The power of touch

Something weird happened this evening; I wish I'd videotaped it.

We went to my in-laws to have supper with our niece who's in town just for the day. My father in law is in the end stages of lung fibrosis and isn't expected to be around that much longer. At the end of the evening, when the others had left, my wife and I were setting up an old intercom system of ours so that her dad could summon her mom if he got into trouble. (He sleeps sitting upright, with oxygen, in a room at the other end of their suite.)

There's a "call" button which sets off an alert on the other unit; we had it working and then we had him try it. Nothing. There aren't any "buttons" actually, the call button is really a metal touch pad, which works like those touch lamps.

We try to figure out what's wrong. My father in law is exerting plenty of pressure, but nothing happens. We surmise it might be because of callouses from working with his hands for years, but then something weird happens. His finger is still on the touch pad, and I touch his other hand to see if maybe he's too cold or something. The call alert activites, and a little light turns on.

We try it again--same thing. My wife gets the same result by touching the back of his other hand.

Somehow even though his body isn't producing enough charge, or capacitance (according to some sites I looked up that explain how these sort of switches work), he can still conduct the charge from one of us when we hold his other hand, and we're not particularly close to the switch.

I don't know why he was the only one it wouldn't work for. He's had serious heart problems as well as his lung trouble, and the heart is the electrical engine of the body. Perhaps that's it.

What is interesting is that there is enough of a "charge" available in our touch that it passes through another's body and can then trigger something that person is holding. Could all those clichéd love stories not just be metaphorically talking about the jolt that happens when two lovers touch? Could there something more than the psychological feel of touch that gives it its therapeutic value? Could we be wired to give each other an almost imperceptible jolt on contact?

It was a lighter moment as we face the inevitable, and it made me curious.

Sufferings of my kids over dinner, AKA

...my Macbeth/Disney connection once more.

As some know, my daughter switched schools and now is not only at my school, but in my drama class as well. It's gotten past the initial weird first few days, and is working out quite well so far. I think we'll have to eventually work not to talk shop at home too much, since I doubt my wife or my son would enjoy that too much.

Meanwhile, he's in English 11 this semester at his school, which was probably my favorite grade to teach English back before my gig evolved into full time theatre, and he's studying Macbeth, which was probably my favourite unit in that course.

Thing is, his teacher's taking forever to get through the play. They've been at it for at least three weeks and they're just finishing Act II. (It's semestered, not linear.) He's started asking me about the play, and today my wife warned me off filling his head with "not the stuff his teacher will want them to know" about it.

Too late. First it was the whole "it makes more sense for Bellona's bridegroom to be Macduff" theory which I won't get into here, and then there was the "everything with Hecate was written by Middleton" issue. Still, I have to share the "Disney ripped off Shakespeare" Macbeth/Lion King thing once more. I've been flogging this with my classes since the late 90s (when my kids made us watch the damn movie over and over)

A good king (Duncan, Mufasa) is envied by a relative (Macbeth, Scar) who eventually murders him and places the blame on his son (Malcolm, Simba). The son flees his home (Scotland, Pride Lands) and goes into exile, while the new king begins a reign of terror aided by his evil supporters (mercenaries, hyenas).

Eventually things grow so bad that out of desperation one person (Macduff, Rafiki) travels to find the young king and convince him to return, but he argues that he is not worthy to come back and rule the land. Eventually Macduff/Rafiki succeed, and Duncan/Simba is joined by his newfound allies from the new land (Timon & Pumba/Old Siward & Young Siward) and they battle the evil king and his allies and restore the rightful heir to the throne.

But I guess they stole the "I am your father's ghost" from Hamlet.

A Perfect Day

It goes something like this:

A beautiful drive to work just before sunrise with my daughter, then a little later my friends now up from Honduras arrive--first time in over a year I've seen them, and we have a nice bus ride to catch up. Then, a play that all my students enjoyed, a short bus ride back to Duncan, and a break for food--pizza with my friends then back on the bus and home.

We all drive out to my place, beer on the patio enjoying the sunshine, and even my wife joins us for a while when she gets home. Then eventually we end up downtown, wandering like tourists and settle on a cheap but delicious restaurant in Chinatown.

Later, a stroll back through downtown to a pub, and a chance to laugh over drinks.

It was the bestest day ever. Here are a few pics:










Phone pic at Boston Pizza in Duncan












Dani contemplates her beer on the patio













Mmm, smell the horses.
















We stand on guard for thee.













The chinese food becomes part of a classic movie re-enactment: "You talkin' to ME?"

(well, it could have happened)

October garden

Some yard & garden pics from Sunday:

Don't even know what to call this

This commercial has come on a few times when we're watching tv and I just enjoy how it makes my wife giggle uncontrollably--mostly because it's so darned creepy. Don't quite know how it relates to chocolate bars, or anything else for that matter.

edit: I notice for some reason this posts as wider than fits in the blog. I really must try to fix up this blog layout one of these days. If you want to see it properly, you can also go to where I posted it originally, on photobucket. I think this will work without a password:

http://s11.photobucket.com/albums/a152/jpurple/?action=view¤t=eyebrowscommercial.flv

tense

There are some of you who know my friend who's been living in Honduras for about two years now--she's more family than friend.

Things aren't good there at the moment, and while normally I might take some comfort in the fact that she's living on an island far from where most of the troubles might be, she and her girlfriend were on her way home for a visit--they had planned to be in Canada by tomorrow--and they're caught in this situation:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/8270218.stm

I've been keeping up by chatting and messaging on line quite a bit, even yesterday at lunch from work, and they're stuck indoors just a couple of blocks from where a lot of the action was going on a couple days ago in Tegucigalpa.

Today I'm having a quick coffee with her successor--the only other techie kid I've ever trusted with their own set of keys to the theatre--to say goodbye before she heads off Friday to live in Nicaragua.

I need to start giving those keys to people I don't like.

In the meantime, I'm sending prayers and thoughts that my Honduras friends will soon be out of that and here for a while. No doubt there will be some pressure not to go back from those who care but I'll trust they know the best course of action.

The Kid Who Sits Behind You Explains

The DaVinci Code

(Editor's note: The Kid Who Sits Behind You has been on sabbatical for a while, but he is happy to be back now that he is in college and being forced to read books again. He did manage to graduate high school and tried his luck touring with a band for a couple of months, and well, the less said about that, the better. He is now enrolled in a community college, and has also joined a book club, formed by his new girlfriend, Lisanne. He is happy to once again to be able to offer you his unique insights into a variety of literary works.)

So this Dan Brown guy is all into symbolism and secret stuff and Sangreal, which I think is like some sort of wine mixed with fruit juice, plus he's all into weird religious crap and goddesses and goats and stuff. (Kinda like some of the posters I got cheap when my favorite metal record store had that closing out sale.)

He goes on about something called Opus Dei, which I think means something like "Opie's Day" or maybe "Opie is God" in latin. So I kinda got into this symbolism thing too, (cause on account of some stuff we was adjustin' our consciousness with after the first book meeting, even though Lisanne said she's going to be all straightedge now she's starting college but it was a Friday night...) Anyway, I think I get what he's hinting at.

Opie was the kid in that Andy Griffith show I used to watch on those dvds at my grandma's place and the show used to be called "Andy of Mayberry". Well, the Leonardo's name isn't "da Vinci"--that just means his name is really "Leonard of Vinci". See the connection? Plus Mayberry is like some sort of plant that they'd probably wear in their hair on May Day, when they dance around the maypole, which is like all goddess symbolic and pagan and stuff.

Plus there was a guy on the show named Gomer, and that was one of the kids of Japeth, who is one of Noah's three sons and there's all this stuff in the freemasons (my grandpa was one and after he kicked it we found this weird apron in his closet and for a while I thought he was some sort of crossdresser) about Noah's kids and that all ties in.

The main woman in the show is this hella old chick named "Aunt Bea", and that's short for Beatrice, who was a character in some play by some guy named Percy Shelley and she's treated like crap and beat on by her dad. So I figure like Aunt Bea's always havin' to be maid for Sheriff Andy 'cause he's the male authority and she's this "sacred feminine" that the religious authorities have beat down all the time.

Finally, the theme music to the show was called "The Fishin' Hole" and when they start the show there's Opie carrying a fishing pole. This is symbolic cause on account of Dan Brown tells us the "age of pisces" (the fish) is over and the "age of aquariums" is beginning, which I think mean that the christian fish-symbol is going to be replaced by the goddess of fish tanks, and Andy and Opie are going to kill fish so it all makes sense.

Plus the deputy Barney had no play with the babes and that stupid guy in the book has this hot French chick detective around and he is too busy looking for symbols to get busy, if you get what I'm sayin.

This sounds like a Mickey Mouse deal to me

Disney cruises will be stopping here by 2011. My daughter will be a few years out of their target demographic by then, but I'm sure some locals will be thrilled. Expect a lot of little girls in princess dresses wandering the tourist trap shops on Government Street...

Regeneration

In about 10 hours, I'll meet with students for the first time this school year. (So I should probably get to bed.)

I've been thinking about the beginning of this new school year the last week or two, and as always, I have mixed feelings about it. While it's a little sad to say goodbye to the summer, particularly one as nice as this one, the last few days have been rainy and felt more like fall, and it feels like we should be getting back at it.

My daughter's excited about coming to my school this year, although she's leaving behind all her close friends from her previous school to do so. I'm looking forward to our daily commutes together; no doubt we'll have lots of time to discuss all manner of things as the weeks and months pass. I suspect we'll also argue about radio station choices quite a bit...

The summer is quite long, but I think it's necessary. Not for the "school is such a grind we need a longer break" excuse so much as I think it needs to be clearly separated by time from the year that's ended--we need to make a clear break from what came before and feel that what lies ahead is something new, something fraught with possibility.

In much the same way as the winter is needed for fruit trees to lie dormant and then blossom to life once more, so we need to empty the school and leave it to the custodians and tradespeople so that we can return to someplace clean, perhaps painted or renovated, and ready to be filled with the expectancy the new school year brings.

We turn over at least 25% of our population each year as well. As wonderful as any departing grad class may be, after four years we've all gotten a little too used to each other, and they've outgrown what we have to offer, and all of our particular idiosyncrasies--theirs and ours--have begun to wear thin. The incoming kids will bring their own challenges, but at least some will be new challenges.

No matter how many first days of school one experiences, you can't help but pick up some of the nervous energy and excitement that fill the halls as the new grade 9s try to muster a confident swagger and eagerly clump together for encouragement, talking a little too loudly as they pretend they know where they're going.

The new grade 12s take a little while to settle into the rarefied air of senior status, and at first wander about as if looking for the big kids who ran the show a few months before. The senior hangouts gradually become less empty, as one by one they dare claim these spaces as their own. In a few weeks, though, they'll wear the mantle of their seniority more comfortably, and the memory of another departed grad class will gradually fade.

There will be all sorts of resolutions--the best lesson plans and most innovative units are often those written for the first few weeks of school. Once routine is established, and any number of unexpected demands steal focus, we will succumb, to varying degrees, to the temptation of the familiar, the safe.

Still, there will be surprises. I hope, for all who read this and are facing their own new school years, that most are nice ones.

Nice ending

It was a terrible situation--story was on my google all Thurday evening. A two-year-old B.C. toddler wandered away from where his family was camping in the Yukon. Not exactly safe terrain, and it gets cold at night.

Then, the next day, turns out the little guy is found. He'd followed a dog he saw into the forest. The dog had been lost for a week or so, and it must have stayed with him, and probably kept him warm overnight. They were found together, and are okay. The owners of the dog found out the little boy wanted to keep the dog, so they're letting him have it.

Full story here.

And the latest retro/nostalgia trend to return is...

McCarthyism.

Obama wants to start off the school year by making a 15-minute speech to students encouraging them to take control of their education.

Apparently it's really an attempt to indoctrinate them with "Marxist propaganda".

First, the ridiculous proposition that health care isn't just for the rich and now telling kids "to set goals for your own education: to study hard and get involved in your school."

Fortunately a lot school districts are savvy to his gun-hatin', healthcare-forcin', ways and they won't be lettin' their kids be brainwashed by the man the country is followin' like a bunch of crazy cult people.

*sigh*

nostalgia

I'm back in my home town--had the high-school reunion on Friday and Saturday evenings, and my family got here today.

Reunions are funny things. Some people haven't aged very well; others look amazing. I went up with my old roommate from university days; we were also best men at each other's weddings. Apparently we were better preserved than most, we were told. Might make sense; I'm sure we drink a lot less than many of our former classmates, and haven't been through as many divorces.

It was disappointing how many locals didn't show up for the event. I suppose there is the possibility that in a smaller town, there are folks who have bad feelings from broken marriages or other connections that have transpired over the years, and they didn't want to see certain people in that sort of situation.

It was fun to talk to some people I haven't really had conversations with since elementary school. It's also amazing how we can trigger each other's memories of all sorts of details from back in grade 2 or 3 that I hadn't thought of for years.

Yesterday I had some hours to kill after my friend left on one ferry and my family came over on the next, so I bought a novel and wandered the town, reading on the beach for a while, then strolling by old haunts. It was weird what came back as I walked by the house where I lived until I was four, or wandered the grounds of my old elementary school. The door was wide open so I even went in to see the hallways didn't look much like they had back when I attended.

Now we're staying at a nice resort on the water--here's a photo of the sunset from our deck last night:




Coffee on the same deck this morning, listening to the waves roll in, was very good for the soul.

too damn hot

"BC Heat Wave Gets Worse"

We aren't set up to deal with a long spell of hot weather. Today, Port Alberni's supposed to get up to 40 (104 F). They're about two hours north/west of us, and that sort of weather is what's turning the forest into a tinderbox ready to burn from a carelessly-tossed cigarette butt or even a piece of broken glass that acts as a lens to focus the sun's rays on dry grass.

There's a campfire ban everywhere on the island; campers aren't even allowed those citronella candles to keep mosquitos away.

It's still about 80 (26) at 11:00 p.m. the past few nights when we're sitting outside trying to cool down before we attempt to sleep in the overheated house.

We had an air conditioner we got rid of for energy/environmental reasons a couple of years ago--but the past few days I've been questioning that. Maybe I'll just drive around in the air conditioned car all day...

A quick trip by pic (lots of pics)

We spent the first nine days of this month south of the border, in Washington and Oregon, where we got to experience our first U.S. 4th of July. Never saw so many flags as in some of the small towns we drove through.

Here are some pics:










Leaving Victoria on a beautiful morning on the Coho ferry to Port Angeles

















View of downtown Seattle from the Space Needle
Then, on to a boat tour of Elliot Bay with various Seattle landmarks pointed out:


























The very first Starbucks:




















We found snow on Mount Rainier, but it was still warm--about 70 degrees.

















Fireworks at Fort Dent on the 4th














Glass art at Tacoma














It was cloudy in Portland











Lincoln City on the Oregon coast--also where we found a decent outlet mall, to my daughter's delight. (no sales tax in Oregon)













Looking down on the Columbia River













The State Senate in Olympia, Washington. I was surprised to discover we could walk in and wander, even look into the Senate chamber, or go up into the viewing gallery in the Senate or the House--nobody even checked us for bombs or weapons...








Vietnam memorial at the State Capitol--they had something for each war, but I found this one somehow more... powerful than the others.





There were lots of other things, and I've posted a ton of pics on facebook if you're on it you can check. I may post some on my photobucket eventually--there's info elsewhere in past blog posts as to how you can access that.

One annoyance is the exchange rate--it was about 85 1/2 cents when we got home and now, a bit over two weeks later, our dollar has jumped to 92 1/2 against the U.S. buck.

Stupid fluctuations.

The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a

Bouncer

Hi kid--just slide that table over and there should be room, oh, watch for that lamp. Sorry, it's a bit of a small office.

So what's in your future plans? Bouncer? As in the guy at the bar? Oh, clubs, right. Okay, I think it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

First of all, how many hours you figure you spend in the gym? Per week? Oh, per day--well, that should be fine. You'll keep up that bodybuilding regime, and of course, resist the urge to use steroids... What? Oh, no, I didn't laugh. I just had a sneeze that didn't come out right. Oh, and you might want to get a little Oxy or something for that acne outbreak--it helps for bouncers to look their best, at least at the trendier nightspots.

You'll probably wait until after you graduate high school to get started; after all, you're underage and it's also tough to fit in late nights when the football coach has you guys on the field most mornings by 6:30.

You may not wait until you make drinking age to try out the gig--there are other places you can be the intimidating hulk. For instance, there are those weekend all-ages concerts and shows, plus there's a couple of fast food places downtown who need people to glower at the street kids who tarry too long over their small coffee.

Tarry? Oh, it means to wait, hang around.

You'll try to get hired with fake ID but the types of nightclubs you want are pretty careful; most have had jerky but connected patrons threaten legal action from time to time, and they cover their backsides by taking care of small details. Once you are of age, though, you'll be more than physically up to the challenge; the endless days of weight training will see to that.

You'll be taken under the wing of some guy whose nose looks like it's been broken a few times, and likes to occasionally pull out his fake front teeth and drop them into your beer when you're not looking. He kind of reminds you of a taller version of that bounty hunter guy on t.v.

You make a few mistakes as you learn the tricks of the bouncer game. For starters, like most, you're too eager to prove yourself, whereas a more seasoned bouncer remembers the goal is always to defuse the situation, rather than "laying the smack down".

Eventually you're proficient enough... pardon? Oh, it means "good". Anyway, you get good enough to be left in charge of the line out front. You do the regular door security shtick--let in the guys who've got the cash to buy lots of drinks, and the cute girls they'll want to buy drinks for, even if it means you don't examine some questionable ID's very well. Meanwhile, block every young guy who doesn't look like he can afford to buy a round, or like he'll be jealous and make trouble when his girlfriend gets a little wasted and starts grinding with her coke dealer on the dance floor.

You'll develop a sort of crude charm that goes with your bouncer persona, letting the prettier girls snort lines off your biceps, or making your tattoos dance as you flex before a giggling audience.

The downside is that you always have to maintain. Got the flu? Still got to get to the gym. Want to take a holiday--make sure the hotel has a fitness studio so you can put your hours in. If you don't you'll lose the main tool of your trade--your intimidating physique.

In time, you become more and more aware of the social hierarchy of the club, and you're lower on the ladder than you'd expected to be. No doubt the regular club girls will be more than happy to take you home once in a while, but anyone who's got enough going for her to be worth considering as relationship material, only sees you as... something less. You'll be surprised how hurt you get when they don't call after, or you realize the number they gave you is fake.

The guys with the Porsches and the Rolex watches are the ones who the girls really want to go home with, and you begin getting to know them better; soon you're getting extra jobs providing security for their private parties. Then, one night you're asked to go along as muscle by one of the drug dealers who frequents your club; he hands you a gun to stick in the waistband of your pants before you get in his car and he drives you to some seedy warehouse.

You look suitably menacing, and everything goes down without a problem. You go home with a week's worth of pay in your pocket, and the order to forget everything you saw, if you know what's good for you.

The next weekend, the same dealer comes up to you and says you can earn twice as much if you're interested. Thinking it's a repeat of your earlier duties you agree, but instead he drives you to an abandoned farmhouse where several other dealers are waiting--each with his own "champion". Seems these criminals have grown bored of dogfights, and have graduated to people--you don't want to back down so you end up in a free-for-all.

Adrenalin and the many hours of physical training come to your rescue; soon it's down to just you and Greg, your old mentor. As you go in to grab him in a choke hold, he steps aside and brings his right fist up against your temple--you're knocked down and nearly unconscious. You glance up and your blurry vision still spots the roll of quarters in his hand--cheating, in your mind.

As you pull yourself up on the open BMW trunk--the dealers had a bar set up in it--you hear his taunts, mocking you, calling you his "bitch". In a blind rage, you reach into the trunk and grab the tire iron, and swing it wildly, and manage to connect. Greg goes down in a heap, and one of the dealers checks him and announces he's dead.

Your "sponsor" gets into a heated discussion with the dealer who brought Greg to the fight, but it's over who won the pot of money, not about the fact that a man is lying dead at their feet. They agree to split the cash and they all head for their cars. When you try to join your dealer friend, he pulls a gun and motions you away. Seems as a murderer, you're too much of a liability to help now.

Fortunately, as you watch them all vanish in a cloud of dust, you realize Greg's beat up Toyota is still waiting nearby, and after you fish the keys from his pocket, you struggle to stuff him in the trunk.

You drive the car to the edge of a cliff, stuff Greg in the driver's seat, empty a couple of beer cans you found in the trunk on him, and push him and the car over the embankment--there's a loud crash but no explosion.

It only takes them a couple of days to charge you; you were in such a panic you didn't even think to wipe your fingerprints off the car.

On the bright side, you'll have lots of time to pump iron in prison.

Testing, testing

Is this thing on?

Last post: June 25. last post the "other place": May 24. Blogger is becoming a ghost town. And yet somehow Twitter thrives?

Blogging, which can actually require some thought, perhaps a basic understanding of how to form a sentence, versus "I so haate my new nail polish, omg" and twenty other lines of equal import.

What's wrong with everyone?

another year older, don't know about the wiser, though

Not writing much on the 'net any more. Was out for a drink with a colleague last week and discovered she'd had a piece of writing she entered in a CBC contest get her past the first round and into the semi finals or something.

I read it; it was pretty good--they had to make them very short. We talked about writing, and why it is that we might keep something like an interest in writing rather secret.

Perhaps it's a little because of another colleague we watched inflict her creativity on every event in our building and every gathering and to celebrate every milestone. It's a bit like someone who thinks you like their baking because you once complimented something and now they constantly offer it, though you don't really want it.

We don't want to become that person.

It's my birthday today. Nothing major planned; we did our family dinner out last night, our larger family stuff on father's day last weekend. Tonight we're off to son's award ceremony--don't know what he's getting, though.

Got a nice t-shirt, some cards and a nice birthday cake from my four main booth kids today. I will miss them; they're all made it clear they want to stay in touch and come by lots. It's a nice sentiment.

Sadly, we all move along and we don't keep up with those who once were important. I realize that when I go back to my home town for the occasional visit, or look back sadly on those I once thought close friends who've drifted away.

Fortunately, life seems to bring new and interesting people along all the time.

Grad 09 - From Friday evening

There's a tradition at our school that during the graduation ceremony the grad class sings a song. For many years it was a lame but somewhat cute butchering of something like "Stand By Me" or the theme from Cheers.

Last year the grads had a small musical ensemble who played instruments and actually prepared a song--theirs was a cut above what came before.

This year's grad class, while maybe not the stellar crew we said goodbye to in '08, probably can claim an even better song; it was a nice moment in a rather ordinary ceremony (apologies for the video quality--it was just my digitial "still" camera):





If you want to see some photos from Friday--the ceremony--or the dinner/dance last night, you can to photobucket:
http://s11.photobucket.com/albums/a152/jpurple/22-Grad%202009/
The two albums can be accessed on the left. The password is my first name and my last name all spelled as one word.

For those who need a little motivation right now...

...40 inspirational speeches in 2 minutes. Brilliant!

not dead yet

...but still haven't been posting much.

My wife and I were watching something this evening on a Detroit station; along the bottom of the screen was scrolling a list of schools closed for the next week--one or two even longer. It's all because of the swine flu scare. Many of these schools don't have a single case of the flu, but are closing for precautionary reasons or precautionary cleaning.

It's getting ridiculous. Last I heard the only fatality in Canada or the U.S. was a boy who'd come to the U.S. from Mexico for treatment. While that's a tragic event, it pales in comparison to thousands killed by "regular" flu each year and by other diseases.

The media is having a field day with this and I wonder if they've crossed the line into irresponsible and perhaps dangerous behaviour.

My student teacher finished her practicum last week, so tomorrow I have all my classes back. Wouldn't you know it; my dad's doctor's office calls and it's tomorrow morning they need him in to get hooked up to the 24-hour heart monitor thing and my wife's working so she can't take him (it would be probably a 50+ dollar cab ride each way and last time he ordered a cab for an appointment he booked it the night before and it never showed up) so I've got to try to get him there and hope he can get a cab home.

My son badly sprained his ankle yesterday so I have to drop him at school an hour early on my way to get my dad.

If this stuff had happened at ANY TIME IN THE LAST 12 WEEKS my student teacher could have covered things and I could've helped make it all work.

Figures.

Now a few pics from this afternoon:















I liked the flags blowing in this one; interesting that there are two of each--Canada, U.S & British Columbia. It was taken down by the cruise ship terminal

















These two are what got us there--we were out taking my in-laws for a Sunday drive and saw the submarine strapped onto the freighter.
















I have some pics of my student teacher taken with some of the students on her last day I might post elsewhere. Sorry I've sucked at posting lately, for any who might have been checking at all.