Category: life

Topics concerning that thing known as ‘real life’ and not virtual worlds.

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Number 5 Robson

6:50am. Standing at the bus stop. The temperature is just above zero (32°F for non-metric people). It’s a clear, crisp day and the sun is just about to emerge over the horizon.

6:57am. The number 5 trolley bus pulls up and I get on. After a few attempts to slip the ticket into the fare box, it finally beeps and lets me on. The bus is mostly empty at this hour and the cold air is tinged with the smell of vomit. I sit near the back door, avoiding the seat beside the blood-stained wall.

7:01am. As I check for e-mail on my cell phone, I idly wonder how the blood got there.

7:06am. A loud bang startles me from an e-mail that I’m reading. The trolley’s poles have come off the power lines, and an irritated driver stops the bus and steps out to reset them.

7:10am. At the next stop, a man in dirty clothes and a hacking cough sits next to the blood stain and proceeds to have a political debate with himself.

7:12am. I arrive at my stop. As I step off, I hesitate for a moment. Will I walk an extra two blocks to buy a McEvil McMuffin, or will I skip breakfast? I reject the evil and trudge towards the office.

I want my car back.

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Take car. Make it go.

I left my baby with the mechanic yesterday. Sure, it’s not a very impressive car — a ’91 Honda Civic — but it’s my car, and I’m very protective of it. It’s too bad that I know absolutely nothing about auto mechanics.

That’s quite embarrassing to admit. I’ve always been very mechanically inclined, but when it comes to cars, what’s under the hood is a mystery. The parts I can identify easily are: the battery, the place where oil goes, the washer fluid reservoir, the air and oil filters, the big wirey thing with wires and spark plugs and stuff, and everything else. Things turn inside it. When the engine gods aren’t happy, it won’t go. And that’s the limit of my technical understanding of an engine.

This is a problem. How do I explain to the mechanic what’s wrong with it? I have enough sense to tell when something’s wrong, but how do I put that into words? So yesterday I found myself describing to an amused mechanic that, when I drive up hills, the engine makes a sound like a coffee grinder.

No problem. They just need to change the filter and top up the French roast beans.

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tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…

I had planned to make full use of that extra hour gained by turning back the clocks on Sunday. What to use it for? There are so many options. Sleeping in. Getting a head start on the day. Slipping in that extra hour of online gaming.

Every year I have such lofty expectations for the extra hour. And every year I lose practically the whole hour as I track down and adjust every clock in my home. Why do they put clocks in so many things these days? Not a single room is free of a timepiece.

In the kitchen, there’s the digital clocks on the microwave and coffee maker, and an analog clock on the stovetop. There’s my Star Trek clock on my desk and the internal clocks in both computers, and the impossible-to-read black wall clock over the television. The stereo, television, and VCR all have internal clocks (my VCR never flashes 12:00). And finally my alarm clock on the bedside table and the Wallace and Grommit clock in the bathroom. Oh, and one in my cell phone (although that one seems to magically set itself).

I wouldn’t say that I’m obsessed with time — I don’t even own a wristwatch. I don’t usually care what time it is, unless it’s close to quittin’ time at the cube farm. So why is my home full of clocks? Always ticking or blinking or flashing. Crying out for attention. Ticking and flashing and blinking. Ringing and buzzing and ticking, ticking, ticking, ticking– AAAAAA!!!

I’m okay. I just need a moment to–

Dammit, now I’m late for work.

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Somebody give Blogger a swift kick

For the last few days, Blogger has been completely uncooperative. First their servers were down for maintenance, and now FTP won’t work unless I use their old “pro1” server. Now I discover that if it does upload to my site, it inserts the paragraph tag in my entries, causing the left alignment to go wonky (that’s the technical term).

Is anyone else having bizarre problems with Blogger? I’d love to try Movable Type, but the installation is completely baffling.

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Tako okonomiyaki, kudesai

Yesterday afternoon I met Sabine and her coworkers at their hotel. What a surreal moment. After months of communicating almost entirely by Internet chat, here’s Sabine in person, introducing me to the people who have been the principal characters in her weblog. And I didn’t have a thing to say.

I enjoy learning the odd phrase of Japanese. Like “Sumimasen ga wakarimasen” Sorry, I don’t understand. Or “Watashiwa Canada-jin desu” I am a Canadian person. Or “Ohayo gozaimasu” You’re up early. (Apologies for my spelling.)

There I was with the perfect opportunity to try out a couple of phrases, or at least gesticulate my way through a conversation, but all I could do was smile and nod stupidly. Sabine says that I know “sushi Japanese”. So basically, I know everything on the menu at a Japanese restaurant, but I can’t muddle myself through the most basic introductions.

On the other hand, I can make a mean okonomiyaki.