapers, listening to the radio or checking things out on the Internet? All this to discover one of two things. Had anyone won the $ 50.3 million jackpot in last evening's 649 draw, and was their ticket the one.

In the event you have not heard or bothered to check that ticket you purchased at the end of this week, let me break it to you gently; there were four winning tickets. Three were purchased in Ontario and one in Quebec.

Unofficially, the winning numbers were 11, 20, 33, 34, 37 and 39. The bonus number was 22.

Each ticket is worth $12,574,733.

And I'm here to tell you, one and all, that we are not in possession of a winning ticket.

This time.

Seven hours I'll never get back

2009-02-21T11:43:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I spent almost seven hours in my car – correction, TLATO’s car, driving.

That evening, Sheryl was returning from her most recent trip to Florida. And no, she continues to assure me it was not all sun, sand and fabulous food. She was also working while there for 13 days and 12 nights.

I had to be in Toronto earlier that day regardless. Her flight was scheduled to land at 5.00pm that evening. Lots of time to get done what was required and then head out to brave the masses at Terminal 1.

Backing her car out of the garage at around 7.45am, fortified by two double espressos, the day’s journey began. There had been snow and freezing conditions overnight and that morning, some roads were continuing to offer some surprises.

Heading south on 115, conditions were less than perfect. Blowing snow, partial whiteouts and icy surfaces. South of the 35 cut-off, instant 4th of July display from vehicle tail lights as things slid to a halt. Not good. Within minutes, tow truck vultures made the scene before local law enforcement. Traffic was beginning to back up and some vehicles although stopped on the icy downhill road, were slowly edging forward. Or sideways. So, the vultures began directing traffic off the highway. Not pretty. Some folks reversed. Others executed multiple three point turns, but from the scene, it was obvious this was not an accident(s) that would be cleared quickly. And so, we were all diverted.

Sheryl’s car does not have a compass or GPS. No big deal since I knew where I was and where the detour would lead. Of course, all this maneuvering was adding time to a journey that ordinarily might take a tad over 90 minutes.

Now, instead of heading south, I was now driving west, heading over to Simcoe Road as my eventual link to civilization. Not so fast, big boy. Seems nature had additional plans to thwart my efforts. About 6 kilometres from my intended cut off, there was another accident. And again, traffic was being diverted.

This time, al though I pretty much knew where I was, due to blowing snow and lack of electronic guidance, I was not 100% certain of my heading. Several other drivers appeared to be in the same boat. So, like navigators of old, I followed a strong, blinking white light. A snow plow.

Eventually made it to Simcoe Road and then the 401. Should be smooth sailing from here. Not even close. Once on the DVP heading downtown a lane was closed due to another accident. This was now almost 11.00am. And traffic was still freakishly heavy.

So, three hours and forty two minutes after backing out of our garage, with bladder screaming, I made it to my office.

All was well until 4.00pm when I had to leave to head out to the airport. Fortunately allowing an hour was fine. Naturally, the day being what it was, Sheryl’s plane was delayed – while in Toronto. Do not get me started on baggage handlers at Pearson International.

So, shortly after 6.00pm, the final part of our journey commenced. All was well, until we came off the highway and started into rural territory. Swirling snow began to fall and some road surfaces were, to put it mildly, dangerous. The two plus hour drive home was pretty much a white knuckle affair. No accidents. No diversions.

So there you have it. My driving marathon.

Was it worth it? Well, TLATO is home again – and I’m going on strike. For the next two weeks she can look after the beasties, the household – everything. While I sit back and relax.

Fat chance…

The aging process...

2009-02-21T10:09:00.004-05:00

Getting older sucks! There. I've said it. How many others have made this statement recently?

And what brought about my (most recent) exclamation?

At the gym Thursday evening, I was participating in an aerobics class. No, not decked out like some Olivia Newton-John video reject. Not for me. I wore what I usually wear five times a week. Comfortable non-intimidating, non-fashion statement well-worn clothing. About 25 minutes into the step portion of the evening, I felt something "pop" in my left calf. And so ended my exercise session and my evening. The next hours were ice packs and tensor bandages. Deep Cold product was also slathered on as I hobbled into bed. All five cats and Ben were huffing the fumes and looking decidedly laid back.

Since I became a born-again gym rat, I have been an exercise zealot. Harkens back to my youth and early 20's when I was in pretty good shape. Training for competitive rugby and lots of weights saw to that. Now it's about cardio and lean muscle mass.

I returned to this world a couple of months after having hip-replacement surgery two years ago. I needed some form of low-impact activity and aqua aerobics was the solution. From there, I graduated to land classes. Yes, it’s often a Bess Motta “four more” environment, but it’s truly enjoyable. For me. It’s about the exercise. The feeling better about oneself. And the camaraderie. Yes, there are the younger women in classes, eagerly seeking approval, decked out in quite impractical tight clothing, occasionally falling out of a plunging neckline as they troll the hallways looking for companionship. But there are also a group of more mature (age-wise) individuals that are there for the benefit that pain and sweat can bring.

So here I am, in my early 50’s, doing what I can to be physically healthy. TLATO gets it – but only to a point. Will she be joining me anytime soon? Not a chance. In fact, during my recent sinus trials and tribulations, she actually “hid” my gym bag!

Exercise injuries can occur to anyone. They don’t discriminate. As I pointed out to a far from sympathetic Sheryl, injuries happen to the best athletes. She countered with the fact that many of them make ridiculous amounts of money and that a twinge or tear can be tolerated. To so-called weekend warriors such as me - not so much. I still have to work to put (12 grain) bread on the table. I do not have a crew to help pick up life’s pieces.

I am at a loss to describe the expression on Sheryl’s face earlier this morning when I said that the calf muscle was feeling much better and I’m only hours away from my next class. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that she disapproves. There are times when she wishes that I would forgo the endorphin-laced Kool Aid.

Buying bunff in bulk...

2009-02-16T14:11:00.003-05:00

Growing up in a house full of women, you'd think I would remember. Four sisters and Mum. Outnumbered me, Ross and Dad. Always. We even had two male dogs in an attempt (albeit futile and quite feeble) to even things out.

This past weekend was the annual siblings’ weekend in the country. No spouses. No kids. No cell phones. Just brothers and sisters doing their thing. Together.

This year, however was a little different. Yes, as usual, TLATO was in Florida, but my brother and number 2 sis, Karen were not able to make it. Ross was playing bridge in Sarasota and Karen was... doing whatever a bunch of 40-something girls do in Barbados without kids or spouses.

I digress...

The weekend was no disappointment; it's always great to spend quality time with my family, even if it's only 75% of the ‘Hood (that's the Sisterhood to you).

Beverley has two grown boys at university (and a daughter in Vancouver, making hard life decisions); Joanne has two boys and Lindsey, one boy and my adorable niece, Sammy.

The talk turned to food and grocery bills. Bev was talking about her boys coming home for reading week and she had already started to re-finance the house to contain their inevitable appetites. Joanne and Lindsey's males are much younger, but in their own way, while small are just as efficient piranhas when it comes to food and stripping a side of beef

The 'Hood was only here for about 24 hours. It was not until today that I noticed that the inventory of septic-friendly toilet paper had been severely dented.

My sisters have their sons and grocery bills to contend. Me? I have my sisters and a need to invest in Kimberly Clark or Scotts paper products. What the heck do they do with that paper? And, to make it worse, they were double rolls...

The Pain Train hits Ms. Alaska...

2009-02-03T15:46:00.001-05:00

Remember "Terrible" Terry Tate, the office linebacker? Well here's what might have happened when Katie Couric interviewed Sarah Palin...

Happy birthday, Dude!

2009-02-01T14:25:00.005-05:00

In spite of his own best efforts late last year, the Dude, or Zack as is his given name, turned two years old today, February 1, 2009.

As you can see, there was no hoopla, no fanfare, no party, no cake, and no raised glasses.

He passed out in a kitty coma (cat owners will "get" this) on Sheryl’s legs as she read her book this cold yet sunny Sunday afternoon.

Keen observers may note that this same book TLATO is reading has made at least three trips to Florida and has been on her nightstand for many, many months. It’s a Michener book, that’s true - however, to say that TLATO is a “deliberate” reader would likely be an understatement.

Squint a little harder and yes, that is a Sponge Bob alarm clock on her side of the bed.

To Neti... or not to Neti...

2009-02-01T13:01:00.005-05:00

So I've had this sinus infection for over four weeks now.

Three visits to the doctor (yes, after more than five years, we finally have a family doctor 20 minutes from our home!). Please note, in the event my membership in the manly-men club is revoked, two of those visits were not my idea – step forward and take a bow, TLATO! Anyway, two prescriptions for antibiotics later and this thing continues to linger and work its evil within all eight sinus cavities – on occasion with remarkable independence yet often in a concerted no-holds barred all-out sinus attack.

I've suffered with chronic sinusitis most of my adult life. I've endured surgery, scrapings and flushing but still, after each cold, I become a candidate for pain due to serious sinus infections.

Last weekend, in desperation, I took matters into my own hands and went to our local drug store and purchased a Neti Pot.

This “miraculously simple” (not my description) medicine cabinet item has been featured on Oprah, and friend, Val had been swearing by it, so…

Essentially, this “thing” delivers warm water and a “patented” blend of “99.9% pure - and preservative free sodium chloride and sodium bicarbonate mixture” – most folks would refer to this as salt.

A Neti Pot is filled with warm, slightly salted water and the spout of the pot is inserted into one nostril. The position of the head and pot are adjusted to allow the water to flow out of the other nostril. OK. Stick spout in nose, and pour. “They” then go on to state…

“The technique is not as uncomfortable or difficult as you may think at first. You will be pleasantly surprised at this simple and effective practice for maintaining your health. Once learnt, Neti (amazing, 15 minutes of fame and an adjective becomes a verb) can be done in about three minutes and is easily integrated into a daily routine of body cleansing such as showering or brushing your teeth.”

Still with me?

For three days, I followed this procedure to the letter, twice a day.

Did it help? Well, in truth, like “they” said, it did not hurt. I did learn however, due to major chronic blockage in my left nasal passage, performing over a sink wearing clothes you would be placing into a laundry hamper immediately after was the best idea – warm salty water, snot and mucous on a crisply laundered French-cuffed shirt is not a positive fashion statement.

I did notice after about the fourth “treatment” that the spout of the pot had a vaguely familiar look to it. Albeit it was blue and plastic. It was, to me, quite phallic in nature.

My new health and wellness regimen involved sticking a warm blue and unyielding appendage up my nose. From out of nowhere, the school-yard epithet “dick face” resonated… on the inside.

Perhaps a consult with an ENT specialist would be preferable?

Faith no more? No, not hardly!

2009-02-01T11:41:00.006-05:00

On December 26th, while in Florida, I came down with a cold. For the record, I blame the hacking small child that sat next to Sheryl on the flight down. As is customary for me, this thing then went to my sinuses and I developed a nasty infection.

Yes, I know, poor me. I'm not trolling for sympathy, I might add. Merely presenting an applicable back story.

Just a little more than a week ago, I had to go into Toronto for a few meetings and a dental check up and cleaning. Not sure about your dental practitioner’s office, but at mine, it's all about the latest and greatest technology. I believe that I now have to slip into gravity boots and be suspended for a simple cleaning.

So I'm practically upside down in this chair, wearing protective goggles and the hygienist is having a conversation with me. Of course, it is one-sided, but to her, it's a form of social interaction. Personally, I do not believe she gets out much.

That morning I was not feeling too great to begin with. An hour of major sinus/nasal drainage did nothing to make me feel any better. In fact, I now felt quite disgusting and as I drove to my office, felt quite nauseous. Sometimes a steaming mug of hot, strong sweet tea can lift my spirits. Not today. I could not drink it. Lunch came and went – food really had no appeal and I continued to slide into a general feeling of crappiness.

Hours later, things had not changed and I drove home, barely listening to any noise from the radio. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep. After vomiting, of course. As I drove on rural back roads and worked my way through the winter dusk towards a highway, I really started to feel dreadful. I had to pull over. There was only one thing that would offer any relief. I signaled (old habits die hard – I’m sure that the small rodent ahead of me was quite appreciative) and pulled off onto the shoulder. Remember, this was a country road. Snow plows had done a magnificent job of clearing this road and it was groomed meticulously. I put the truck in park and was about to open the door to exit when the right side of the truck suddenly sank in the wink of an eye. The vehicle was now on some awkward angle at the side of the road.

I clambered out. No choice since, as you may recall, I was on a mission. Off to the side I went and as I began to be quite noisily ill, I too sank about 18 inches or so.

It would appear that rural plow operators have no guide markers to advise them what is soft shoulder and what is beyond. In their road clearing endeavours, a wonderfully groomed soft shoulder was presented. Problem was, the last two feet or so of shoulder was, in fact, ditch.

Two calls were then made. One for roadside assistance and the second to TLATO. CAA was much more sympathetic.

As I waited for subscribed assistance to arrive, I was frankly amazed at the number of individuals that stopped to offer comfort, cell phones, a cup of coffee or general support. By this time, it was a cold and clear, very dark night on a rural (paved) road. Yet, still people pulled over. Surprisingly enough, one of the would-be-Samaritans was a young woman.

While physically I felt wretched, my faith in humanity had been restored – at least for that day. The kindness and concern shown by complete strangers was quite touching.

Even as I was tossing my proverbial cookies curbside.

Juggling to Beatles Music

2009-01-31T14:36:00.001-05:00

Just saw this again and am still in awe; had not seen it in ages, but had to share. This fellow's name is Chris Bliss. He is a comedian and this video was taken at the Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal, 2002. Amazing talent.

Happy anniversary...

2009-01-11T01:11:00.004-05:00

On January 11, 1997, Sheryl and I got married.

In Las Vegas.

And no, not by an Elvis impersonator. It was in a small chapel. Within Treasure Island. It was surprisingly tasteful. Well, perhaps except for the beginning of our wedding video where pirates are storming a ship, firing cannons, buckling their swashes and saying, "Aaaaarrrrgh!"

Once again, I digress.

That makes today our anniversary.

We've been together for a while; first of all living in two houses and then downsizing to one - and no, not the better house, but rather the better neighbourhood.

Our paths first crossed in 1991. My marketing and advertising company moved into the top floor (fifth) of an old brewery in Toronto's historic Corktown District. Great space; exposed brick walls, original beams - even today, there is still a "wow" factor attached to the space. Sheryl's company, a design firm, was located on the ground floor.

Back then my company did not have its own graphics studio. Shortly after moving in, I decided to check out this design firm since we had an urgent need for a newspaper advertisement to be built and they were a great deal more convenient than our present supplier.

I walked through the door. Seated at art tables or desks were six people. Three women. Maeve. Lenore. And Sheryl. I was “drawn” to Sheryl. Introductions were made and my project was reviewed. Hours later, proofs were approved and the ad made its way to the Toronto Star for insertion.

Every one in the company was very pleasant - especially the three women. All were smart and, of course, very attractive. Maeve and Lenore were a bit younger than me. But there was "something" between Sheryl and me - except, neither one of us really new it.

Within a few days, I called Sheryl and asked if she would like to go to dinner. The last time I had heard this much hemming, hawing and stuttering was listening to Mel Tillis being interviewed. Talk about painful. Finally I said, "Look... we both have to eat. Do you like Thai? What about tomorrow evening at 7.30pm?" I had not been used to this type of treatment from a woman. "OK, tomorrow at 7.30 it is."

In the weeks that followed, we went out several times. For reasons that frankly escape me now, we did not let on to anyone what we were doing. Especially her co-workers. That led to an almost embarrassing situation when we all went out for dinner one evening - but that, too, is another story.

Everything continued to go well between us - professionally and personally. One Friday evening, Sheryl came to my house and I made dinner. No idea what I made. All I really remember are two things; we talked for hours (truly) and Sheryl left late that night. We did not have a chance to eat dessert. No, not for reasons that you may be thinking, dear reader, but truly because we talked. I do remember it was fresh fruit salad.

The following morning, I was going about my business, puttering around my house and there was a knock on the door. Sheryl stood there with a tub of Häagen-Dazs vanilla ice cream and said it was time for dessert. A fresh pot of coffee was made and we sat in my back garden, talking some more, drinking steaming mugs of coffee topped with ice cream.

Sheryl had never been married. Me, once before. Over the years neither one of us felt a "need" to marry one another. We really enjoyed what we had. One hot summer afternoon, sitting by the pool, we started talking about marriage. Sheryl's parents were getting older. She was the eldest of three and the only daughter. Her two brothers were married. We decided then and there we were going to marry. Yes, for us, but primarily for her parents, her father, Joe, especially. His health had not been great.

We made arrangements to go to Las Vegas. Strange but true. This was exactly what Sheryl wanted to do. It was actually a dream of hers. To marry in Las Vegas. The other, I found out years later, was to marry a red-headed writer.

In keeping with our past subterfuge, we told no-one what we were doing - except for my brother, Ross and two very dear friends, Deb and Frank Nash from Detroit, Michigan. The Nash's were to be part of our wedding party. Actually, they were the wedding party.

As far as everyone was concerned, we were going to Aruba for one week. On holiday. If anyone had checked, our flight and a flight to Aruba left on the same day, from the same terminal, with the same airline, within 15 minutes.

We were married on the Saturday and on Sunday morning, from our suite at the Mirage, we started calling family and friends.

That was then.

This evening, there will be no battle of wills over dinner. We will be picking up Indian food from our favourite Indian restaurant - Shafiq's Taste of India.

Happy anniversary, Sheryl. Thanks for putting up with me all these years. Love you.

Hair raising static...

2009-01-09T09:35:00.000-05:00

TLATO, like most women I know, occasionally has "issues" with her hair.

Years ago, while she started to prematurely gray, she decided to add a rinse. This would be OK, until a couple of weeks in and her hair would take on the hue of an anemic eggplant and did not look at all "normal". Unless you were called Elvira and auditioned for a position on the local cable TV station to host less than B movies in the wee small hours of the evening.

I digress.

A while before we finally married (another story for another time) she cut her hair off. OK, she did not do it, but she had it cut very short, professionally. Personally, as much as I love long, clean hair on a woman, I really liked this not-quite brush cut. It was, I thought, very attractive. Not just the hair, you understand, but the whole "package".

This, too did not last since Sheryl did not like contending with bed head.

So it grew. And was trimmed. And it grew some more.

She never coloured it again and today has wonderful silver-coloured hair that many women comment favorably, "Who colours your hair?"

For many months of the year, TLATO's hair is rarely a point of conversation. Where we live, there are actually some months during the year when extreme cold temperatures do not wreak havoc with her fine, silver tresses. Winter months? Totally different story.

We returned from a vacation in Florida a few days ago.

Yesterday, the hair comments started.

"I'm going to cut my hair! Where’s Soultana's number?"

You see, it's quite cold where we live in Ontario. The temperatures and dryness do not react well with Sheryl's hair. You've seen examples of static electricity charges in science centres, etc. before? Well during the winter months, her hair acts as if it has a mind of its own. And wearing a hat exacerbates the situation to the power of, oh, 100.

I had to go into town and asked if she wanted to come with.

On the way home, I needed to stop at the drug store. While I had a prescription filled, TLATO was engaged in a serious conversation with one of the "advisors" that work in the cosmetics department.

I walked over to find an effusive and beaming Sheryl. Apparently her problem, fly-away hair issue had been taken care of thanks to this young woman. There was no "beauty product" solution. The helpful young woman recommended another, completely different product for her hair. One which neither one of us would have considered. One which many of you have seen commercials on television. Available at drug stores and supermarkets everywhere. Just not in the cosmetics, beauty or hair care sections.

Static Guard.

From Sheryl's personal viewpoint, this was on par with the discovery of penicillin.

A true miracle. Her hair looked great! All was well in Sheryl-land.

This morning, I found TLATO going through kitchen drawers and rubber-banded stacks of business cards.

"What's up?"

"I'm looking for a number."

"Oh... For what?"

"Soultana."

Twelve hours previous there had been a hallelujah revelation. Today, things were back to normal. And yes, Static Guard does work.

Say what?... part one

2009-01-09T09:34:00.001-05:00

The English language is one of some subtlety and a source of frustration. Full of words spelled the same way yet, depending on the sentence context and pronunciation, presents a different meaning. Heteronyms. And, homographs. Is it any wonder then that Strother Martin's character in Cool Hand Luke spoke the immortal words, "What we have here is a failure to communicate?"

Combine that with the attention span of most people and varying accents and there is a recipe for further confusion.

I'm reminded of a situation a few years back with our vet, Dr. Jeff. We were in with Ozzie, our first Bernese Mountain Dog and for some reason, we started discussing "scooting" and "expressing anal sacs". Oz never had this issue and why we got to talking about it, I have no idea. TLATO started talking about something else, completely unrelated. But Jeff, as he is wont to do, started off on one of his medical soliloquies. He kept using the phrase "anal sex", at least, that's very much what it sounded like to me and Sheryl. His conversation even started to make some sense around this particular phrase. He described how working in the veterinary practice he would need to be involved with it almost daily. In fact, he almost boasted that there were a couple of female vet techs who “worked in back” that had apparent expertise with handling anal sex. How he would know this made us both wonder in an "Eeeeeew!" way.

After a few moments of this, I swear, all we continued to hear were those two words. Anal. Sex.

Each to their own we thought, independent of one another, left and then got in the car. A few moments of absolute silence passed before we looked at one another. "What the hell was that all about?" We consider Jeff our vet and a friend, however, neither one of us had any knowledge of the relationship careening into what some might consider taboo territory.

We went over the highlights of the conversation (as I alluded, pretty much one-sided with the occasional, "Really?" or "Uh-huh!" muttered uncomfortably from one us), we slowly but surely and practically simultaneously realized that we were not part of an anal sex "back door" discussion, rather a medical one - as it related to animals and their anal sacs.

I'm reminded of dear Emily Patella (for those who have no idea, a character of the late Gilda Radner)...

"What's wrong with sax and violins on television? I think there should be more sax and violins."

"Emily, that's sex and violence, not sax and violins."

"Oh. Never mind."

And on that note, please see video below...

Stanley Steemer Toby's New Trick

2009-01-09T09:32:00.001-05:00

Wee Wally's willie was wedged while whizzing...

2008-12-15T20:38:00.004-05:00

Normally the Brits are a sensible lot, not likely to get "bogged down" in general silliness, but an article in today's Toronto Star certainly got my attention.

I would ask you to please refrain from laughing out loud - as I did earlier this morning. I actually made Rice Krispies appear out of each nostril - a feat unto itself since one has been blocked thanks to a rugby incident in the early '70's.

Dr. Joe Philip of Leighton Hospital warns that parents should be extra vigilant during the holidays. "As Christmas approaches, many families will be visiting relatives and friends and their recently toilet-trained toddlers will be keen to show how grown up they are by going to the toilet on their own."

It would seem that there has been a rash of small boys who have sustained injuries to their tadger by way of falling toilet seats. There is, by all accounts, a major risk of "penis crush" from heavy wooden, ceramic and ornamental toilet seats.

I am not making this up.

So it begs the question? Why now? Growing up as a lad in Scotland, I never heard of any of my friends being caught short by American Standard's best. Rhetorical question; is there something wrong with the youth of today that would cause certain unwitting and likely well-developed male children (imagine the whole process of "an accident" and you'll "see" what I mean) to suffer such embarrassment and potential physical and mental scarring?

Unbelievable. And to think that money was actually spent on this study - and it was delivered with a straight face.

I do, however have first hand knowledge of an incident with an older gentlemen who, one Christmas morning many years ago, bleary eyed and hung-over, helped with the annual Christmas morning breakfast. This fellow was the only male in a household of women. There was his wife and his five daughters. This poor fellow treasured any time he could get in their one washroom

I digress.

So hung-over to beat the band, the excitement of Christmas morning and the crescendo of six twittering women - removing a ham from the oven, this poor fellow somehow managed to catch the drawstring of his PJ bottoms in the oven door as it closed, drawing him inexorably closer to the diminishing opening as the door closed - rapidly.

The drawstring was not the only wayward object that got caught in the door that morning.

By all accounts, this fellow's member resembled a piece of flank steak for many days after.

Needless to say, ham has not been on the Christmas morning menu for some years now.

Kitty update...

2008-12-15T20:20:00.003-05:00

The Dude continues to improve.

We will not be releasing him into the general population today, after all.

Since we are still monitoring food and liquid intake and it's subsequent "release", it's so much easier to do it when the beast in question is segregated. Remember, there are five cats and at this point in their evolutionary cycle, have not managed to make their litter box deposits with unique ID attached.

So The Dude remains in our bedroom in solitary. Earlier today, we let Ben in to see him. Ben initially ignored Zack; there were way too many new scents for him to discover all at once. However, once the initial scent foray was completed, the two buds nuzzled one another and Zack decided to clean Ben's large face as he dropped his head and leaned in towards The Dude.

Cute moment. Would have been a Kodak moment, except nary a cell phone or camera was to be found.

We spoke at length with Dr. Jeff and we all agreed to keep The Dude in isolation -- not that he's contagious or infectious, but...

So likely Friday or Saturday, we'll "release the hound", so to speak.

We're all doing so much better with administering his meds and that regimen too should also be completed by Friday. Zack now sees me approaching with a syringe full of his medication and he jumps onto our bed and prepares himself for the inevitable dosing.

Sheryl and I pretty much do the same.

Our Christmas cat...

2008-12-14T16:42:00.009-05:00

As many of you are aware, our kids are our pets. Currently we have five cats, all Maine Coons and one dog, Ben, a Bernese Mountain Dog.

Last May we made an effort to reduce some household expenses. One of those items deleted from the budget was insurance for the cats. You see, our cats, being indoor felines, are not exposed to some of the nasty things lurking outside - including country wildlife, such as wolves, coyotes, black bears, foxes and the like. They are also unlikely to contract any weird diseases. They all see our vet, Dr. Jeff Simmons, once a year for a check up and shots. In all the years we have owned cats, we have not experienced any major health issues. So, we cancelled the cats' policies and doubled up the insurance on Ben.

Last week, our youngest cat, Zack began to exhibit odd behaviour. He became lethargic and stopped eating. He also puked a couple of times. Zack or as we refer to him, The Dude, has always had a voracious appetite and, in spite of being neutered, he never developed a hanging belly, so common in fixed felines. If anything, he was always on the slim side and was full of energy and mischief from the get go.

Not last week.

We took him in to see Dr. Jeff Simmons at the Peterborough Pet Hospital. Zack will be two years old in February, just like his "brother", Ben. These two are practically inseparable. The Dude thinks he's a dog; Ben believes he's a cat (a cat the size of a mountain lion!). Initially Jeff was a little concerned about The Dude's weight; seems although he had grown from his last visit, his weight had barely changed. Blood samples were taken and sent to Guelph for analysis. Seems these days just about everything can now be ascertained from these tests at one time. Jeff was looking for thyroid issues, pancreatitis, diabetes and cancer. OK, so he was not looking for them; he wanted to rule them out.

Meanwhile, The Dude returned home with us. We kept him segregated from our general population - much to Ben's dismay. He sat outside our bedroom door, waiting for his buddy to come out and play.

That did not occur.

Meanwhile Jeff had "given" us some special food which was quite dense and loaded with calories. We were to force feed him. Ever attempted to force feed a cat? In spite of his general malaise and weakness, we discovered that there was nothing wrong with The Dude's adrenal glands. We had to practically hog-tie him and wrap him in a blanket to attempt feeding. Limited success - but we both still had all our fingers.

Over the next 12 hours The Dude’s condition declined. He was still throwing up and he did not look good. We could see that he was fading before our eyes. The next morning, Jeff gave us 90% of the results. Everything was normal. We were still, however, waiting for the pancreas and thyroid results - they were expected the following morning.

The previous evening after many calls to our friend and Maine Coon breeder, Sharon, we had decided that even if all came back negative, we wanted The Dude to be x-rayed - hopefully to see if there was any blockage of any kind within.

TLATO drove back to the vet's with our friend, Val, who offered to assist since I was out of town that day.

Zack was hooked up to an IV and pumped with fluids and antibiotics then sedated for the first of a series of x-rays. At this point, the cat appeared to have gas and feces in his system that, for some reason, was not moving. Young Zack was given the first of several enemas to flush out his system. Naturally, this made him even weaker. After each "flush", a further x-ray was taken. Eventually, everyone was satisfied that all was clear and there had been no evidence of foreign bodies in the flushed waste. An exhausted cat was then made comfortable and continued to be hydrated as he rested overnight.

The following morning, Jeff called to report. The last two tests were clear. Zack was being fed and they would be taking additional pictures to ensure that the processed meal cleared his system. He would, all being well, be released at the end of the day.

That Friday evening we drove into town and spent some time talking with Jeff. At this point, Zack was doing very well. However, the diagnosis was a little shaky. Perhaps there had been an infection in his bowel that caused his system to slowly shut down as he poisoned himself? Regardless, he was responding to the three medications he was on and our skinny kitty came home.

The Dude's been home two days now and he is back to his old self. His personality has returned as has his appetite. We have to medicate him for the next week or so, liquid meds taken orally - syringes and cats with sharp teeth - we are becoming more adept with each treatment.

We plan on releasing The Dude to gen. pop. tomorrow. Ben misses his buddy, and the other cats, Merlin, Rocky, Elvis and Xena know that something is amiss. Rocky has attempted to break into the room too many times - we have taken make-shift security measures - bungee cords attached to two door handles, otherwise Rocky would be in with Zack as I write. Not that Rocky would do anything; we just want Zack to get his strength back before he resorts to his usual routine.

So, it would appear that The Dude is well on his way to perfect health.

At a cost.

Sheryl and I had decided weeks ago we were not going to exchange gifts this season since we're off to Florida in a week or so. Just as well. We'd be looking for refunds to pay The Dude's vet bill.

Wow! Hindsight being 20/20, we should never have cancelled the damn insurance.

Who knew?

History has a habit of repeating itself...

2008-12-05T17:03:00.004-05:00

It would appear that some people, Canadians, have particularly short memories.

Presently, in addition to the whinging and whining about Canada’s Government, there is a remarkable amount of wailing and gnashing of teeth regarding the newly established Liberal-NDP coalition.

Lest anyone for one moment forgets, on October 15, 2003, the Canadian Alliance (formerly the Reform Party), led by a younger, almost cherubic Stephen Harper and the Progressive

Conservative Party (under its new leader Peter MacKay), announced that they would merge to form a new party, called the Conservative Party of Canada. This was, no matter how one looks at it, a coalition. This “union” was ratified on December 5, 2003, with 96% support of the membership of the Canadian Alliance, and on December 6, 90.04% support of elected delegates in the Progressive Conservative Party. On December 8, the party was officially registered with Elections Canada, and on March 20, 2004, former Alliance leader Stephen Harper was elected as leader of the party. The new party was dubbed "the Alliance Conservatives" by critics who considered the new party a "hostile takeover" (does this rhetoric sound familiar?) of the old Progressive Conservatives by the newer Alliance.

The new Conservative Party would form Canada’s Federal government on February 6, 2006.

So endeth the lesson.

Adden-dumb to Wal-Mart post...

2008-12-05T16:25:00.004-05:00

The family of a worker trampled to death in a "Black Friday" crush of bargain hunters at a New York Wal-Mart store filed a wrongful-death lawsuit on Wednesday, claiming store ads offering deep discounts "created an atmosphere of competition and anxiety" that led to "crowd craze."

In simple terms, the advertising made people do it.

Please.

As many of you know, by day, I own and run a small, full-service advertising agency based in Toronto. While I do believe strongly in the power of the written and spoken word, I am amazed that some lawyer saw fit to pursue this based upon the above premise. But wait. It is the US after all, perhaps the most litigious nation in the world. A lawyer or law firm took this case on a contingency basis – if successful, they will receive a percentage of the award and then goes about their normal business, listening to police scanners and chasing proverbial ambulances.

The lawsuit claims that besides failing to provide adequate security on Friday, November 28 for a pre-dawn crowd estimated at 2,000, Wal-Mart "engaged in specific marketing and advertising techniques to specifically attract a large crowd and create an environment of frenzy and mayhem and was otherwise careless, reckless and negligent."

Say what?

“Guns don’t kill people… people kill people.” Here’s a quote from the Urban Dictionary… "Listen, Buck, when the gun-control crazies protest the concealed carry legislation, all you got to say is 'guns don't kill people, people kill people'. I mean, it's just that simple. After all, when guns are outlawed, only outlaws will have guns, right?"

I digress.

Jdimytai Damour, 34, was 6-foot-5 and weighed in at around 270 pounds. He had been hired by an employment agency as a temporary worker at the Wal-Mart store and had been on the job a week when he died. Damour died of asphyxiation after being crushed by the crowd, which broke down the electronic doors in frantic pursuit of bargains. At least four other people were treated at hospitals, including a woman who was eight months pregnant. Interesting sidebar, here; Damour was as big as an NFL lineman. He was placed at the entrance of the store to assist with crowd control. Profiling?

I continue to digress.

Not wanting to leave out anyone lest they be offended, this action, in addition to the retailer, also named the realty company that manages the property and a security company hired to patrol the property, as defendants.

"Those hundreds of people who did make their way into the store, literally had to step over or around him or unfortunately on him to get into the Wal-Mart store," Nassau County Police Commissioner Lawrence Mulvey said this week. "Police are reviewing store video to identify possible suspects in Damour's death, but Mulvey conceded that criminal charges are unlikely.

So let’s be clear. No-one rolled up a flyer or newspaper and clubbed Damour with it. No one threw a barrage of mp3 files containing radio spots. No-one threw video tapes of 30-second commercials at him.

I am not for one moment absolving Wal-Mart of any blame or responsibility here. By all accounts, in this store at this location, security and security measures were perhaps not what they might have been. However, step back for a moment and ask yourself this; how many Wal-Mart stores are there in the United States? The answer, as of August 31, 2008 is 4,227. It would be a reasonably safe assumption that the vast majority of those stores participated in Black Friday sales. Across the nation, the air waves would have been crackling for days with advertising, urging consumers to part with their hard-earned dollars. Spend, spend, spend. At how many Wal-Mart stores was someone killed on that very day? One.

Advertising did NOT kill this unfortunate individual.

He was killed by a frenzied crowd of bargain hunters on a mission – to purchase something, anything at a ridiculously low price – because they could.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

The defense rests.

January 26, 2009 - who's kidding who?

2008-12-04T15:01:00.008-05:00

Pop quiz: do Stephen Harper and his band of merry yes-men (and women) seriously believe that over the next seven weeks the mighty Conservative propaganda machine can undo the sentiment of the majority of Canadians?

I believe that the above sentence is a text book example of a rhetorical question.

After a secretive two and a half hour meeting with Canada's Governor General, Michaëlle Jean earlier today, Harper sought the dissolution of Parliament to buy some time and avoid the inevitable.

The official term is "prorogue".

Prorogue basically means to temporarily shut down the workings of the Parliament. It is a way for the government to hide from its constitutional duty to address Parliament, in this case avoiding a vote which could topple their already tenuous (death) grip on power.

Remember, in Canada, we do not elect a Prime Minister. We elect individual members of Parliament. The group of members (usually aligned to a formal political "party") who have the largest group, traditionally form the government. This gaggle of enlightened individuals is often comprised of former lawyers, car salesmen and zealots from all walks of life. They then choose from among themselves a Prime Minister and other Cabinet Ministers. That “elite” group continues to hold the reins of power until they "lose the confidence of the House". Losing the confidence of the house has usually meant losing a vote in the House of Commons on what is called a "money" bill. So they can lose a vote on the passage of a new law, but not on a budget, for instance. When a government loses a confidence vote, they are expected to resign. Now, when they resign, the Governor General chooses one of several options. These include calling an election, refusing the resignation (sending the government back to work it out like mature and responsible adults), or the Governor General can ask the opposition if they are prepared to form a government. That is what the current "coalition" wants her to do.

It's worth noting that coalition governments are perfectly legal and quite acceptable. Remember, we did not elect a Prime Minister, we elected members. Those members are free to form any alliances or coalitions they choose. That is all that the current coalition is doing; they are forming a fresh grouping that happens to include members of two parties - Liberal and NDP. It's legal, it's traditional, and it's even all quite democratic in the true sense of the word – but in the most basic of ways. Another important point to remember; at this point, the Bloc is not an official member of this alleged coalition.

The coalition, which would have a 24-member cabinet composed of six NDP and 18 Liberal MPs, has vowed to make an economic stimulus package a priority, proposing a multibillion-dollar plan that would include assistance for the auto and forestry sectors. Nothing for the man on the street, Joe the Plumber -- sorry, wrong campaign... wrong country... bad idea.

Harper's rational for this move? "The economy is the priority now, and the public is very frustrated with the situation in Parliament. We're all responsible for that." Harper even went so far as to make this statement in French. Now and only now does he choose to pander to the hard line sovereignists. I always thought that it was impossible to suck and blow at the same time, but Canada’s soon to be deposed leader, appears to have mastered the fine art. Kudos for that, Steve.

As was the mantra during the recent US election campaign, "It's all about the economy, stupid!"

By the way; C-SPAN is fast becoming "Must see TV!"

Life resembles art...?

2008-12-02T10:04:00.012-05:00

It's all pretty pathetic, really.

The following muffled statement was heard from behind closed doors at 24 Sussex Drive over the weekend. "Put 'em up, put 'em up! Which one of you first? I can fight you both together if you want. I can fight you with one paw tied behind my back. I can fight you standing on one foot. I can fight you with my eyes closed. Oh, pull an axe on me, eh? Sneaking up on me, eh? Why, I'll... Ruff! "

Seven weeks ago, Canadians decided that we were not ready for a change in our Federal government and did not upset the Conservative party who were returned with another minority. It's not that we did not want a change. The problem lay with the leadership, or lack thereof within the Liberal party - who were the one possible viable alternative. The minority kept the ruling Conservatives on a relatively short leash.

Boy, was that leash ever short. Seems it was attached to a choke chain.

Governor General Michaëlle Jean - for the sake of this post, she might be referred as Dorothy, could be forced to decide the fate of the minority Parliament in the coming days. Prime Minister Stephen Harper could seek her permission to discontinue the current session of parliament, thus avoiding defeat at the hands of an NDP-Liberal coalition.

Or she could elect to hand power to the NDP-Liberal coalition, formally sealed yesterday, if they defeat the Conservatives as threatened next week. Yesterday, December 1, the Liberals and the Jack Layton led NDP signed a formal, unprecedented pact to replace the minority Conservatives, who were re-elected just seven weeks ago, with a coalition government. With guaranteed support from the separatist Gilles Duceppe's Bloc Québécois for at least 18 months, the Liberal-led coalition yesterday wrote to Jean to offer a governing alternative, claiming the Conservatives have lost the confidence of the majority of the House of Commons.

"We are ready to form a new government that will address the best interests of the people," said Liberal leader Stéphane Dion, who would lead the coalition government as Prime Minister. "It's all about the economy . . . it's why we are together, to fight this economic crisis."

But Harper and his Conservatives say they will fight to hang on to power in the face of an extraordinary opposition move to force them from office. Two senior cabinet ministers emerged after huddling with Harper last night to declare the coalition "undemocratic." Wow. Great response, guys. Feels like we’re back in a playground during recess - not dealing with a crucial milestone of this country's history during these tough economic times.

The three parties, with a combined total of 163 seats in the Commons, pledged to defeat the Conservatives, who have 143, at the earliest chance - perhaps next Monday, December 8. "There is no turning back."

Some background; Dion, who led the Liberals to their worst election showing in a generation on October 14, is now poised to become prime minister under the deal, until he is replaced by the winner of the Liberal leadership convention in May. You may recall shortly after the last election he decided to step down as leader. So it's entirely possible that Canada may be led by an already lame duck party leader. Talk about no brain!

Meanwhile, Layton, who reminds many of a long-since retired adult entertainment extra with his cheesy moustache, is just beside himself. His excitement is oh so obvious. A socialist-leaning ideologue looking to serve his own personal interests. Talk about no heart!

And then there's our separatist ami, Duceppe. Waiting anxiously working tirelessly behind the scenes to undo this united nation and declare Quebec a Sovereign state. Talk about the actions of a coward!

So, now I've drawn the parallel to TLATO's favorite movie of all time, The Wizard of Oz. My work is done. Except, perhaps to point out the obvious; the Wizard, the man behind the curtain is none other than Stephen Harper.

As his good buddy, George W. might say, "Nice job, Steve-o!"

But wait; there's more! Here’s something really far-fetched to consider. At some point in the coming months, there will be another general election. Let me posit this ridiculous notion. What if the coalition government does a fantastic job. At the polls would the choices be: (a) Liberal; (b) NDP; (c) Conservative; or, (d) all of the above?

Limp leftist Liberals and Socialist NDP'ers and barely disguised Reformers. Oh, my!

Inevitable? Probably...

2008-11-28T15:51:00.005-05:00

Police say a worker, a contract security person at a Wal-Mart store in Long Island, New York, has died after being trampled by a throng of unruly shoppers.

It apparently occurred shortly after the store opened at 5 a.m. on so-called Black Friday (November 28, 2008), the traditional start of the holiday sales rush in the United States. Officials say several other people were injured in the incident.

It would appear that Nassau County police say the 34-year-old worker was taken to hospital where he was pronounced dead at about 6 a.m. The exact cause of death has yet to be determined. Really? News flash -- it probably was not a cough due to cold!

A 28-year-old pregnant woman was taken to a hospital for observation, and three other shoppers suffered minor injuries and were also taken to hospitals in the vicinity.

A police statement stated that shortly after 5 a.m., a throng of shoppers “physically broke down the doors, knocking [the worker] to the ground.”

Officials at Wal-Mart Stores Inc. in Bentonville, Arkansas, refused to confirm the reports of a stampede, but said a “medical emergency” had caused the company to close the store, which is in Valley Stream on Long Island. “Local authorities are looking into the situation,” said Wal-Mart representative Dan Fogleman. He said it would be “inappropriate for me to share any additional information” until authorities investigate further.

OK, so the running of the bulls in Pamplona, there is an expectation of injury - perhaps even death.

Working at a Wal-Mart, anywhere... death by rampaging likely grossly overweight bargain hunting Long Island residents? Wow...

By the way... do you think that Wal-Mart may quietly decide to change their slogan? See above, it reads, "Save money. Live better". I'm guessing that the family of the unfortunate soul that was crushed might have something to say about that privately and publicly since crazed bargain hunting shoppers terminated the life of a likely minimum wage employee.

The very premise of Black Friday is a recipe for disaster. Here, north of the Mason Dixon line we have our own retail ballyhoo to deal with traditionally on December 26th. It's called Boxing Day. And no, it has nothing to do with a Mike Tyson rematch.

People dying to save a few dollars. Truly tragic.

As that renowned philosopher from Los Angeles, Rodney King once said, "Can't we all just get along?"

Foreplay is always preferable...

2008-11-26T10:25:00.006-05:00

At the time of writing, the price on the open market for a barrel of light sweet crude oil was $52.33; a vast improvement over previous rates - in fact, at one point during the month of June 2008, a barrel was selling for slightly more than $147.00.

OK, so there have been marked improvements of late.

I'm still at a loss regarding the apparent “shortage” of oil months ago. Has anything truly changed in the interim? The US is still raging an impossible war in Iraq; other western nations are involved in "peace keeping" initiatives in Afghanistan. So, why the reduction of around 60%?

Here's the thing. Have gas prices reduced by anywhere near the same ratio? Short answer; no.

This past Sunday, here in rural Ontario, a local gas station was selling a litre of gasoline for $0.733. A bargain, relatively speaking. I got quite excited since the night before, driving into Toronto, I had filled up for $0.745 a litre. Note to city folk; prices up here for gasoline are often 3 - 6 cents a litre better on regular!

Prices should, however, still be lower.

Our home is heated by oil. And yes, we've seen the price of oil come down these last few months, too. Heating our home and, in our case, hot water, is not a luxury. It's a necessity of life. My 910 litre tank was filled two days ago with 755.5 litres of oil. At a rate of $0.919 per litre. When I saw our bill, I was pleased - and simultaneously angry. Why is the price of home heating oil still way higher than gasoline? I understand that processing for both products is required. But why such a discrepancy?

I even conducted my own mini-survey on the phone yesterday. Seems when compared to those providers I contacted, our supplier was $0.02 more per litre.

Please... kiss me first - and don't blame everything on the Middle East.

To friends in Europe - I know, your prices are considerably higher.

To friends in the US, your prices are lower still - and that's using gasoline that Canada has sold to you!

One man's dream...

2008-11-05T13:48:00.005-05:00

On August 28, 1963, a great and inspiring American, Dr. Martin Luther King made his historic speech in Washington.

Here is an excerpt...

I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

And so it was, November 4, 2008, more than 45 years later, Dr. King's dream was realized. A tall, slim, earnest man, the son of an inter-racial marriage, Barack Obama, made history. He is the United States of America's 44th President; he is the first President of colour.

At the end of the day, many of us believe that he was the right man - at the right time. His colour? Not really a factor. It was his ideas; his energy; his charisma; his beliefs that overcame electoral adversity and made believers the world over. This man has an opportunity over the next four years, perhaps the next eight, to bring about major change to the USA specifically, but even to the world.

This will not be easy. It will be an uphill battle. There is much to overcome. America is in a recession. They are fighting a war that, like Vietnam before, they have no hope of "winning".

Yet today, the world seemed to wake up with a new feeling. It was hope. It was optimism.

Last night history was made. Today and this day forward, we all, each of us no matter where we are or what we do, have the ability to ensure that by working together, we can pull through and prevail.

We all deserve better. But it is not entitlement; it is earned.

C'mon in... the water's, er, shallow???

2008-10-24T07:32:00.010-04:00

In a recent interview with People magazine, the Republican parties Vice Presidential candidate appeared to out-Palinate herself.

Hard to believe, but true, I'm afraid.

As most of us are aware, Sarah Palin and her husband, potential First Dude, Todd, have five children. Palin claimed that if she and Dude were to have had a sixth child, they already had a name picked out. To refresh memories, here are the names of her brood - to date: Track; Bristol; Willow; Piper; and, Trig. "I always wanted a son named Zamboni."

No, I'm not making this up. These things almost write themselves.

Zamboni.

Naming a kid after an ice resurfacing machine.

Nice. Although this may well corroborate her claim to being a true hockey Mom.

Not only that, in this same interview, Caribou Barbie considers herself intellectual. Remember, this is the same woman who, when pressed by that heavyweight journo, Katie Couric to name a single newspaper or magazine she read, she was unable to.

Now she states she is a "voracious reader"... One can only wonder what she reads these days - other than Reader's Digest versions of briefing papers.

An intellectual. And another hapless child named Zamboni.

Like I said, the potential depth of this gene pool might represent a shallow tide pool - regrettably frozen over in the Alaskan tundra.

Oh the weather outside is frightful...

2008-10-21T14:12:00.005-04:00

Here we are. The calendar tells me that today is Tuesday, October 21, 2008.

And yet I drove an hour or so ago from the Newmarket area back to home base through snow. Yes, that's right, snow!

Now to those of you south of the 49th parallel or across the pond, you likely think that it always snows where me and TLATO live. Not hardly. We expect snow, sure, but really not until December or thereabouts. Not now.

Two days ago I was still dealing with cleaning up leaves and now I have to make a call to our friendly neighbourhood snow plow guy to remind him we wish to be under contract again this winter.

People, winter is not supposed to be officially here until December - the 21st, to be precise. The clocks have yet to go back.

I knew that all those pine trees, their boughs weighed down with pine cones and the cedars and Mountain Ash trees that have been laden with fruit these past few weeks were giving us advance notice; it's going to be a long winter ahead.

Not too much that we can do about it - except to make an appointment to have our all season tires and rims removed and replaced with the ugly black steel rims and snow tires. And soon.

Joe who?

2008-10-17T14:09:00.006-04:00

OK, just to clear up any misconceptions, this has little to do with the Canadian political landscape. Sorry to disappoint any Canadian political junkies out there, but this has absolutely nothing to do with Joe Clark, a now well-respected Canadian political statesman who while relatively young and politically inexperienced, became the butt of editorial cartoonists across this land and so, "Joe Who?" as he was dubbed by the Toronto Star, was born. Clark's best statement during his career? “A recession is when your neighbour loses his job. A depression is when you lose your job. Recovery is when Pierre Trudeau loses his job.”

I digress.

Seems as if south of the 49th parallel, members of the Republican party, particularly Presidential hopeful, John McCain and his Caribou Barbie sidekick, Sarah Palin, have claimed the first name of "Joe" as the leading given name in their rhetoric-filled vocabulary. Palin, you may recall, introduced the world to the notion of "Joe Six-Pack" as a description of an average American male (note: not all American males are obese and have a drinking problem). McCain in the early stages of the final Presidential debate of 2008, brought forth the character of "Joe, the Plumber" who, after 26 mentions (five for Obama and 21 by McCain) during the 90-minute debate, gained near legend status within 24 hours of his induction into the US Wall of Shame.

Once again, it soon became apparent that McCain and his handlers had not delved under the covers to find out a little more about this fellow - sound familiar, Sarah Palin? In every day life, “Joe” is Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher, a resident of Holland, Ohio. He claims to be a plumber - yet he has no license or papers and brashly claims he does not need one. “Not so”, says David Golis, manager and residential building official for the Toledo Division of Building Inspection. In fact, the Association of Plumbers, Steamfitters and Service Mechanics revealed that Wurzelbacher was not a licensed member of their trade. Golis went on to state that "Joe" should also be a licensed apprentice or journeyman to work in Toledo, Ohio - and he's not.

McCain eagerly stated that under Senator Obama's proposed tax plans, a budding entrepreneur like "Joe" would be taxed more if his company's annual revenues exceeded $ 250,000.00. Seems Joe has plans to buy this plumbing business from his employer "some day". Obama has stated clearly on more than one occasion that small business revenue of $ 250,000.00 and down, would continue to be taxed at the current rate of 36%. Anything greater, would be taxed at 39%.

So, if "Joe" somehow had the financing in place to buy this business (according to his 2006 tax return, filed as a matter of public record due to a divorce, he claimed an income in the mid $ 40's), he would need to be licensed. That may present problems since "Joe" has also not completed the training program necessary to sit the examination for a license test.

McCain’s exuberance to present a "gotcha" on Obama may well backfire and the victim could well be "Joe". This fellow even owes back taxes - which should be of no real consequence here. McCain's, one might argue, well intended framing of "Joe" as an average future business owner has placed "Joe" front and centre in the public's eye. A position I'm betting he personally wished he was not in. He and his employer may find themselves under most unwelcome scrutiny; something, at the outset, no one imagined would be the result of yet another Republican "shout out".

Democrats claim that this individual could not possibly have enough income to face a tax increase under the Obama plan. What they perhaps were unaware was McCain’s tongue-in-cheek statement during a speech at a benefit/fund raiser in New York City yesterday evening: “Joe, the plumber, recently signed a very lucrative contract with a wealthy couple to handle all the (plumbing) work on all seven of their houses.” McCain was referring to his own personal property holdings.

Who knows, John. Your actions may leave “Joe” unemployed and you on the moral hook for the welfare of the Wurzelbacher family. But then again, that would reduce your personal tax bill since you would have additional dependents.

And the rich continue to get richer.

©Andy Donato, Sun Media

Things do happen in threes...

2008-10-16T13:50:00.004-04:00

Readers of this blog will be aware of two recent incidents that me and my "truck", a 2008 Nissan Rogue has experienced over the last two weeks:

A mishap in the parking lot of Costco in Peterborough; and,

Above vehicle being tagged and towed a week later in Toronto.

You'll recall the saying that "bad things usually occur in threes"?

Well, here we go.

On Sunday, while backing out our driveway, the truck was making some very strange noises - sounding awfully like a man with severe prostate problems, groaning with the effort of attempting to pee - or not.

These same noises could also be heard when the vehicle was travelling forward and a hard turn was made.

Earlier today at TransCanada Nissan, I described those same symptoms to Dean Bosnell the Service Manager. Dean being Dean, did not react one way or the other to my description, not even an "I'll humour you" smile.

Up went the vehicle on a hoist. The underside was examined thoroughly; all four wheels were removed (should have brought in my snow tires); brakes were checked, etc. Nothing.

Everyone even cheerfully and readily admitted that all the shop's techs could hear the car groaning and moaning.

After each methodical check, the truck was then driven to determine if the vehicle was still under duress. Affirmative each time. They even had wires attached to various parts of the chassis and the tech was listening to the car "speak" through headphones.

To no avail.

Finally a decision was made to order and install a new differential. Did not make me feel any better to hear everyone at the dealership state that they had never heard any vehicle express itself in such a way ever before.

Lucky me.

The end to a perfect day?

2008-10-10T09:14:00.007-04:00

"Meter" parking across the street from Toronto office...... $3.46

Cab ride and tip to 10 York Street, Toronto...... $16.50

Parking ticket issued by the City of Toronto...... $60.00

Bailing car out of vehicle impound, 10 York Street...... $147.00

Having my car towed from in front of my Toronto office Thursday afternoon... frickin' expensive.

Footnote: seems as if there is a possibility of fighting some of this. I have a disabled permit (due to hip replacement a while back) that was on prominent display and does not expire until November 7, 2008). I'll keep you posted.

Back to the future? Not a chance...

2008-10-06T16:36:00.002-04:00

It’s happened to me many times before.

I’m sure that many of you have experienced a similar loss too, on occasion.

It can be downright annoying, frustrating even when it occurs, but what are you going to do? It’s a part of life. Suck it up and get on with it.

Yesterday I lost a half hour of my life I will never get back.

TLATO et moi were in Toronto for the better part of the day. We drove in early to meet at Sheryl’s Mum’s condo. We were to meet her two brothers and their family’s. From there we were all driving to a nearby cemetery where Joe, Sheryl’s Dad and nephew, Dylan had been laid to rest.

A family visit to gravesites prior to Yom Kippur, the day of atonement is a tradition observed by Jews regardless of their degree of practicing Judaism. Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to observe various facets of this religion as Sheryl’s family have shared traditions and holidays; it all goes to broadening perspectives, something more of us might consider in the pursuit of our hopes and dreams.

After spending some time at both graves celebrating the lives of both men, we all returned to Sheryl’s Mums’ house. Janette and her husband George are always gracious hosts and in true tradition, went overboard in ensuring that all their guests were well fed and watered before they themselves sat down to eat. The time passed all too quickly; it’s not too often we all get together like this, but when it happens, it’s a raucous occasion, to be sure. Lots of laughter, some tears and then more laughter.

The time came for us to leave. The house was quiet for an hour or so prior to our departure so we could spend some “quality” time with George and Janette. Leftovers were wrapped, hugs exchanged, “I love yous” uttered and we were off.

After about 10 minutes in the car, TLATO decided to call Nancy; Nancy was looking in on Ben during the day to let him out to take care of business while we were away. All was well, and Sheryl told Nancy we should be home in about 90 minutes.

Now, for those of you that may both be familiar with the following fact, Sheryl is one of those individuals that can be directionally challenged; it’s a family thing, too by all accounts.

So, we get off the highway and are now driving on some beautiful country roads. The colours, although likely not quite at their peak were outstanding, the weather not too bad. All in all, pretty good conditions for a Sunday drive.

Approaching a familiar (to me) point in the road, Sheryl decided she would like to go a different way. A way, she said, she had not been. How prophetic. Not only was it unfamiliar to both of us, I believe that the great Canadian explorer, Jacques Cartier would have been hard-pressed to find himself had he too followed our route. For the record, we were driving Sheryl’s car – no navigation system and a broken compass.

We continued east on this road. Sheryl soon realized we had, indeed, driven this route before. However, instead of turning right which would have taken us onto an oft-travelled road, Sheryl decided that we should bear left. Now, at this point I could have said no and things would have been relatively OK. I did not. Why escapes me even today. So we headed what we assumed was north (overcast, much tree cover so a navigational mistake could have been made). On we drove. “Turn left here”. “Go straight”. This went on for about ten minutes. I was aware that I had no clue where we were. I had a rough idea, but that was it. We had not seen another car in some time. The roads were occasionally country dirt roads. When we did see any houses, they looked like something where the Peacock family from X-Files might have lived. I started humming the familiar refrain from “Deliverance” and locked all the doors as we continued on our journey.

“So,” I said. “Panicking yet?”

“Only on the inside, “ she responded quietly nervously folding and unfolding a map.

We drove though a few small villages that were not mentioned on any map. Nothing looked even vaguely familiar. I suggested that Nancy might be called again; we might not get home to let Ben out for some time yet.

Surprisingly enough, I remained, for me, relatively civil throughout all this. I never even raised my voice. I made it clear, however, that it would be a cold day in hell before I listened to directions from her again.

From out of nowhere we saw a small, twisted shotgun-pellet peppered sign that had a name we both recognized. All was not lost. The sun broke through the clouds. We could now determine the direction we were travelling. North and east. Perfect. Within a few minutes, we both recognized some of the surrounding landmarks. There would be no search party this day.

The detour had not really taken us much out of our way. It had, as I alluded earlier, removed a half hour from my existence which I would never regain.

“Why did you listen to me?” Sheryl almost pleaded, expecting the maelstrom that ordinarily might be sent in her general direction from my oft bitter-tongued mouth. But today, there would be none of that. I decided to add this to the life ledger; save it for another time when it would be needed. That was not today.

The detour did have one adverse effect… I had to pee like a race horse and home and civilization was still a good half hour away. A country pit stop was called for and made. And TLATO said nothing. Not a darned thing.

Nothing good can come from shopping...

2008-10-03T18:11:00.003-04:00

October 2, 2008 is a date that will be remembered in Taylor family history.

Not so much because of the political debates on either side of the border, but it was the day when the new Costco store opened in Peterborough. This opening has been eagerly awaited by most that live in the immediate trading area for quite some time. In fact, TLATO had gone as far as to say that the only thing that was missing for her in the Kawarthas was a Costco.

For those of you who may not be familiar with the name… “Costco is the largest membership warehouse club in the world, dedicated to bringing our members the best possible prices on quality brand-name merchandise. With hundreds of locations worldwide, Costco provides a wide selection of merchandise, plus the convenience of specialty departments and exclusive member services, all designed to make your shopping experience a pleasurable one.”

OK. How many of you picked up on that last phrase, “…make your shopping experience a pleasurable one”?

In truth, the shopping experience was not unpleasant. It’s what occurred in the parking lot after the fact that made the experience, for me, at least, memorable and none too pleasant.

We’ve experienced large bills when shopping at other Costco locations in the past. Likely the most expensive one, before yesterday, was a shopping stock up expedition that also involved the purchase and installation of tires for Sheryl’s car. Michelins, I might add.

I digress.

Because this was grand opening day, it was, to many, a big deal. Me, not so much. Sheryl and Nancy had been looking forward to this day for what seemed forever. They were like kids counting down Christmas Day. You could almost hear the Carly Simon penned song, “Anticipation” playing over and over.

Even as my truck was loaded with all sorts of goods, they were still talking excitedly. In the car, it continued. Sheryl laughed. A very loud laugh. My right ear drum was partially paralyzed as it continued to resonate. I looked over at both women and gave my best “Quiet!” face – without actually saying anything. I started the car. The “twittering” continued. I looked at my rear view mirror. Checked both side mirrors. Looked over my right shoulder as I put the vehicle into gear and slowly moved back.

It’s hard to describe the sound when two objects with a combined weight of around 4 tons collide with one another. It’s a sound not soon to be forgotten.

“What the…” I exclaimed.

The angle was such an odd one that even at that moment, I could still not see what had been hit. I moved the vehicle forward and climbed from the truck, looking back at what was apparently a 2005 Chevy Uplander. His damage was on the driver’s side rear bumper – completely caved in. My 2008 Rogue, on the surface, barely a scratch, but there were some marks on the vinyl/plastic bumper again on the driver’s side and the left tail light had also been damaged.

As I walked toward the damaged mini-van, the other driver stepped out and moved towards me. He, too, was shaking his head. Turns out, he and his wife decided to come to the big opening and were leaving the parking lot at precisely the same time. He did not see me backing up either. Seems as if we had a perfect accident. Neither one of us could see the other party due to our respective vehicles’ blind spot.

Insurance information was exchanged and apologies were made and mutual blame was accepted. We were both at fault. The accident occurred on a private lot. No one was injured. Only pride was bruised.

Within 10 minutes of the incident, we were driving home.

You could have heard a pin drop. The silence in my truck was practically deafening.

Neither Nancy nor Sheryl could bring themselves to speak. And when it was attempted, without saying as much, my facial expression clearly stated that no further talking should occur in this car for quite some time.

Earlier this morning, the 3rd, I took my car into town to get an estimate for the damage incurred. In the grand scheme of things, it was not too bad. Here in Ontario with our no fault insurance system, it actually makes sense to pay for the damage out of pocket without incurring the potential consequence of a debilitating at fault accident within the next six years.

It’s illegal to drive without insurance. But, when over the years you have paid thousand and thousands of dollars for a moment just like this, there is reluctance to make that claim since it may place you in jeopardy for the future. Not a position I wish to be in. So, like just about everyone else who finds themselves in this similar situation, you smile through clenched teeth, write a cheque and then go along for the ride - literally.

Hoping that no obstacles are in the way.

Winkin', blinkin' ... and Todd?

2008-10-03T13:14:00.004-04:00

Unless you have "been doing a Saddam" and hiding in a spider hole these last few days, yesterday evening, October 2, the North American Continent had two political debates on National television.

Here in Canada, as I stated in an earlier post, I believe that the majority of Canadians who were looking for an evening’s entertainment, watched all or part of the US Vice-Presidential debate from St. Louis, MO as opposed to the Canadian English-language leaders’ debate from Ottawa, ON.

While the VP debate was not the anticipated train wreck, early on, I had a sense of things to come when Governor Palin, turning to Senator Biden said,”I may not answer the questions that either the moderator or you want to hear, but I'm going to talk straight to the American people and let them know my track record also."

And so it was.

While Palin’s handlers are to be commended for the job they did in the days leading up to the debate, it soon became obvious that she was not as well briefed on some things as others. Her record on the national energy issue was trotted out so often that it was becoming as tired of being presented as we were in hearing it – regardless of the questions proffered by the moderator, Gwen Ifill, whom, I do not believe did a particularly stellar job in handling Palin that evening.

Let’s get back to her just-plain-folks approach to this debate. If I were a middle-class American parent, I would be very resentful of Palin's comments regarding "Joe six-pack” and hockey moms. She is suggesting that only Mothers do the parenting thing with their children while the fathers sit at home drinking their beer. Fortunately, there are many families in America where both partners take parenting very seriously. Unfortunately for the NHL, but fortunately for the US and the rest of us, there are not enough hockey moms to get Governor Palin elected to office.

Do Americans really want a VP who will speak with world leaders using home-spun homilies and speeches loaded down with colloquialisms such as "you betcha", “we’re gonna”, “go get’em” and "doggone"? Oh, right, George W. – and he is President!

And, the Palin train really veered off the tracks when Palin suspended the debate for a few seconds to send a, “Shout out to the 3rd graders at Gladys Wood Elementary School…” Excuse me? Shout-outs to 3rd graders are performed by weathermen during the local news, not something that happens in a very important political debate. It was not at all endearing.

Let me present a scenario: what if Obama/Biden lost (note, I cannot bring my self to state McCain/Palin win)? McCain, shortly after assuming the Presidency, takes gravely ill and dies. VP Palin steps into the role as commander-in-chief. Stepping up to the podium for her first Presidential news conference, a switch is flicked in a backroom somewhere and the TelePrompTer in her glasses commences to run…

“Todd and I are just so gosh darn sorry that Senator, er, President McCain passed on. Heck, we were at Sniper’s, er, Piper’s soccer practice when me and Todd were told John had kicked the bucket! Anyhoo, my first order of business, I’m gonna get on the phone today and talk to that funny little man from North Korean, King John Eel, an’ I’m gonna tell him to just back off, buddy. No one likes a bully! Stop your new-cue-leer testin’ an’ such. Todd! Get me my Visine. I just can’t stop goldurn blinkin’ and winkin’!"

A possible heartbeat from doomsday. Anyone remember Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove?

Must we continue to reward mediocrity?

2008-10-02T10:20:00.007-04:00

You have to know that when anything starts off “With all due respect…” you know that there’s going to be a zinger or two.

This entry definitely supports that position.

So, without further ado, here we go.

With all due respect to both Mr. David Peterson and Ms. Jagoda Pike, capable individuals in their own right, can these optimists really continue to put a glass-half-full spin on the latest attempt to bring a potentially economically debilitating world-class sporting event, the 2015 Pan American Games, to the region?

As Canadians, why do we continue to reward apparent mediocrity? Mr. Peterson, in his leadership role failed three times to bring major sporting extravaganzas to the area; Ms. Pike, two. In fairness, Peterson was one of the cast of “thousands” who were successful in bringing an NBA franchise to the city. Ms. Pike is a very well respected newspaper business executive with strong family values.

Some background for those unfamiliar with either individual.

Ms. Pike is publisher of the Toronto Star and president of Star Media Group. She is also an alumna of Trinity College in the University of Toronto and the Osgoode School of Law. Effective October 4, 2008, Ms. Pike will step down as publisher of the Toronto Star and assume the role of heading Ontario's bid for the 2015 Pan Am Games. Ms. Pike joined Torstar Corporation in 1986. During her tenure, Ms. Pike has held a broadly diverse portfolio of key leadership positions, affording her a unique perspective on all aspects of Torstar’s newspaper publishing operations. Fair enough.

David Robert Peterson, PC and QC was the twentieth Premier of the Province of Ontario, Canada, from June 26, 1985 to October 1, 1990. He was the first Liberal premier of Ontario in 42 years. On September 5, 1990, the day of a snap Provincial election, Peterson even lost his own seat, having been resoundingly defeated by NDP candidate Marion Boyd in London Centre by over 8,200 votes. It is almost unheard of for a provincial Premier to be unseated in his own riding. The loss ended Peterson's political career. He announced his resignation as Liberal leader on the night of the election, and formally resigned as premier on October 1, 1990. Going into the election, the Liberals stood at 50% support in the polls. Peterson himself had a 54% approval rating. There were, of course, mitigating circumstances that contributed to the downfall of Peterson’s government. Ironically, the party that came to power, the NDP, was led by Bob Rae – now a senior contender to the federal Liberal throne. Talk about bad timing all round. Peterson also was a previous leader in the failed charge to secure the Olympics for Toronto – on two separate occasions.

Is a successful bid the only thing that will bring much needed improvements to the regions, specifically Toronto's rapidly deteriorating infrastructure?

That being the case, as voters, should we not be doing more with our elected officials in both Ottawa and Queens Park where our tax dollars are controlled? Remember, there is a Federal election here in Canada on October 14.

Think of the overall cost in manpower and dollars behind this latest effort. At the moment, the numbers being thrown around to successfully mount this event are this: cost to all levels of government for all “known” construction, etc. is conservatively pegged at $1.77 billion. Published projections for the positive economic impact for the area are coming in at $2 billion and the creation of 17,000 jobs and may attract an estimated 250,000 tourists. Note to self: this is 2008; the Games are in 2015. Just how far off can all these estimates be at the end of the day? In truth, I am uncertain if these numbers are based upon today’s declining dollar values or a future rate. Remember, there is no mention of overruns, shortfalls and all the usual baggage associated with any capital project. Granted, much of those dollars may come from the private sector, but will this then escalate into a bidding war for naming rights on new facilities and improved transportation – for example, Suncor's Transit Commission, anyone?

Is it just me? At this time in a vicious downturn for this continent’s economic cycle, are there not better ways of investing dollars? Ms. Pike is quoted as saying, “Parents know that investment in sporting facilities is badly needed, especially if Ontario wants to nurture athletes of national and international calibre. If we're going to encourage kids to be active, you have to give them somewhere to be active in. You have to inspire them. You have to actually give them a place to be the best. My view is that you can't develop children without developing them both intellectually and physically. There's so much good that could come out of this."

Yeah, but… we have some pretty terrific facilities right now – and still we have many lethargic, obese kids sitting watching videos and updating their profiles on social networks – anything to avoid physical activity. How will this change? Is this not an issue for the examination of better parenting perhaps, not about domed velodromes?

To make it clear, I’m really not opposing this bid. I’m just asking folks to take a step back and examine just why this is so damned important at this time.

Avert your eyes - if you can...

2008-09-30T16:23:00.004-04:00

Here in North America, there are two elections occurring within a matter of a few weeks.

In Canada, October 14 is the day Canadians will drag their generally apathetic selves to the polls to participate in an election many see as a waste of time and tax payer dollars.

On November 4, south of the border, our US compatriots will be voting. Some argue that there is the potential for the largest turn out in recent memory. It is an important election. More so these days with the threat of the US economy teetering on the edge of a precipice and potential disaster.

The evening of Thursday, October 2 there will be two televised political debates.

In Canada, there will be an English language debate between Harper, Dion, Layton, Duceppe and May. Please note, Wednesday evening will be the French language debate. These debates are intended to help Canadians determine which party they wish to see running the country for the next four years. Some already predict a Harper majority; others a Harper minority. At least that much is relatively clear.

South of the 49th parallel, two Americans will square off; Biden and Palin. Both are on their respective party’s tickets as prospective vice-presidents or, in the event ill health or other unfortunate circumstances befall the commander-in-chief, will step into the shoes of the leader of, some might argue, the most powerful nation on this planet.

I've been know to place a wager or two in my day; I'll make a statement right now. I'll put money that in Canada, more Canadians will tune into the US VP debate at some point in the evening over the Canadian debate. Also, more viewers, in total, will watch part or all of the US VP debate than watched the two Presidential candidates square off last week.

As much as people will deny it, we all want to see a train wreck on occasion - at least the type where there is no obvious physical damage to the parties involved. No one wants literal blood. But the prospect of abject humiliation over definite boredom will win the day.

Just my $0.02 worth.

The things that we all do...

2008-09-29T16:20:00.015-04:00

If you're married or in a long term relationship where a single household is shared, you'll understand.

A few short hours ago, just before Sheryl returned from her Tai-Chi class and lunch, I turned on the furnace. The outside temperature was reading 52 degrees (Fahrenheit) and inside the homestead, the thermostat was hovering around 62.

Now, if it was strictly up to me, additional heat would not be pumped through the house for a few more weeks. A fire could be built and then natural heat would circulate through parts of the house. A little too much work for my liking. Our animals, all long haired, also prefer the cooler temperatures, Ben especially. But TLATO seems to have water in her veins and even in our sweltering summers, has been known to drive around in her car with the air conditioning on - while sitting on a heated seat!

The "Don't you find it cold?" comments started last week. Followed by the occasional snipe,"Val and Nancy turned on their furnaces a week ago, you know."

So, while she was out, I decided that I would do well to enjoy some relative peace and quiet (for an hour or two if I'm lucky) and flicked the switch.

I may, however, have the last laugh! This situation could now be a bigger and grander version of driving the car with the low gas light on. A "typical male" thing, I'm led to believe.

You see, our oil tank (remember, we live in the country) is registering practically empty. Back in April, I had $300 of oil added to an empty tank (yes, it really was empty), but that while definitely another story, was truly not my fault. But David, you say, how could you use oil over the summer? Simple. Our hot water heater is oil fired.

I have no idea when our fuel provider is scheduled to come into this area and fill our 900-litre oil tank. And, given the price of oil, I'm not too keen to get a major $ 1,000 plus hit on a refill. Good news there, though (amazing what we now consider good, isn't it?): the price of a barrel of oil fell by more than $10 today.

So... anyone out there care to place a bet?

No, not on our marriage, but on whether our tank is filled before we run out!

Caribou Barbie... so hard to resist...

2008-09-29T16:00:00.003-04:00

Sorry folks, but I'm afraid that I just had to jump on the political bandwagon something I usually care not to do, but like I said, I cannot resist. Resistance really is futile.

While the Federal election here in Canada is pretty dull, the situation south of our border (and north and west) is downright titillating by comparison!

I'm referring specifically to John McCain's choice of running mate, Sarah Palin, the Governor of Alaska. I'm not going to belabour the point but after watching part of the real interview between Katie Couric and then SNL brought back the brilliant Tina Fey to reprise her Palin caricature, I succumbed.

For a few weeks now, the name "Caribou Barbie" has been circulating as a none-too-complimentary description of Palin.

Quite fitting, given the woman apparently can field dress a moose! Heck, I would have difficulty attempting that on a mouse, never mind something the size of a 1960's-era Buick.

I love the image to the right which, by all accounts comes with everything you see here:

- A dead Caribou
- An M-16 rifle
- A snowmobile; and,
- Sexy librarian glasses

She even talks with such fun phrases like:

- "I'm a pit bull with lipstick!"
- "My family is off-limits!"
- "What is it the Vice President actually does?"
- "I can see Russia from my house!"

Imagine the money to be made if McCain succeeds in his run for the White House? And in a unique licensing deal, Palin and Mattel will make a frickin' fortune.

And Palin will be a heartbeat away from that big red button...

Who then, will have the last laugh?

Sad day in our house...

2008-09-28T14:05:00.007-04:00

Last week, September 25th to be precise, marked two years since the passing of our beloved Bernese Mountain Dog, Ozzie.

The day that it occurred, I was unable to go with Sheryl to the vet. 10 days previous, I had undergone surgery to replace my left hip. I was under doctor's orders not to move around. 45 staples saw to that.

A hospital bed was set up in our family room. My goodbyes were said as he placed his dinner plate sized front paws on me and rested his huge head on my chest. He seemed to know. Yet he handled things so much better than I did. No words, just a very deep affection - a bond that other animal owners and some parents will comprehend.

Sheryl along with the assistance of two good friends, Nancy and Val, managed to get our 140lb Ozzie into the back of Sheryl's car to take him to the vet - one last time.

I felt utterly helpless.

We knew for months this day would come. Since his diagnosis with Osteosarcoma, Oz had continued to be a part of our family for almost 10 months. We did all we could to make him as comfortable as possible. Pet insurance ran out almost 9 months previous. But, as any parent will tell you, it really does not matter. It’s not about the money. Cancer is an insidious, vicious disease and can be an expensive one, at that.

Our vet, Jeff Simmons, had spoken to us often and told us that when the day arrived, we would know. He was right. Oz never "complained". The obvious tumour was, at the end, very large and looked painful and uncomfortable. Yet our gentle giant would never show that he was in any way, distressed.

Sheryl and I could not really speak with one another for days after that. Neither of us knew what to say. We were all hurting. Our cats missed him. To this day, if I ever play a brief video we have of him, Rocky, our big red and white cat, starts running through the house, crying as he looks for his friend.

A few months after Ozzie's death, we were lucky enough to find Ben, our second Berner. Same breeder, different blood lines. A different dog in so many ways. Not better. Absolutely not worse. Different. Plain and simple.

Within the first days of Ben being introduced into our home, Sheryl sat down quietly with our new tri-coloured barrel of fur. She and Ben made an agreement. He would be with us for at least 11 years. She wanted double digits. Unusual in giant breeds, but not impossible. Sheryl sensed that Ben was special. He had something different within.

Now, when I occasionally play the Ozzie video, Ben will come running into my office and will sit, head cocked to one side. Waiting. He will not bark. Just looks around with those huge dark eyes, waiting for someone he never knew.

Shoot me now...

2008-09-26T10:18:00.002-04:00

Uncertain if it was something I ate or drank yesterday.

Could be related to a change in the weather - barometric pressure, don't you know.

At 3.13amEST, I was jarred awake from a restless sleep with a searing and simultaneous pounding headache. A migraine.

If you suffer with this unfortunate affliction, you'll know what I'm talking about. If you don't (and I do have one friend who in his almost six decades on this planet has never experienced a single headache - and he and his wife raised four sons, two of whom were twins), you may not really understand! And that’s OK.

I have experienced this delightful interruption to one's life since I was a baby. As a child I routinely went through batteries of ridiculous tests and the diagnosis was invariably the same, "Mrs. Taylor, the wee bugger has migraines!"

When you're a kid, you really do not understand what's going on. All you really know is that someone, please, needs to stop this pain, and now. I also perfected the art of the projectile vomit and, with experience, could even, on demand it appeared, spew forth at specific angles and arcs with varying degrees of velocity. To my siblings and friends, I was an unheralded wonder of the world.

I really tried not to let them take over my life. I did not want to be relegated to the same "category" as the unfortunate kid with asthma. So, best I could, I endured. Until I started puking violently or came close to collapsing. My eyes would sink into my head. Specific smells would make me nauseas. Light would act like a laser beam to my eyes. Cold, dark rooms would offer limited solace. And yes, I have driven home on occasion with the car’s air conditioning blasting while wearing prescription sunglasses and squint to one side while negotiating my way home.

Medication wise, nothing really seems to touch them. It’s a matter of time. I’ve even been sent home from a hospital’s Emergency Department after being shot up with morphine and Demerol, to the point that any more medication might kill me. And they wanted me to drive!

Fortunately, as I get older, the frequency has reduced drastically. My Mum and Dad also went through these “things” and now, rarely experience that familiar, sweet pain.

So, perhaps there’s hope for me on this front after all. One day, I’ll be headache pain free. For now, however, would someone please make it go away?

Can't we all just get along...?

2008-09-22T10:36:00.004-04:00

Watched a movie we had recorded on the PVR last night. American History X.

On an evening when for many, the highlight was likely the Emmys, this was a powerful, harrowing, thought-provoking and quite sad commentary on so many things on so many levels. Primarily about American family life, cause and effect and the relatively rapid descent into hell after a thoughtless random act removes the family patriarch.

Hard to believe this was released 10 years ago. It was one of those movies I had always said that I wanted to see; not necessarily at the local megaplex, but at home, without any distractions.

Not a film that you would recommend for its entertainment value -- because there was absolutely none. But if you peel away the layers of despair, lack of hope and yes, some pretty brutal violence, it is a well-acted story. While the ending was not entirely unexpected, it certainly was not trite.

How many families like the Vinyards exist - and not just in the US, but everywhere? Do you know of any? Chances are, you might. Perhaps not a direct comparative; perhaps not where flagrant racism exists, but where there is a sense of being off a half step or so. Look at this story; what age were Derek and Danny when their father showed his true colours?

Pass the salt... please!

2008-09-16T10:11:00.006-04:00

There's an interesting article in today's Globe and Mail about a camp for kids where they learn how to ace a private-school interview, make witty dinner conversation with Mom's boss and eat bacon with a fork.

Reading it earlier took me back to Scotland, many years ago during my formative years. We were not, by any stretch of the imagination, a family of wealth. I was the eldest of six siblings. Four sisters and one brother. There was a 12-year span between eldest and youngest.

While most meals involved a great deal of carbs (bread and potatoes) due to economic circumstances, we were still expected to eat "properly". In fact, there used to be a running "table manners" competition, the winner getting the equivalent of a quarter at the end of a week.

Our parents expected us to speak when spoken to and not interrupt any conversation unless there was an emergency; we had to close our mouths while chewing; never speak with food in our mouths; always ate soup with the spoon away from the body - and never slurped, etc.

Once in a very rare while we were taken to a restaurant. We all did the best we could not to embarrass ourselves or our parents while eating out and would smile as we heard other patrons whisper how well behaved we were.

Did it do us any harm? None. It was a part of our education. Life lessons.

Today, I can, on occasion, eat practically anywhere I choose. I cannot begin to tell you of the appalling table manners I continue to witness from many supposed young ladies and gentlemen; sprawling over the table, waving cutlery, spattering guests and patrons with their Osso Buco while saving the world, talking on their mobile phones. And please, don't get me started on insensitive louts who sit down at a table, at home or any restaurant where their sports cap du jour remains firmly planted on their heads. There are some folks whose religious beliefs make this a matter of principal. Fine. But the vast majority are just being plain rude and boorish.

I think that more should be done to educate our kids on how to behave in public and at a table. There is nothing opulent, snobby or elitist about that.

Our stewards for the future must learn what's right, what's expected... and what is most definitely not.

Uh, oh...!

2008-09-01T16:52:00.005-04:00

The other morning, TLATO said she wanted to go to the Peterborough Sport and Wellness Centre to use their therapy pool. She wanted a little exercise and the use of the whirlpool.

I declined; I’m there at least five times per week and felt like a day off. Besides, a double espresso and the morning’s newspaper were demanding my attention.

So Sheryl headed into town and I made my way out to one of our decks with my coffee and the paper.

The tranquility of the morning was interrupted by the pteradactyl-like squawk from a Blue Heron, fishing off our dock. Nothing that my soon to be relaxed state of mind could not deal with.

A while later as I was finishing the last section of the paper, Sheryl returned home. She came out onto the deck, giggling.

“How was your swim? Were there many people this morning?”

The giggling and grinning continued.

“OK, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, nothing.” The giggle turned to laughter.

“Sheryl????”

“I’m going commando!”

Not quite what one might expect to hear from one’s wife on a quiet holiday Monday morning. I asked her to repeat her statement. Perhaps I had not heard her clearly?

“I’m going commando!”

There it was again. No mistake.

Turns out she had headed out from the house without a change of underwear. This realization came to her while driving between home and the pool. Rather than turn around, she thought, no big deal - I’ll deal with it after.

However, the gas light came on in her car.

Now I cannot tell you how many times she has yelled at me for doing this in either of our cars. She says it’s a guy thing. Maybe. So, she had to get gas. However, she was wearing a pretty sun dress. It was a sunny day. In her present state, she had to find a full-serve gas station. She was NOT going to stand pumping gas in her present state with a gentle breeze blowing and the sun shining... Operation “Get Gas” was initiated.

There is so much more that I could insert at this point, but if I wish to continue breathing and maintaining my present lifestyle, serious editing has been done to accommodate TLATO’s sanctioning of this post. This covert, military-type exercise did have its economic benefits. The full-serve she went to was less expensive than the self-serve by the pool. There was not going to be a Monroe-esque grate scene pumping gas after all.

Shameless plug...

2008-08-31T12:55:00.011-04:00

Ever wonder how viral marketing works? Do you know what viral marketing is?

Consider this brief post an example.

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Whether using a land or mobile phone, call 1-800-goog-411 when searching for a business listing (presently not available for residential) and not only will you be connected, you will not pay for the service or a long distance connecting call!

Take that big phone conglomerates, land and wireless!

1-800-goog-411.

"Pssst... wanna buy a medal?"

2008-08-25T15:38:00.007-04:00

If Canada as a country and its politicians were truly serious about funding athletes it would not just be presented as lip-flapping, self righteous rhetoric every 2 years or so, pre- and post- winter and summer Olympic Games.

If this was truly more than just so-called jingoistic nationalist pride, we would not only be talking about it on a much more regular basis, but steps would be taken to actually effect change much sooner rather than later.

Why must we also believe that it is up to various levels of government, specifically Federal, who “must” find the funds to initiate programs at early ages and then continue to foster these athletes every step of the way as they, perhaps, might one day make the National team in an Olympic event? If a corporate sponsor wishes to fund the next 10 years of so of track and field development in this country, why not allow it? In some ways it’s occurring now (Visa, anyone?) but perhaps it is still being done in such a way that it is condoned.

Hey, why not increase GST to 6% and take that 1% national sales tax and use that to assist in funding apparently much needed athletic programs?

Why is it that we don’t seem to make the same amount of noise pre- and post- Commonwealth or Pan-American Games for that matter?

People point to the US, to Australia and yes, to China as examples of what happens when money is put behind athletes as they are nurtured to their potential – natural or otherwise. Look at the medal haul of Great Britain these past couple of weeks. An increase over four years ago. Exponential? Perhaps. Coincidence that in four years time they will be hosting the next summer games? Again, perhaps. Can you imagine that their programs were not artificially inflated and funded by whatever means possible as a pre-cursor to the London Olympics in 2012?

But where might it all end? Does it then come down to the country, the government or the corporate sponsors that inject the greatest amount of funds that will “win”?

And for what?

The notion of Olympic athletes being true, unpaid amateurs was shattered long ago. The Redeem Team? Give me a break.

And this fuss over athlete’s ages? In gymnastics, they must be 16 years or older during the year of the games themselves. So why is it that a 14-year old diver from Great Britain is allowed to compete with nary an indignant squeal?

Oh yes, find me the lobbyist that managed to persuade the IOC that BMX bikes and their athletes should be considered as an Olympic sport? That ungodly noise you may have just heard are thousands of Greeks attempting to roll over in their graves at the notion of that being considered a sport, never mind one included in the Olympics.

I’m beginning to digress.

Hypocrisy. Frankly, that’s really what the underlying theme here likely is. And it’s a shame.

The best natural, amateur athlete may actually never see any world class athletic competition in their or even your lifetime. And in that regard I’m not just talking about Canada. What about a country like Ethiopia? Not exactly a world–beater in most any category and yet they have the ability to magically produce distance-holic automaton runners at the drop of a hat. And they are considered an underdeveloped nation. How can this occur? Do you think that government bureaucrats in countries like that might decide to pick the best of the best bare-footed athletes tending to goat herds on rugged hillsides, offering them and their families food, shelter and clothing – and for what? Glory on the world stage in front of an audience of over one billion people? Two days after the event, how many people will remember that athlete’s name?

How many of us know about Michael Phelps? Usain Bolt? Not to take anything away from either gentlemen, but it’s all just so hypocritical, isn’t it?

At the end of the day, the real “winners” are the marketers, the agents, the managers and, let’s not forget the chemists. The athletes themselves are merely shells, vessels to be used by their governments and sanctioned checkbook training programs.

So, what’s my point? Too many contentious issues here to make but one. At the end of the day, why not just tell it like it is? What would happen if one of two things were to occur?

1) Have an event that avoids any contact with raging consumerism and commercialism and have only athletes participate that have regular day jobs – no marketers; no consultants; no supplements; no chemicals; no endorsements… Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

Or,

2) Take it to the extreme and use any and all advantages, natural and otherwise and use unlimited dollars to supercharge all athletes and events.

Either way, create a completely level playing field and then see what happens. And the chances of anything like that ever happening?

Ever see a little movie called “Chariots of Fire”?

An unexpected oasis…

2008-08-24T16:05:00.003-04:00

Last evening while eating dinner and enjoying a bottle of Dr. Pauly-Bergweiler Riesling with a couple of gently seasoned grilled Atlantic salmon steaks I turned to Sheryl and asked if she felt like going for a drive Saturday?

Instantly an assumption was made that I had an ulterior motive. Not the case. Not really. Although one can hardly blame her for thinking something was amiss given my history.

A few weeks earlier, I had driven north to the wonderful village of Haliburton for an initial meet and greet with the Managing Editor of the local newspaper, Martha Perkins. We spoke for a while, exchanging ideas and anecdotes. I found myself looking out of her office window at Head Lake. The newspaper’s office is across the street from this lake which is surrounded by trees. Thick forests. Quite the National Geographic setting. Due to the wet summer we’ve been experiencing everything looked quite green and radiant.

It was on the drive home I started thinking more about our conversation and specifically about the surrounding environment. In many ways I was reminded of parts of Scotland – a country I had no idea how much I missed until I returned in November 2005, some 30 years after I left.

As usual, I digress.

Martha had kindly given me some magazines her media group had recently published plus that week’s edition of her paper. I had glanced through all this material that evening but only really got down to reading it a few nights ago. An insert in the paper caught my eye. It was a flyer/menu for a restaurant called SummerKiss. OK, so it was just a menu… or so I thought. Considering the restaurant’s location, Moore Falls (truly a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it village); the scope of the menu itself was quite surprising. Sure, there were the usual suspects of country “fine dining” – burgers, ribs, chicken wings et al. But some things really caught my eye. Steamed mussels in a chili coconut sauce. Grilled squid salad with lime, coriander and onion served on pea shoots and fresh bamboo shoots. Salmon Filo with a saffron cream sauce. Not what one would expect of a restaurant in this part of the country and almost off the beaten track.

But I was intrigued.

So late this morning, we headed out on an adventure. I decided to use the GPS to get us to Haliburton first. The roads we travelled were not the same ones I had taken weeks before. GPS can do that to you sometimes. No matter. We were going for a drive anyway. Sheryl and I had pleasant meaningless chatter on the way there, pointing out views and vistas as we drove.

To get to where we wanted to be, Moore Falls, we had to go north to go south. Stay with me. Eventually it all comes together. It was a beautiful day for a drive. The temperature was in the low 80’s; there was a breeze and a fair bit of humidity. As I said before, if you blink… we actually did drive past this place. Hard to fathom since it is an orange and yellow building with green doors. Believe it or not, the colour scheme actually works in an awkward twisted way.

TLATO was skeptical upon seeing the building. She had seen the menu before so figured she’d give it a chance. And she was hungry. At this point, we’d been driving for three hours or so, had been drinking water and passing by many lakes. Nature was calling. Screaming actually. Going in through the double green doors, we looked around and surprise, the two main rooms looked pretty good. Washrooms are a pretty good test of any establishment. She headed one way, me the other. Surprise number two. The washroom, although small, was what you might expect to find in some higher-end big city restaurant. And they were clean. We decided to eat a late lunch on the patio overlooking Moore Lake. Surprise number three. The patio furniture was not only comfortable, it was clean. Spotless.

Our ice cold beers arrived. We poured them into ice cold glasses. Stainless steel flatware and a black linen napkin were placed in front of us as we poured over the eclectic menu.

We shared an appetizer. Calamari. OK, to some, typical bar food. The menu said Panko breaded. They were. And tender and piping hot, too. Served with a deliciously sneaky chili lime dip. OK so far. Our server when asked, volunteered this was the second season here. On Highway 35, south of Minden in beautiful downtown Moore falls – a place my GPS had no record. Things were apparently going well and the season was a success. Our entrees arrived; Mango Chicken and Pad Thai with chicken and shrimp. The surprises continued to come. The food was very good and very well presented.

Lunch was a success.

As the heading says, truly an oasis. In the land of roadside chip trucks and fresh fruit and vegetable stands, there are sometimes some very pleasant surprises. And truly, you cannot judge a book by its cover – or its location… or the colour of the building… or the colour of the doors.

The drive home was more straightforward and without event. Almost anti-climatic. We’ll make a point of returning one day soon with friends.

Why some people are not taken seriously...

2008-08-07T15:39:00.005-04:00

I'm all for free speech. I believe in a democratic process. Pretty much.

Having said that, there are times when I literally and figuratively have to scratch my head and ask aloud, "What on earth were these people thinking?"

Most Canadians are uncomfortably familiar with an incident that occurred on a Greyhound bus on July 30. Vince Weiguang Li, 40, of Edmonton, has been charged with second-degree murder in the death of 22-year-old carnival worker Tim McLean, who was stabbed and decapitated aboard said bus. Many media outlets appeared to take ghoulish "delight" in describing the events that occurred on this late night Prairie bus trip. Perhaps there were some details that were not necessary to be reported to the general public, including moments of alleged cannibalism and other atrocities.

The Canadian judicial system will no doubt deal with this whole trial in its usual inimitable fashion. My money is on a verdict of not guilty due to criminal insanity or whatever the correct legal wording is; in other words, Li was not responsible for his actions. Then who is? Was it not Li that was observed by several eyewitnesses on this bus, by all accounts methodically and without emotion plunged a hunting-type knife repeatedly into the neck area of the sleeping and hapless, unsuspecting victim, McLean? And being charged with second-degree murder, no less?

OK, so that was bad enough.

And now, leading the charge from way left of centre... An animal rights group has tried - and thankfully so far failed - to run a newspaper advertisement comparing the beheading of McLean to the treatment of animals by the meat industry.

People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, or PETA, said on its website it would run the advertisement in the Portage la Prairie Daily Graphic. However, city editor Tara Seel said the newspaper had no intention of running the ad, which refers to “an innocent victim’s throat” being cut, in reference to the slaughter of cows, chickens and pigs on factory farms.

And here is what the advertisement looks like.

“Like human victims, animals in slaughterhouses experience terror when they are attacked by a knife-wielding assailant,” Lindsay Rajt of PETA said in a news release. “We are challenging everyone who is rightly horrified by this crime to look into their hearts and consider leaving violence off their dinner plates.” Rajt said the ad was intended to be shocking and is meant to spur people to think about the terror and pain experienced by animals who are raised and killed for food.

Hard to believe. How dare you. Shame on you PETA. PETA's strategies in recent years have often been questionable. This is just the straw breaking the proverbial camel's back. This tactic is deplorable. This intended action has or will likely polarize people against this issue due to extreme and frankly, thoughtless tactics. Rather than people (the general population - meat eaters and veggies alike) feeling sympathetic for your cause, you've caused them to close off from the possibility of supporting it.

I love animals as much as the next person but there is no comparison between the two. Way to lose the fight for humans and animals alike.

Normal service may be resumed shortly...

2008-08-05T13:51:00.006-04:00

This Saturday morning, Sheryl and a friend, Nancy, are flying down to Florida to spend a week at our condo on the east coast.

Being in Florida during the steamy summer months is not my idea of a good time; you have no need for a watch at this time of year. Each day around 4.00pm, the heavens open and it pours for at least 15 minutes. We're talking monsoon-type rain, not the wishy-washy pitter-patter-type. This is the pull-off-to-the-side-of-the-road-if-driving rain. Then, the temperature increases by another 10 degrees until the sun reluctantly decides to set on another day of someone's idea of paradise. Don’t get me wrong. Florida I do quite like. There is, however, a time for it and July and August would not be those times to me.

Anyway, those of you that know of TLATO and her pre-vacation/trip habits will be more than surprised to hear that our bedroom has NOT been a staging area for pre-packing these past two weeks. Nay, a suitcase has yet to make it up the basement stairs. You see, Sheryl has been very busy of late and then last Friday came down with the Mother of all colds. Picture a disheveled, red nosed sniffling women shuffling through the house in flannel jammies and a thick chenille bathrobe (the day time temperature in the old homestead is hovering in the mid-80's) with a backpack of Kleenex hanging off one shoulder, a supermarket baggie tied to said robe's belt to collect used Kimberly Clark product.. A sorry sight, indeed. Monday, she was feeling slightly better - actually wearing girl-type seasonal clothes. Something however happened. Not quite sure how, but her left leg went one way, the ankle the other and before you know it, we had to deal with a severely sprained and swollen ankle.

So here we are a few days before I score major brownie points to drive them both to the airport early Saturday morning and nothing, I repeat nothing, has been looked out, never mind packed.

I'm beginning to worry.

"Don't", she says in that reassuring voice husbands have heard a million times, "I'm actually quite organized!"

Now I'm really beginning to worry and for those that know me, this is not normal behavior.

"I've already taken lots of my clothes and things down there these past few trips," she states. "And, of course, if I forget to pack anything, I can always buy it while I'm there!”

Now I'm moments away from an anxiety attack. Is that the plan? ‘Inadvertently’ under pack to purchase more?

"Don't be silly," she laughs. "I'm just joking!"

Can someone please show me the amusing side to this? Anyone that is married or has been in a long-term relationship will know exactly what I'm thinking. Anyone male that is.

Another woman? Not so much.

Say it isn't so...

2008-07-15T18:49:00.007-04:00

Guinness.

The very word, to many people the world over, conjures up so many images. For me, there are three things that come to mind immediately.

Years and years ago in the UK, there was this one Guinness television commercial that I still remember. A grizzled barman pulls a slow, deliberate pint of the black velvet into a glass. After the brew settles, the drinker then takes a pen and crudely writes his initials in the thick, luxurious head of the Irish nectar. Slowly, the glass is raised and even more slowly the beer is consumed. At the end, the camera moves in to show the foam in the bottom of the glass, the initials still intact and quite visible.

A few short years after that, while on a camping trip with the Boy Scouts (yes, I know…) we visited the Guinness brewery in Dublin. To say that our Scoutmaster was a lenient sort would be an understatement. Fact: the following summer in Kandersteg, Switzerland, there was an unfortunate “incident” involving local wine, a railway embankment, a fast-moving river and the local police. Suffice to say I consequently developed an “allergy” to wine – something that stayed with me for the longest time. Anyway, we were somehow “able” to sample small amounts of this local brew. I have to admit, back then, in my early teens, my palate was not what it is today and I really did not like it much. I did, however, consume enough to the point of walking into an electrical box on the Dublin streets shortly thereafter. Twice. Resulting in some interesting facial bruising and the assistance of friends to concoct a believable tale for any and all authority figures over the next few days – my parents back in Glasgow included.

My third memory fast forwards a few years. I was working with the largest private publishing firm in the UK. “Headquartered” in Dundee, Scotland. During my time there, I wrote many different pieces; from articles for some of their local, daily newspapers to horoscopes for popular women’s magazines; from World War Two scripts for adventure comic books to “Dear Abby” type advice columns. Practically every Friday lunchtime, shortly after being paid (in cash!) a number of us would wander over to our favourite Indian restaurant and eat the hottest dishes we could manage, washing them down with a few pints of Guinness. Needless to say, the combination was deadly. People would go out of their way Friday afternoons to avoid the newsroom. Copy boys would rather be berated by fierce, draconian editors then venture into the haze of that soiled, wrongly-warm environment…

In today’s Toronto Star (thanks to the LA Times) there is a story – “Irish stew over fate of beloved Guinness”. Long story short, it seems that the consumption of Guinness in Ireland is declining thanks to the influence of imported beers. These beers are persuading a younger generation in their drinking habits. One brand was mentioned by name. Budweiser. To me, that’s not beer. I consumed some wonderful beers growing up in Scotland. Since moving to Canada over 30 years ago, I have yet to develop a taste for North American beers. Too cold. Too fizzy. Not enough taste.

Now, Guinness sells more beer in Nigeria than it does in Ireland. An amazing statistic considering Ireland is the world’s second biggest beer-drinking market after the Czech Republic.

I find all of this hard to swallow.

Enough already!

2008-07-14T11:33:00.009-04:00

Yesterday afternoon, it being a lazy Sunday and all, me and TLATO decided to take in a movie. Together. It took about twenty minutes of polite conversation before we decided upon the latest instalment in the Indiana Jones saga.

I think the last time we saw a movie together was when the Daniel Craig /James Bond flick hit the big screen. So, it's been a while.

Got to our local megaplex and found that to purchase a ticket for the movie, we had to go to the long single file line at the concession stand.

Strike one.

While standing on line, I contemplated getting a drink, a club soda, but when I saw the size of the containers they were offering with what looked suspiciously like handles, I decided to forgo this cool treat. The exorbitant "I-really-had-not-planned-on-refinancing-the-house" price tag was the final straw.

Strike two.

The movie itself was OK, perhaps 6 out of 10. The very first episode, all those years ago, still ranks. In fact, to my mind, the number of sequels that have managed to surpass the original amounts to ... one. Godfather 2. Perhaps two, including Kill Bill 2.

I digress.

After sitting through the advertisements, the trailers and then the movie itself, some time had passed. I have borderline hypertension and take meds for same - including a diuretic. Sitting for that length of time is bound to have an effect on a body - especially with all the raging water in the third act of the movie...

I continue to digress.

At the end of the show, nature called. No surprise. We agreed to meet after taking care of things. Standing there, in the tiled sterile environment of the men's loo relieving myself, there was almost an unfortunate accident (for me - can't speak for the other fellow...). Booming through heretofore 'hidden' speakers in the washroom ceiling came a commercial. A frickin' advertisement for a well-known pizza conglomerate who happened to be in their 40th year of business! I'm sorry, but this completely unexpected invasive interruption was the final straw. I'm using the facilities. I'm taking care of business. In a washroom. Granted, it was a public washroom, but still, can we not expect some respect, a little decorum if you will without my being jolted into some marketer's idea of reality while widdling on the leg of the unsuspecting fellow to my left?

Strike three.

It's a bird... it's a plane...

2008-07-06T19:15:00.007-04:00

... it's Super Mum!

Just a quick post (more details to follow) of Mum enjoying her birthday present this afternoon.

Last August I was talking to Mum about her birthday in early September. What would you like? Any thoughts? Ideas?

After much hemming and hawing, we (Mum and me) decided that a hang gliding flight would be just the thing. Perfect gift for a 76-year old feisty and fiercely independent mother of six!

The majority of the 'Hood and my brother thought this was insanity. But Mum insisted. As it turned out, this was one of the items on her personal bucket list. So we all chipped in and a gift certificate was purchased and presented on her birthday.

Flash forward; a couple of weeks ago, Mum made the arrangements for her flight; Sunday, July 6 at 2.30pm.

And so it happened. Me, TLATO, sister Lindsey, brother-in-law Colin and their kids, Max and Sammy showed up with Mum in a farmer's field in the hamlet of Brougham, 30 minutes north east of Toronto where High Perspective Inc. offered the thrill of a lifetime.

As you can see from the photograph, Mum had a blast - click on the image and see the larger size picture and you can see her huge grin! Moments after landing, she booked another flight for later this month.

Thanks to Dave (her pilot), Mike and everyone at High Perspective. Our Mum had her best birthday ever!

Moving sale update...

2008-06-29T08:13:00.006-04:00

Well, we did say that the sale would go on regardless of the weather - and it did.

Up at 5.00am, we shuffle to the kitchen, slurp down a couple of espressos just to attempt to get things going and then it started; our long day. For those of you that work daily in a retail environment, we both know a little of what you might normally experience. Our sympathies.

The forecast was not great but we decided to persevere and proceed regardless. Large items that could withstand the rain were placed on the driveway and practically everything else was set up in the garage like a mini-mart.

Too tired to go out on the Friday evening, I went out at 6.00am Saturday morning to put signs up. Do you have any idea just how many people are out at that time in the morning on a weekend? TLATO had gone out with her friend, Nancy, a day or so earlier and had made the rounds of bulletin boards, etc. in local supermarkets and donut stores putting up flyers with pertinent info. Note, as we have done before, we should have gone through the 'hood and put flyers into everyone's mailbox. At this point it was not quite raining.

People started showing up before 7.00am - we were ready. The rain had started falling by now. Sales were brisk all morning; in fact, the heavier the rain (and it was quite heavy at times), the more people showed up. Sheryl even escorted some folks from their cars into our mall of unwanted treasures with her umbrella!

By lunchtime, the rain had eased and so too had the crowds. Time for a chip truck run! Aside - is there anything to my fear that Canada will be known as a place where chip trucks and donut stores abound? Pretty bad…

After lunch, the sun attempted to come out and the temperature started to climb - as did the humidity after the rain.

It seemed that those folks that were put off by the morning's rain, delighted in the higher temperatures and soon there was much activity in front of the house.

Around 3.00pm we decided to wind things down, deciding that we would be holding another event in the coming weeks. All in all, considering everything, it was a successful day. A call was placed later that evening to Shafiq's Cuisine of India (brilliant Indian food) and I drove into town to pick it up. No deliveries where we live, being in the country and all.

Dinner was a quiet, subdued affair. The food was, as usual marvellous, and a couple of Rickards White Beers were consumed. Clean up followed then an evening on the couch, watching a movie. No idea what we watched; I'm not sure who fell asleep first.

And yes, we will do this again soon; we both discovered items that had somehow not made it outside. We'll let everyone know once we settle upon a date.

Thanks to all that braved the elements and came out; we had a great day and it was fun seeing so many familiar faces.

Giant moving sale!

2008-06-26T14:40:00.011-04:00

This Saturday (fingers crossed on account of the weather) we plan on holding an enormous yard, garage, driveway sale!

There truly will be something for everyone so come on down and check things out.

That's this Saturday, June 28, 8am - 1pm.

Hope to see some of you here! Not sure where "here" is? Send me an email: dtaylor@marketing-solutionsltd.com

Poker face... NOT!

2008-06-26T14:06:00.007-04:00

Last night's little poker soiree seemed to be a resounding success!

As expected, it was a fun evening. Of the seven women sitting at the table, two had played in this particular game before and one was fast becoming a poker junkie! The others had each played the occasional game of Hearts...

Each player was provided with $ 1,000.00 of chips so we had

$ 7,000.00 in chips on the table. For the first time in all the years we've been having this event, we had one clear cut winner, Anne Cavanagh who ended the evening in grand style, cleaning everyone out and winning a hand that had five separate pots! (I know, complicated, but at the time it all made sense to the Hold'em gods.) The winning hand? Pair of 8's! As you can see from the photograph, Marlaine Bennett fervently believed that her hand, while not the best, was the prettiest!

Thanks to all who came out, to Riley's in Peterborough for hosting the event and everyone who participated in the evening. Charity benefited big time.

Know when to hold 'em...

2008-06-24T09:45:00.005-04:00

On Wednesday evening, June 25 I will be in the presence of seven women. All eager to learn all they can from me so they can then take those skills and apply them later in their own safe environment. Maybe with their husbands, loved ones – or both!

Now before anyone gets too excited, including TLATO, may I point out that this is a Texas Hold ’em Poker Night.

Once a year for the past several, I have willingly (?) offered my services to the Peterborough chapter of the Women’s Business Network auction. It’s all for charity. So one Wednesday evening late last year I once again went on the block – the auction block, that is. Women, professionals all, bid on many items that are offered during the course of the evening.

Years ago, my chiropractor, Cathy Owens, knew that I had a leaning towards games of chance, and asked if I would be interested in being offered as an item to be auctioned. That year they were not certain if the Fire Department were going to participate so I apparently was Plan B. Don’t think I have ever knowingly been any one’s Plan B before. Anyway, a group of women decided that they wanted to learn to play poker. Texas Hold ‘em.

The evening was a success and since then, I’ve been asked several times to participate. Like I said, it’s all for a good cause so what the heck.

You should see some of these women in action. Some have played cards before, bridge, Hearts and the like. Some have heard about Poker. Most are neophytes. After a couple of rounds of dummy hands, these women take off the gloves – literally and in some cases, it’s a take no prisoners game that ensues.

Last year one of the ladies was betting (it’s all in fun, no real money involved) large and a few players went along. “I’m all in!” First real hand of the evening and here we go. This was after the flop. There were still two more cards to be turned over. Politely I asked if those that were in, understood what was going on. That was, apparently, the wrong inquiry. “Deal the cards, Poker Boy!”

Now I do not recall the actual cards, but the turn was played and given that everyone was all in, no further betting could occur. That did not stop one or two sharks to inquire if side bets were kosher…

Did everyone understand what constituted a good hand? At the beginning of the evening I handed out small “cheat sheets” showing the best poker hands from a Royal Flush down to a pair. No one was consulting the cards.

The river was then played. Oddly enough the four women playing all smiled – not a poker face among them.

At this stage, there was some further good natured taunting going on. I had no idea really what might be going on since the board was showing nothing of consequence. “This should be interesting,” I thought.

So, in order, the foursome turned over their hole cards. One lady had three of a kind – not bad. Another had a full house. Better. The third proudly displayed another full house. Best. The fourth, the aggressive one who had initiated this mayhem asked if she had to show her cards. “If you’re holding the winning combination, absolutely!” “Well, in that case, I decline to show. I’ll fold”

The second full house won and we had our first casualty of the evening.

During a break, I asked this woman what she was doing? Beaming, she explained that she had watched a few games on television before our evening. She had always wanted to say, “All in!” So she did. She was the person that had actually bid on the evening months before and it had, by all accounts, not gone for a couple of dollars either.

Watching her observe for the rest of the evening, she had the broadest smile, the loudest laugh of all. This was fun. And all for a very good cause.

To her, it was worth it to see her friends enjoy an evening of cards. Friends who, under different circumstances might never have played poker. So everyone benefited all the way down the line.

I’ve found myself wondering today if she’ll be part of the group tomorrow evening or will someone else decide to pay it forward.

Royal Botanical Gardens...

2008-06-17T13:03:00.005-04:00

Looking for something to do with the whole family or visitors from out of town? Consider a visit to an oasis in the city in Burlington, Ontario. The Royal Botanical Gardens. One of Ontario's best kept secrets! Enjoy another day in paradise...

Check out http://www.rbg.ca/ for a calendar of current events. Make plans to come this weekend - there's something for everyone. Come see for yourself.

Days like these...

2008-06-08T11:54:00.004-04:00

As I scoot around our property on the old John Deere riding mower under the blazing sun and humidity this morning - thunderstorms predicted for later, don't you know - I'm reminded of the first time my dear old paternal grandmother came to visit Dad, Mum and the kids in Canada (Waterloo, Ontario) one August in the mid-70's.

Stepping off a charter flight from Prestwick, Scotland, she emerged in her finest tweed suit, and was quite unexpectedly gob-smacked by a veritable wall of searing heat and oppressive humidity; she exclaimed in her best south west-side of Glasgow accent, "Gosh, it's hot!"

To this day me, my brother, the 'Hood, even nieces and nephews exclaim this short, loaded-wilh-all-kinds-of-unspoken-meaning-phrase whenever the thermometer goes above 80 degrees.

It's our version of the Canadian vernacular, "Hot enough for you?"

Diamonds are a girl's best friend?

2008-06-05T13:54:00.007-04:00

Perhaps. More likely, I believe, if you happen to fall into the S.A.T.C. gene pool - remember, there is only a shallow end.

Anyway, on an almost weekly basis, I'm often loudly reminded by TLATO that I'm most definitely not normal and that other men are not like me.

OK, so those statements opened up a few potential cans of worms, but for the record, in (mostly) those instances they come forth as a result of jewellery.

I'll explain. I have this "thing"; perhaps phobia would be more correct, although I think that's way too strong a word for it, about jewellery. This "thing" I've had for years - a fact that many, including the woman formerly known as Mrs. Taylor may attest.

Some of this may well seem odd, somewhat unusual - but to me, it's very real.

I cannot touch jewellery. I abhor the feel. There is an odour to it. I am not comfortable even looking at same.

If TLATO asks me to assist in helping her with putting on a bracelet, I'll grudgingly assist, but my fingers are wrapped in Kleenex. Don’t ask me to hand you earrings - they'll sit on a counter gathering dust forever as I walk on by albeit nonchalantly, but terrified, nonetheless.

I honestly do not recall how I managed to "survive" my wedding day(s). Really.

I do not wear a ring. I do not festoon myself with chains, medallions and the like. I have not worn a wristwatch in years. I do, however, wear a Medic Alert bracelet - don't ask me to touch it, or take it off, though; I believe that a layer of hair prevents the stainless steel from actually coming in direct contact with the skin on my wrist.

I'm not making this up. Ask Sheryl. Like I said, to me it's very real. To Sheryl, it's a constant sore point.

For her birthday this past spring, I presented Sheryl with a Tiffany-style bracelet in the ubiquitous Robin's egg blue box. The purchase was facilitated months beforehand by one of my sisters, Joanne, a.k.a. The Brooklin Bag Lady. At no time did I have to touch the piece.

Over the years I have bought TLATO other pieces of jewellery. I have perfected the point, the head nod and the ultimate credit card swipe – all without having to touch gold, silver, platinum, jewels and the like; Sheryl does not "miss out" on feminine-type baubles, so back off!

Am I nuts? A couple of fries short of a Happy Meal? Without question, I do have my moments. On this matter, I like to believe the jury is still out - and if I have anything to do or say about it, will never have an opportunity to regain entrance to this room to proffer their verdict!

Just an aside...

2008-06-03T11:21:00.005-04:00

Watched an HBO movie last night on one of the movie channels here - "Recount"; the "tale" of what occurred during the 2000 Presidential election, focusing on the State of Florida and the debacle that ensued.

Like a car wreck, utterly fascinating and deplorable all at once.

While I may not be a fan or supporter of either individual involved, Al Gore and George W. Bush, the lengths to which both sides went to in the Fall and early winter of 2000 was mind boggling.

Just hearing and being reminded of some of what occurred still makes me shake my head in disbelief eight years later. There were 175,000 ballots just completely discounted and disqualified in that election. That's the size of a small city. One hundred and seventy-five thousand people got up that morning, went to their polls, thought really carefully about what they were doing, chose a candidate and then had their votes completely voided.

S.A.T.C. - part deux

2008-06-02T15:06:00.007-04:00

Thanks to the abundance of "shlemmings" (an unusual hybrid beastie - part sheep, part lemming) in North America, it would appear that the above mentioned movie (it will never be described as a film) is on its way to grossing more than $ 100 million.

Do any of you out there have any idea what this means?

The social consequences of it all - there'll be a frickin' sequel...

Easy there, lunch, easy...

I can't wait. Product placement will be more innovative than usual. Aside from the to-be-expected and not-to-be-forgotten Geritol, manufacturers will be lining up to have their products front and centre. May I suggest Metamucil for the must have orange-flavored cocktail of the next decade, the Muciltini? Or Gold Bond medicated powder and cream to help with diaper rash from our lead marketer, the always fashionable and by now ubiquitous Depends? Seabond denture fixative to maintain that naturally phony Hollywood smile?

I could go one... but I won't, the wrath of TLATO notwithstanding.

Add your own products to the list.

The producers will thank you - no doubt all the way to the frickin' bank, laughing at the gullibility of a generation or two of women clinging to their dreams and sanity like the elastic waist band of their support hose...

Ouch! Stop that, Sheryl. That hurt.

One day at a time... part 2

2008-06-01T18:31:00.002-04:00

An update...

Well it's almost 6 weeks since I made a concerted effort to lose one of my alter egos - Bitter Bob.

I have to admit it's not been especially easy but I'm trying very hard for the sake of relationships to continue down this path.

An interesting observation; while I'm thinking first before shooting my mouth off and damning the consequences, TLATO has evolved, on occasion, into a Poisonous Patricia.

Go figure...

S.A.T.C.

2008-05-31T11:58:00.011-04:00

For those of you unfamiliar with the above acronym, it stands for Sex and the City.

Unless you've been hiding in a cave, have not seen a newspaper or have avoided any news medium whatsoever these last few weeks, you'll likely be aware the apparently long-awaited (by whom, I might ask?) eponymous movie opened this weekend,

I was never a fan of the cable TV show. I could not identify with any of the characters in any way, shape or form. I did, I admit, watch some episodes as TLATO lived her life vicariously through the antics of four shallow, loose moralled and self-centred bordering on alcoholic, collectors of ugly-to-me shoes that must be packaged with chiropractic and podiatric vouchers (hence the exorbitant prices).

Confession time; I have had a few manicures and two pedicures. There I admit it. I am not what I would consider to be "metro sexual" - way too much body hair for that.

So anyway, like I said, not a fan.

Sheryl has been eagerly awaiting the movie's opening for weeks. In fact, plans were being made days ago as to which show she and three girlfriends would venture on opening day.

Yesterday afternoon, four ladies of a certain age car pooled to Peterborough - closest town resembling civilization in these parts and eagerly presented themselves at Peterpatch's version of the Bijou. They all knew the movie was long (did I hear excessively?) and accordingly went en masse to the ladies room pre-show.

Three hours or so later, TLATO returned home. She loved the movie. "Which one of you was Samantha?" I mumbled under my breath as I prepared dinner for our dog, five cats and us - due to some of the ensuing confusion, I think Ben got my steak... Sheryl, enthusiastically effusive about the movie in general was, however, quite surprised by one thing. She had known that millions of dollars were spent on the production of this ultimate chick flick. One can only imagine the Midol bill alone. She said that there was a scene near the beginning of the show where the lower portion of a boom mic made an unwelcome appearance in frame. Odd. However, through the duration of said movie, she estimated that a boom mic was blatantly visible in at least 30% of the movie. It became an unwelcome distraction. It was as annoying as many of the above-the-line characters in the flick. She opined bravely that perhaps, a less than perfect print had been dispatched to this part of the world. Country folk will never notice. Wrong. One of the foursome estimates that the mic could easily petition the movies' producers for a piece of the action given the amount of on-screen time it enjoyed. In fact, keen observers all, they reckoned that there was at least more than one mic that made an appearance.

A body double, perhaps? Could there be a recurring role in a sequel?

Did anyone else who may have plonked down their cash for this designer-laden, product placement driven "spectacle" make similar observations?