Monday, January 23, 2006

Lubba dub dub dub, lubba dub dub dub.....

Look at Jingles go....

Heyla my darlings! January 23, 2006 found myself and the Goodely Wyfe back at the fertility clinic for a lil' something we like to call "The Ultrasound". This is, of course, where they send a wee little submarine all up in the Wyfe's chicken to send a few pings and get a map of her snuggly womb.

Well, this particular womb was INHABITED! That's right, my precious, precious readers, we have conceived a childe! We have a long way to go, and many hurdles still to come, but this is a milestone that we haven't crossed before, and thus I am extremely excited, nervous, happy, concerned, worried, sweaty and probably a little gassy.

So for us, its nine months of Pregarino Romano, the favoured cheese of family minded folks the world over. I think in my favourite game of James Bond Movies and Cheeses (JBM&C), it goes: The Spy Who Loved Me & Pregarino Romano.

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

"And now we face, the long dark of...."

No dear reader, not "Moria", but "Winter".

Winter is not the time of festive celebrations and warm gatherings with friends and family. Winter, true Winter, is the time after. After the tree comes down. After the bright and shining decorations have been sequestered away to fester alone in the darkest and most forgotten corners of our hearths and homes. After the last of the egg has been nogged, and the last toe has been Mistled. We now gird ourselves to face those long weeks of bleak January, horrific and daunting February, and press on to the dreary start of March, that most treacherous month which offers its empty promises of a springtime which may never come. These are the true days of Father Winter. An inattentive, recalcitrant and mean tempered Father who disciplines the old fashioned way, with the leather strap of biting winds, and his ashen skies of distinterested disdain.

Although the circumnavigational trajectories of Starship Earth tell us that these days are actually getting longer and longer, the incremental slivers of available light are not enough to bolster spirits when faced with barren trees, frigid winds, short tempers and cloying, claustrophoic recirculated indoor air.

Huddle as long as you can around the flickering and dying spark of flame within you, nuture it, cajole it, feed it gently but not overly, as you can stifle it if you prod it too much. This spark must keep you warm tonight and is also all that you have to light your way as you proceed, yet again, alone through this Long Dark.

Friday, January 13, 2006

The Shoe of Damacles......

There was a goofy movie awhiles back, something about folks trying to conceive a childe, and at one point, a little story was told. I present it with my usual embellishments. Listen:

"I noticed on my walk to work one morning, that there was a little boy who just learned to ride a two wheeled bicycle, and he was riding it everywhere. During the week, walking to and from work, I saw this boy fearlessly riding his bicycle on the sidewalks, picnic tables, and along the top rail of a wooden fence. The glee on his face was unimaginable, and filled my heart. One day, I walked by, and the boy was slowly pedaling down the road. I asked him why the change, to which he replied..

"They taught us about gravity today."

Ah yes, they teach us about gravity, don't they? I was wondering the other day, why there is a default "worry" in us, where it comes from and why we have it. "Us"? Who is this us? Me, it's all about me. I cannot stop feeling like all the good things in my life will be snatched away in a heartbeat. I expect to be fired every day at work, divorced every day when I get home, and said home to be on demolished on every commute home. Having said that, if you saw me walking the boards, you would say:

"Why, there is a nattily attired well-to-do handsome man, and look, that gilded band about his ring finger is indicative of a successful and rewarding marriage. He must be very happy!"

Yes, you would say that, and yes, I would think that I would be deliriously happy as well. Handsome, personable, beloved and well-to-do.

But then the other shoe...that accursed Other Shoe that life has taught me about. I certainly don't mean to be a Gloomy Gus, a Dour Danny or even an Ennui Earnest, but I really do keep waiting for the Other Shoe To Fall, or OSTF.

From the made-up Medical Journals at :

"OSTF Syndrome is prevalent in society, resulting as a combination of quirky parenting, current fear mongering and constant societal pressures. OSTF is an automatic reaction of doom and gloom in an otherwise chipper individual. The only known cures are snogging, ice cream and science fiction."

I am just rambling here, not sure that I have a point to make, but just exposing a bit of my soft underbelly for the world to view and bear witness to in the hopes that the more people what know about the confused muddlings in my brain, the better chance that said muddlings will clear out. There is an awful lot of great stuff happening in my lyfe right now, all of which I do my very best to relish, mustard and enjoy. If I can just keep that slightly salty smell of the Other Shoe from wafting along in my mind's nose, I will be much better off.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

iOld & iUnrepentant

Be warned, true believers, this one iS going to be difficult for a few of us.

Amongst the many splendoured packages, rumtunglers and spamdoozles which iReceived this Christmas, one of the most cherished and life changing gifts was the Apple iPod Shuffle. Thank whichever multi-limbed deity you prefer that iReceived the easiest, least maintenance requiring model of the now world-famous "i" line of audio / visual products, or this weeks blog entry would have been all about my battles with technology, iAm sure

Side note: Do you think that the high school Audio Visual club iS now the realm of the bleeding edge cybernaughts, or iS iT still the shadowy and slightly gamey cabal of the geeks and dorks that ALL YOU HOTTIES ended up marrying! Hmmm!?!??!

iN any event, you should know that this particular AV club alum iS not what you would call "musically oriented". iHave, to date, listened primarily to talk radio all day long, and was quite elated when we got the googleflop of radio program channels on the XM, so to the comedy station all the time. Enter The IPod. iT was an easy thing to load this treasure up with all the holiday standards, and go bopping down the boulvevards, sashsaying down the streets, and waltzing along the walkways with my alliteration trousers flapping iN the breeze, and a festive holiday ditty wafting through my brain pan.

But the holidays are (for the most part) over, and iHave only myself to blame for the musical selection on my new piece of iNstant cool technology. My passport to the upper echelon of Nobel Prize nominated pop stars, trendy hip hop broads, euro trashy slicky boys, and well, that wonderfully cool slice of life known as 14 year old kids was under my control, and my control only.

So what do iDo, Dearest Reader? With over thirty seven years of having ears, what do iChoose as my initial entry into the forum of premixed audio splendor? Your humble correspondent goes right ahead and loads up a bunch of Beastie Boys, Nelly and the Soundtrack to all the Star Wars Movies. iKnow, don't have to tell me how tragic that was.

So last night, iGo ahead and grab my eight favourite CDs iN the history of music. They are, iN no particular order:

Pet Shop Boys: Discography
The Smiths: The Queen iS Dead
Beastie Boys: Paul's Boutique
Sinead O'Connor: iDon't Want What iHaven't Got
Sting: Nothing Like the Sun
10,000 Maniacs: iN My Tribe
REM: Document
U2: The Joshua Tree

Then iT hits me. All of the above are, and here iS where iT LEAST TWENTY YEARS OLD! How the heck did that happen? Zoom, zippy, bing bang boom....time has flown, flown like that kooky plane that flies so fast iTs nose turns down from the air pressure as iT blasts across the blurred spherescape of my diminutive musical world. Grey hairs are sprouting from my soul patch like dandelions in my favourite field, but these sprouts are not the harbingers of frolic, but the harbingers of wisdom, age, and domesticity.

So when you see me walking with purpose, striding the streets, traipsing the throughways or languishing along the lanes, know that this aging hipster is hereby unrepentant in his love of the music that he grew up with, and has decided to never let go. You can take my 80s alternative when you can pry iI from my cold, dead hands...

Now get out of my yard, you rotten kids, or iWill turn the dogs loose on you!