Day 314: Some Days Are Better Than Others

I am sometimes painted as possessing a negatively unwholesome streak, and it is true that I fall prey to "black moods" and whine self-indulgently on occasion. But all days are not black (even though the sun is hiding) - no some days are pretty darned good. Today is one of those days.

Why is it such a good day? Because I managed to solve not one but TWO complicated / important work problems. My efforts and expertise were even commented on approvingly in high places. I am good at what I do - no I am great! Nothing anyone says to put me down will ever make me feel bad, for I have confidence in myself. I promise to be simply irrepressible for quite some time until some typically minor mishap sends me spiralling back into darkness and self-doubt.

But if I can just figure out how to maintain this buoyant mood indefinitely, I will be set. It should be easy, right?

Day 313: The Politicians Disappoint Me

Recently in British Columbia we were subjected to the spectacle of seeing both parties in the legislature vote themselves a whopping 15% pay increase, only to quickly retract it after an angry backlash from voters. This was an unfortunate episode because MLAs deserve a substantial pay increase, as they are severely underpaid, and any increase can only help encourage competent citizens into entering the murky world of provincial politics.

Let's examine the facts:
1) MLAs have a base salary of $75,400. This may seem like a lot to you, my proletarian readership - but this is a remarkably low salary for the top talent I would prefer to see running the province (federal MPs have a base salary of $144,300 by comparison). Politics is a horrible profession with long hours and no job security - and I think it's reasonable to pay our politicians a fair wage to encourage them to do it. Will they get rich of fat salaries? I think not, because anyone skilled enough to get elected to the house is likely a successful businessman / labour leader who commands a far higher wage in the private sector. They make a sacrifice to serve us, and we get angry at them for it? The instinctive hatred of politicians is something that I have never understood.

2) There is one problem with the scenario - which is that the politicians vote themselves the pay increase which leads to an obvious conflict of interest. The solution is to have an independent board fix the salaries - which MLAs should endorse, as such a board would surely set the wages far higher than they are currently at.

As for whether it's bad politics to be seen raising your salaries at a time when you're fighting nurses, teachers, and others to restrict their salaries? Yes - it is bad politics and remarkably clumsy - but this doesn't change the fact that our MLAs really do deserve a huge raise, and I hope they get it.

Day 312: Cold Hands, Cold Heart

The narrator's eventual fate

Some people go through their lives afraid of being too hot, while others fear being too cold.

Heat-fearers wear sandals and shorts at inappropriate times of year and sport short-sleeved shirts exclusively. They constantly search for windows to open, and occasionally act surprised when a warm day becomes cold after sunset. They may muse "Maybe I should have brought a jacket?" but shrug their shoulders and soldier on without excessive discomfort.

Cold-fearers can be found wearing long-sleeved shirts, rarely wear shorts, and like keeping the windows tightly shut. They always have a sweater and jacket handy, and may even sport gloves at inappropriate times of year. On a warm day, they may muse "Maybe I should have worn shorts?" but shrug their shoulders and soldier on without excessive discomfort.

I am a cold-fearer, but even among the ranks of the cold-fearers, I think that I may be emperor.

Since the sun disappeared from our northern skies some weeks ago, my apartment has grown increasingly chilly. As the apartment heating is centrally controlled (and not by me), I have been forced to wear multiple sweaters and gloves inside while watching TV or (more likely) playing online poker. I was concerned to see how others found my place, so on a typically frigid day I asked Gilman (who along with Gned had visited for the Sunday Canucks hockey), how he found the temperature. He looked confused and pronounced it fine, then proceeded to remark on how hot his apartment generally was.

After Gilman left, I played some cards on my computer, but I was reduced to filling up the kitchen sink with hot water to periodically douse my hands in as the ski gloves were not proving enough to keep me warm.

On Saturday night I was at a friend's housewarming, where I also found the temperature intolerably cold. But I looked to my left and saw that a guest had opened a window because they found it too hot inside. We shut the window but later had to explain to a new guest why nothing was being done to combat the stifling heat - phantom heat - it was still cold!

One day I will become but a cold corpse, but will anyone be able to tell the difference?

Day 311: Sleeping Is Giving In

A solid illness is a good tonic for keeping life in perspective. It's hard to be too worked up over things when you're just concentrating on getting solid foods and liquids into you and getting your proper sleep. Truth be told, I have survived the brunt of last week's illness and by all measures am technically "well", but still I suffer through the after-effects of a most persistent problem: "Disruption to patterns of sleep".

I sometimes fall prey to events like this: I am unable to fall asleep at an appropriate time at night and am thereby tired the next day at work. When I get home from work I am exhausted - and may or may not nap (it's better if I do), until around 10PM I start to feel awake. This is a bad time to start to feel awake, and as a result I don't get to sleep until 3AM or so - when the pattern repeats.

Last night was particularly illustrative. Due to fatigue and illness, I eschewed watching a Canucks loss with hearty companionship and instead watched from my couch with Chance and Slippers. But I did something that I don't generally do - I fell asleep in the first intermission and did not wake up until the end of the second period (to find the Canucks still trailing). Magick, thought I. Presumbably due to this, when I tried to get to sleep around midnight I was spectacularly unsuccessful. I gave up and stirred out at 2:30 to check on the online pokerverse and see if P.W. was playing - he was! - and he was nearing the end stages of a $50 MTT (he was already ITM - in-the-money). I settled down into my chair, hoping to watch his road to a long-anticipated tourney victory, but he flamed out on the 3rd hand I saw in 27th place with A5 vs KT. Bored again, I returned to my slumbering attempt - this time successful.

Morning arrived all too soon and I managed to sleep in to 9AM before realizing what was going on, and belatedly lifting my heavy eyelids. This was late even for slothful me, and I eventually managed to drag myself to work where my lateness was not noted.

Fortunately the weekend is almost upon us, and I look forward to catching up on my ZZZZs.

Day 310: Healthy As A Cat

There must be a reason no one ever says "sick as a cat". Chance and Slippers seem to be in chipper festive moods most of the time (at least when they're well fed), whereas I have battled flus, colds, and other hypochondrial ailments for much of the year. I'm almost recovered now but it's been another miserable week.

Though we just went through a long weekend due to Remembrance Day, I could not enjoy the extra time as I was coughing up a lung. Golf remains an activity from my past - not a current pursuit - though I did play ball hockey (which was a mistake as I again fell ill shortly after).

I did play a small amount of poker - but I really shouldn't have done so. When I'm sick, my concentration is faulty, and my decision-making veers towards the bizarre. These are not good qualities at poker and my outcome was consistently negative.

Therein lies a lesson: If you're feeling overwhelmed by work and driving your car seems tricky, don't expect things to improve once you start playing cards.

Day 309: Chance's Lesson

Chance plots a window assault

A long comfortable uninterrupted sleep is a rarity when you own two cats like Chance and Slippers who enjoy periodic wrestling and face-nuzzling during the night. Fortunately I've never been known to sleep very well anyways, so this is no loss.

Chance has recently started a new mission on an old theme - he wants to sit on the window sill behind my bed, even though the blinds are kept shut at night. I've accepted his need for this and do open up the blinds just before sunrise - but I won't leave them open all night because I don't want everyone peering in on me. This is not a negotiable decision, but Chance continues to negotiate.

Sometimes Chance will be happily purring next to me, but suddenly decides "You know what - I would really like to open those blinds!" I'll see the covert look on his face as he edges closer to the window, and I warn him "It's not going to happen Chancey - don't try it" - but he'll inevitably leap up on my dresser and start rattling the blinds anyways. This doesn't work and I just pick him up and put him back on the bed telling him to desist. Chance seems to understand, but really he's just biding his time before he tries again tomorrow.

So Chance is immune to the reality of the blind situation. No argument of mine will ever convince him to stop trying. He feels that if he just tries a little bit harder, eventually his labours will be rewarded.

But life is cruel and you can't always get what you want. Chance has to learn this, as indeed do I. But then again, I just spoke to my mother and she recommends that I keep the blinds open for Chance and Slippers - what's the harm? Why wouldn't I want my cats to be happy?

So maybe I'll let Chance win after all. There is hope for lost causes.

Day 308: Africats 1: The Dark Continent

Chance and Slippers had an eventful November day roaming the confines of Montrose searching for moths. Gerald visited in the early afternoon and told of a coming moth migration from Surrey, which greatly interested Chance. "I really like moths," he observed. But the day ended as all do: an insufficient dinner followed by a fitful sleep. Chance tried to break the monotony by opening the blinds to see the world outside, but his brave efforts were put down cruelly by Snowy, their cruel owner. Frustrated, Chance spoke up. "This life is growing tiresome, brother. We need a change!"

Slippers thought about Chance's negative assessment and positively replied, "You're quite right, brother. We need a holiday." By that time the next day, Slippers had surreptiously logged on to Snowy's computer and made all the necessary purchases. That was the beauty of the internet - no one needs to know you're a cat!

...

Gilman arrived at the appointed hour, weeping inconsolably. "The kitties are going to Africa, and I am not. I will be so lonely." But Slippers had a surprise for Gilman: "Check under my prayer rug, Gilman."

Gilman gasped - it was a free ticket. He would be going after all. "Hooray for Chance and Slippers!"

"Hooray for Gilman!"

"OK Slippers," interrupted Chance as the hoorays subsided, with what was obviously a pressing issue. "I need to discuss the food situation. There will be no more rationing - my diet ends now! I hope to hit 20 pounds by the end of the trip, and thereby finally be happy."

Slippers briefly considered the irony of Chance travelling to Ethiopia to relieve starvation and wondered what Sir Bob Geldof would think, but moved on. "Get in your cage Chance, it's time to head to the airport."

After a long series of connecting flights, the three intrepid travellers arrived at Addis Ababa airport, where Nutmilk was supposed to meet them - but she was nowhere in sight. Slippers arched his brow at this first hint of trouble - for it was not like Nutmilk to disappear mysteriously. Chance eyed the baboons and shoe peddling orphans with a confused mix of awe and hunger.

"Gilman - where is Nutmilk?" Slippers quickly turned to his right but Gilman had quietly disappeared. He now turned to his left and saw the situation grow worse still. Not only was there no Nutmilk or Gilman, but four members of the Sudanese Janjaweed were riding straight at them, brandishing whips, and cackling evilly.

"Oh brother," said Chance.

"Run Chance Run!" pleaded Slippers, but it was too late. The two were quickly subdued and placed in small burlap sacks.

"I wish we had never been declawed," moaned Chance. Two janjaweed warriors held them up triumphantly while the prisoner-cats peered out helplessly, before riding off into the dusty sunset.

"If I ever get my hands on that Gilman!" muttered Slippers, before he was pushed deeper into the sack.

Day 307: Me And My Car

A lot of guys define themselves largely through their automobiles. Whether it's their SUV, sports car, or clever new sedan - they measure their manhood through it, and can rattle off all its impressive statistics until they're blue in the face and you've left the room. Many of these men spent their happy formative years lovingly fixing up some piece-of-crap (possibly a Fiat) that was really not worth their time.

I am not one of those guys. Many a ditzy supermodel is a bigger car buff than me.


A shadow looms over my car

Cars are a necessary evil. If I didn't have my car, I would be OK with that - except for the fact that it's convenient for getting to work and golf. I cannot tell you what type of engine mine has, nor could I make an intelligent remark on any of the other similar cars out there. I can tell you that it's dark forest green - which I think is a pretty color. I have changed my tire (which was a difficult ordeal), but would have trouble figuring out how to check the oil, gauge the tire pressure, or heaven forbid change a headlight. That's what service stations are for! My time is better spent doing things I'm good at.

I recently got my oil changed at a trusty Mr. Lube, and I have a policy for handling the "extra questions" they always ask. I have no idea what services are required of my vehicle or when, but I suspect they will try to sell me on things I don't need. Therefore I always accept exactly half of their recommendations regardless of the arguments.

Q: When did you have your transmission fluid cleaned out?
A: Umm... I don't know? Is it bad?
Q: You're over 80000 km - would you like your transmission cleaned out?
A: Um... OK.
Q: Would you like us to replace your air filter?
A: No!
Q: You'd save money on fuel consumption. It's a good idea.
A: Maybe next time, my friend.

There: 1 for 2. I figure if I randomly say yes and no, I will save money - but still have a working automobile.

Day 306: Fahrenheit 11/3

I am frequently capable of mental lapses that cause people to question my competence. One of the sorts of things that could only happen to me occurred yesterday at dinner. I was dining on a tasty chicken dinner at the Cheshire Cheese (with no gravy) reading my trusty Economist. As a glare was reflecting off the magazine's shiny pages making it difficult to read in the dim light, I propped up the magazine at a slight angle. Glare solved - much better!

Unfortunately, I chose to prop up the magazine on a candle, and I can report that flames and books do not mix.


Burn Baby Burn!

The fire was quickly put out and no one seemed to notice. I was sitting next to the fireplace and tossed the charred bits into it. But I felt awfully embarassed and was sure that someone was going to say "What's that burning smell?"

And people wonder why I don't project inner personal confidence.

Day 305: Midnight At The Oasis

PWes and I went to the Canucks/Wild game last night, and although Bertuzzi still looks rusty our boys managed to win 2-1. The highlight must be the steely cool resolve of Alex Auld during the last 3 minutes when the Canucks were two men down almost the whole time. A Canuck goalie who seems unflappable and inspires confidence? - it's been a while. I'm sorry Cloutier, but I think the future is now - and ours is an Alex Auld filled future. Let the guy run with the ball - I don't think he's going to drop it. And he's not a kid - he's 24. He's paid his dues and I think he deserves his shot at being #1.

Prior to the game, PWes found a cell phone lying in a puddle in a BC Place parking lot. As the phone surely would have been run over if left unattended, he picked it up and planned to return it to the owner after the game. When leaving the stadium, he powered it on to try to figure things out - and within a minute the owner called. We agreed to meet her to return it. She and some friends were drinking at a West End bar called the Oasis, which was not at all out of the way.

Once there, we were persuaded to join their merry bunch inside for drinks - though truthfully I was the chopped liver to Peter's conquering hero. They were the only patrons in the bar which featured a delightful piano player; she sang mostly 80s tunes. They turned out to be part of the film crew for an upcoming bad Al Pacino film "88 Minutes". They were also much younger than us, and one rambunctiously drunk 20-year-old gleefully told the exploits of being kicked out of every bar in Victoria. At one point a girl asked us "Where you do guys usually hang out?" This was a tough question as the answer is "Ummm... at home with a bag of chips?". But serendipity is a beautiful thing and I resolved to throw my cell phone away to see what adventure awaits me next.

The final moral is: I probably should get out more.

Day 304: Pavel Bure Retires

Pavel Bure, A Great Canuck

I remember when I travelled to Pinawa, Manitoba for a January-April work term in 1992. The Manitoba cold was bitter, but we played ball hockey in the hotel parking lot where we all stayed on most evenings. Though the weather was frequently -20, it was fine because it was a "dry cold". I didn't have a Canucks jersey in those days, but I occasionally wore a Canucks toque. One day one of the locals, a die-hard Jets fan, turned to me and said "You know that kid, Pavel Bure? He is a great player." I smiled and said "I know." It was an exciting time because the Canucks had never had a truly "great player" before. Watching Pavel flash down the ice those first couple seasons was truly astounding - I'd never seen anything like it before.

Pavel Bure officially retired today to accept the Russian GM position for the upcoming Olympics, but serious knee injuries had done him in a couple of years back and most people's reaction today is "He wasn't already retired?". But we should take stock of this greatest player to ever play for the Vancouver Canucks. His is a tarnished legacy due to the ill-fated 1998 holdout and eventual trade to Florida for Ed Jovanovski (anyone still think we lost that trade?), but his was a glorious career nonetheless. His jersey may never hang from the rafters at GM Place, but this is only because he chose to leave here early at the wrong time for the wrong reasons. No Canuck has ever been as exciting as Pavel, and no Canuck had that ability to get you out of your seat.

The knock against Pavel is that he was just a one-dimensional scorer, and like most blanket accusations this one is basically true. Yes - Pavel really liked to score goals (and he scored an awful lot of them) and everything else was time spent waiting to score goals. But Pavel was underrated for his toughness. He may have been a small skilled speedy winger who never really embraced the concept of "back-checking", but he had a serious mean streak. He was quite capable of administering a cheap shot, and I suspect he wished he could have been a fighter like his buddy Gino.

So as a Canuck fan, it may be hard to fondly remember a guy who ransomed the team and begged to leave, but it is possible.

To Pavel!