S.A.T.C.

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?

Cleansing rain...

OK, I'm well aware that it's been almost a month since my last post, but I've been a little busy.

Regardless, yesterday afternoon, we started to get some rain; drizzle more than anything in the later afternoon. Fantastic, thought I as I aimlessly wandered the grassed areas of our property and over seeded parts of our country lawn.

Another task removed from the weekend chore list!

At around 2.00am this morning, I was woken from my sleep by the crack and rumble of distant thunder as a storm passed through our part of the world. TLATO and Ben slept through the whole thing - even as the heavens opened and a hard, yet cleansing rain fell most of the early morning hours. Once again, I was pleased as punch - this amount of rain meant that I would not have to hose down the dog run today - Mother Nature had taken care of that for me.

Later, after sucking back a couple of espressos and splashing water on my face, I drove to the gym for an early morning workout, almost mesmerized by the back and forth, to and fro of the windshield wipers as they valiantly fought to clear heaven's tears from my windshield.

Emerging from the locker room an hour or so later, my mood soon deflated; the sun was now forcing its way through hastily departing now white clouds and steam was rising from the asphalt.

The forecasters were wrong - again. Quelle surprise.

While one task was removed from my "Honey Do" list, another was added; power wash the decks on our property in preparation for a new coat of stain. Almost 800 square feet of deck plus surround benches... Lovely.

Even when you want the weather to co-operate and conditions are not favourable for most, meteorologists once again stumble from the gate. Their error means more work for yours truly and many others just like me, I'm sure..

And now the sun is most definitely out...

I'm searching for an excuse.

One day at a time...

In the early 1990’s, I stopped smoking. I didn’t quit. I stopped.

For some reason that simple word change helped me through the initial stages of withdrawal from one of the most powerful and addictive drugs in the world, nicotine. Technically, many years later I’ve quit. The idea of smoking is so far removed these days, the very thought of it is quite repugnant. And yes, it’s true – there really is nothing worse than an ex-smoker. I proudly add myself to that growing category

This post, however, has nothing to do with smoking and much to do with another bad habit of mine; shortness and rude and anti-social behaviour toward loved ones. In our house, we refer to it as “bitter tongue”. I am likely one of the world’s worst offenders. It’s not that I actually mean anything by it; it’s me, it’s who I am – unfortunately. Some of you may know that I do not suffer fools gladly; I expect everyone to be on the same “level” as me and understand my drive, my passion. Sadly, for me, this is usually not the case.

Consequently, my verbal abuse can be most hurtful to many and especially to TLATO who through no fault of hers, has been on the receiving end of too many vicious verbal slicing and dicing. Others, too, have experienced this over the years.

I’m sorry.

A week last Tuesday there was a particular episode that brought home the fact that I was being unkind – actually, downright mean. Since then, I have been doing my best to think first and open my mouth later. I’m trying to avoid my normal shoot from the lip approach to life. I have not quit. I’m doing my damnedness to stop.

I was not born this way. Over the years it happened. My reaction would often be automatic, second nature. The result could if you were witness, be considered remotely amusing. Unless you were the recipient. Then it just plain hurt.

Interesting situation in our house now; we created a response in the event I stumbled from the straight and narrow. The safety word was “SNAP!” This was supposed to be a response Sheryl would utter, directed toward me. However, in the past nine going on 10 days, that word has been said by me toward Sheryl more times than she cares to count. For some reason, she has become the “Snap-ee”!! Or is that the Snap-er?

Regardless, a temporary situation we’re sure. Go figure.

I’m doing my best. One day at a time. I’m trying very hard. It’s not easy.

You be the judge...

On Sunday April 6, TLATO and I drove into Toronto in her car; we were going to stay over at her Mum's place before taking a morning flight to Florida.

I decided to take the scenic route; a beautiful drive west bound from Hwy. 115 to Hwy. 407 on a narrow and occasionally windy road. At that time, spring had not really hit these parts in earnest. Snow banks were still evident and there was on this quaint road, severe winter damage from the ravages of extreme cold and moisture. Potholes that could swallow a Smart car.

You may have read an earlier post where I commented on drivers' habits in the country; Well one of them found us, and on a Sunday too, no less.

On two occasions, this "individual" sounded his horn at us. Each time, I looked in the rear view mirror, could see no reason for the noisy interruption and continued on our journey, muttering niceties under my breath to anyone within earshot about the lineage of said horn honker. Finally, at the third intersection, the idyllic silence was once again interrupted with the urgent sounding of "Twitchy's" horn. We pulled forward and stopped our car. I rolled down the window. Twitchy drew alongside and rolled down the passenger window in his GM family truckster. Sitting in the front seat was a very pregnant woman and strapped into the back seat were three youngsters of various ages. In as polite a voice as I could possibly muster, I inquired if there might be something that we might be able to do to assist him with his horn hand. "You lost a hub cap about three clicks back..." he grinned.

You see, we still had on our snow tires and steel rims. When we purchased them, the dealer "threw in" four hub caps so the rims would not look quite as ugly.

Feeling foolish, I thanked him and his family for their attention to our problem, turned to Sheryl and hissed, "We're not going back... it's a freakin' hub cap, is all." And so we continued on our journey.

Fast forward to April 18. We are driving home from the airport. On that same country road. Just about where we pulled over, TLATO cheerfully wondered out loud that wouldn't it be weird if we found our hub cap?

Naturally, at this point, I was in head-on "guy" mode. I was on a mission. I wanted to get home in the best time possible. I smirked and uttered a disdainful, "Whatever!" and sped along.

Listening to White Bird by It's a Beautiful Day on Sirius satellite radio, I was in the zone. My personal tranquility was interrupted by a scream coming from the person to my right. "Look! Look!" There's our hubcap, there's our hubcap!" Now you need to understand that when it comes to cars and such, Sheryl is as observant as most people - in other words, NOT! How she could identify this piece of aluminum as we sped by escapes me. I did not see Grissom and his CSI cohorts in the immediate vicinity.

Like the dutiful husband that I am, I stopped the car and pulled a U-turn. There, propped up lovingly against a tree trunk was a hubcap. Our hubcap.

Naturally, Sheryl was ecstatic and for the next half hour or so went on about how amazing this was... what were the odds, etc., etc.

Me? I just wanted to get home, unpack the car and have a nap.

I have to admit, the thought did cross my mind to buy a lottery ticket...

Fall down... go boom!

In a person’s life there are many dates and events that become etched in our personal life diary: birth days; a first kiss; anniversaries… April 17, 2008. April 17, 2008 at 5.32am. That would be the latest date that will forever be remembered by Sheryl and me. It was on this date, at that time, that our walls came tumbling down.

OK, so perhaps that’s a little melodramatic. The walls did not actually cave in. The John Mellencamp song title as a metaphor was used to make a point is all.

Many of you are aware that for the past 10 days, Sheryl and me have been in south east Florida fixing up our newly acquired vacation home. On the actual vacation scale, I would likely rate this trip as a 2.5. It’s not exactly been relaxing. Running all over the place, finding furniture, trades people etc. to complete our idyllic new nest.

Yesterday afternoon, three very large pieces of abstract art were professionally installed. Two pieces were hung on load-bearing concrete walls. The process appeared to be involved and lengthy. Lasers, drills with concrete bits and spirit levels were just some of the tools required and utilized.

Everyone we are told, dreams. I’m one of those people that rarely remember dreams. At 5.31 this morning, I was sharing tea and cookies with some friends when the peaceful tranquility of my REM sleep was interrupted by a sound that truly is hard to describe. Suffice to say, it was not the dawn chorus of recently slumbering birds. We both ran to where we thought the noise emanated. The living room. Behind the couch was one of the pieces, all 64” x 44” of it.

Fortunately damage was minimal. Some marks on the wall and a partially “peeled” baseboard. Just before going to bed last night, we moved the couch an inch or two more from the wall. Just as well. Otherwise this piece could have bounced off the back of the couch and landed on a glass coffee table in front of the couch. Now that would have been a memorable sound indeed.

Stuff really does happen.

Time for a serious reality check...

Here we are, me and the TLATO in sunny Florida, taking our first vacation together in seven years.

Of course, as I write, Sheryl is nowhere to be found; out "shopping" and without her cell phone...

So here I sit at a laptop, catching up on some work and taking messages for Sheryl from people with strong Spanish accents. Our electrician, Wilson, is from Colombia (Bogota, not the school in NYC). I swear he saw "Cast Away" one time too many and decided his new "English" pseudonym would be derived from a beaten up volley ball...

Anyway, I digress.

A few months ago we were in the fortunate position to be able to purchase a condo in Deerfield Beach at a very good price (if you've been reading any newspapers or magazines these last few months you'll know that the real estate market in certain parts of the USA, Florida, specifically is a buyer's market).

Naturally, there was some work required - nothing too major, mostly cosmetic in nature, but work nonetheless. We "inherited" Wilson from a new friend and neighbour who used him and his compadre for electrical work when she completely gutted her unit.

Seems the place to find out about trades people is at the pool; everyone has a renovation/remodelling story and at least one recommendation for plumbers, electricians, et al.

In addition to tales of "mud", wiring, pipes, etc. the weather is way up there on the top five conversation topics. Yesterday was a record-breaking 90 degrees; the forecast for today was 80. I swear, it was as if this was to be considered a sign of the apocalypse. Heavy sweaters, coats and jackets were being hurriedly brought out of storage, supermarkets were being visited to stock up on provisions... you cannot imagine.

And all for a 10 degree change in temperature. To me, it's still damn hot!

Military intelligence et al...

Oxymoron. Even the very word makes me smile.

In today's Toronto Star and likely in many of Canada's daily and weekly newspapers, there will be at least one article talking about the last Canadian census and how the facts present themselves in specific areas of the country; in this instance the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). In the main section of the Star it is a lead story on the front page. Additional pages also illustrate the point being made. The headline? "Visible minorities gaining".

My comment is not about the facts of the census. The statistics are what they are. My issue is with the terminology - nothing more, nothing less. No sinister agenda here.

OK. Now math may not be my strongest suit; however, to my mind, anything greater than 50% is a majority. There is a very nice graphic laid out in all its glory presenting "visible minorities" in the GTA. The first two areas in this chart are Markham where 65.45% of the population is a "visible minority" and Brampton, where 57.03% falls into that same category. Coming a very close third is Mississauga at 49.00% with the city of Toronto another contender at 46.90%.

Does that present a "visible minority" picture to you?

Jumbo shrimp, anyone?