More seasonal stuff...

Tonight we took my parents on a christmas light drive. We saw some amazing (and amazingly tacky) homes, but pics of lights generally don't work. Last night, though we headed out to Butchart Gardens to see the annual Christmas decorations and displays. Over a number of years they built the "12 Days of Christmas"--we'd been a couple years ago but they added the 12 drummers drumming since then. Here are some pics; if you want to see the rest they're on my photobucket. The password is "lookatthepics".





This is the sunken garden all lit up.









This was kind of cool--a star way up high in a tree and then the real moon above that.































This is the outdoor skating rink--being Scrooges, though, we didn't agree to stick around and pay the bucks to let my daughter and her friend skate there.














My wife thought this looked like the Narnia lantern, an illusion which would be damaged if I hadn't cropped the men's room sign off the bottom of it.

and between the holidays...

1. Boxing Day sales--they're pretty much now a constant state of hyperretailing from Dec. 26 to Jan. 1. Most disturbing thing I noticed: You can buy Moulin Rouge in a 2 for $10 bin, but Pretty in Pink and Big Momma's House 2 go for 2 for $20. What mouth breather is pricing these things?

2. SKYPE! I tried it for the first time yesterday--talked to my niece in Winnipeg for about a half hour, and it was amazing. The sound was really clear, and the whole family at one time or another had a chance to chat with her.

3. Running! Yes, first time yesterday in about a month. Amazing how quickly you lose your endurance. I guess I might as well get a start on that new year's resolution early.

4. 5:30 a.m. in the freezing morning. Tomorrow my son starts his daily paper route, and like a good dad, I've agreed to get up and go with him the first time--partly because I've agreed to give him one day a week off and do Saturday mornings for him. Thus, I guess I need to know it too. Before going back to nursing, my wife did this same route (plus another one) every morning and I used to do it on weekends, but that was about 8 years ago. It's a few degrees below freezing right now so there should be ice everywhere.

I'm off to bed--morning is going to come painfully early...

What wonders man hath wrought

So this is it--the culmination of technology this Christmas season. You turn on Channel 93--there's the now traditional shaw cable fire--every so often a hand reaches in and throws on another log. It's also on Cable 11 as well, at least right now.

But that's not the peak, the culmination of what years of technological improvement in broadcasting hath given us. Turn to channel 94. THERE'S A DIFFERENT FIRE!

It looks very similar--but it's not.

Do we really need this much choice?

The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future as an

Elf..., er as a Vintner

Oh hey, you been waiting here long? Don't mind these bottles; they let me take a few with me 'cause the staff room's got a bunch in... well, let's just say you kids are supposed to be gone by now.

Whoa, you are a little one, aren't you? I think you'd make a great elf. Of course there's the problem of the cold, and Santa's probably a bit of a tough boss--I mean, face it; you think they get overtime those last few weeks?

Whaddya mean? Sure--a few drinks but... Vintner? What the hell is a... wine? No, you're too young--this is going home with me. Huh? Slow down, you're a little blurry.

Oh, right. I get it.

You'll go to some fancy academy in the wine growing part of California, where you'll do the crap jobs for those snotty people with their fancy name tags who get in your face just because you take the bottle from that extra table that nobody was sitting at anyway and besides, they just write it all off as... oh, right.

You mind if I smoke? I mean, technically school ended about two hours ago. You shouldn't even be here. Why are you here, anyway? Oh--that sucks. Well, maybe your plane being delayed until after supper wouldn't be a problem if you were riding on that reindeer sleigh your boss takes 'round the... oh, yeah.

Wine, right? Okay, so you go to some wine academy in... Oh, I did? Where did I leave off? Name tags? Nevermind.

Skip ahead to you figuring out you're just slave labor for some grape grower who got in a bind when immigration scared off half his work force. Of course, the wine school will call it a "work term" or something--but you'll get tired of it fast and make your escape to France.

There you'll hike the wine regions until you find a small vineyard in Bordeaux. The family, an older couple and their two adult daughters, quickly welcome you into the family. You work in exchange for free room and board, and the insights of a man with over four decades in the winemaking business. At night you sometimes accompany the daughters to the nearby village where you dance at the one nightclub in the region, and soon you're well known to everyone in the area.

You've taken french, right? Good. Anyway, your french improves rapidly, and hours after the village jeweler sneaks word to the vintner that you've just bought an engagement ring, your mentor takes you out to the vineyard for a chat. He explains that you are the son he never had and he's decided to take a well deserved retirement, and he wants you to manage his vineyard for his daughters.

The following spring you are married to the younger daughter, and the two of you move into the big house at the top of the estate, while your new sister-in-law finds herself sharing less opulent surroundings with her parents in the renovated but still humble guest house.

Marie, your wife, has never gotten along that well with her sister, and now she has beaten her senior sibling to the altar, the rivalry grows nastier. Soon Chantale, the older sister, resorts to bringing home a variety of the nastier village ne'er do wells and partying with them on the lawn out behind your house until all hours of the morning.

It gets worse when she settles on one of them for a husband. Chantale and her new spouse convince your father in law that her husband should share management duties with you out in the fields while your wives continue to manage the wholesale and retail distributing of your wine.

You gotta leave for that plane yet? Fine--but I'm going to just have a little glass of this--you okay with that? All this talk about wine is making me thirsty.

Your new brother in law is sneaky--you go out to one of the vineyards one morning only to discover he's sown pot plants between the rows of grapes. You have the laborers pull them up, and later he threatens to "take care of you". You aren't too worried, but still you begin keeping track of where he is when you head out to inspect the crops alone.

Then one day he rushes in and hurriedly blurts out his latest plan to get rich: ice wine. You're familiar with the very sweet product created by leaving grapes on the vine late in the season until they freeze. It's not a product the french like, as a rule, but your partner has made contact with some Germans who are eager to find more quality ice wine to market throughout Germany and North America.

Pierre, your brother in law has learned of a new "cheat" that allows winemakers to produce ice wine artificially--grapes are frozen in big coolers rather than on the vine, and extra sugar is added to give the wine its characteristic sweet taste.

If word of this scam gets out, it will ruin the reputation of the vineyard--a reputation it took your father in law a lifetime to build. You try to stop Pierre, but he has his first batch in the bottle before you can interfere. You swear to yourself that you'll end this abomination before it ruins the whole operation, and you drive out to the end of the estate to confront Pierre.

He listens to your tirade politely and then asks to borrow your cell phone. You hand it over and he immediately smashes it under his foot. That simple step prevents you calling for help when two German bikers step out of the grape vines and join him in physically venting his frustration on you--it won't be pretty.

If you survive, what say you come back here and tell me if the fetal position actually helps? Oh, my cab's here--good luck.

Say hi to Santa for me.

My Christmas? I'll be getting the yearly phone call from my kids at 11 a.m. and then my ex-wife will come on and accuse me of being drunk and then I'll go to the old codgers' home and listen to my mother tell me why I'm a disappointment for about two hours until we eat the pressed turkey sandwiches. With any luck I'll put a bullet in my head before New Years.

Thanks for asking, though.

The windstorm on Friday - updated

That story is describing us--we're the "outlying areas". We didn't have it as bad as Sooke, but it was still bad--trees on houses and cars, no power, not much fun.

We knew it was coming--I had about a half hour before heading off to my daughter's school choir concert to run around the yard and pack up anything that might blow away.

Still, when we got home, there wasn't any wind, and we wondered if we'd fallen for a false alarm. By around midnight, we realized that wasn't the case. The power went out a little after 12:30. The gusts kept pounding the house, and when I heard a new noise around 3 a.m. I knew there was a problem. I discovered a ten-foot length of siding was loose and flapping in the wind--kind of shredded, and the potential was the whole side of the house could lose its siding.














So there I was, snakelight wrapped around my neck, on a stepladder with hail coming down and winds around 110 kmh (70 mph) blowing the vinyl siding at my face. It was much fun trying to hammer it into place, trust me, and the picture shows we'll have to get that replaced somehow--but at least that stopped it from getting worse.

The next morning showed the extent of the damage, and since I'd had no sleep at all, I called in sick. My kids didn't have any school--their district shut them all down--but my school had power. Even if I hadn't felt like death warmed over, I had no desire to leave my kids home alone with no electricity--and I don't want them making fires when no adults are there.

Later that morning a friend of my daughter's who had electricity invited her over, and when I drove the half mile or so to their place I saw this tree down:











They live across the fence from the house where the classic cars were destroyed in the news story at the top of this post.

We got power back around 1 that afternoon, but many people had theirs out much longer. I bother trying to make it downtown for my staff christmas party--there's 20 bucks I'd rather write off than try to drive home after a couple drinks and about 2 hours sleep in the previous 36.

The winds around our place probably didn't get much over that 110 kmh level, but out at Sooke, they had an hour of 150 kmh--which is about 94 mph, with gusts by the water of 175 (110mph).

Essentially, a hurricane. The record rainfall in November, and more the last few weeks, meant that the ground was saturated and a lot of big trees came down.

Thankfully, both yesterday and today the weather was pretty nice.

One week of shopping left, kids--hope that's the biggest worry between now and Christmas Day...

The Cynical Career Counsellor Explains Your Future as a

Modelling Agent

Oh hi--I don't think I've seen you around before... Transfer student? I see. No, you'll have to put that little cigar away. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sexist--girls can smoke the same things boys can, I mean, I saw this picture of of Claudia Schiffer smoking a cuban one time and man, that was... Oh, sorry. No, it's the rules--nobody smokes in the school. That ashtray? Uhm, I take it outside during my break. Look, I don't have time to argue about the school's smoking policy so if you don't have anything else to talk... What's that? A modelling agent, huh?

I'll be honest with you--modelling agents are a dime a dozen. Most girls try to get started on some internet site, and hope the big city agencies might notice them. Those agencies come to town here once or twice a year and all the dreamers flock to them. You're stuck--if you stay around here you won't be able to find work for anyone you represent, and if you go to a major city you'll never make it trying to compete with all the established big players.

What's that? You've got an angle, huh? Well, maybe that's your only hope. What'll it be--something a little edgier like Suicide Girls, maybe? What? No, of course not--I just saw them on one of those CSI shows once. What's that smirk supposed to mean? Anyway, you'll find girls who don't fit the mainstream agencies--maybe the plus sizers or something, and... What? I can't do this if you keep interrupting. Yeah, of course my computer has the internet. Boys? All right, if it will get us through this quicker, go ahead.

You have to log in first--oh right, you're new. No password yet, huh? All right, here--okay, I'm logged in. Go ahead.

What's this? Hey--I can get fired for surfing to stuff like this. What--they're all 18? Some of them don't look like it. Hmm--this is a little creepy. Okay--that's enough--I don't need some IT geek coming after me for this. Anyway, I think I'm ready to give you the quick and dirty version, my friend.

You'll go to business college--learn the basics of contract law as it relates to talent representation, and then you'll go cajole your way into an internship at some agency--not in New York or L.A., but somewhere not so big league--St. Louis, maybe.

You'll specialize in recruitment. Other staffers sit in their offices waiting for prospects to walk in or email something, but you'll be cruising the emo coffee shops or offering smokes to the older denizens of local skate parks. Every chain smoking coffee house poet you sign is too naive to consult anyone about the contract you shove in front of them, and soon you manipulate them to trust you, and ultimately become completely dependent on your advice on everything from what to wear to when to phone their estranged parents for money.

Not all of them are cut out for the business--in fact, most of them aren't--so when you finish your internship and announce your intention to set up shop in Boston, the agency doesn't argue with the half dozen pretty boys who follow you there like brainwashed cultists.

You set up your agency on a shoestring, but as you continue to recruit, you eventually find a few diamonds among the pretty toys you collect and they start bringing in some cash. Ambigious sexuality eventually cycles back into vogue and you're poised to take full advantage--most suspect you have have more testosterone coursing through your veins than any of the foundlings you represent.

You don't age well--cigarillos give way to real cigars, and a bottle of scotch can be handily stored in your filing cabinet to help ease the pain of watching your pretty ones discover their attraction to each other and eventually realize indentured servitude as your harem of house boys is not worth the occasional tux shop flyer gigs you get them.

You, on the other hand, will die lonely of complications of your lungs, liver or psyche.

Hope you like it here.

Poetry by Dythandra

Unwilling Accomplice
He sits at the back--just like me
Looking bewildered when he hears:
"Just find a partner for the project".

We don't attract partners--
Or any human contact, really.
The difference is,
I work at it,

While his leprosy occurs more naturally.

It's awkward at the end--
The teacher peers over her charges
"Anyone not have a partner?"
We say nothing, but then
A little cheer whore obliges:

"Those two don't have partners"

The teacher smiles and assigns us each other
With no more thought
Than I gave the beetle
I killed before breakfast.

He looks in my direction
Won't meet my eyes.
I'm not going to make it easy
But then the blonde princess titters
So I glance daggers at her
And join my new... friend.

I pull a desk beside his and roll my eyes
We read the lab instructions
In uncomfortable silence.

He picks at his cuticles 'til they bleed;
While I draw portraits of Tiffany with electrodes,
Decorating her skin.

It's mind-numbingly simple
Earth Science is to real science
What podiatry is to neurosurgery.

We are required to meet on the weekend,
Our task: a trek into the park
To number the carbon-based lifeforms
In one square meter of greenspace.

We meet at his house;
I'd rather not give my parentals false hope
Of pseudo-social interactions,
Plus his family's expressions
When I arrive--too delightful to miss.

It's a short trek to our research site,
Then we look about for the best spot
To perform our grubby census.

He defers to my determination--
I can spot decomp
From a quarter mile away.

Sure enough, our little piece of nature
Yields the sad remnants
Of a family of racoons

No doubt the parents were eaten
Or squashed by an SUV
Too soon for their offspring to survive.

We count the things that call the little corpses home
and I take a few quick digicam pics
While my partner tries hard
Not to look squeamish.

Soon our list is complete
Bugs, grubs and maggots
A veritable city
Just beneath the surface.

As he starts to leave,
I pull out a freezer bag.
He waits awkwardly
While I kidnap the lower life forms.

Monday is a grand success.
I actually meet a deadline
And Tiffany has an unfortunate
But assuredly accidental
Mishap with red ants.

It's quite a scene--she screams and flails about
Before fleeing the room.

Her partner, with his nonchalant good looks
Quietly passes me a note:
"Next time I work with you".