Before reading on, PLEASE watch the above video. It is only 1:16 long, so will not disrupt your day.
OK, have you watched it? Good. So, first and foremost, whether or not you are remotely interested in lacrosse (I very much am), you will recognize that play by Drew Westervelt as one hell of a goal. It's one of those beautiful sporting moments that leaves one in awe. When I first watched this, I was so dazzled by the play, even in the slow motion replay, that I somehow missed something truly bizarre. On the second viewing, however, I thought, "What the...?"
Now, watch it again. After enjoying the fantastic goal, keep your eyes on the replay, especially what is revealed at 1:05. Did you see it?
What in the name of hell are THREE BIKINI-CLAD WOMEN doing in the stands, SITTING WITH THEIR FEET IN FOOT SPAS?! There they are, as plain as day, enjoying the soothing water on their feet, refreshing beverages by their sides. But, erm, why?
Does anyone know if foot spas or hot tubs are common or standard in US lacrosse arenas? If so, considering that these particular women are, ahem, rather fit looking, might anyone know if they are present for the entertainment of the (presumably largely male) crowd, or is this a seating option, like a box in a theatre?
One obvious key to the success of a relationship (in our case, a marriage) is plenty of laughter. Susan and I laugh all the time, one reason being we both enjoy being very silly. Both at home and in the outside world, we try to have fun and act daft in the most mundane, everyday situations. There are undoubtedly times when people have thought us lunatics, like the neighbours who have surely witnessed us dancing like loons (usually favouring the 'disinterested indie hipster dance') to pop music in our dining and living rooms. But we don't care! Life is short and we're going to cram in as much fun as we can until our time is up or, as Jim Morrison so eloquently put it, "the whole shithouse goes up in flames."
In our silliness all sorts of things can pop up as the result of an idea, then continue unabated until whatever it is has run its course. Take 'The Fish Game,' for example. Like many folks we have an aquatic-themed bathroom, containing all manner of art and objects relating to the ocean. Amongst this stuff are three small rubber fish, which I cannot for the life of me remember the source of. There are two small goldfish and a blowfish that glows in the dark. Running around the middle of our shower wall is a small shelf where we keep the shampoos, and around the top is a narrower shelf. Until recently, the blowfish sat on the outside corner of the upper shelf; until a few months ago, the goldfish were sited on the middle shelf.
One morning back then I climbed into the shower to find that Susan had positioned the goldfish facing each other, lips touching like Kissing Gouramis. I laughed out loud, thinking how lovely it was, but spontaneously and immediately thinking what fun it would be to place them somewhere else that would cause amusement when Susan next entered the shower. So I put one on top of the soap holder, and one balanced on the showerhead. Long story short, this routine has continued on a daily basis ever since, each of us finding new and increasingly inventive places for the goldfish to go and consequently be discovered. Particular fun is had in placing one in an obvious, though never before used place, and one somewhere harder to find. I love hearing Susan laugh out loud when she finds a goldfish tucked away somewhere, as I sure she does me when I discover the elusive rubber creature.
I don't know why it took so long, but just last week I decided to introduce the glow-in-the-dark blowfish to these ridiculous proceedings. To announce his arrival, as it were, I placed him in a very obvious place on our clamshell sink. Susan was delighted, instantly proclaiming that he was in plain sight because he didn't yet really understand the game or know 'the rules.' She also lent him a very excited voice, saying, "Look! Here I am, over here!" As inflated blowfishes tend to, our phosphorescent little fellow has a fixed wide-eyed, open- mouthed expression, so his excited voice suits him well. When Susan placed him somewhere equally obvious for me to discover, she gleefully squeaked for him "Look! I was over there, but now I'm over here!" However, as you can see from the image above, by plonking himself in the soap holder blowfish is catching on by being a little more imaginative in where he patiently waits to be found out.
All this may sound utterly ridiculous from a man approaching his mid-50s and a woman in her late-40s, but it keeps us young and laughing. There can never, ever be anything wrong with that, eh? But bathrooms being of limited space and hiding places, we will in time need to dream up some other silliness, perhaps still in the bathroom, though maybe elsewhere in the house. Even when that happens, it would seem the fish may carry on regardless, as they seem to be having a whale of a time!
It's been a whopping eighteen months since the last Well, Fancy That! but after learning amazing facts about two regular customers of the store this week, it returns in style!
Firstly , I discovered that one young customer is a direct descendent of P.T. Barnum!
Well, fancy that!
Circumstances in the store were such when this fact revealed itself that I could not find out more, but certainly will, or at least try, when he returns.
Secondly, the grandmother of another customer is the oldest Canadian-born person in Canada, and to boot currently the 17th oldest person on earth!
The fear of heights, or acrophobia, is of course very common. But as someone affected by it, I can't help but wonder how many other sufferers feel the fear simply by viewing footage of great heights. I don't have acute acrophobia, especially as whenever an opportunity arises I cannot help but ascend tall towers in order to try combat it. To this end I've been to the top of the CN Tower in Toronto, the Space Needle in Seattle, the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur and various other very tall structures around the world. On each and every occasion, however, I feel as if the tower will fall; I feel dizzy and weak and no amount of rationalizing how safe I know I am will calm me down. I guess these are common symptoms of the phobia. Nonetheless, the next time I have the chance to get to the top of a tall building, I'll do so. I guess it's the same compulsion that gets us onto terrifying fairground rides.
As I say, I feel just as freaked out whenever I look at film of people experiencing great heights, yet this is a relatively recent development. When a couple of years back I was sent a link to the short film below, I was surprised to find myself feeling nauseous and genuinely scared as I watched. My heart was in my mouth and even though I knew the guys would not fall, I still felt they would. I still find it difficult to watch this without turning away or feeling panic creeping up on me. What does it do to you?
The catalyst for this post, however, is a new piece of film that I find even more unnerving. Despite the fact that the guys in the above film are obviously highly trained and very safe in the work they're carrying out, those in the next clip appear to be in a situation of great potential danger, or at least that's how it seems to me. It feels like the edge of the road could give away at any time, at least in my terrified mind as I watch through my hands. I couldn't even WALK this route without thinking I would tumble over the edge at any moment, let alone do what they're doing, obviously thrilled at their situation and seemingly without a care in the world. I could not even do this if offered a huge sum of money to do so, and I mean that quite sincerely. I have a sense of adventure, sure, but never to this degree. That this takes place in the province I live in makes it all the more mind-blowing and scary! And what happens after the climax of the clip? Where the hell does the road lead after that? How did they get back? Where were they going in the first place? Are they all quite insane?
Anyway, whatever the answers, enjoy or otherwise. Comments from fellow acrophobics are welcome!
As a faith-based celebration Thanksgiving means nothing to me. I have no God in my life, no need of one, nor a code of living associated to one. So any calendrical occasions attached to Christianity or any other religion bear no significance for me beyond the possibility of a day's rest from work. Even then I usually work the stats. In recent years, however, Thanksgiving has shown itself to me as a convenient pause in the year, a time when I have genuinely turned to taking stock of my life and feeling very grateful for where I find myself these days.
In April we moved into a beautiful house, a dream home fully intended to be our last move, the place where Susan and I will see out our days. We both have work paying enough to enable us to meet the mortgage and bills, clothe and feed ourselves and, whether it be a chocolate bar or occasional weekend away, enjoy treats of various kinds. We are able to buy music, books and art. We have Reggie, a beautiful, crazy and richly entertaining feline companion. Our community of friends is wonderful and we feel loved by them. We live in a quiet neighbourhood with good neighbours. There is glorious scenery all around us and pretty much every day we see Hummingbirds. In Vancouver, Seattle and Victoria, we have access to a shot of big city life whenever we want or need it. As I have no blood relatives left alive my whole family, on Susan's side, is close by if we need them, or they need us. It's good to know we have that support network just up the highway.
I could continue, but there is no need. Persistent health issues and life's petty irritations aside, it will be evident from the facts presented here that life is good, that we've never been happier.
We have a friend who works the graveyard shift at a corporate convenience store in the roughest part of town, for $10.75 per hour. He works alone, has been refused a raise of even 25c per hour many times, and is hassled each and every night by hookers, junkies and psychos. He is constantly tired and stressed, has no money and usually looks like hell. His meagre income has been the sole bread coming in to pay the rent and feed his wife and 12-year-old daughter. They also care for the baby of the useless teenage daughter and lard-ass stoner boyfriend our friend utterly despairs of, a couple lacking even the most basic of parenting skills. They are happy to let our friend care for his granddaughter pretty much full-time, while they laze about getting stoned, playing with their fifty or so pet rats (yes, really) and playing computer games all day. The baby is an inconvenience to them. It's a miserable existence, but somehow our friend manages to keep smiling, shrugging off his woes as part of life for the majority.
On Thursday night, our friend's wife passed away, aged 43. She had a heart attack last week and, with subsequent swelling on the brain, when the doctors indicated there was nothing further they could do to keep her alive, the family decided that the best course of action was to take her off life support. My friend emailed me at 3:50am on Friday to break the news, writing with such grace and dignity in the face of such a nightmare scenario that I struggle to comprehend how he could even function. I picked up the email at something-past-six yesterday morning and the tears flowed. We are heartbroken for him and his lovely young daughter.
What will happen next in the life of this poor man? Since we've known him nothing has gone right in his life. He has had health issues to contend with, problems with his circulation, blood clots on his leg and dreadful dental trouble. He works so hard, gives so much love to his friends, and is simply a salt of the earth guy who is doing his utmost to keep his head above water. Just writing these words I am welling up with tears, reaching out to the universe for our friend to catch a break, something positive to give him hope. A friend of the store implied yesterday that he has a job for our friend when he's ready to return to work, so at least he can escape that dead-end hell. We so hope that comes to fruition; maybe it could be the first step towards a considerably better life, one he so deserves.
So, yes, in my own way I will be so very grateful and giving thanks accordingly this Thanksgiving weekend. I feel blessed and a millionaire in comparison to some, but will never take any of it for granted. Life is fragile and uncertain, but while I have it I will appreciate every moment.
Since I formed any palpable appreciation of music at a very young age I've always held a fondness for silly band names. Imagine the hilarity the first time I encountered Splodgenessabounds, for example. This continues to this very day, my favourite this week being the Almighty Lumberjacks of Death (an old band, but their name is new to me).
Yesterday morning I heard the Portland, OR. band WAMPIRE for the first time and, really digging what I heard, thinking she would like Wampire equally, I informed Susan. My dear wife, however, is considerably less tolerant of stupid band names than I. "Wampire?" she snorted, screwing up her face. "More like Wankpire."
