Ok, so I am basically addicted to the Olympics. All of our copious TV watching in the past week has been basically all Olympics all the time. Which is OK, since CBC has pre-empted Coronation Street. (maybe Corrie will be the subject of a future post).
Anyway - there are a few things that I've thought about a lot while watching... and they are (in no particular order):
I am amazed and surprised that Galen Weston can speak French. We were watching Radio-Canada since the French channel often has better coverage than the English CBC. Along came the standard President's Choice commercial, and there was Mr. President (of brand-name fame) giving his speal about organic foods all in French. Kudos to you Mr. Weston. Which leads to a small digression - why is the No-Name brand at Superstore trademarked?
Speaking of French - what will happen in 2010 when CTV takes over the Olympic coverage? Last time I checked, there was no CTV-affiliated French channel - at least not on the grainy, no-cable TV that we get. At least the English coverage will have Brian Williams - I've missed his rants about the judging. Ian Hanomansowhatshisname is just not as entertaining.
And more on commercials - the Tostadas "recipe" (notice the quotes) commercials are lame. Here's a recipe - open the bag of chips, pour them in a bowl. Open the dip. Whoopeee!
What is up with Show Jumping? It appears to me that the horse does all the hard work. Case in point - the Canadian silver medal-winning team has a competitor in his ninth (yes ninth!) Olympics! To boot, he qualified for 10 games, but because of the '84 boycott, he didn't attend. Also, he might have missed one because of the Great Depression. In my mind, any event in which a septuagenarian can compete is not a real Olympic sport.
Along the same lines - what's the deal with BMX? (Or, as my friends on Radio-Canada put it, "le p'tit bicycle") This is like "the totally rad, super-awesome, X-Olympics games". Why not also include Ultimate Frisbee, or hackeysack? There's a good crowd of scofflaw ultimate players who play on the field by my house... next time I see them, I'll ask if they're gunning for London in 2012.
Other Olympic sports that bug me:
Modern Pentathlon - which is based on what a modern soldier needs to do behind enemy lines - sword fighting, pistol shooting, running, swimming and (yes, this event is doubly-cursed) - horse riding.
Base/Softball - I am sooo glad that they're dropping this after 2008. I have other issues with baseball as a major-league sport anyway - what kind of sport encourages chewing tobacco while playing???
Beach volleyball - one of the major reasons why we watch the French channel so often. It seems that the CBC looooves beach volleyball - considering that it is ALWAYS ON!
And my most favourite Olympic sport? It has to be the steeplechase. This is like horse jumping redeemed. Take the horse course, and remove the horse - wackiness ensues!
Friday, August 22, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Cat names
A few months ago, my sister Janine and I decided that the best cat names should contain a title or honorific. While I don't own a cat, or really ever plan on changing that fact, I have come up with a list of good names for cats. Feel free to use any of the following:
Captain Fluffypaw
Baron von Mouselicker
Fatty "Fats" Fatty-cat, the fat
Colonel Reginald Fuzz
The lieutenant (must be pronounced the British way - LEFTtenant)
Mr. Archibald Renfrow, the third (only applies if this is your third cat)
Count Lickyfur
Dutchess Spottyface
Fluffy T. Furryfur
Angus McJumpOnTheCouch
Corporal Fang (for mean cats)
Queen LazyMew
Lady Hairball
Mrs. Crinkles (this one is good if you are an old lady)
My cat (good for amnesiacs)
Your cat (good if your friends are amnesiacs)
Catty P CatCat, Esq.
General Tailey Winkersnortz
President Litterbox
Marquis Le Purr
Dame Esmerelda Pukebreath
Captain Fluffypaw
Baron von Mouselicker
Fatty "Fats" Fatty-cat, the fat
Colonel Reginald Fuzz
The lieutenant (must be pronounced the British way - LEFTtenant)
Mr. Archibald Renfrow, the third (only applies if this is your third cat)
Count Lickyfur
Dutchess Spottyface
Fluffy T. Furryfur
Angus McJumpOnTheCouch
Corporal Fang (for mean cats)
Queen LazyMew
Lady Hairball
Mrs. Crinkles (this one is good if you are an old lady)
My cat (good for amnesiacs)
Your cat (good if your friends are amnesiacs)
Catty P CatCat, Esq.
General Tailey Winkersnortz
President Litterbox
Marquis Le Purr
Dame Esmerelda Pukebreath
Monday, July 28, 2008
Supermess
Ok - another blog post about Rebecca - who seems to be the source of life's frustrations and funny moments.
Rebecca has an innate ability to make a complete mess of herself no matter what she's doing. I swear she can cover an outfit in chocolate with a single chocolate chip.
So anyway, after one especially messy treat, I asked her how she gets so dirty all the time. Her answer?
"I have a super power"
Rebecca has an innate ability to make a complete mess of herself no matter what she's doing. I swear she can cover an outfit in chocolate with a single chocolate chip.
So anyway, after one especially messy treat, I asked her how she gets so dirty all the time. Her answer?
"I have a super power"
Friday, July 25, 2008
Bedtime woes
A couple of weeks ago, we were going through the standard bedtime routine, which generally involves carrying protesting kids to bed, then having them come out of their room for any number of made up reasons.
On this particular night, we actually convinced Rebecca to go in to her own bed (as opposed to Emily's bed, the floor in our room, or even the floor in the hallway). A couple of minutes later, she comes out with Emily telling us that she can't sleep because "there's this in my bed".
Upon further investigation, we find that she had puked in her bed the night before, and that the puke had now dried up on her sheet, pillow and blanket.
How you can puke in your sleep and not notice is beyond me. How you can sleep through someone puking in the bunk-bed below you and not wake up is also beyond me.
On this particular night, we actually convinced Rebecca to go in to her own bed (as opposed to Emily's bed, the floor in our room, or even the floor in the hallway). A couple of minutes later, she comes out with Emily telling us that she can't sleep because "there's this in my bed".
Upon further investigation, we find that she had puked in her bed the night before, and that the puke had now dried up on her sheet, pillow and blanket.
How you can puke in your sleep and not notice is beyond me. How you can sleep through someone puking in the bunk-bed below you and not wake up is also beyond me.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Just go to the effing potty!
Ok - so I absolutely HATE potty training. Rebecca is contrary at the best of times - but try and convince her that doing something is great and fun....
After a few weeks of Pull-ups, we decided that it would be a better idea to put her in real panties, so that the consequence of an "accident" (read on-purpose) is much greater. We were doing pretty well, until she went and hid behind the chair and pooped.
Alright, so that was an "accident". Mom and dad are sad, but not angry... clean, clean, clean (puke in your mouth a little). Kathryn asks her if she needs to pee, since she didn't. Might as well have asked her if she wanted her arm cut off, judging by her response. Ok, fine, new pair of underwear, off we go.
So I come back in to the room 5 minutes later to find her hiding behind the couch, in a puddle of pee, with a sad look on her face. Cue Kathryn and I losing it.
I carried her upstairs and put her in the bathtub and just told her to wait there while I cleaned up. (In the dark, no less).
Just for some context - we took the girls to swimming lessons a few weeks ago, and Rebecca absolutely hated the shower (not to mention the rest of the swimming class - did I mention she's contrary??). So Kathryn decides that a good punishment is that she'll have to be showered off after peeing.
"No no no!" says Rebecca... so I turn the shower on and start spraying her legs.
Rebecca: "Oh, that feels really nice"
This is where Kathryn and I turn red trying so hard not to laugh.
After a few weeks of Pull-ups, we decided that it would be a better idea to put her in real panties, so that the consequence of an "accident" (read on-purpose) is much greater. We were doing pretty well, until she went and hid behind the chair and pooped.
Alright, so that was an "accident". Mom and dad are sad, but not angry... clean, clean, clean (puke in your mouth a little). Kathryn asks her if she needs to pee, since she didn't. Might as well have asked her if she wanted her arm cut off, judging by her response. Ok, fine, new pair of underwear, off we go.
So I come back in to the room 5 minutes later to find her hiding behind the couch, in a puddle of pee, with a sad look on her face. Cue Kathryn and I losing it.
I carried her upstairs and put her in the bathtub and just told her to wait there while I cleaned up. (In the dark, no less).
Just for some context - we took the girls to swimming lessons a few weeks ago, and Rebecca absolutely hated the shower (not to mention the rest of the swimming class - did I mention she's contrary??). So Kathryn decides that a good punishment is that she'll have to be showered off after peeing.
"No no no!" says Rebecca... so I turn the shower on and start spraying her legs.
Rebecca: "Oh, that feels really nice"
This is where Kathryn and I turn red trying so hard not to laugh.
Arrrr me mateys
When we were in England last year, Kathryn's brother Chris and sister Suzie convinced Emily that I used to be a pirate before I was a dad.
Don't ask.
I don't really know how the story started, but they ran with it - so now, I'm a lot cooler in Emily's eyes, because I used to be a pirate.
So anyway, we went on the riverboat yesterday, since Suzie can get us on for free. Every weekend, they do a pirate-themed cruise, where everyone dresses up as a pirate and they have pirate-themed activities.
A few years ago, I won a pirate costume at work (and by costume, I mean a pirate hat). So we decided that I should wear the pirate hat for the cruise.
When I showed Emily, she says to me, "Dad, do you have that hat from when you used to be a pirate?"
Awesome
Don't ask.
I don't really know how the story started, but they ran with it - so now, I'm a lot cooler in Emily's eyes, because I used to be a pirate.
So anyway, we went on the riverboat yesterday, since Suzie can get us on for free. Every weekend, they do a pirate-themed cruise, where everyone dresses up as a pirate and they have pirate-themed activities.
A few years ago, I won a pirate costume at work (and by costume, I mean a pirate hat). So we decided that I should wear the pirate hat for the cruise.
When I showed Emily, she says to me, "Dad, do you have that hat from when you used to be a pirate?"
Awesome
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
I am the wimpy Orkin man
So I was bringing a bag of empty bottles out to the shed the other day (let's face it, our shed is basically used for bottle storage since neither Kathryn nor I possess any gardening skills) and I hear this buzzing noise.
I look up into the corner by the door, and there's a wasp nest there. It was only about the size of a fist - but the sort of fist that pulls out your heart and throws it into the Temple of Doom. It was then that I noticed a few wasps leering at me, so I booked it out of there.
The next day, we walked down to the HD by our house (P.S., it's very convenient having a Home Depot right next door) and bought a can of wasp killer. The can said to wait until evening, or morning, when the wasps wouldn't be active. So then I had a couple of hours to talk myself into being able to go back in the shed and man-up.
By the way - I have no idea where this irrational fear of bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets (huh?) comes from - being stung does hurt - but not all that much... although, I can imagine that being stung by a whole nest full of wasps might hurt a lot more.
Anyway, once the sun went down, I suited up. By the way, it was about a million degrees outside - but I wasn't going to chance anything... I put on a pair of sweats and a hoody - with the hood up. I had considered winter gloves, scarf and toque, but that didn't seem very manly, so I sucked it up.
Now - the problem was that the nest was in a corner just inside the door of the shed. It wasn't possible to get at it unless I was actually inside the shed. The can said to spray from a distance of 2 meters. (we bought this brand because the other choice said 3 meters!) Which meant that I had to be inside the shed, and at the back of the shed - at the mercy of the angry swarm that I'm sure would erupt in defence of their home.
So, I cleared a bit of the clutter (mostly by just shoving it) and got ready. I thought about taking the lawn mower out of the shed, to provide an easy exit - but it looked like it might rain, and there was no way I was going to spray the nest, then calmly push the mower back in the shed.
I got the can ready, in one hand, balanced my feet on the mower, and turned on my flashlight with the other hand. The nest was pretty much one of the nastiest things I've seen. All the wasps were crawling all over it - ready to pounce on me (at least in my imagination).
I took a deep breath, then let loose. I think I emptied about half the can - and it was a big can. Then I hopped out the door, slammed it shut and tore off across the lawn as fast as I could run.
Epilogue:
A few days afterwards, I went back to the shed and scraped the nest down with a shovel. I took it out to the back alley and smashed the crap out of it... by the way - the inside looked creepily worse than the outside.
I look up into the corner by the door, and there's a wasp nest there. It was only about the size of a fist - but the sort of fist that pulls out your heart and throws it into the Temple of Doom. It was then that I noticed a few wasps leering at me, so I booked it out of there.
The next day, we walked down to the HD by our house (P.S., it's very convenient having a Home Depot right next door) and bought a can of wasp killer. The can said to wait until evening, or morning, when the wasps wouldn't be active. So then I had a couple of hours to talk myself into being able to go back in the shed and man-up.
By the way - I have no idea where this irrational fear of bees, wasps, hornets, yellow jackets (huh?) comes from - being stung does hurt - but not all that much... although, I can imagine that being stung by a whole nest full of wasps might hurt a lot more.
Anyway, once the sun went down, I suited up. By the way, it was about a million degrees outside - but I wasn't going to chance anything... I put on a pair of sweats and a hoody - with the hood up. I had considered winter gloves, scarf and toque, but that didn't seem very manly, so I sucked it up.
Now - the problem was that the nest was in a corner just inside the door of the shed. It wasn't possible to get at it unless I was actually inside the shed. The can said to spray from a distance of 2 meters. (we bought this brand because the other choice said 3 meters!) Which meant that I had to be inside the shed, and at the back of the shed - at the mercy of the angry swarm that I'm sure would erupt in defence of their home.
So, I cleared a bit of the clutter (mostly by just shoving it) and got ready. I thought about taking the lawn mower out of the shed, to provide an easy exit - but it looked like it might rain, and there was no way I was going to spray the nest, then calmly push the mower back in the shed.
I got the can ready, in one hand, balanced my feet on the mower, and turned on my flashlight with the other hand. The nest was pretty much one of the nastiest things I've seen. All the wasps were crawling all over it - ready to pounce on me (at least in my imagination).
I took a deep breath, then let loose. I think I emptied about half the can - and it was a big can. Then I hopped out the door, slammed it shut and tore off across the lawn as fast as I could run.
Epilogue:
A few days afterwards, I went back to the shed and scraped the nest down with a shovel. I took it out to the back alley and smashed the crap out of it... by the way - the inside looked creepily worse than the outside.
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