Apparently I’m no fun – at least when it comes to watching TV.
This disturbing truth was revealed while a friend of ours spent the weekend. He and Groom-boy took great delight in watching the Family Guy marathon – episode after episode – while I tried hard not to run screaming from the room. This was interspersed with sitcom reruns from the 1970s and ’80s, such as Three’s Company.
Adult cartoons and reruns from my childhood just don’t do it for me. While the two of them sat there guffawing and chortling, I thought I’d have more fun shoving bamboo under my fingernails and then poking myself in the eye repeatedly. (I’m sincerely hoping here that there are some readers out there who agree these shows are not high up on the humour meter – or am I truly no fun?)
“Well what TV shows do you think are funny? What do you watch for entertainment?” our friend asked.
The first thing that came to mind was the news. I take great delight in watching the news, especially at 11 p.m., because I enjoy mocking the anchors. Somehow, though, that didn’t seem like a good answer.
The next thing I thought of was the various dramas that run during the 10 to 11 p.m. spot, which is around the time I finally get a chance to plunk down in a chair and watch TV if I so choose. But crime dramas (because, really, that’s mostly all that’s on during that time if you’re looking for a non-reality serial to watch), didn’t seem like the right answer, either. They’re not exactly “funny.”
When the kids are home, the TV is on a lot. That doesn’t necessarily mean anyone is watching it, but there are a couple of shows they have found that are pretty cute. One is a Disney show called I’m in the Band and another is a Canadian one called That’s So Weird. They both contain some amusing humour for grown-ups, kind of like how Bugs Bunny had a few nuggets for Moms and Dads back when I was watching it as a kid. Somehow, though, citing kids’ shows didn’t seem like a good answer either.
At one point my friend was flipping through the channels and started singing, “Fifty-seven channels and nothing on.” (Remember that Bruce Springsteen song from 1992?) “Only now it’s more like ‘Seven hundred channels and nothing on,’” he quipped as we skipped over a kazillion reality shows and other junk.
And that reminded me. There was a time, way before kids and a bit before marriage, when I believed I would have been pretty content to go without television entirely. Some days I still feel that way. This weekend was one of those times – especially during the Family Guy marathon. At one point I did actually laugh and then I got heckled. “THAT is the one thing you find funny?”
I tell you, I can’t win. Or perhaps I need new friends.
I’m willing to bet that if I had more time (or interest) to sit around and explore current sitcoms I would find something appealing. I mean, it’s not as if I only want watch Dramas (with a capital D) or shows about eyeball surgery. Humorous entertainment is quite a lovely thing.
I think, really, the problem is that I have become quite “anti din.”
This is especially acute when the kids are home and super keyed up, as they have been over the Christmas break. The associated excitement has vastly increased the decibel level in the house.
Combine holidays with the fact we have NO snow (yes, I want some snow), which means they don’t really want to play outside in the cold, wet drab, and you get a lot of people rambling loudly around the house.
Of course, I also get heckled because, if given a choice between listening to CBC Radio 2 (the music) or Radio 1 (the chatter) while I’m working, I would choose the music. While the chatter is reasonably intelligent, it’s still talk talk talk (din).
Okay. End of rant. If you need me I will (hopefully) be sitting in a quiet (possibly rubber) room somewhere reading a book.
Published in The Perth Courier, Jan. 6/11
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Past Deadline: It's a Revolution, Baby
Well. So that was 2010.
Do you ever have a bad feeling going into a year and then when it turns out it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be it gives you another bad feeling – like maybe it wasn’t that year that was going to be so bad, but actually the next year?
No?
Ahem. Me neither.
I think my 2010 was burdened slightly by the gloomy fact I was turning 40. Doom! Doom! Doom! That has been working out okay so far, though.
And now here we are on the precipice of another brand new shiny year, so I guess it’s time for my sometimes-annual dissertation on Ye Olde New Year’s "Revolutions."
I know in years past I have blah blah blahed about setting achievable goals. I still think this is a good idea, however, at this very point in time, when work is crazy and holidays are mayhemmish and even a goal of getting to bed before 2 a.m. for a change seems lofty-to-the-max, I’m just not too sure how reliable this list is going to be.
First, though, let’s review. My 2010 goals were not only dull, but they kept centering on a slight obsession with running. There was a bunch of chitchat about losing pounds then gaining them back over the holidays and then some blather about eating celery and running like Forrest Gump in order to lose them again.
Yeah. That went well.
Oh, I ran alright. In fact, I did pretty well through the winter, spring and early summer, going 5K at a time and even as much as 8K. Then things started to taper off. Now if I were to jump back onto the running bandwagon (and a bandwagon kind of defeats the purpose, I think), I would basically be starting from scratch.
Meh. So, maybe I’ll run, maybe I won’t. I am pleased to report, though, that since I have not had full use of a vehicle in the last half of 2010, I have walked off a good six pounds.
So one way or another I exercised and met that resolution from last year. Woohoo!
In the spirit of achievable goals, I also pledged to eat better, be a good person, and to be kind to children and animals. (That last one is because usually I’m an ogre. Actually, some of the short people’s friends say I’m “crabby.” Strangely, I am okay with that. Probably I just need to sleep more.)
Anyway, fine. Those are all good. We can keep those. But are they really resolutions or are they just, you know, things I should do because I am alive? Really, it’s almost like making a list and writing “1. Make a list” at the top just so you can cross it off. Achievable goals – yes!
That’s probably one of the reasons why I step outside my comfort zone and add “5. Save the world” as the last one.
Sigh.
Needless to say – and you might have noticed – I didn’t get that last one done in 2010. It hasn’t been going well. I was very busy not running.
So what’s the point again? Well, maybe it’s time to find some sort of happy medium between achievable and unrealistic goals. How about “learn to knit” or “get a dog to eat the cats” or “write the Great Canadian Novel” or “learn to play cello”? Maybe it’s all about setting yourself up to do something better or different. In that case I should definitely put “clean the house” on the list. That would make 2011 so much more thrilling!
Perhaps “control babbling” should also be added. Ahem.
I should probably strive to complain less or, at the very least, remember to use my inside voice when I do it. Yes – “use inside voice more often” – there’s a good one. Achievable, yet challenging. Ties in nicely with my motto: “Sarcasm doesn’t work on authority figures.” Sarcasm is often inside-voice kind of stuff.
By using my inside voice more I will be generating less noise pollution. Maybe that will be a step toward saving the world. At the very least, it might mean fewer short people will call me crabby, although some days being an ogre fits my mood just fine.
Do you ever have a bad feeling going into a year and then when it turns out it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was going to be it gives you another bad feeling – like maybe it wasn’t that year that was going to be so bad, but actually the next year?
No?
Ahem. Me neither.
I think my 2010 was burdened slightly by the gloomy fact I was turning 40. Doom! Doom! Doom! That has been working out okay so far, though.
And now here we are on the precipice of another brand new shiny year, so I guess it’s time for my sometimes-annual dissertation on Ye Olde New Year’s "Revolutions."
I know in years past I have blah blah blahed about setting achievable goals. I still think this is a good idea, however, at this very point in time, when work is crazy and holidays are mayhemmish and even a goal of getting to bed before 2 a.m. for a change seems lofty-to-the-max, I’m just not too sure how reliable this list is going to be.
First, though, let’s review. My 2010 goals were not only dull, but they kept centering on a slight obsession with running. There was a bunch of chitchat about losing pounds then gaining them back over the holidays and then some blather about eating celery and running like Forrest Gump in order to lose them again.
Yeah. That went well.
Oh, I ran alright. In fact, I did pretty well through the winter, spring and early summer, going 5K at a time and even as much as 8K. Then things started to taper off. Now if I were to jump back onto the running bandwagon (and a bandwagon kind of defeats the purpose, I think), I would basically be starting from scratch.
Meh. So, maybe I’ll run, maybe I won’t. I am pleased to report, though, that since I have not had full use of a vehicle in the last half of 2010, I have walked off a good six pounds.
So one way or another I exercised and met that resolution from last year. Woohoo!
In the spirit of achievable goals, I also pledged to eat better, be a good person, and to be kind to children and animals. (That last one is because usually I’m an ogre. Actually, some of the short people’s friends say I’m “crabby.” Strangely, I am okay with that. Probably I just need to sleep more.)
Anyway, fine. Those are all good. We can keep those. But are they really resolutions or are they just, you know, things I should do because I am alive? Really, it’s almost like making a list and writing “1. Make a list” at the top just so you can cross it off. Achievable goals – yes!
That’s probably one of the reasons why I step outside my comfort zone and add “5. Save the world” as the last one.
Sigh.
Needless to say – and you might have noticed – I didn’t get that last one done in 2010. It hasn’t been going well. I was very busy not running.
So what’s the point again? Well, maybe it’s time to find some sort of happy medium between achievable and unrealistic goals. How about “learn to knit” or “get a dog to eat the cats” or “write the Great Canadian Novel” or “learn to play cello”? Maybe it’s all about setting yourself up to do something better or different. In that case I should definitely put “clean the house” on the list. That would make 2011 so much more thrilling!
Perhaps “control babbling” should also be added. Ahem.
I should probably strive to complain less or, at the very least, remember to use my inside voice when I do it. Yes – “use inside voice more often” – there’s a good one. Achievable, yet challenging. Ties in nicely with my motto: “Sarcasm doesn’t work on authority figures.” Sarcasm is often inside-voice kind of stuff.
By using my inside voice more I will be generating less noise pollution. Maybe that will be a step toward saving the world. At the very least, it might mean fewer short people will call me crabby, although some days being an ogre fits my mood just fine.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Past Deadline: 'Twas the Night Before Christmas - 2010
I wonder how many millions of awful renditions of Clement Clark Moore’s ’Twas the Night Before Christmas exist out in the world? Well, here is one more – my almost-annual offering – to add to the collection. With apologies, again.
’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
People were yelling and starting to grouse.
The stockings were hung from the imaginary chimney with care
But under the Christmas tree it looked kinda bare.
“Our presents!” wailed Girlchild. “Where could they be?
“I’ve looked and I’ve looked but there’s nothing for me!”
“It’s true,” moaned Boychild, with an enormous pout.
“Presents are what Christmas is all about.”
I rolled my eyes and started to scowl
And threw in for good measure a bit of a growl
As I shovelled my way through the untidy piles
Of toys and belongings that stretched on for miles.
When I tripped on the clutter I started to wonder
If child-rearing is forever a long, constant blunder.
“Why would you people think that is so?
“Christmas is about giving, didn’t you know?”
The kids were distracted, though, by the TV
Which was blaring about some sort of house for Barbie.
“I am so getting that!” Girlchild announced
Before out of the room the kids decidedly flounced. (I spend a lot of time decidedly flouncing out of rooms myself. I mean, it makes for a perfect exit. The “decidedly” part is particularly compelling, don’t you think?”)
(Ahem.)
When in the next room there arose such a clatter,
I knew they’d be occupied with incessant chatter.
I scooped up some clutter and looked all around
But a space to put it could not be found.
I sank in a chair to consider this plight
And talk myself out of a getaway flight.
When what to my bloodshot old eyes should appear
But the Stress-Free Holiday Fairy™ of course! Never fear!
I flew from the chair and threw open my arms.
“I am so glad to see you! I have missed your charms!
“My house is awash in a sea of debris
“And all my kids talk about is ‘Me me me me!’”
With a wink of her eye and a grin big as London
I just knew she could help me with my conundrum. (Say – now there’s some interesting rhyming!)
“Now, dearie,” she said, with a pat on my arm,
“Take a deep breath and you’ll come to no harm.
“Think back several decades to when you were a child
“And remember how unwrapping presents was wild.”
“You lost me at ‘decades’ I said with a frown,
“You sure know how to bring a room down.”
“Nonsense!” she said, “You just need rest
“As well as a reminder of how much you are blessed.”
She pulled out her wand and things started to fly.
The clutter was moving from where it did lie.
Four piles of belongings formed on the floor
And the Fairy then beckoned towards the front door.
“Now gather your family here in this room
“And explain to them some people are facing a gloom.
“With these unused belongings given away
“You might be able to brighten their day.”
With that I gathered the clan ’round the heaps
And explained we were giving these items to peeps.
So as we all worked to pack up the things,
The Stress-Free Holiday Fairy™ spread her wings.
“Enjoy this giving,” she said into the night
Before winking and grinning and then taking flight.
Boychild, Girlchild, Groom-boy and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and all the best in 2010!
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 23/10
’Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
People were yelling and starting to grouse.
The stockings were hung from the imaginary chimney with care
But under the Christmas tree it looked kinda bare.
“Our presents!” wailed Girlchild. “Where could they be?
“I’ve looked and I’ve looked but there’s nothing for me!”
“It’s true,” moaned Boychild, with an enormous pout.
“Presents are what Christmas is all about.”
I rolled my eyes and started to scowl
And threw in for good measure a bit of a growl
As I shovelled my way through the untidy piles
Of toys and belongings that stretched on for miles.
When I tripped on the clutter I started to wonder
If child-rearing is forever a long, constant blunder.
“Why would you people think that is so?
“Christmas is about giving, didn’t you know?”
The kids were distracted, though, by the TV
Which was blaring about some sort of house for Barbie.
“I am so getting that!” Girlchild announced
Before out of the room the kids decidedly flounced. (I spend a lot of time decidedly flouncing out of rooms myself. I mean, it makes for a perfect exit. The “decidedly” part is particularly compelling, don’t you think?”)
(Ahem.)
When in the next room there arose such a clatter,
I knew they’d be occupied with incessant chatter.
I scooped up some clutter and looked all around
But a space to put it could not be found.
I sank in a chair to consider this plight
And talk myself out of a getaway flight.
When what to my bloodshot old eyes should appear
But the Stress-Free Holiday Fairy™ of course! Never fear!
I flew from the chair and threw open my arms.
“I am so glad to see you! I have missed your charms!
“My house is awash in a sea of debris
“And all my kids talk about is ‘Me me me me!’”
With a wink of her eye and a grin big as London
I just knew she could help me with my conundrum. (Say – now there’s some interesting rhyming!)
“Now, dearie,” she said, with a pat on my arm,
“Take a deep breath and you’ll come to no harm.
“Think back several decades to when you were a child
“And remember how unwrapping presents was wild.”
“You lost me at ‘decades’ I said with a frown,
“You sure know how to bring a room down.”
“Nonsense!” she said, “You just need rest
“As well as a reminder of how much you are blessed.”
She pulled out her wand and things started to fly.
The clutter was moving from where it did lie.
Four piles of belongings formed on the floor
And the Fairy then beckoned towards the front door.
“Now gather your family here in this room
“And explain to them some people are facing a gloom.
“With these unused belongings given away
“You might be able to brighten their day.”
With that I gathered the clan ’round the heaps
And explained we were giving these items to peeps.
So as we all worked to pack up the things,
The Stress-Free Holiday Fairy™ spread her wings.
“Enjoy this giving,” she said into the night
Before winking and grinning and then taking flight.
Boychild, Girlchild, Groom-boy and I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and all the best in 2010!
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 23/10
Past Deadline: Lamenting the Ickies
This fall has been a bit of a nightmare when it comes to the ickies in our house. Is it just me or does it seem to be harder to shake colds anymore? Have you all had the version that comes with “The Cough” that won’t go away? For some of us it lasted for several weeks before disappearing. Others were lucky enough to have it turn into bronchitis or a wicked sinus infection.
At our house, despite washing our hands until they bled, we managed to contract that cold earlier in the fall. The coughing was deafening. Afterwards, just to be original, I felt compelled to follow it up with laryngitis, which made me sound a bit like Joan Rivers. It made delivering an hour-and-a-half lecture to one of my classes slightly difficult, albeit somewhat amusing.
The fun thing about laryngitis is the sympathy factor. I had it for several days, but I actually didn’t feel too bad during the worst of it. Nevertheless, as soon as I opened my mouth and croaked out whatever it was I had to say, I was immediately showered with concern and sympathy. It gave me the warm fuzzies.
Another fun ailment that showed up at our place this fall was pink eye. Conjunctivitis is rabidly contagious, of course, and was spreading through the kids’ school. Girlchild acquired it first. Just when we thought we had it licked, it showed up for a second time.
This time we all washed our hands to the bone, but Boychild succumbed as well. I kept looking at my own eyes suspiciously for a while, but determined they were merely bloodshot from lack of sleep.
After that round of ickies swept through the house, we all took deep breaths, washed our hands until they disappeared, and ventured out into the world once more, only to return with some sort of gastro thingy that, apparently, is also making the rounds at the kids’ school.
My favourite. Sigh.
There appeared to be two different manifestations of this ailment, and I am desperately hoping that they are the same bug. I won’t get into the details except to say that Girlchild and the adults were afflicted with the tidier version, whilst Boychild’s was less contained and required a much greater level of clean up, especially in the middle of the night. (This means I still look as if I have pink eye.)
This particular icky also seemed to be super contagious, and I lived in fear. I was scheduled to take a bus trip to Ottawa for a press conference on Parliament Hill on Thursday, and I spent the days prior dodging bullets. I washed my arms off (which made it really difficult to work), sprayed myself with Lysol and wrapped myself in bubble wrap to prevent ickies from infiltrating.
I put my colleagues on alert: my house was under siege by germs and although I was desperately hopeful to avoid them, it appeared to be a somewhat majorly virulent strain that was showing no mercy.
Cell phone numbers were exchanged in the event of my last-minute, unavoidable absence. Somehow I figured they would want to see me about as much as I would want to see them if I succumbed to the ickies.
On the morning of the bus trip, Boychild declared in a very visual way that he was still unwell. Groom-boy also stayed home that day, as his version of the ickies returned. Somehow Girlchild and I managed to get out of the house unscathed. I felt that it was only through some sort of miraculous intervention that I was able to get to the bus and get through the day.
As I write this it would appear (I sincerely hope) that we have cleared that particular hurdle and now we are bracing for whatever nasty pestilence awaits. After all, it’s not even winter yet, and already it has been a particularly sickly season.
I would like to believe we’re just getting through the worst of it early, but I’m sceptical. Now please excuse me while I cover the children in bubble wrap and put a plastic sheet over the house.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 16/10
At our house, despite washing our hands until they bled, we managed to contract that cold earlier in the fall. The coughing was deafening. Afterwards, just to be original, I felt compelled to follow it up with laryngitis, which made me sound a bit like Joan Rivers. It made delivering an hour-and-a-half lecture to one of my classes slightly difficult, albeit somewhat amusing.
The fun thing about laryngitis is the sympathy factor. I had it for several days, but I actually didn’t feel too bad during the worst of it. Nevertheless, as soon as I opened my mouth and croaked out whatever it was I had to say, I was immediately showered with concern and sympathy. It gave me the warm fuzzies.
Another fun ailment that showed up at our place this fall was pink eye. Conjunctivitis is rabidly contagious, of course, and was spreading through the kids’ school. Girlchild acquired it first. Just when we thought we had it licked, it showed up for a second time.
This time we all washed our hands to the bone, but Boychild succumbed as well. I kept looking at my own eyes suspiciously for a while, but determined they were merely bloodshot from lack of sleep.
After that round of ickies swept through the house, we all took deep breaths, washed our hands until they disappeared, and ventured out into the world once more, only to return with some sort of gastro thingy that, apparently, is also making the rounds at the kids’ school.
My favourite. Sigh.
There appeared to be two different manifestations of this ailment, and I am desperately hoping that they are the same bug. I won’t get into the details except to say that Girlchild and the adults were afflicted with the tidier version, whilst Boychild’s was less contained and required a much greater level of clean up, especially in the middle of the night. (This means I still look as if I have pink eye.)
This particular icky also seemed to be super contagious, and I lived in fear. I was scheduled to take a bus trip to Ottawa for a press conference on Parliament Hill on Thursday, and I spent the days prior dodging bullets. I washed my arms off (which made it really difficult to work), sprayed myself with Lysol and wrapped myself in bubble wrap to prevent ickies from infiltrating.
I put my colleagues on alert: my house was under siege by germs and although I was desperately hopeful to avoid them, it appeared to be a somewhat majorly virulent strain that was showing no mercy.
Cell phone numbers were exchanged in the event of my last-minute, unavoidable absence. Somehow I figured they would want to see me about as much as I would want to see them if I succumbed to the ickies.
On the morning of the bus trip, Boychild declared in a very visual way that he was still unwell. Groom-boy also stayed home that day, as his version of the ickies returned. Somehow Girlchild and I managed to get out of the house unscathed. I felt that it was only through some sort of miraculous intervention that I was able to get to the bus and get through the day.
As I write this it would appear (I sincerely hope) that we have cleared that particular hurdle and now we are bracing for whatever nasty pestilence awaits. After all, it’s not even winter yet, and already it has been a particularly sickly season.
I would like to believe we’re just getting through the worst of it early, but I’m sceptical. Now please excuse me while I cover the children in bubble wrap and put a plastic sheet over the house.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 16/10
Past Deadline: Meltdown Postponed
This time of year is a killer.
Groom-boy said to me the other day, “You haven’t had your annual meltdown yet.”
Unfortunately he wasn’t kidding. It’s true, though, I haven’t.
Every year in November and December all of my clients band together and give me lots of work to do. While this is, of course, a great and marvellous thing for which I am extremely grateful, it also means lots of deadlines overlap. Throw in the fact that I teach part-time at Algonquin and the end of the semester (December) brings with it copious piles of marking, and it can be a bit stressful.
Most years I handle it with sheer professionalism and composure. That means I only break down sobbing at home, and usually only once. Maybe twice.
Oh, and did I mention Christmas? No, I didn’t! Why? Because around here I usually don’t have time to think about it until Dec. 23or so. (By the way, your card will be late, if it gets sent at all.)
Now, I know, boo hoo hoo. This is a busy time of year for everyone. There are lots of year-end work-related projects that need to be finished tied in with school concerts and staff parties and baking and cards and shopping and life and spending most of your weekends doing laundry so you can afford to pay your hydro bill.... Oh, wait. That last one might be a separate column for another day.
Anyway, the point is, I’m not complaining. Okay, I guess I am, but I mean it in the nicest way. Or something.
I consider myself to be reasonably organized, but I have never done well when it comes to Christmas shopping. When one considers the fact this deadline crunch of mine happens every single year and has for a good decade, you’d think I would be smart enough to plan ahead and do the bulk of my shopping by October. Same goes for Christmas cards – get on it, girlfriend! For some reason, though, I just can’t make myself do it. I think there are a few reasons for this.
First, I work better under pressure. Actually, wait. It’s true that I do, but I have to say that wears a bit thin after a while. The thrill of the all-nighter to get a job done – or even just staying up to the middle of the night – lost its charm around the same time the kids started waking me up in the night. I have enough people keeping me awake – I don’t need to be strapped to my computer at all hours, too.
Easier said than done.
Secondly, I used to put a lot of thought into Christmas gifts and try to come up with neat, creative ideas for everyone on the list – even if it was fairly close to the big day. I’m not sure when that changed. Possibly I was overcome with the feeling that everyone already has everything they need, but I also suspect my creativity waned around the same time computers and short people started keeping me up until all hours. I think at some point that section of my brain said, “Forget this noise! If she won’t let me sleep I’m going to skip town. You’re on your own, lady!”
So now? Lots of gift cards.
Lastly, I usually need snow to inspire me to shop early. Sometimes this isn’t a problem, but often we just don’t get the snow, so in those years no one gets presents. Ha! This year we’ve got a little snow, so I should get to it. I guess I can’t blame climate change for my disorganization. Somehow that doesn’t seem cool, anyway.
In November a friend and I had occasion to do some shopping for something unrelated to Christmas, but we took the opportunity to squeeze in a little festive shopping, too. So even though I am not even remotely close to finished, I have at least started before Dec. 23.
So although there is still no Christmas baking done and no cards are written, there is at least that one small victory. Maybe this means I can skip my annual meltdown this year. That’s fantastic because nobody needs to see that.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 9/10
Groom-boy said to me the other day, “You haven’t had your annual meltdown yet.”
Unfortunately he wasn’t kidding. It’s true, though, I haven’t.
Every year in November and December all of my clients band together and give me lots of work to do. While this is, of course, a great and marvellous thing for which I am extremely grateful, it also means lots of deadlines overlap. Throw in the fact that I teach part-time at Algonquin and the end of the semester (December) brings with it copious piles of marking, and it can be a bit stressful.
Most years I handle it with sheer professionalism and composure. That means I only break down sobbing at home, and usually only once. Maybe twice.
Oh, and did I mention Christmas? No, I didn’t! Why? Because around here I usually don’t have time to think about it until Dec. 23or so. (By the way, your card will be late, if it gets sent at all.)
Now, I know, boo hoo hoo. This is a busy time of year for everyone. There are lots of year-end work-related projects that need to be finished tied in with school concerts and staff parties and baking and cards and shopping and life and spending most of your weekends doing laundry so you can afford to pay your hydro bill.... Oh, wait. That last one might be a separate column for another day.
Anyway, the point is, I’m not complaining. Okay, I guess I am, but I mean it in the nicest way. Or something.
I consider myself to be reasonably organized, but I have never done well when it comes to Christmas shopping. When one considers the fact this deadline crunch of mine happens every single year and has for a good decade, you’d think I would be smart enough to plan ahead and do the bulk of my shopping by October. Same goes for Christmas cards – get on it, girlfriend! For some reason, though, I just can’t make myself do it. I think there are a few reasons for this.
First, I work better under pressure. Actually, wait. It’s true that I do, but I have to say that wears a bit thin after a while. The thrill of the all-nighter to get a job done – or even just staying up to the middle of the night – lost its charm around the same time the kids started waking me up in the night. I have enough people keeping me awake – I don’t need to be strapped to my computer at all hours, too.
Easier said than done.
Secondly, I used to put a lot of thought into Christmas gifts and try to come up with neat, creative ideas for everyone on the list – even if it was fairly close to the big day. I’m not sure when that changed. Possibly I was overcome with the feeling that everyone already has everything they need, but I also suspect my creativity waned around the same time computers and short people started keeping me up until all hours. I think at some point that section of my brain said, “Forget this noise! If she won’t let me sleep I’m going to skip town. You’re on your own, lady!”
So now? Lots of gift cards.
Lastly, I usually need snow to inspire me to shop early. Sometimes this isn’t a problem, but often we just don’t get the snow, so in those years no one gets presents. Ha! This year we’ve got a little snow, so I should get to it. I guess I can’t blame climate change for my disorganization. Somehow that doesn’t seem cool, anyway.
In November a friend and I had occasion to do some shopping for something unrelated to Christmas, but we took the opportunity to squeeze in a little festive shopping, too. So even though I am not even remotely close to finished, I have at least started before Dec. 23.
So although there is still no Christmas baking done and no cards are written, there is at least that one small victory. Maybe this means I can skip my annual meltdown this year. That’s fantastic because nobody needs to see that.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 9/10
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Past Deadline: Happy 17th Anniversary
On Saturday I attended what I guess could be called a “mini reunion” of my journalism class. Actually, by the end of the event we had decided we were really the advance party scoping out the situation for future milestone reunions.
See, this year marks the 17th anniversary of our graduation from Carleton University. When this reunion was proposed, a few of us scratched our heads in wonder at the concept of a 17th anniversary event – especially since we did not mark the 10th or 15th occasions. You know, though, the whole 17 thing grew on me. For instance, 17 is much less aggressive than 20 or 25. Seventeen doesn’t make me feel particularly old. In fact, I liked being 17 and tried to stay that age up until about last year, so I am fond of that number.
While we didn’t have a huge turnout, several folks did come out and a few came from fairly long distances to attend. It was interesting to hear how many of us actually worked as journalists after graduating, and how many leveraged the degree into other things. I enjoyed telling people I had eventually crossed over from journalism to what we fondly call “the dark side” (PR).
We visited some of the old stomping grounds on campus, including St. Pat’s (the journalism building), where we were guided about by one of our journalism profs. It’s interesting to see the changes. When were there in the early ’90s, technologies were on the cusp of something new. We worked on computers that used DOS, which many of you young gaffers have probably never even heard of, just as the world was switching to Windows.
In radio production we learned how to edit in analog using razor blades to cut our reel-to-reel tapes. (And, yes, you can bet there were lots of references to stressed-out students working late at night in tiny rooms with razor blades.) The technician we worked with 17 years ago happened to be at the school during our visit and we had a long chat about the pros and cons of the changes in technology.
Rows of computers can be found in classrooms where only desks existed. Paste-upboards have been replaced by editing software in the print newsroom. Online media is now part of the curriculum. We weren’t using the interwebs much back in the day. The telephone room where scores of us huddled with phone books trying to track down sources is still there, virtually unchanged, but is rarely used in this age of prolific cell phones.
Then it was off to the TV studio where, again, we were greeted by new technologies. For example, our supply corner for making graphics for our newscasts has been replaced by editing software. No more posters – sigh. In fact, a lot of the in-studio roles we learned during newscasts – directors, production assistants, camera operators – have been replaced by computers. And the 17 tonnes of equipment we had to lug around in the early ’90s? It’s all much lighter and handier for dainty journalism students.
Then we trucked over to the site of the new journalism building being constructed on campus, complete with a glassed-in studio facing the Rideau River and the O-Train.
Of course no journalism reunion would be complete without visiting old drinking haunts, so we went to a virtually unrecognizable campus bar and had a lovely time catching up.
Now we’re busy thinking of what we’ll do for the big 20th reunion, especially since all the old familiar journalism spots will have moved to the new building. A reprise field trip to the Robert O. Pickard Sewage Treatment Plant has been proposed (ah, memories). Perhaps we should tour the city via OC Transpo for several hours looking for a meeting to cover. Or maybe we could arm ourselves with digital recorders – no – cassette recorders for old time’s sake – and scrum someone on Parliament Hill or at city hall. Or maybe we could lug 60-lb sandbags around to simulate the lighting equipment we had to transport for TV reporting.
Oh, it could be such fun! I wonder, though, if we should have it on our 19th anniversary just to be different and to prevent us from feeling elderly.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 2/10
See, this year marks the 17th anniversary of our graduation from Carleton University. When this reunion was proposed, a few of us scratched our heads in wonder at the concept of a 17th anniversary event – especially since we did not mark the 10th or 15th occasions. You know, though, the whole 17 thing grew on me. For instance, 17 is much less aggressive than 20 or 25. Seventeen doesn’t make me feel particularly old. In fact, I liked being 17 and tried to stay that age up until about last year, so I am fond of that number.
While we didn’t have a huge turnout, several folks did come out and a few came from fairly long distances to attend. It was interesting to hear how many of us actually worked as journalists after graduating, and how many leveraged the degree into other things. I enjoyed telling people I had eventually crossed over from journalism to what we fondly call “the dark side” (PR).
We visited some of the old stomping grounds on campus, including St. Pat’s (the journalism building), where we were guided about by one of our journalism profs. It’s interesting to see the changes. When were there in the early ’90s, technologies were on the cusp of something new. We worked on computers that used DOS, which many of you young gaffers have probably never even heard of, just as the world was switching to Windows.
In radio production we learned how to edit in analog using razor blades to cut our reel-to-reel tapes. (And, yes, you can bet there were lots of references to stressed-out students working late at night in tiny rooms with razor blades.) The technician we worked with 17 years ago happened to be at the school during our visit and we had a long chat about the pros and cons of the changes in technology.
Rows of computers can be found in classrooms where only desks existed. Paste-upboards have been replaced by editing software in the print newsroom. Online media is now part of the curriculum. We weren’t using the interwebs much back in the day. The telephone room where scores of us huddled with phone books trying to track down sources is still there, virtually unchanged, but is rarely used in this age of prolific cell phones.
Then it was off to the TV studio where, again, we were greeted by new technologies. For example, our supply corner for making graphics for our newscasts has been replaced by editing software. No more posters – sigh. In fact, a lot of the in-studio roles we learned during newscasts – directors, production assistants, camera operators – have been replaced by computers. And the 17 tonnes of equipment we had to lug around in the early ’90s? It’s all much lighter and handier for dainty journalism students.
Then we trucked over to the site of the new journalism building being constructed on campus, complete with a glassed-in studio facing the Rideau River and the O-Train.
Of course no journalism reunion would be complete without visiting old drinking haunts, so we went to a virtually unrecognizable campus bar and had a lovely time catching up.
Now we’re busy thinking of what we’ll do for the big 20th reunion, especially since all the old familiar journalism spots will have moved to the new building. A reprise field trip to the Robert O. Pickard Sewage Treatment Plant has been proposed (ah, memories). Perhaps we should tour the city via OC Transpo for several hours looking for a meeting to cover. Or maybe we could arm ourselves with digital recorders – no – cassette recorders for old time’s sake – and scrum someone on Parliament Hill or at city hall. Or maybe we could lug 60-lb sandbags around to simulate the lighting equipment we had to transport for TV reporting.
Oh, it could be such fun! I wonder, though, if we should have it on our 19th anniversary just to be different and to prevent us from feeling elderly.
Published in The Perth Courier, Dec. 2/10
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Past Deadline: "I Survived the Reconstruction"
On Friday when I picked up the kids after school and commenced the walk home the most astounding thing happened.
For the first time in months my heart didn’t pound in my throat as the short people and I navigated a construction zone and heavy, impatient traffic on Isabella and Gore streets. Why? Because Wilson Street is finished! No more piles of dirt to negotiate! No more traffic jams to endure!
I know the whole process has not been a wonderful experience for all. Construction is much more than a pain in the butt and an inconvenience – it can cause financial hardship for businesses, major stress for homeowners and can pose all sorts of logistical nightmares. That said, though, I can’t help but feel it was a major accomplishment for the town and the contractors to finish the whole street – major underground infrastructure and all – in eight months while keeping at least part of the roadway open to traffic at all times.
Despite the fact it was much harder to get around than we are used to, we survived. Not only that, but many of us got to see places we don’t always frequent, such as Glen Tay, which makes a lovely detour when you just don’t want to travel north on Drummond at 3:30 on a weekday afternoon to get to Hwy. 7.
As much as it was a thrill to drive through the dirt after a heavy rain storm and experience craters and potholes and bumps that would shake your brains out of your ear, I’m pretty sure we’re all glad those days are over.
Because I walk the kids to school, I got a firsthand look at the progress on Wilson Street on a daily basis. Many days I wished this had happened five years earlier because I would have saved heaps o’ cash on the Mighty Machines video series. I’m confident my son and I would have pulled up lawn chairs to street corners to watch the variety of diggers and dozers and rollers. Pack a lunch and you’ve got a day’s entertainment.
Call me a geek (I’ve been called worse), but I felt more and more excited as the weeks passed and holes were finally closed over and dirt was flattened. When the curbs and sidewalks returned along our well-worn section of the street I was gleeful. After all, having to walk down Leslie Street and through the back field to Stewart School added an extra five minutes to our travel time. Not only that, but it restricted how much we could see of what those mighty machines were doing.
When the final paving began in earnest a couple of weeks ago I was jumpy with anticipation. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one grinning as I walked down the street. Even the paving crew looked happy. Speaking of which, I got to thinking it must be kind of crummy for the crews that precede the pavers. They do all the digging and nasty stuff and create all the detours and craters and get all the rude comments from irritated drivers and pedestrians. Then the pavers come along and make it all look pretty and tip their hats to the relieved drivers and walkers who are all smiley and grateful. I wonder if the various crews ever get into shoving matches about this?
Despite the fact I think things are looking darned fine, I met a fair number of people recently who have lots to say about crooked sidewalks, impossible intersections, incomprehensible line-painting jobs, planets out of alignment and so on. Well, I’m no engineer. I’m just going to weave down the sidewalk and follow the arrows when I’m driving.
Speaking of driving, when Friday afternoon rolled around and the lovely new street was finally wide open in both directions for that notorious 3:30 rush hour, lots of people were navigating northbound with smiles on their faces. It kind of reminded me of that part in the movie Cars when they all go cruising down the street after Lightning McQueen finishes the big paving job.
And, yes, it appears that most reference points in my life come back to children’s videos. Sigh.
Congrats to all involved with the Wilson Street reconstruction! Where can I buy the T-shirt?
Published in The Perth Courier, Nov. 24/10
For the first time in months my heart didn’t pound in my throat as the short people and I navigated a construction zone and heavy, impatient traffic on Isabella and Gore streets. Why? Because Wilson Street is finished! No more piles of dirt to negotiate! No more traffic jams to endure!
I know the whole process has not been a wonderful experience for all. Construction is much more than a pain in the butt and an inconvenience – it can cause financial hardship for businesses, major stress for homeowners and can pose all sorts of logistical nightmares. That said, though, I can’t help but feel it was a major accomplishment for the town and the contractors to finish the whole street – major underground infrastructure and all – in eight months while keeping at least part of the roadway open to traffic at all times.
Despite the fact it was much harder to get around than we are used to, we survived. Not only that, but many of us got to see places we don’t always frequent, such as Glen Tay, which makes a lovely detour when you just don’t want to travel north on Drummond at 3:30 on a weekday afternoon to get to Hwy. 7.
As much as it was a thrill to drive through the dirt after a heavy rain storm and experience craters and potholes and bumps that would shake your brains out of your ear, I’m pretty sure we’re all glad those days are over.
Because I walk the kids to school, I got a firsthand look at the progress on Wilson Street on a daily basis. Many days I wished this had happened five years earlier because I would have saved heaps o’ cash on the Mighty Machines video series. I’m confident my son and I would have pulled up lawn chairs to street corners to watch the variety of diggers and dozers and rollers. Pack a lunch and you’ve got a day’s entertainment.
Call me a geek (I’ve been called worse), but I felt more and more excited as the weeks passed and holes were finally closed over and dirt was flattened. When the curbs and sidewalks returned along our well-worn section of the street I was gleeful. After all, having to walk down Leslie Street and through the back field to Stewart School added an extra five minutes to our travel time. Not only that, but it restricted how much we could see of what those mighty machines were doing.
When the final paving began in earnest a couple of weeks ago I was jumpy with anticipation. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one grinning as I walked down the street. Even the paving crew looked happy. Speaking of which, I got to thinking it must be kind of crummy for the crews that precede the pavers. They do all the digging and nasty stuff and create all the detours and craters and get all the rude comments from irritated drivers and pedestrians. Then the pavers come along and make it all look pretty and tip their hats to the relieved drivers and walkers who are all smiley and grateful. I wonder if the various crews ever get into shoving matches about this?
Despite the fact I think things are looking darned fine, I met a fair number of people recently who have lots to say about crooked sidewalks, impossible intersections, incomprehensible line-painting jobs, planets out of alignment and so on. Well, I’m no engineer. I’m just going to weave down the sidewalk and follow the arrows when I’m driving.
Speaking of driving, when Friday afternoon rolled around and the lovely new street was finally wide open in both directions for that notorious 3:30 rush hour, lots of people were navigating northbound with smiles on their faces. It kind of reminded me of that part in the movie Cars when they all go cruising down the street after Lightning McQueen finishes the big paving job.
And, yes, it appears that most reference points in my life come back to children’s videos. Sigh.
Congrats to all involved with the Wilson Street reconstruction! Where can I buy the T-shirt?
Published in The Perth Courier, Nov. 24/10
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