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So, we actually watched some TV last week that had commercials in it (you can make your own guesses as to where our TV normally comes from).

I realized that there's a style of commercials that really drives me nuts.  It's those ones where you have a person saying a part of a sentence, and then it cuts to a different person who finishes the sentence.  Case in point is the ad for Ford (I think) that has this Microsoft-powered gizmo that can connect your electronic crap to your car.  "I can read email" ... "from my grandmother"  (author's note - quotes may or may not actually appear in the commercial).  The "climax" of the ad is when a bunch of people say the same word at the end of the sentence:  "It's like"... "magic" ... "magic" .... "MAGIC" ... "CAN YOU BELIEVE THE EFFING MAGIC GOING ON HERE???"

But on the positive side, one thing I love about commercials is when the same actor is in commercials for different products.  This is even better when both commercials air in the same commercial break.  My current favourite is the poor dude in the Benylin ad who's taking a sick day.  First off, he's clearly the one they make fun of at work, because he's average looking, whereas his co-workers are sharp-suit-wearers with perfect hair.  They call him to harass him at home instead of looking for the file on the network drive, like any normal person would do.

Next up, he's in a Scotiabank ad where he's much richer than he thinks.  Can't remember the details of this ad, except he does a really lame clap-like hand action at the end.

The reason I like when this happens is that I can make up my own backstory that links the commercials together.  I think this poor dude was drowning in debt, working 80 hours a week to support his addiction to aerosol cheese products.  He gets a hard time at work from his more attractive colleagues, and then a hard time at home because of the mountain of bills.  His wife books an appointment with the bank so they can address their debt, but he can't take the time off work.  So, he fakes being sick, pretends to suck back the Benylin, then heads to the bank with his wife.  It all works out in the end, because the banker finds money for him to enter rehab for his cheese-huffing problem.  Also, while he was at the bank, a disgruntled former employee goes on a killing spree in his office, picking out those who don't know about the network drive.

Maybe I need something better to do with my time.  Pass the EZ-Cheez.

Childhood memories

The other day, I got to thinking about childhood memories and tried to think about the earliest memory that I had.  I came up with this one:

I have a hazy memory about driving in the car with my mom.  Pretty sure we were on the Whitemud, going down the hill to cross the bridge over Snow Valley (or Rainbow Valley, as we called it at our house, since none of us were Super-G aficionados).  Surprisingly (or really not, if you're in my family) - the car broke down.  I think it was the old Pontiac Acadian that my sister later retired by smashing in to a parked car (who does that? - sorry Colleen).  Anyway - it was raining, and I think my mom had to walk home, carrying me in the rain.  Remember, this was before cell phones - even those giant clunky ones that had a cord like in the movie Twins.

Whenever I think of this memory, I often wonder if I really remember it, or if I've been told the story so many times that I've fabricated the memory.  I think I was only 3 or 4 at the time, which makes me think that the whole thing is a fabrication of my imagination, or was embellished in the re-telling by my mom.  What probably really happened was that on a sunny afternoon, the car didn't start while sitting in our garage, and my mom had to hold my hand as we walked back to the house, instead of going to McDonald's for some Styrofoam-en-wrapped goodness.  Notice that the broken car thing was still there - that's the only detail that I'm sure is true, given our family's car history.

The other memory that comes to mind was the time my sisters got some Halloween-like face paint.  They all went off and painted their faces all girly-like, or maybe like some forgotten 80's gimmicky band - I dunno.  ANYWAY, I was probably 7 or so at the time, and I really wanted to have my face painted like the Hulk.  This was in the days before the god-awful CGI-generated hulk, when you had Lou Ferrigno looking like this:

Behold his awesomeness!

Anyway, dad got the face paint and got to work.  After a few minutes, which, in retrospect, must have been terrible to him, knowing what I know as a dad of girls who want makeup, nail polish, etc.  (I mean, I have absolutely no skills in this department - which I guess is a good thing), I was finished and ready to tear my shirt off and terrorize my sisters.

Except that the makeup was pretty pastel-shaded.  So I was less Incredible Hulk and more sea-sick Titanic victim.  I took one look in the mirror and then fled to my room to cry into my pillow (and cover it in sea-foam makeup).  I don't think I ever apologized to my dad.  He was just doing his best, and I had an Emily-style ingrate fit about it.

Why do I mention these memories?  Well, both of them were traumatic.  As a parent, I wonder what my kids' memories will be when they're my age.  Will they remember trips to England and Mexico, fun outings, Staycations?  Or will it be all about when I didn't let them have chocolate, or that our house is so boring because we don't have cable.

I think I'll stop bothering to create good memories - just make the bad ones extra-memorable.  Good idea?

Envision this!

Thank goodness that Envision Edmonton's campaign has amounted to nothing.

What really bugged me about the whole campaign was Charles Allard's ranting and whining about democracy being denied with the denial of their petition.  Last I checked, we live in a representational democracy.  That means that we vote in representatives to make the decisions.  Our democratic voice is heard at election time.  After that, we give the responsibility of decision making to the elected officials.

And it's not like the airport debate has been a silent thing for the last twenty years.  Even in the past two years, council has had enough public hearings, debates and reports to make the right decision.

And don't get me started on Envision deciding to submit their petition a year late.

As for the petition itself.  Envision Edmonton claims 90,000 signatures on their petition.  Let's break those numbers down with my completely scientific method.

1. Take off 25% for people who don't live in Edmonton - leaving 43,861
2. Take off 5% for non-citizens - leaving 41,668
3. Take off 5% for duplicates - leaving 39,585
4. Take off 10% for people who signed fake names (how many Ben Dovers on the list?) - leaving 35,626
5. Take off 10% for people who signed, just to shut up the petitioners - leaving 32,063
6. Take off 30% who signed, just so they could vote to close the airport - leaving 22,444
7. Take off 40% for people who don't actually vote - leaving 13,466
8. Take off 80% for stupid people - leaving 2,869
9. Take off 50% for people who did it because someone cute asked them - leaving 1,344

That seams like a reasonable number to me.

I've been to the Muni twice in my life.  Once, I was a little kid, there to pick somebody up.  My only memory was of a nasty, rundownish looking place that did not make me feel safe.  And that was in the days of regular air service!  The second was to go flying with a friend who's a pilot.  Funny story - turns out you need to keep your pilot's licence up to date, just like a driver's licence.  We spent the morning at Ricky's, which, unfortunately, will have to shut down soon with the lack of airport travelers looking for some tasty breakfast.

Enough about that crappy place.  Time to think of the future which, thankfully, the residents of Edmonton seem to be in favour of.  Check out the Yes! For Edmonton site.  There's an interesting link on there about an airport redevelopment project in Austin.  Watch for my name on the Yes! site, though I don't think I'm high-profile enough to show up there.  Maybe if I told them that Michael Phair stalks me, they'll put my name up.

(Aside:  I really did think Mr. Phair was stalking me - I used to see him all the time downtown.  I think I may have even blogged about it once... Turns out that he's just hard to miss in those colourful shirts).  Yes, just re-read that blog - I said the EXACT SAME THING!  Woops.

And when you're done with that and feeling good about the future of our city, take a look at the websites for the shortlisted companies for the redevelopment contract.  Impressive.

• Perkins Will
• Foster + Partners
• Sweco
• BNIM
• KCAP

And really, the only thing I like to Envision is a grumpy Charles Allard.  I understand the meaning of schadenfreude now.

It's my turk in a box!

Step 1 - get a turk in the box
Step 2 - umm... no junk in the box?
Step 3 - get her to open the box - and put it in the oven.

Yes - this year, we ate boxed turkey for Thanksgiving.  Let me tell you - there's no going back now.

Due to some shopping issues, there were no cook-from-frozen 18 lb turkeys left at the store when Kathryn went shopping for our Thanksgiving dinner.  Both she and I have huge nastiness issues with having a turkey sitting in a pool of salmonella, defrosting for a few days.  The thought of that makes my toes curl with the chuddiness.

So, we were left with Butterball's boxed turkey selections.  K bought one semi-reconstituted turkey "loaf", which was white on top, dark on the bottom, and looked like a ham, and one on-the-bone breast, but without the legs, wasteful bits, and nasty gibblies inside.

Super easy to make.  Open oven, insert turkey, cook.

Super easy to carve, which let me tell you, if you've never carved a turkey, is a GIGANTIC plus.  Especially the loaf - it was all slice, slice, slice, done.

I think that we're stuck with the turk in a box for the foreseeable future.

Dress code

The other day, I ran into an interesting sight at the grocery store.  I was deep in the cheese isle looking for something or other.  At one end, there was an elderly couple and at the other end, a young couple.  Now, by young, I mean early 20s - maybe even younger, though I think they might have had a kid with them.

ANYWAY, the older couple were, for lack of a better term, dressed up.  The man was wearing nice pants and shoes, a collared shirt, and maybe even a tie.  The woman looked similarly classy.  In contrast, the young couple were the slobbiest looking people I've seen in a while - ripped, baggy sweats, too-large hoodies, shoes with no laces.  I almost had to check to make sure I hadn't warped to a Walmart.  (or, even worse, a Saan store - but I knew it wasn't Saan since I wasn't in a small town in Alberta).

That got me to thinking - what's wrong with my generation (and the younger generation)?  Why do we think it's ok to just wear whatever, wherever?  And then I wondered, did the older couple dress nicely just because they were going shopping, or do they wear nice outfits every day regardless (or irregardless for you Greg).  When did it become socially acceptable to look like a hobo, just because your baby-momma needs more milk to wash down the Colt 45?

Have you been to a live performance lately, not counting Fringe plays and rock concerts?  When I spend eight million dollars to sit in the third balcony and watch a bunch of dancing cats, you're damn right that I'm going to make an effort on my outfit.  But then you always get sat beside some cowboy who wears his dress hat with his Wranglers, because of the fancy show.

What am I trying to get at?  Who knows.  Maybe I just want everyone to wear the latest Vera Wang evening dress when they need to jaunt out to the store for more eggs (Walmart excluded).  I know that it would make my shopping time more enjoyable, especially if I'm comfortable in my ripped sweats and wife beater.