August Catch-Up

It’s been since last December when I last updated this thing.


Much of the house is painted now and a new floating floor has been put in the TV room in the basement. The big jobs remaining are still putting in a whole new, less ugly kitchen and embiggening the bathroom. This will happen some day when we’re not broke.


I’m still in the I.T. department at the new job and have adopted a work style of “Keep doing it this way until my boss yells at me to stop.” This has happened a few times. But, by and large, the change has been good for me. My previous job often left me wondering what exactly my role was as more and more people were given input into my work and, to be honest, a conflict with my boss ended up not being too good for my mental health.


I am volunteering for my local Member of Parliament in the upcoming election. They were impressed that I’ve been a member of the NDP for, like, fifteen years, man! Apparently the Orange Wave of 2011 made a lot of new members. Last night I attended a debate watching party with my local Member of Parliament, which is a new thing. I’ve long been a member but never volunteered.

Partially, it’s just an excuse to get me out of the house once in a while.


I am working on a novel, the same novel I’ve been working on for years when, suddenly, I figured out what I wanted it to be about. It happened when I realized my favourite books were set in fictional versions of the author’s hometown for the purposes of satire. Then I realized, “Hey. I have a hometown…”

I also submitted some short stories and a comic book so I can officially say I’ve been rejected by, Asimov magazine, and Oni Press.


My son, soon to be seven (!) starts grade one this year. He also has a working diagnosis of autism, a confirmed diagnosis of dyspraxia, and possible ADD. This is what happens when, before having children, I scoffed at these middle-class parents who claimed their children had all these conditions. The diagnosis does help explain a lot and a proper assessment is pending. While he is very intelligent, he has difficulties at school. A diagnosis will help the school get more resources to help him out. It’s a been a big challenger but I’m learning a lot.


And, as of today, I’m on vacation. Other than some camping in Ontario and whale watching in New Brunswick, there won’t be a big trip this year because, again, money. But Barcelona is looking like a place to go next year.

So…what’s up with you?

My Musical Career

The “band,” such as it was, went through a few different names like The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test before settling on Ugly Ties and Nuclear Bombs.

A news item from the old hometown recently sparked a memory.

An Anglican church located on the city’s west side is up for sale. The reasons are the usual: low attendance, aging congregation, cost of maintaining the city’s oldest church. When I saw the story, I suddenly remembered being in that church.

In grade 10 a friend and I formed a two-man music group. He was talented and played the guitar. I thought I could sing and play harmonica. We wrote songs in a style we thought was rather cleverly named as “punk folk.” The “band,” such as it was, went through a few different names like The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test before settling on Ugly Ties and Nuclear Bombs. Eventually, we did some cover songs at a high school talent show (“Walk on the Wild Side,” “As Tears Go By,” and “Wild Thing”). Wanting to record our genius, we set up a tape recorder in church where his parents were sextons (therefore he had a key) and started recording. It was very much in the style of the Cowboy Junkies except that we didn’t end up creating one of the best albums of the 1980s. But hey, we thought of it first.

The following year, I abandoned music for stand-up comedy with even more embarrassing results.

December Catch-Up

I’ve often been told by my homeowner friends that the first few years of owning a house is a bit of a strain on the finances, unless they’re my loaded homeowner friends who are simply allowing their lives to unfold as they expect them to. So we’re broke and facing a much more modest Christmas than years past. So far, presents have included a new hot water tank as a gift to each other.

In general, for every birthday, anniversary, and now Christmas, we’ve just been saying to each, “Happy Birthday/Anniversary/Christmas! I bought you a house!”

Still, we do see a light at the end of the tunnel when cash will be flowing a little more freely and we’ll just need to be frugal until that time comes.

In the meantime, renovations on a budget have begun. The downstairs powder room has been repainted Tardis blue. Our winter project is to tear up the carpet in the rec room, paint the walls, and put down a new floating floor and moulding. Further down the line, more rooms will be painted and the kitchen will be spruced up (without actually replacing the cabinets until a later date).

Now repeating kindergarten, James is now getting help for his dyspraxia from the Mackay Centre on Friday afternoons. But there is some concern from his teachers about his ability to handle a mainstream school. This a big worry of mine because I want him to manage his developmental delay enough to do regular schools with his friends. He has gross motor skill issues, some emotional issues, and an almost violent obsession with screens. But he loves books and our nightly reading of The Hobbit. But all of this will be discussed with his doctor in terms of options for the future. It’s a source of a bit of stress but we’re managing.


On a happier note, we are now obsessed with a TV show call Real Humans that just finished its first season on Space. Broadcast in Sweden as Äkta människor, Real Humans takes place in an alternate present in which humanoid robots (or Hubots, as they’re called) are integrated in society as a servants and workers. This leads to a number of issues with regards to labour, friendship, politics, discrimination, and sexuality. Some Hubots, thanks to an obsessed scientist, have become free and wish to free other robots. These Hubots are lead by a Chrissie Hynde lookalike.

The show works really well when it presents the social issues and not quite as well when it gets down to the actual plot of the series involving a government conspiracy. It felt as though the writer was more interested in Hubots like Rick, the creepy personal trainer model who is altered to become his owner’s boyfriend and then starts behaving erratically. Some plot threads get dropped (or perhaps put off until season 2) but overall, it’s an engrossing series.

I’ve also been attending a writers’ class at the local library and as a result, have been writing a bit of fiction here and there that may, one day, get sent to a publisher. Maybe. I write about 500 words here and there, when I can steal time. Over the past couple of sessions, I’ve been presenting a science fiction story as I’ve developed it. One participant kind of sniffed and suggested it wouldn’t pass muster with the Quebec Writers Federation who prefer more literary efforts.

That instantly reminded me of Tom Gauld‘s famous cartoon.


Other than that, work is good. I.T. is a whole other world from where I was. I do conference calls with Mumbai so that’s new. I have another week and a half of In work before Christmas and then we’ll be spending the back end of the holidays in Saint John. Hopefully we’ll meet up with some friends we haven’t seen in a while.

My Information Addiction

Twenty-five years ago, the Berlin Wall came down. I watched this spectacle on a solar-powered TV in a small Senegalese village (so small, in fact that not even the Google car has found it yet). The sound was bad and with my high school French, I struggled to understand it. I knew in the events leading up to it, that Berliners of both side were permitted to travel back and forth and I thought this was simply more of that. I had to ask around for a few days until I confirmed that, yes, it had come down.

I was eighteen years old at the time and while I missed home, there was a weird, helpless feeling not knowing what was going on. In that village, there was no electricity and few people had radios. The TV belonged to the village and was turned on once per night. The news would be presented in the majority language of Wolof, then again in the official language of French (or maybe I have it reversed). There were no shops so I couldn’t even scan newspaper headlines.

So I spent three months seeking out radio broadcasts or finding newspapers. I particularly liked the International Herald-Tribune. Late 1989 was a time of several historic events like the fall of communism, the impending release of Nelson Mandela, and the massacre at Ecole Polytechnique. I struggled to get details on all these events.

I’m not sure why it was important that I was aware of these things as they happened. My immediate knowledge of these events wasn’t going to change them. Perhaps it was because I wanted to be a journalist in those days and would eventually go to school for that. I made that my excuse to inhale news. Whatever the reason, I hated not knowing of certain events which is a silly thing to hate, really.

Later, when I attended a community college radio journalism programme, as part of our coursework, we had to run a community radio station. The newsroom had a teletype machine that I would watch type out breaking news. I loved the idea that as soon as I pulled that off roller, I would be the first to share this news over a closed circuit PA system with a bunch of disinterested agricultural students. I guess it was like being given a secret.

I would later repeat this behaviour at an FM station in Saint John where I did a work-study thing (I also may have sabotaged my career by refusing to work as an unpaid intern when my work-study stint was over). In the end, it may have been for the best. And later, when I attended university to get a degree in English, no Drama, no just English, I did the same thing and spent more time at the campus radio station than I did in class. But I did get to interview Svend Robinson and Rage Against the Machine, though not at the same time.

On trips out of Saint John to larger centres, I would find well stocked magazine stores so I could load up on alternative magazines like the Humanist in Canada, the Progressive, This, and Might. I wasn’t just interested in getting the news, I wanted to get a specific take on the news before I got the news. I subscribed to newspapers, went straight to the opinion pages. It wasn’t just that I wanted to be informed, I wanted to make sure my opinions reflected those of writers I admired and wanted to emulate as a journalist. I realize, of course, that this is what they call cognitive bias.

So, as you may imagine, when the internet became widely available and little more user-friendly for the masses, I declared that I had been waiting my entire life for this point. In the 2000s, it became extremely easy to tailor your bias through the news you consumed by simply choosing to read websites and bloggers who leaned a certain way and then declaring yourself well-informed.

Today, I still do this. My phone gets news alerts from CTV and Huffington Post. I love Flipboard for Sunday morning reading and when news breaks, I go to Twitter.

But I’m backing off a bit these days, in baby steps. I try to get other views on events, not just the ones that conform to my biases. And it’s really ok if I miss a story here and there. The fact remains I changed careers long ago, or simply realized that my original career just wasn’t going to happen, as they say these days, because of Reasons.

With all that said, it’s worth noting that my addiction to information was generally national and international news and almost never local, which I found dull. Today, that’s changed somewhat as, while it’s easy to find sources of national and international news, local news can actually be a challenge so I’ve been seeking out that out a bit more.

I think this has been just a roundabout way of me saying that I’ve been waiting all my life for nonstop, multiplatform access to news and opinion and now I have it and now I think its finally enough.

Let’s Judge the Other Parents, Shall We?

“I didn’t say I liked it. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.”

-Oscar Wilde

Because I know my wife and her love of car crash reality shows, I set the PVR last night to tape The Extreme Guide to Parenting which airs in Canada on Slice.

It’s a well know fact that your own parenting style is both well intended and well executed while other parents are all just batshit crazy who are borderline abusing their children. This show allows you to judge other more out there parenting styles from the comfort of your fake leather, cat-shredded couch.

I think the show has to walk a line between presenting unusual parenting styles versus something that would prompt someone in the TV crew to call 911. The children in the episode I watched may not always be well served by their parents but I don’t believe their health is in danger.

One parent believes her son, who has ADHD, is an Indigo Child and she practices aromatherapy to help him deal with it as opposed to, say, finding proper medication for her son to help with his symptoms. She tells a child psychiatrist that Indigo Children are going to change the world which is why they don’t have to do boring things like wait in line at the supermarket. Or something. She also focusses much of her attention on her son, to the neglect of her elder daughter. To her credit, her daughter calls her out on this behaviour.

Another couple refuse to leave their toddler’s side, even in the presence of a full-time nanny. When the nanny, who was the mother of one of the dads, quit on the grounds that they would not allow her to walk to the end of the driveway, they audition three new nannys and videotape them. It’s all very obsessive.

By the end of the episode, both sets of parents had examined their behaviour and grudgingly agreed to make changes to their approach.

So it wasn’t a total horror show. I think parents can all be guilty to some extent of living in a bubble and not considering other approaches to how they raise their kids. But people are all different and every family has its own system that works for them. But every now and again, it’s not so bad to ask if it’s still working.

In Which I Dream About Justin

Warning: This post contains the recounting of a dream, which is officially the boringest thing one can talk about.

Photo by Sean Kilpatrick of The Canadian Press
Photo by Sean Kilpatrick of The Canadian Press

Last night, I dreamed about a family reunion in which I was reunited with my long lost cousin Justin Trudeau. We had a good laugh about how long it’s been and he gave me a good natured ribbing about my support for the NDP and I, in turn, gave him a good natured ribbing about how, the last time we met, he had hair like one of the Musketeers.

People asked how we were related and, as it turns out, it was on both of our mothers’ side as one of my uncles married the sister of Margaret Sinclair.

We had such a good time at the family barbecue that I forgot that I gave bad directions to a friend who ended up parking her Yaris on Wolf Island (not Wolfe Island), a small circular land formation in the middle of the Bay of Funday which can only be accessed by land for one hour a day, thus stranding her there for the night.

I awoke in the middle of the night trying to figure out if I was in fact related to the leader of the Liberal Party. No, I only had one uncle on my mother’s side and he married a woman from New Brunswick who is no relation to Margaret Sinclar. Then I began to wonder if I was going around telling people that I was related to Justin Trudeau and a slight panic began to set in as I was sure I had and people would think I was a liar or a fantasist. It took a while for me to calm down long enough to remind myself that, no, I haven’t been making up stories about famous relatives before I would fall asleep again.

On a related note, I am attending a creative writing class at the local library tonight. I may be asked to leave.

Because I Never Miss a Vote

I mentioned before that we are new homeowners who, owing to personal indecision and, well, financial considerations, waited until our forties to get on the property ladder.

We ended up buying a condominium townhouse in in the suburbs. It’s small but it suits us and I really don’t know what I’d do with a detached house even if I could afford one.

Today, I got a notice from our board that the annual general meeting is in two weeks. I noticed two things: One was repeated warnings about unruly behaviour. The other was the proposal for a vote allowing a property management company to come run the day to day operations. My kneejerk response to that is to vote against it because I’m concerned the company would simply want to find a way to make a profit off the condos. Given that I’m already paying a 13% increase in heating costs, as well as our share for the new roof that was apparently repaired poorly and now must be repaired again, in addition to the regular monthly condo fees, I’m concerned we’ll be finding new bills in our mailbox sooner or later.

In any case, I’ll be present at the annual general meeting just for the unruly behaviour.