Simian Farmer

Chuck you Farley

We have had our new puppy at home now for three days and she is fitting in well with her new family.  (Being us.)  I'm happy to say that she's already 'going outside' almost all the time and gets along famously well with the squirt and our two and a half year-old Jack Russell, Jango.

It would appear that I am now in direct competition with Paul for unbearably cute blog posts featuring the youngest and hairiest members of our families.  Case in point.

Gloves are off, my friend:

Her name is Farley and, if you can't guess from looking, she's a boxer dog.  Her colouring is called dark brindle with flashy chest, paws and muzzle.  She also has a brindle 'exclamation mark' in the centre of her chest as a distinguishing feature.  Ain't she cute?!  She's nine weeks old now.

This next picture clearly shows how well the new dog is getting along with the old:

She apparently has a thing for feet...

...and little boys:

Now would you trust these two to behave together?  The look on my son's face tells me 'no'.

There will undoubtedly be more boxer dog posts to follow as she grows to collude with my son.

That's a lot of sun

With the summer solstice having officially come and gone yesterday, summer is here and the days will slowly slough off the copious amounts of daylight that have now peaked.  The darkness has been well-kicked and has bled all the daylight it's going to, to paraphrase a line from Bono Bruce Cockburn.

To celebrate the occasion, I waited until my wife got home from work late last night before mowing the lawn and didn't finish until just before 11 PM, with just enough light to spare.  That's impressive.  Plus it had been more than two weeks since I last mowed and it was in dire need.

Not starting off with a very impressive post today, eh?

Personal Finance 101

...or, what not to do with your credit cards.

Demonstrating an element of my anal retentive attention to detail, as well as an apparent penchant for broadcasting my impecuniosity to all and sundry, herewith I present a brief yet poignant lesson on the inherent perils and pitfalls of the improper use of one's credit card.

In the 5-year span of time between May of 2000 and May of 2005, I tracked the monthly balance on my primary credit card which has long since, I hasten to add, been hacked to itty-bitty bits and disposed of with gleeful alacrity.  Somehow, having amassed enough Airmiles to claim several hundred dollars worth of 'free' camping stuff doesn't seem worth the investment it's been.

A perfunctory review of the graph below (click it for a larger image) will reveal a number of labels demarcating significant events in my life as represented by steep inclines and declines in my credit balance.  Oh what a sordid tale it tells!  (Red = bad, Black = good; the dollar values have been deleted to conceal my overall level of chagrin.  The point still comes across like a nail gun to the temple.)

Please note throughout this diatribe how wonderfully accommodating the fine folks at MisterCrap have been over the course of five years in raising my credit limit just as I was about to run out.  That's swell!  (Though I could also have gone back and calculated the total amount of interest I've paid them over the past five years, I choose ignorance on that matter for reasons of personal pride.)

A  I fell madly in love with the woman I wanted as my wife and bought her an engagement ring.  I didn't really scrimp on it either.  At the time, I was working out of town and bringing home more bacon than I am now.  I am at a bit of a loss as to the current location of that porcine prosperity.

B  Oh look, I'm paying it down!  And, like, right away too.  I'm still single, though engaged not to be in the near future, both me and my prospective spouse are working and all is right with the world.  I think I'll go out and invest in a pair of rose-tinted glasses.

C Dear parents and soon-to-be parents-in-law, my fiancee and I would like to pay for this wedding ourselves so we can have just exactly the special day that we both want.  This is not to say we, in any way, intend to shun your assistance, or to infer that by contributing your own funds to the merry occasion you would subconsciously feel obliged to impose some part of an insidious agenda on what is otherwise going to be the best day of our lives.  It's just that, well, we want to show that we can do it on our own, financially speaking.  We can do it! 

(What the f--k were we thinking!?)

D And after our wedding, let's go on a 2-week all-inclusive trip to Costa Rica.  Damn this is fun!  Plastic isn't really money, after all.

E Returning from our honeymoon, full of anticipation of the life ahead of us, we still are able to exercise fiscal responsibility and pay down some of our debt.  Yay us.  We totally rock.  C'mon life, bring it on!

F Holy cow, you're pregnant already!?  I know we pulled the goalie on the honeymoon, I just didn't think we'd be so, umm, successful so soon!  So... what do we need for a new baby?

Oh...  That much?

G Another tax return headed for the credit card, Jeepers effin' Cripes I hate paying down eighteen point nine-nine percent!

H Pregnancy overruling all other concerns, wife unexpectedly not working (read: no mat leave) due to an inability to maintain genial customer relations while simultaneously retching over a toilet, lots of baby stuff to prepare for.  Hair loss.

I I have no idea how we paid that part of it down.  Lost in the rose-tinted haze of my idealistic twenties.  I'm still quite idealistic, just getting firmly entrenched in my thirties, that's all.

J Tax return again.  Dreams of home renovations and backyard landscaping remain but a figment of our imaginations.  Mmmm, figments...

K Several weeks worth of meetings and signing of papers with the bank.  Debt consolidation is a good thing.  No more credit card debt, no more student loans, no more line of credit.

Now repeat after me:  NEVER AGAIN!!

It's too late to save my own hair line, so please learn from my wonderful experience and you may retain your flowing locks for many years to come.  Mind you, scalp stubble is sexy.  Bald is the new mullet.

Remind me again why we did this?

Brief weekend recap:

Farked off from work mid-morning this past Friday so we could load the boy into the truck and head south to Lethbridge for the weekend, ostensibly to pick up our new puppy.  And always a good reason to go visit the out-laws and let them fawn over their grandson.  We left our current (not new) dog with the neighbour lady.  She loved having him.

Brought a buncha work on the trip with me along with my laptop computer and a wealth of good intentions.  Never the twain did meet.  Hella busy week ahead of me now.

Met the new dog on Saturday afternoon along with her brothers, sisters and parents.  My wife wanted to take them ALL home with us.  Just the one was enough.

Had the puppy dropped off at the out-laws' place early Sunday morning, packed up the truck with my wife, a sick baby boy and an 8 week-old puppy.  She was great on the drive back north, snoozing on laps and in her kennel the entire time.  Yay for a great beginning!

After all the unpacking type stuff that has to happen at the end of a trip with a sick baby boy and a new dog, we got to go play in the nearby park and then start to get acclimatized in the evening.  Our Jack Russell and the new Boxer are already getting along quite well.

Bedtime was a little harder.

'Farley' did not take quite as well to her kennel in the bedroom as she did in the truck, so I put down a blanket and a pillow and shared the floor in front of her box for the night.  Up twice to 'evacuate' during the night and intermittent whimpering bagged me about a solid four hours sleep.  (I mean that the puppy was evacuating and whimpering, though I came close to the latter.)  Then up for the gym by 6 bells.

I hear that a hot water bottle and/or a ticking clock in the kennel will aid in comforting the new addition.  Will report on that success later in the week. 

In the mean time, I needs must get my second cup of coffee and tackle the TO-DO list with fervour and vigour.  Or at least some semblance thereof.  Not going to be a great week for posting here...

Warm fuzzy

Our company is in the process of closing a bid for work in the amount of a half billion dollars.  I was sitting in on a tender review meeting this morning and had the new President and CEO take the seat next to me.  Having only seen him the one time (other than hallway fly-bys) at the general staff meeting where he was introduced, we had yet to make personal introductions.

We shook hands and he asked after my name.  I gave it.  He's from Australia, so there were no 'just like the university' comments.  Thank god.

He did end up saying, "Oh, I've heard of you.  You're that guy who can do anything."

I then made some self-effacing protestations when what I was really thinking was, "Yeah, I totally ROCK!"

Looks like I'm gonna be bucking for a raise right quick-like.  Good thing, since our wee family is driving south this weekend to pick up our new dog and visit with my out-laws.

Unsolicited advice about boys:

A couple of items I wanted to share before they abandon my memory for a safer haven:

1. If you are watching television at home alone with your son and a commercial break comes on where there is a momentary silence that is notably NOT punctuated by the noise of said son, please do go and look to see what he is getting into.  He has likely found his way to the bathroom and is inappropriately dabbling his hands in the toilet water, thinking it great fun.  He will then most likely need to be bathed.
   
   (Please note that if the boy in question is significantly older than my 13 month old son and is dabbling in the toilet, you probably have greater concerns than that of being a semi-negligent parent.)


2. When you wake up at 4.30 in the morning to the sound of a seal barking in the room next to you, please do not attempt to roll over and go back to sleep, thinking it all a strange dream.  The likelihood of your infant son having acquired an esophageal infection of some sort is far greater than that of a disgruntled marine mammal abandoning the confines of the local zoo to seek asylum in your abode.
   
   (It may also cross your mind that number two is, in some incomprehensible way, connected to number one.  Yes, the thought occurred to me as well.  ...sigh...)

---

And speaking of strange dreams, I unwontedly recall one from last night where my wife, my son and I are driving down some unknown stretch of highway, forest to either side, and approach a traffic jam.  As we near the cause of the slow-down, we see a sloth of bears (for such is the appropriate collective noun, dontcha know) blocking the road.  Upon closer inspection, they are evidently feasting on the carcass of some unfortunate animal.  Upon even closer examination, as we coast by in our vehicle, it turns out that the remnants of the beastie that the bears are savaging are those of a dolphin.

Now what the hell does that mean?!

Pining for the fjords

At least I would be if there were any fjords to be fjound in Ontario.

Nearly two weeks back from vacation and I miss the time off horribly.  Vacation is such a wonderful thing.  Though truthfully, I'd rather be here in the overcast and rain than in southern Ontario where it's been pushing 40 Celcius with the humidex.  (Yikes!)

The holiday at the tail end of May was way more fun than two weeks surrounded by extended family sounds like it ought to be on the surface.  I hadn't seen most of those folks in five years or more, and my wife last saw most of her family under the cloud of her grandmother's funeral a few years back.  The latter two weeks of May was a great time.

We spent the first five days in Kitchener-Waterloo, showing off our son to everybody remotely related to me and were graciously hosted by my uncle's family, where they kicked themselves out of their own master bedroom for us. 

Since my mum, stepdad and brother were also out east at the same time, it was like a big ol' family reunion of sorts, having my grandmother's 80th birthday as its centre-piece.

Being raised my whole life (since I was 4) away from my eastern relations, and now having a son of my own to further inculcate the feeling of 'ties that bind', most of my entire vacation was spent awash in a feeling of familial bliss, reveling in the attention being lavished on my son and catching the dregs that he cast off.  It birthed in me a growing desire to be closer to the people that I have been raised away from for the past 27 years.  In more ways than one.

Then heading up to Smiths Falls was a similar adventure with Amy's family.  The drive itself was quite interesting.  Living as I do in central Alberta, when I drive from one city to another I am accustomed to leaving a city, driving through distinctly non-city and then entering another metropolis of some size or other.  Not the case with southern Ontario.  Almost the entire region can be considered one massive metropolitan area.  It wasn't until we got well north and east of Toronto that things started to spread out a little.  Very different from what I'm used to.

Smiths Falls is a beautiful little town that is home to most of my wife's extended family.  Her aunt and uncle made us feel very welcome for the time that we were there, her aunt even taking a week off work to take full advantage of quality time. 

This little town also touts itself as the 'Chocolate Capital of Ontario', sporting as it does a Hershey factory, the single biggest employer in all of Smiths Falls.  I'm proud to say that after our tour of the facility, I left only having spent $15.  I was eyeing the 5 pound solid milk chocolate Hershey bar for thirty bucks, and would have made the purchase had it been dark chocolate, but exercised restraint.  Yay me...

Over the trip, our son was a relative dream to travel with.  At just over a year, he cried not a whit on either plane ride (children's Gravol helps with that) and spent over 1,500 km in the car seat in a very agreeable state.

Between my camera, my mother's, and the amateur guy hired for the 80th birthday thingy, I collected over 300 pictures to bring home with me.  They have been distilled and presented in a photo album here on the site.

The link is over on the left titled: Ontario Trip.

Or you can just click HERE.

Quelling the conscience

I received something from a co-worker today.

Now, possession of this 'something' may be frowned upon, and I've entered into the unspoken arrangement with my co-worker entirely cognizant of that fact.  And frankly, it troubles me not in the least.

Mike (we'll call my anonymous co-worker 'Mike') gave me a DVD today.  It is purported to contain the theatrical release of a certain movie that is the culmination of 28 years worth of cultural phenomena.  I cannot confirm the verity of this yet, not having watched it, but have been given no reason to doubt Mike.

Further, I say that it troubles me not at all since I know for a fact that I will be purchasing this same DVD legitimately when it is released just prior to Christmas.  (Not to mention the two VHS copies, plus DVD copy, of a certain other movie trilogy I already own, combined with two additional DVDs that are the precursors to the content that is, still allegedly, contained on the disk I received today at work.)  So, qualms and consternation are not my bedfellows today.

Just over four hours now until I get to go home and watch it fifty zillion times before having to give it back.  Well okay, I'll probably just watch it two or three times.

So close I can taste it

My boy, at just over thirteen months, is so close to walking that it seems tantalisingly out of reach.

He will shuffle along quite competently with the aid of a sofa, cupboard, high-chair, Mommy or Daddy's fingers and whatever else is in reach of his grubby little mitts.  He won't quite do it on his own yet.  Though it is quite amazing to see him galloping across the floor on all fours.  When he gets a desired target in site, there's no stopping him from attaining it, regardless of how many sets of legs are in the way.  He could almost give the dog a run for his money and the articulation and coordination in his little hips is a nearly mesmerising display of fluidity.

My wife and I have been using encouragement and, somewhat guiltily, food to lure him away from the reassuring stability of stationary objects.  To no avail so far.  Last night, with my wife out for the evening, I tried another tactic.

I don't know if it's the testosterone in him, but the little squirt has quite the penchant for electronics.  He loves to play with cameras, telephones, remote controls...  One afternoon he (inadvertently) fixed my brother's cell phone that had him locked out.  Uncanny.  He now knows to hold a phone up to his ear by himself in order to hear voices on the other end; just adorable.

While he and I were watching Attack of the Clones on the weekend, I suddenly found myself listening to Obi-Wan Kenobi dictating orders to clone troopers in Spanish.  I didn't even know that button was on the remote!

So last night, as I had the original Star Wars on the DVD player, Declan was standing in front the sofa as I was sitting on the floor.  I had the remote.  He wanted it.  I could see the gleam in his eye as the urge suddenly struck him to push buttons and swing it carelessly around.  (There is a direct, inverse, relationship between the price of an object and the degree of care he takes in handling it.)  So he turned his back to the sofa, leaned against it and reached out with his arms to their furthest extent in a yearning gesture for the object of his fleeting desire. 

I held it agonisingly out of reach.

He hunched up his shoulders and leaned his upper body away from the sofa so that his Pampers-swaddled rear was all that was supporting his yet-unconfident frame.

I let it touch his fingertips.

He reached out even further, his bottom leaving the save haven of the sofa, straining for the remote.  (His hands were straining, I mean, not his bottom.)  I pulled the remote away in a further enticement for him to take a step...

...and he folded down onto the ground where, now on all fours, he marched onto my lap and acquired his prize, having made enough of an effort to earn it.  Plus he makes a rather unseemly whine when kept away from his goal for too long.

*sigh*

Maybe next time.

The Sidious Solution

(This post assumes you are relatively familiar with all six episodes of the Star Wars saga.  Just peg me an uber-geek if you're not.)

After watching Revenge of the Sith for the second time a couple weeks ago, it finally dawned on me that the machinations of Darth Sidious were farther reaching than I had originally thought.  Or so I here claim.

Here is what I think: (And this is by no means a new thought.  The Star Wars geek-iverse is rife with this sort of speculation.)

Darth Sidious, through manipulation of the midi-chlorians in the Skywalker line, intentionally brought about the conception of Anakin Skywalker to be trained as his Sith successor, thereby unwittingly fulfilling the 'prophecy of the one who will bring balance to the Force' and ultimately spelling his own demise.

Consider the following:

From The Phantom Menace:
Shmi claimed that she could not explain Anakin's birth.  She simply bore him and gave birth to him.  This had never, so far as we know, happened to anyone else in the whole wide galaxy.  Given the lack of any sort of pantheon of gods in the Star Wars universe, this smacks much more of some sort of mortal intervention than immaculate conception.

At the end of the movie, Palpy was rubbing Anakin's hair (very paternally and casually for a senator, 'twould seem) and saying, "we shall watch your career with great interest!"  Why would he have any interest in Anakin's burgeoning career?!  Though he's a Sith Lord, all Palpatine would know at that point is that here's some recently rescued slave-boy about to be trained as a Jedi.  Whoop-ti-do.

From Attack of the Clones:
Two Sith apprentices are evident at the same time, even though it is clearly known that 'always two there are; no more, no less'.  (I don't know this for a fact, and will have to peruse the first two movies a little more closely to confirm.)

Jango said to Obi-Wan that he was recruited by a man named Tyranus.  Now, Tyranus is Count Dooku, and for him to have recruited Jango to be cloned (at the behest of Sidious), it would had to have happened over 10 years previously, given the age of the oldest clones.  (Obi-Wan clearly states in a transmission to the council that the Jedi who allegedly placed the order was killed '...over ten years ago.')

I'm a little fuzzy here, but that would seem to me to indicate that Dooku was extant as an apprentice before the demise of Maul at the hands of Kenobi.  If this is true, and this is the point on which I am least confident, then what reason could Sidious possibly have had for two apprentices other than deeming them both necessary until such time as Anakin was ripe for plucking?  They were both simply intermediary flunkies until his true apprentice was ready to assume the full-time job.  Anakin was his goal all along.

From Revenge of the Sith:
Sidious tells Anakin about his master, Darth Plagueis, who was able to manipulate midi-chlorians to create life.  He then goes on to say that "...he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep."

Anakin is led to believe this way lies the method to saving his wife from the death he has foreseen in his dreams.  Dreams, I am convinced, supplied by Sidious.

If Anakin had never turned to the dark side then Padme would never have died of a broken heart after child birth, having 'lost the will to live'.  So if her death would not have taken place had Anakin remained that sweet little boy she remembered from Tatooine, then how did Anakin start having those dreams?!  They were foisted on him by Sidious, that's how!  How incredibly, umm, insidious of him.  It's a vicious cycle that could only have started with Sidious's intervention.

So that's what I think about that.