One of the most constant characteristics of beliefs is their intolerance. The stronger the belief, the greater its intolerance. Men dominated by a certitude cannot tolerate those who do not accept it.
~Gustave Le Bon
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One of the most constant characteristics of beliefs is their intolerance. The stronger the belief, the greater its intolerance. Men dominated by a certitude cannot tolerate those who do not accept it.
~Gustave Le Bon
Thursday, 15 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)
One of the sites I visit on a daily basis is Lifehacker. It is chock full of tips, tweaks, shortcuts and advice on how to streamline many of the inefficiencies with which we fill our lives. Plus a good dose of NEAT factor. (Their motto: Don't live to geek; geek to live.) Picture overclocking your CPU, but your CPU is your brain.
One of today's tips struck a chord with me:
Independence is a big part of child development. You can help your kid develop a sense of their ability to control their lives by offering them choices in your daily routines. Do not, however, ask them open-ended questions. “What do you want for breakfast?” just begs for trouble. Instead, specify two or three choices. “Do you want cereal or pancakes for Breakfast?” This lets your child choose, but limits them to realistic options.
I am so-oooo going to get my ass kicked for saying this, but the above also applies to pregnant wives.
Once again, I'm glad that my beautiful, tolerant and stalwart wife doesn't read this site.
Tuesday, 13 September 2005 in Web/Tech | Permalink | Comments (3)
Another phone call at work today from a wife who is way more than just pleased at the developmental progress of our son.
"I just had to call you to tell you that our son is such a cool little guy."
"I totally agree," I replied. "And what's the reason this afternoon?"
"Well, you know how I told you last week that I picked him up and asked him if he'd pooped his diaper and he just looked at me and said, 'Poop'?"
"Yeah..."
"This morning, we were both in the living room and he was playing with his Bob the Builder truck and I could smell him from across the room. So I asked him again if he pooped his diaper. And then he looked at me, and said, 'Poop', and then crawled into his bedroom by himself so I could change him! Isn't that the coolest?!"
"Wow! It sure is!"
"And then, he even held up each of his feet for me so I could put on his socks. Dex is turning into a little boy so fast, Si."
"He sure is, Aim. He really is."
(Note that even though Declan is making great leaps in his walking ability, he still crawls about half the time. But the speed at which he's making the transition from galloping quadruped to stumbling biped is truly amazing for us first time parent types.)
Tuesday, 13 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (1)
Just about my favouritest cookie in the world is the strawberry jam centred Peak Frean.
Shown here sitting on my desk at work:
Let's please pretend for a moment that it really is strawberry jam. You and I both know that it's really only red and chewy and has more than a dollop of sugar in it. But it's sure darned tasty, so I'm going to call it strawberry jam and be damned the truth for this once.
Now, as a general rule with me, just about any sort of layered cookie will never be terribly high on my list of favourite cookies. Oreos, Fudgee-Os, Whatever-eeOs are mostly second rate snacks. My simple tastes lean more towards the succulent uniformity of a delectable chocolate chip cookie; homemade is always better.
But these jam-filled Peak Freans are the exception to the rule. It took me some time to truly understand my love of them, and I share that here with you now.
I love these cookies for the same reason I always eat my vegetables at dinner first. (Even if I have to have brussel sprouts, I'll eat them first.) I love them for the same reason that I nibble around the edge of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup before gobbling the rest. I love them for the same reason I pry off the top wafer and then the bottom wafer of a Coffee Crisp chocolate bar before basking in the nougat centre.
I love the anticipation of saving, and savouring, the best for last.
It is impossible for me to eat one of these cookies in one or two bites. That would necessitate me biting through the delicious jam-filled centre. And that, my friend, is strictly verboten. It is anathema to me. One must, to the best of one's ability, chew around the cookie exterior, leaving the middle intact and stripping as much cookie as possible. Then, and only then, may you pop the remainder onto your tongue and masticate contentedly.
This cookie, I have concluded, is symbolic of a healthy work ethic and I thank Mr. Christie (or his designate) for bringing it into existence. Only after sufficient effort has been expended can the fruits of one's labours truly be appreciated. And so they should be.
Effort without reward is unsatisfying; reward without effort is not appreciated.
(Several cookies were mortally harmed in the composition of this post.)
Monday, 12 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (3)
A round trip of ten hours on the road to spend less than 48 with your in-laws isn't necessarily the first choice of most people as their preferred way to spend a weekend. Especially considering there are very few ways to placate a 16 month old toddler down the interminable stretches of highway 2 between Edmonton --> Calgary --> Lethbridge and no other adult in the vehicle to lend a hand.
Thankfully, my son being as near to human perfection as current genetic analysis deems plausible, that wasn't really an issue.
Though his eyes remained open, he seemed alarmingly comatose during most of the entire drive south Friday night, conducted mostly in the dusk / dark. He napped for the first couple hours, but even after shedding his somnolence, he was almost completely immobile and silent for the rest of the drive. I would cast concerned glances over my shoulder to check on him and receive nothing more than a perfunctory flit of the eyes in return. No change in expression, no body movement... just a slack, chubby face gazing distantly out the windshield at whatever lights or reflection drew his eye.
His grandparents were, of course, inordinately happy to see him. His sedentary state while en route in the truck for five hours seemed to have the effect of storing up whatever kinetic energy he would otherwise have expended and which was subsequently unleashed in Grandma's living room. I can already sense he's going to be the kind of kid to exhibit an unrestrained glee at staying up past his bedtime. (But that's all kids, isn't it?) Finally having both wound down and duly impressed his grandma with his ability to walk, we all crashed, hard, a short time after midnight.
There's something strangely relaxing about lounging about all day Saturday in a home not your own, watching TV and your son run amock under the eyes of his grandparents.
Sunday was a bacon 'n' eggs breakfast with the whole Fam at the Smitty's restaurant and then the five-hour trek back north to home and my wife. (Who, laudably, only called to check up on us twice during our whole stay away from her. I lost the pool by guessing six phone calls.)
With an hour and a bit still to go, Declan started fussing and looking rather pathetic, but we thankfully ran out of time before I ran out of granola bars to throw in the back. I owe his grandmother one for thinking to pack those.
Monday, 12 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)
You know what? I'm going south with my son for two days, starting tonight. Amy's staying with our dogs and to assist in an amigo's carport auction. You know, auctioning off unsatisfactory goods that do naught but amass dust. A common activity during Canada's hot months.
So, during Amy's stint at that, my son and I will go to visit my in-laws. What? Without my darling consort? Masochistic, you say? I can't totally contradict you on that.
I'll also cavort with many of my cohorts from Kappa Sigma, my frat from my uni days. Saturday will mark an induction of a virginal branch at the local uni. Making our third such in AB. (My own branch's founding was in 1939.) And a total now of six locals in Canada. (I think.) USA still has a vast majority, originating in Virginia in 1869.
So what will occur Saturday night is, I will trust my son to my in-laws and go to assist in giving salutations to my spanky bros. Drinks to drink, food on which to chow and a ridiculous story or two, no doubt. I think that lots of us will gain a rollicking good par-tay!
Sunday morning I'll pack up our stuff, toss my boy in my truck, strap him in and bid so long to my in-laws. I know that both mom-in-law and pop-in-law will fancy my boy's status as a walking individual now. It's so much fun to watch him at it!
Upon my arrival back at familiar ground, I don't doubt that Amy will clutch our boy tight and rain kiss upon kiss down to his brow, not having had him in two days! I trust that a pang of loss for my lady's husband is forthcoming to boot.
And lastly...
Though I cannot fathom why I did it, this post was brought to you totally without a particular vow'l.
Salutations, and you can await my arrival again on Monday.
Friday, 09 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (0)
Your son is, inexplicably, crying his eyes out for no observable reason.
He's not hungry, he just had dinner. He's not visibly injured. Freshly diaper-clad buttocks. The coddled cherub is definitely NOT lacking for attention. Teething? Perhaps...
But what the heck do you do to stem the flow of crocodile tears and whiny-assed mewling?
Friday, 09 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (1)
One of the neat things that has grown up around the trend of blogging is the wonderfully symbiotic relationship that is engendered between exhibitionists and voyeurs. For every one person that elects to flaunt themselves out on the internet for all to see, there are at least 23 (I've counted) other persons eager to live vicariously through the words, pictures and podcasts of others.
I've elected to use this medium due to its eminent portability, simple aesthetics, ease of use and, frankly, it provides the opportunity to put myself out there in a manner that is somewhat akin to stepping out on a stage. Only I'm playing in front of a two-way mirror and most often have no idea who's watching. It's only the few random audience members who elect to throw a rose or a tomato onto the stage that make themselves known.
I think this is appealing both to the performer and the audience since the former is more inclined to feel uninhibited and the latter more likely to partake of the performance feeling absolutely no qualms at leaving and grumbling whatever disparaging comments to himself as come to mind. I know I'm much more likely to feel free to make a fool of myself in front of an unknown audience of thousands than a small handful of intimate faces.
A caveat with which to read these sorts of things, of course, is that you're never getting the full story. The same as what you'll find in an autobiography, you're only going to read that which the author elects to reveal, and only in the manner in which he reveals it. You're never going to meet Simon Fraser through these words, only ever Simian Farmer. A person can mold herself in any way she chooses. That has a lot of appeal in itself. I wonder what the Meinkampf blog would have looked like?
I've become increasingly curious about the audience over the past year. I mean, I write this stuff for myself and to track the progress of certain domestic events, but knowing that there are others reading it invariably influences what I write. (I'm not go to admit to any indictable offences for instance. Not that I've committed any. Honest, officer.) So I naturally wonder who's reading this stuff. If I face the honest truth, I've become a stats whore.
I'm truly amazed at the quality of the friendships that have inadvertently bloomed through casual interaction over wires and nodes and servers and such. Idle comments lead to quippy Emails and conversations and decreasingly trepidatious discussions about surprisingly revealing details. Over the past few years, I can say that I've gathered unto myself several truly good friendships with people I've never met as well as a myriad other acquaintances.
But back to being a stats whore.
I track all the hits I get on this site and, over the past year, have averaged about 40 per day. Many misdirected search queries, references from other sites and folks who have bookmarked me for regular or irregular perusal. Some of them comment, most don't and then the vast majority flit on by wondering why this site came up as a search result for, corpse locked in a freezer beneath Lance and his Bunny. Seriously. You think I'd make that shit up?
I wonder what draws certain people back here when they stumble and don't move on. Do you know me? Are we related? (I know my mother reads this sometimes... Hi Mom!!) I can find out a little bit about each and every one of you, but never enough to sate my curiosity.
For instance, I've never received a comment of any sort from my most avid reader. I know most of his (assuming the gender) IP address, the fact that he lives in or near Calgary, Alberta, his computer runs MS Windows 2000 and he browses with IE 6.0. (Silly rabbit, try this on for size.) I also know that he sometimes swings by four or five times a day, spending upwards of half an hour at a time.
I want to reach out and see the faces that saunter by this little performance and become familiar with some of those that return every now and again for an encore. But all I can see is my own face in the two-way mirror at the front of the stage and I must appease myself with a little narcissistic indulgence. (Oh c'mon! It's really what I'm here for anyway, isn't it?)
The show goes on, and I'm kinda glad that there's no big hook that looms out of stage left and yoinks me off.
Thursday, 08 September 2005 in Weblogs | Permalink | Comments (7)
One of the more unfortunate aftereffects from Hurricane Katrina has been the staggering amount of finger pointing that has ensued from a confluence of factors brought to light from the tragedy; two of the prime being the woefully inadequate measures of protection in place around New Orleans, and also the unexpectedly poor level of disaster response provided by, well, I guess it depends on which finger you follow.
This has resulted in what, to me, seems to be a general sentiment that America has fallen down and failed. There are Americans disparaging America! The utter senselessness of this frame of mind is well summed up by Deogolwulf at his site, The Joy of Curmudgeonry.
Anti-Americanism is not just the disease of pompous Englishmen or haughty Europeans or raving Muslims; it is the disease of spoilt Americans too.
I suggest reading his whole post.
Thursday, 08 September 2005 in Current Affairs | Permalink | Comments (0)
Another sort of milestone reached in the relatively short life of Declan Nelson Fraser, future Supreme Galactic Overlord (munificent) of All That His Eyes Descry: he is now drinking his milk out of a sippy cup rather than a bottle.
Oh, he still takes a bottle of water for his afternoon naps and his beddie-bye time to be sure, but he has now abjured the latex nipples for the firmer, manlier, mostly spill-proof sippy cups. He's growing up so very fast!
In addition to providing larger drinking volumes for his sometimes bottomless belly, they also allow Declan lessons in the fundamentals of gravity, still lost on some adults I know.
The bottles he's had since being weaned from his mommy have the drop-in bags that create an air-free drinking environment, thereby giving Declan the flexibility to extract milk from the bottle at any angle without heed to gravity's inexorable influence.
His sippy cups, being made of sterner stuff, have dual valves that allow for pressure equalisation such that air is drawn in when milk (or your beverage of choice) is extracted. Very handy, but there's now the air to deal with, and gravity's patient revenge. When drinking, Declan must ensure a sufficient angle up from the horizontal such that liquid flows towards the spout.
He's gotten quite adept at this in a short period of time, but showed that there is still some room for improvement just the other day in the car. While drinking, Amy and I could both hear him sucking nothing but air with plenty of milk still in the cup. This allowed me the opportunity to encourage my son as well as provide a brief lesson in trigonometry when I spoke up with, "You're sucking nothing but air Declan! You need more angle; you're too acute!"
(This is the part where you picture Austin Powers explaining that he finds this funny since he is referring both to the angle of the beverage container as well as Declan's general level of adorableness. It was funnier when I originally thought of it but I just couldn't stop typing.)
*****
Further evidence that Simon is a geek:
While typing this post there was a fly that elected to land on my monitor and I tried to shoo it away by waving my mouse cursor at it... I can be such a noob sometimes.
Wednesday, 07 September 2005 | Permalink | Comments (2)