The Occasional Solipsist

Found a great little program tonight that converts jpegs to ascii text. Not particularly certain where this might be practically applicable, but who the hell cares? Looks cool.

You can play with it here.

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So I woke up this morning after a really vivid dream involving my working for some kind of military organization, and getting my hands on some technology from the future, some kind of war in space. It was really epic, had a hot chick in it, I ended up saving the world, and I think I even got the girl.

I had intended to blog about it, extoll why it would make a great book turned into a blockbuster movie, well, at least a shitty saturday night scifi channel flick. In fact, I was already thinking about sitting down and writing some of the salient points out, just in case there might at least be a short story in it for me.

But then Superwife came into the bathroom while I'm in the middle of both a shower and a particularly ridiculous connection between my dream and my impending fatherhood and told me that the fucking sewer backed up. For the second time in 2 weeks.

Jesus wept.

I mean, how am I supposed to get over my block and write the great Canadian novel, if I'm worried about cleaning shit off the basement floor. That doesn't exactly make for sensational copy. Unless you work for the Enquirer, or maybe The Nugget. haha.

I was honestly surprised that Superwife kept it together enough not to just say to hell with it and go into spontaneous labour right there in the bathroom.

Labels: family

So Superwife and I went for what will in hindsight likely turn out to be our last adventure for a very long time tonight.

Not that it was a grand adventure or anything. But anything you can accomplish with a now over 9 months pregnant woman and leave everyone smiling afterwards is a real coup d'etat.

We went down to the Port Weller Dry Docks to go for a walk along the Welland Canal, local section of the St. Lawrence Seaway System, and got more comedy than we would have expected.

First, we come across a gaggle of geese (how many other times in my life will I get to use gaggle in a sentence?) along the pathway. And I decide to take a picture of one of the younger ones, since it isn't at all scared of me and lets me walk right up to it.

And that's where mother goose comes in.

This huge female Canadian Goose, obviously the mom, comes marching right up to me, and lets out this primordial roar, like Spielberg's Tyrannosaur from Jurassic Park. I mean a totally out of place Roar, completely incongruous with this bird's diminutive size. Scares the shit out of me, because I get a quick flashback of feeding geese up at Canadore College when I was a kid and one of those monsters leaving with a good chunk of skin off my right pinky finger.

So I snap a quick pic of the enraged mom, and get the fuck out of Dodge.

The best part: after we back off, she walks right up to where I had been standing and lets out another cry, as if to tell me that I'd better run, punk, if I knew what was good for me. We got a good laugh out of that.

And then on the way back Superwife and I see the bridge coming up on the lock, the klaxons braying, and we think, great, now we'll actually get to see a big ship come through the canal. We've certainly been in the position of the totally pissed off drivers currently being forced to squeal to a halt enough times.

So we wait expectantly, and instead of being rewarded with the obligatory huge oceangoing tanker, a 20 foot sailboat glides into view, the three occupants all smiles and waves as if they know that everyone watching would just love to see them sink, and maybe even have a hand in it. I couldn't believe it. And I was so glad that I wasn't one of those people on the bridge, because I would've been going out of my fucking mind swearing at being stopped for that.

And even after all that walking, no contractions from babybrown. Guess our little one just likes it too much in there.

And who can blame it anyway? We guys, and yes, some gals too, spend the bulk of our lives trying to get back in there.

Least I know I have.

While we're on the subject, we also saw a nice little beaver (haha, not that kind), which according to The Great Canadian Movie, is an omen.

Good or bad, we couldn't tell. But if Paul Gross says its an omen, then an omen in it is.

Labels: family

Well, that's the impression that the nurse who taught our pre-natal class left me with. Said her husband is 'in cable' whatever the crap that means. Then she said that because he was used to cutting cables, he was more well equipped than other Dads to successfully complete the ritual of separating the umbilical cord from the baby.

So it naturally makes sense to me that to be so well prepared, I should use a crimping tool, more often used in networking pcs, to do the honours.

I mentioned this idea to my wife tonight, who at the time was watching the clock approach midnight as the baby's due date was slowly met.

She really didn't like the idea. Pregnant women are funny that way.

Labels: family

I finally figured out what the eff X-Play stands for. I watch the show all the time, and always thought it was an in-joke that I wasn't getting.

I think I was right: The X button on a PS/PS2 controller and the word Play in pretty much every game ever made.

I'm a little slow.

By the way, the 'eff' is my attempt to curb the inordinate amount of swearing I use in the hopes that my child's first word won't be cocksucker or something simlilarly eloquent.

But since my baby won't likely be reading the blog for at least a few weeks, I should probably be ok on here.

Anything on at your place at 1:30am? Cause up here with the country cable, there's sweet shit on.

You either pick between a terrible movie where Michael Ironside is the only recognizable name, or an infomercial of bikini clad babes trying to coerce callers to have the time of their lives on the chat line. The same chat line that the girls in question wouldn't call because they're out laying pipe with real men, not fuckheads that think a good time awaits them for only $19.95 a call.

So you tune that shit out and fire up the browser to check out the daily reads. Ordinarily you'd load up the RSS reader and have enough stuff to read until the rapture, but that's all the way downstairs.

So you get your reads in and tonight, you end up coming very close to getting punched out by the wife you wake up from laughing so hard at the gems you come across.

In fact, you haven't laughed this hard, this late, since you stopped the occasional visit to the weed man on the chance that you might have to drive that same wife to the hospital for the whole labour thing. Course, when you're in that state, everything's funny.

So the first gem, a nice poke (couldn't resist) at the sanctimonious right-winger's wet dream Ann Coulter, a one-shot blog called I Fucked Ann Coulter in the Ass, Hard is about as good a laugh as you're likely to get without the assistance of the afforementioned medication. Until you read the author's follow-up Back in Ann Coulter's Ass Saddle Again. Very funny, made funnier by how on point the guy's observations about the object of his cynicism are.

But the best laugh of the night you'd have would be from the Dog vs Roomba clip from stevenf's blog. The Benny Hill soundtrack is the kicker I think. Though I might find it so funny because the dog in the clip looks exactly like my sister Lisa's dog Rahea.

So now that's done with. What channel was that chatline on again?

Labels: funny, gaming

Ok, maybe not any minute, but I think Superwife and I are going to be off to the hospital sooner rather than later.

She went to bed with some novel new cramps going on, and I can honestly say I've never been more excited to hear about someone else's discomfort.

Not that I want her to go through any more pain than she has to. Its just that cramps lead to contractions, contractions lead to labour, and that lead to babybrown finally getting to show up.

I can't wait for our baby to enter the world.

And sure, I imagine that there are any number of statments that can be made about a guy that is so into his wife's pregnancy. But you know what a person could do with any of those statements?

Yup. That person could cram 'em right up their ass.

I am so glad that I'm in touch with my feelings, and comfortable enough in my own skin to get involved in the pregnancy without feeling like my manhood is somehow endangered.

And I know my wife loves that I am so involved too.

If anything, I think the whole macho thing is represented the wrong way in our society. A guy who shows interest in and affection for his kids has got to be seen as a more suitable mate for most women. Yet its still seen as unusual for a guy to do just that. Like only Moms can love their kids in front of other people.

There's a tv commerical for minivans that reflects a more modern attitude, if not my taste in transportation. It shows a number of sports cars, touting each owner's virility as the camera pans, and then the last car shown is a great big minivan, and the camera stops on a Dad surrounded by kids, whereupon his virility becomes a given.

That guy is the way Dads should be portrayed nowadays I think.

And no, this does not mean that I am going to cave and ever buy a minivan.

Labels: family

Been reading a lot lately about how some bloggers feel that for various and sundry reasons, they are having a hard time finding their own voice, and are experiencing 'burnout'.

Came across a great list of ways to see if you are experiencing this burnout. Read the whole entry here. It reads more like a list of how to identify self-censorship.

1. when your internal dialogue gets hijacked by your concerns about what your readers will think.

2. when you are afraid to write down what you are truly thinking about at that moment.

3. when you believe the lie that some people just aren't capable of good writing.

4. when you believe the lie that there is a certain way that you "should" write anything.

5. when you get more involved in punctuation, spelling, or aestetics than saying what you want to say.

6. when you get caught up in traffic, hits, popularity, readers, and/or fame.

7. when you believe the lie that what you think doesn't matter.

8. when you believe the lie that what you're about to say has been said before and/or written down better.

9. when you forget that most ideas can be expressed in less than 15 minutes.

10. when you dont set aside a little bit of time each day to update your blog.

I bring this up not because I feel like I am losing my own voice, or am feeling at all burned out. Indeed, I feel like I am finding my voice more and more, though I am still too god damn picky about my prose to ever thinking about finishing the book I started a few years ago. Too bad too. The pope was in it and everything.

I have always had this thing that prior to starting my blog used to hold me back in my writing. It mostly involved my getting too caught up in how to say what I want, and not paying enough attention to what I am saying. But blogging has been really good in helping me with that.

So I bring this up more to provide for fellow writers a checklist of things to watch out for, because expressing oneself through writing should be a fun thing.

As for me, I'm just getting started.

My alternate title for this entry wasThe Best Laugh I've Had in a Long Time!

See, I got two new high tech toys last week, that when used in combination with each other pretty much put me in the best mood I can get into without my wife's help.

One, a wireless router, allows me to take my meetings out on the patio, in my bed, even on the can (haven't tried that one yet, but I'm so looking forward to it). So alone, this item is great. Thanks Lis.

The second is a new digital cable box that allows me to use all of that crap they've been plugging for months - pause live tv! and never miss another of your favourite shows again! spring to mind. The truth is that the only reason I got it was so that I could get to watch Techtv, or G4Techtv, or G4tv or whatever the fuck its called now. So I love this device too.

But the good mood maker happens when, just like dipping peanut butter into chocolate, I use the two together. Because now I get to watch 'Attack of the Show' (formerly The Screen Savers) and wirelessly check out all of the links they talk about on the show while its on.

Man, have I been jonesing for my Techtv.

So to my laugh: Tonight's episode of 'Attack of the Show' had a very funny website to check out called Spamusement, a collection of poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines. Great idea, and the spams that they make fun of are ones that everyone will recognize.

But the one that made me almost piss my pants and had Superwife laughing herself just cause I was howling so much was the one that played off the 'Amazing Software Types While You Talk!' spam. If you didn't get it the first time, go back up and read it again. If you can't read it go here.

Even now, I'm still laughing. Maybe you have to have a dog to really get it, but fuckme that's funny.

Labels: funny

Now I know I don't normally come off as a materialistic person. Truth is, I don't care much for material things. Don't care what my car looks like, any old roof over my head will do, and my clothing style - well, let's just say it's a style all my own.

The few things that I have any real attachment to are my computer, my PS2, and my always growing book collection.

And of course, superwife, but getting possessive about those can only get guys in trouble.

But when it comes to vidoegames that I can't wait to play, I covet them, and I covet them hard.

I am a die-hard fan of the Final Fantasy series, hooked early on with Cecil and the gang in FFII for the SNES. I am in fact, such a fan, that I have a tattoo derived from my favourite character Tidus, from my favourite game of all time FFX.

I shit you not.

See?

So it should come as no surprise that I am chomping at the bit to get my hands on FF XII, due to come out this winter, likely the last great RPG for the PS2 before the monstrous PS3 stomps its way across the world.

I bring this up because I just got an e-newsletter choc full of pics promoting the upcoming game, one of which I've displayed above. An archer about to frag somebody's ass from atop a chocobo. How cool.

So riders of the chocobos will get to unite. Soon.

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And I have a word to the wise about the combination of really pregnant women, extraordinary heat, and ice cream.

That word is don't.

My wife and I - correction, my 8 and 1/2 months pregnant wife and I - went for ice cream at a local dairy, The Avondale Dairy, that has without a doubt the world's greatest ice cream.

So we go for a really long drive with the windows down first, to get really hot and thirsty beforehand. I mean long, and made longer by the fact that I was on the wrong back road and had to detour a bit just to find the place.

Anywho.

We get to the dairy, order these colossal mint chocolate chip ice creams, and take them outside to eat them on a picnic table. Except we/I forget about that 40 degree humidity, so the ice creams are pouring down the cones, onto our hands, legs and clothes.

And I'm loving it, making a total child of myself, and otherwise having a great time.

But alas, my wife is another story. Her hand is covered in mint green goo well past her wrist, and she has no chance any longer of catching up before it completely dissolves.

Which it does, primarily on her feet.

Its about this time that she coins the phrase re-fucking-tarded, to describe people that think its a good idea to eat ice cream in such ridiculous heat.

Funny, and smart, haven't I mentioned how great she is?

Labels: final fantasy, gaming

Ok, so as you can see, the baby's crib is well-populated with furry friends for the impending arrival. But as you can also see, there is not very much room for babybrown amongst the multitude of said friends.

Not that I'm knocking all of these cool stuffed animals that people have been more than generous to give for the baby, along with a host of clothes, toys, and disposables.

Far from it in fact.

I have been absolutely overwhelmed with the generosity of the people in our lives. I mean, really overwhelmed.

We received presents from people that I haven't seen or spoken to in at least a long enough period to justify them going 'Derek who?' and promptly filing the whole thing in their 'what the hell has that prick done for me lately' file.

Nice that people can be so limitless with their generosity. I'll have to try that sometime.

And I had to post a closeup of the puppet I've named Puff, in honour of a certain appropriately allegorical Magic Dragon, as he looked too McIntarded not to get a pic of. To be McIntarded, btw, is to be baked, drunk, about to wet oneself whilst laughing hysterically alone in a corner, maybe all three. If you know the guy, you get the joke. If not, you know someone just like him.

Great guy though.

Made me laugh.

Labels: family

Last night I went out and purchased another in the seemingly endless parade of ridiculous items that I have convinced myself (usually with help) that I require to prepare for the baby's arrival.

I mean really, who the hell wears digital watches anymore? 5 year olds that can't otherwise tell time? Lazy people? The retarded?

I want to remember that they were cool oh, about 20 years ago, but at one time I had a skin-tight pair of acid wash jeans that very likely let everyone know where my parents stood on the then raging circumcision debate.

I wore those jeans out.

So my opinion probably doesn't count for much.

But my sense of style (or my long-standing lack thereof) notwithstanding, I'm going to be able to time those contractions down to the millisecond now.

Labels: family