Monday, July 31, 2006

Aqua Nemesis


This, my friends, is a Dolfino Aqua-Leisure Steel-Set pool. It's 15' wide, 4' deep, and holds a volume of water approaching 4,500 gallons. That puts its theoretical weight at 45,000 pounds.

It's big, it's heavy, and it's fast becoming the Summer's offical Backyard Hangnail.

But let's start at the beginning. For the past 5 Summers the kiddos (Jedi Boy and Band Geek) have splashed around in a smaller Aqua-Leisure pool. It was (yes....was...) one of the pear-shaped soft-sided jobbies that have become de rigeur in suburbia. It was a pain, frankly. Always a hassle to setup and position just so on the level crop circle that was it's home year after year. Always the fear that it wasn't quite level and would creep amoeba-like towards low-ground in the weeks after fill up. Always never quite sure if there was too much or too little chlorine and algecide (damn those test strip things anyhow!). And always the extreme hassle of emptying it, cleaning it, folding it, and getting it back into the Rubbermaid lawn coffin that was its home.

This Summer, Aqua-Leisure #1 finally died. Oddly misshapen after its years of service, I enthusiatically dragged it to the curb one fine day for the garbage collector to transport it across the River Styx.

Joy.

But the promise of a hot Summer and the doe-eyed pleadings of the kids meant that I was bound to replace the pool. Hence Aqua-Leisure #2 - bigger, badder, wider, deeper. It seemed to be a snap; unfold it on site, thread the 12 cross-poles through the pockets at the top of the liner, and connect the twelve down-poles to the cross poles. The kids and I had it assembled in 15 minutes. Then, just add water.

A quick pseudo-physics lesson: 45,000 pounds of water, while largely supported across the bottom of the pool, will still generate considerable force on the down-poles. Just for fun, add torrential rains every other day to soften up the ground. Now, let's add a randomness factor to how soft the ground will become under each down-pole. Now what do you suppose the results might be? Why, of course! The down-poles will sink anywhere from 1" to 3" into the ground!

If you've been paying attention, you'll already know that this sinkage will further result in a pool that it somewhat 'not level' - with bonus points for having 45,000 pounds of water sloshing dangerously against one side. On one hand, this is a prime candidate to win a prize on America's Funniest Home Videos. On the other hand, the threat of a pool full of kids suddenly forming a backyard tsunami is likely a bad thing - roll for damage, as they say.

So, after filling the damn pool (what will the water bill look like?) I was compelled to drain it and put blocks of wood under each down-pole - using varying thicknesses of blocks to level the pool and disperse the weight so as to discourage sinkage. Finally, add another 4,500 gallons of water and enough chlorine to sear the skin off any filthy kid that comes a-calling on a hot afternoon. Inevitably, all this work had to be done in sweltering 100C heat and humidity.

The end-result you can see in the photograph - a seemingly well-behaved pool to keep the kids cool and red-eyed for weeks to come. So far, so good. After 2 days there's no sinkage, no leaning, no dangerous sloshing. One of the down poles on the low side of the pool has developed a bit of a tilt, but nothing untoward (yet).

Lord, just get us through the next 4-6 weeks.
I promise I'll add chlorine, etc. on the recommend schedule.
I'll skim grass, bugs, and unidentifiable fuzz from the water's surface.
Just keep it all together, wouldja?
Then I get to tear the thing down for another winter.

Amen.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Tardy Boy

Now there are shades of meaning to Tardy Boy. Your choices:
  1. A terribly unclever putdown based on a variant of 'tard'; as in "what a (re)tard he is!".
  2. Recognition of a lack of overall timeliness in personal and professional matters.
  3. A character from a wildly unsuccessful series of Young Persons mystery novels written by Franklin W. Dixon's younger and lesser-know brother, Stan
If you guessed (1), you likely found this site by accident and it's also likely you believe Oscar Wilde produces a line of luncheon meats.

If you guessed (3), your trivia knowledge is reasonably impressive, but not quite (the rest of you should refer to Wikipedia).

Which leaves us with the correct answer of (2) and my sincere apologies to my legions of regular readers for a lack of new stuff as of late. No excuses are offered other than, "I've been busy". While my fingers have made only the most fleeting contact with my keyboard this week, I do have a mental backlog (insert the obvious joke here) of posts that may/may not entertain and/or bore you all.

Some possible posts in the days ahead may opine on such diverse subjects as:
  • why I'm mad at CBC Radio
  • how landscapers make me feel inadequate about my body image and my choice of fashions
  • how to have fun with 45,000 pounds of water
  • the awesome responsibility of having too many books
  • 'NSYNC had 4 guys who weren't gay?
  • and many, many more!
For now, time grows short as the hours grow long. But I'll be back. Oh yes, I'll be back....

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Recently Read

Further in my serial brain dump of apres-vacation posts, I managed to plough through a few novels in between dock repairs, paddle-boat trips, and all the other busy-ness that filled the past few weeks. What follows are not so much reviews as they are my slighly vapid impressions of the books I managed to read. I'll leave the real reviews for real writerly-types...

Someone Comes to Town, Someone Leaves Town is the lastest novel from Canuck SF writer Cory Doctorow. I highly recommend this book, but I'm at a loss to fully explain the story here. You'll probably dig this book if....you dig hot babes who sport wings.... you're interested in wireless Internet access..... foul-tempered undead things are appealing....you're intrigued about how a washing machine and a mountain could mate and produce offspring. While the story, itself, is pretty bizarre; the characters are compelling and touching enough to make the whole thing work.




jPod comes to us from somewhat-legendary Canuck writer Douglas Coupland. I wanted to like this book. I really did. The first few chapters were pretty satisfying and made me believe this book would kick ass.

Alas, jPod sucked ass.

Too precious for it's own good and it reads like a bad amalgam of Coupland's previous novels. I really cannot add anything else here other than to refer you to Sean Twist's spot-on review. Nuff said.



Historian David Howarth has elegantly summarized 1500 years of British naval history into just a few hundred pages in British Sea Power: How Britain Became Sovereign of the Seas. This book is simply friggin' amazing. Howarth knows his subject well and weaves the facts into fascinating accounts of the major events in British maritime history. Admittedly, I'm a sucker for swashbuckelling sea stories and any insight into the inner-workings of ship-life before the dawn of the Industrial Age, so it's pretty much a given that I'd like this book. But, in fact, I loved this book.

You Can Beat City Hall

A few posts back I mentioned a recent parking ticket I was lucky enough to receive. The Coles Notes version: still 1 hour left on the meter, ticket unfair, couldn't dispute ticket based on my vacation schedule colliding with city policy for disputes, paid the $15 fine with an accompanying 'cheeky' letter to the city.

Now that we're caught up..... upon sifting through the post-vacation mail, I found a letter from the city addressed to Yours Truly. First reaction; my letter's slightly sarcastic tone pissed off someone downtown. Upon opening the letter I found that my $15 cheque had been returned along with a letter explaining that the parking meter was faulty. Yup, apparently the city's crack meter technician checked things out and determined that the meter was faulty at the time of my alleged parking infraction. I'm a bit puzzled at how this jives with the fact that the meter still displayed 1 hour of time when Meter Reading Guy issued the ticket. I won't even comment on the time travel implications around determining how the meter was faulty at a precise moment in the past.

Logic aside, my ticket has been rescinded, I have my $15 back, and one more faulty meter has been restored to pristine time-keeping condition. It all feels pretty good to me.

What? No Party?

Well, I'm back after a 2 week hiatus and this place hasn't changed much. I'm guessing I need a focused campaign to:
  1. Provide more edgy, compelling content - but that means I need focus and...ummm...content?
  2. Advertise my wee corner of the Net a little more. Goal: Have this blog appear at the top of the list for all Google searches for 'crazylegs'. Baby steps, always start with baby steps.
While my 2-pronged marketing plan refines itself in the back of my brain, I'll fill the vacuum with a few meandering thoughts about my 2 weeks at The Family Cottage - provided I can shout above the din of crickets chirping and wolves howling under a lonely full Moon.
  • personal electronic devices (such as my iPod) are invaluable when spending any time in an outhouse. Extra points if it's the middle of the night and scary sounds are all about.
  • what did we do before Bell ExpressVu? There's something wonderfully bizarre about being in the middle of nowhere and pulling down 500 channels.
  • 2 weeks without Internet access is cruel
  • baby Ravens are bigger than you'd think and can actually swim for short distances however unintentional it is...
  • Harvest Moon on a Gameboy SP is sorta cruel, too. This only makes sense if you've played Harvest Moon on a Gameboy SP.
  • Band Geek can swim better than I can. In a related vein, I have no problem using the pink pool noodle as a primary flotation device.
  • there's no such thing as a crappy chore if you're doing it beside a body of water (yes.... I was repairing a dock recently)
  • Internet access redux: Using a cell phone to browse the Web is stupid - unless you're doing it from an outhouse, of course.
  • food always tastes better on vacation, but I find I eat less. What gives?
  • I can't hold my breath under water as long as used to....
  • crappy chore corollary: any work done in sweltering heat that requires concentration and the use of both hands is, inevitably, perceived as a buffet invitation by biting insects of prehistoic proportions
  • whatever we build, Nature will wear it away given half a chance
  • Mead (as in wine mixed with honey) is actually pretty tasty stuff!
  • No one - and I mean no one - looks good with a diving mask on their face
  • avoiding the news of the World for 2 weeks is a good thing. Finding out how the World can change in those 2 weeks is a bad thing.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

This Is It - For Awhile

For the next few weeks I'll be sequestered away up on Georgian Bay at The Family Cottage. Actually, it belongs to my wife's family. Lest anyone think I'll be sitting in a Muskoka chair offering Corona-toasts to the loons, think again. The cottage is almost 40 years old, working-class, and in constant need of TLC. As the designated "marry-in" on premises, I'll be spending the next two weeks digging up grey-water tanks, replacing deck boards, levelling doorframes, or whatever else needs doing. On top of all that, there will be (gasp) no Internet access for the next few weeks! But you know what? I like the change.

At all times I am cognizant of my readership's needs (all 3 of you!) and in light of my extended absence from the Blog, I offer the following odds-n-sods:

Our washing machine is in need of repair, so I've been doing some research on what I can do to get it back on its feet. Turns out that the washer needs a new set of 'agitator dogs' (about $7 worth). If I ever learn to play an instrument and form a band, we're going to call ourselves The Agitator Dogs. That would be cool.

I got a ticket a few days ago while parked at a downtown meter. The fact that there was over 1 hour remaining on the meter seemed to elude the Authorities. Fully intending to dispute the ticket (on principle, which is an expensive thing to have), I discovered that London doesn't really encourage disputes. I have 15 days to declare my intention to dispute in person at some city office during the oh-so-convenient hours of 8:30am to 4:15pm (Mon to Fri). Given the vacation schedule, my choices are to postpone the cottage trip or pay the fine. I hope the City puts my $15 to good use. I did, however, write a cheeky letter to the City and Mayor Ann Marie.

I'm bulding a water-rocket, but I'm stymied by PVC piping. That is, I need some Schedule 40 PVC pipe to construct the launch mechanism (just trust me on this). While this material is abundantly available 'south of the 49th', it is apparently a rare commodity here in Canada. It's something to do with the building codes, I think. This stuff cannot be found in London, except from a plumbing wholesaler who cannot (and will not) sell it to me since I'm not a professional plumber. As silly as it seems, I can buy the stuff on-line from a US retailer. I'd rather buy locally, but it looks bleak. If anyone knows a back-alley here in London where shadowy drifters sell illicit Sched 40 PVC, let me know.

Raumpatrouille (Space Patrol) was a German TV space opera that pre-dated Star Trek. I learned this on the Internet. Here are some clips for you to enjoy.






Next time you hear someone say, "Go to hell" - point them this way. I don't know why I love this site so much, but I do.

Thinks that's it for now. See y'all in 2 weeks or so.....

Thursday, June 29, 2006

They're Making Me Grow Up - Part 2

So, apparently I'm old. And I can tell you when it happened; Monday, June 26 at approximately 8pm. There were plenty of witnesses to the event, too. You see, my daughter aka oldest kid aka Band Geek (sister to Jedi Boy) graduated from Grade 8. Officially a teenager since December last, and now, officially a High School Student.

So why does this make me old? Well, Gentle Reader - two reasons:

One - remember, it's all about Me. Or have you not been reading here lately?

Two - Things are changing. I cried a little as Band Geek picked up her diploma and a bevy of awards for those extra-curricular pursuits that Band Geeks...well....pursue. I was proud. Bursting even. And as hackneyed as it sounds, I sat there pining for the days when she was a bonafide little kid and I was Daddy and nothing was ever gonna change. There were even those lightening flashes of doubt. Could I have been (or be) a better Dad? Should I have done things differently? Yes and yes, I decided. I wanted a 'do-over', a parental Mulligan.

But I'm too late. It's changing. I can detect the subtle shifts even now - growing independence, newfound confidence, chafing under the authoritative yoke of The Parents. She has her own interests which, admittedly, still require the gentle indulgences of Mom and Dad. Me, I'm watching the old home movies more and more; recalling the good times when it was just Mom, Dad, and two needy little kids. Damn her growing up when I wasn't looking!

My single, irrational fear - wondering about the precise instant when Band Geek (and Jedi Boy, for that matter) will no longer be interested in doing The Family Vacation. For me, these have been sacred events. Just the four of us having an adventure. Together, we've walked on glaciers, shot whitewater rapids in silly divesuits, touched whales while hanging over the side of a Zodiac, scuba-dived in the world's largest aquarium, snorkeled with stingrays in the open ocean, taken Ghost Walks though Old Quebec City, seen every friggin' Pixar/Harry Potter/Disney/whatever movie on the big screen, geocached our way across the Maritimes, and spent way too much time riding Big Thunder Mountain at DisneyWorld.

Always just the four of us.

This is what I think about. I have loved every moment of our adventures, but Band Geek's milestone makes me realize that Things Will Change - and soon. In just a few short years it'll be boyfriends, a driver's license, Spring Break (not bloody likely), giddy weekends away with friends, a first beer, university, and.... her own life. Time will simply accelerate.

Ah, but I feel umbilical cord fraying.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

The Strangest Things You'll See Today

Two posts in one day, you ask? Well sure kids! Turn up those speakers 'cause it's Big Fun Video Time!

Bollywood Beatles?



Rare cult-fave Jan Terri videos.





Hope you enjoyed the show!

They're Making Me Grow Up - Part 1

SEP = Somebody Else's Problem.

Fans of Douglas Adams will recognize this term who's definition is something akin to the act of ignoring something deliberately. 'It' is something you're aware of out of the corner of your eye, but your brain refuses to acknowledge whatever 'It' is. Although Adams' version relied on 'SEP field' technology as a cheaper and more practical alternative to 'invisibility fields', SEP is more-or-less a metaphor for plugging your ears, covering your eyes, and chanting "La La La" until 'It' goes away.

We all have SEP moments. Yesterday I had mine. And it reminded me that I have to be An Adult from time to time.

My son (Jedi Boy) is a great kid; kind in an oblivious-about-the-world sort of way, good student, great friend, kick-ass video gamer. But he's had a few issues along the way that make him....well.... him. He's a textbook ADD kid; above average IQ with notable concentration issues. For some kids ADD (and ADHD) is pretty much a recipe for getting in trouble in between daily does of Ritalin. For my kid, it's been years of concentration exercises, sometimes-fatiguing school days, constant reminders to 'focus'; but no drugs. Karate lessons have been a godsend to improve his concentration and confidence. Through all of this has been an undercurrent of parental guilt over the fact we cannot 'fix' our kid, only help him help himself.

Sometimes ADD and hearing loss get mixed up. One can look like the other. We've known for a few years that he has some amount of hearing loss, but we've never fully bought into it on the basis of (1) concentration problems introduce uncertainty into hearing assessments for young kids and (2) our kid has none of the pathological issues of hearing loss - e.g. stunted speech development. All in all, he's done 'ok' and we were loathe to slap hearing aids onto each ear.

But yesterday we had to confront the truth; our 10 year-old kid does have a hearing problem in the 'moderate' range. There's no denying it now. Normal conversation is sometimes difficult with him. The volume on TV, etc. needs to be louder for him. We suspect he misses stuff in the classroom. Were it not for his much-improved concentration skills and basic intelligence, he'd be in a much worse place. And a renewed round of testing backs it up.

So now we're looking at hearing aids for him; one for each ear. And I cannot shake the Bad Feelings. Will this help? Is this just another item on the list of Things That Make Him Different? Will they be a pain the ass day-to-day? Will he get teased? How does he feel? Are these just my issues to deal with?

The kid is okay with it all, so it seems. His view; being different just makes him special. He says this without irony and maybe he thinks it's what Mom and Dad want to hear. So we're going to give it a shot and, maybe, it'll be fine. There's a part of me that simply marvels at how the Universe just loves to screw us over once in awhile; just for sport, beyond our control, and when we least expect it.

Addendum: Hearing aid technology is impressive. Some geek-cred for sure. Who knew they came in 'fun colours' for kids?

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I'm Ready for My Close-up....

Today I was cleaning "the office", which is our household euphamism for the little room where we keep a computer and any other junk that looks remotely futuristic. So, anyways, I'm cleaning...ok...not so much "cleaning" as re-arranging stacks of crap and moving various action figures from one shelf to another....box of Star Wars dudes, Gumby-and-Pokey poseable-play-pals, giant Buzz Lightyear, printer cartidges, computer manuals I'll never read, Lego....how did we collect all this stuff?

So we've established that I was pushing bits of stuff around in a little room where we keep a computer. The point is, I found this webcam that I had forgotten about. I seldom brave the Boxing Day sales, but last year I found myself at Staples during Boxing Week and made this impulse buy. I have no use for a webcam, but it only cost $30 - regularly $80 - so I'd be losing money if I didn't buy it!

So I bought it, tested it (yes...I saw myself), then cast it into the miasma that is "the office". As is usually the case, lost stuff seems to become un-lost when you least expect it - probably because you never knew it was lost. So now I have this webcam, and I really don't know what to do with it. But it was a steal at $30!

Ideas and experiences on the topic are most welcome. Did I mention I got it for $30?

Fanboy

According to Wikipedia:

Fanboy or fanboi is a term used to describe an individual (usually male, though the feminine version fangirl may be used for females) who is utterly devoted to a single subject or hobby, often to the point where it is considered an obsession.

I've don't think I've ever been a Fanboy, but I've come dangerously close a few times:
  • Star Wars: A New Hope - teen-aged boy, X-wings, Princess Leia. Who could blame me?
  • Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark - barely out of my teens, a bullwhip, Karen Allen in a ripped dress. Again, out of my control.
  • Home movies - A digital video camera and some desktop software combine to fulfill my dream of making my kids the most-documented humans in Modern History.

On the whole, I've always kept my eye on that line that separates enjoying the hell outta something versus dressing up in costumes and standing in line for something. But I find I'm being sorely tested as of late, and I hope it's not just some isotope of Mid-Life Crisis. Books seem to be the main culprits these days:

The Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson

A three-volume set (3000 pages) that attempts to tie together histories of monetary systems, international trade, modern science, and European history; all against a fictional backdrop that is often hilarious. Stephenson is one of my favourite SF writers these days, but this audacious effort goes beyond my expectations. A tough read, but well worth it. Makes me wish I were half as smart as the Author.

Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom - Cory Doctorow

Doctorow is an upcoming Canadian writer (well-known in some corners of the blogosphere) who writes pretty good SF. Set in the not-too-distant future, the book focuses on a group of people who spend their lives obsessively trying to make DisneyWorld a better place. Since DisneyWorld is sorta one of my favourite places to visit (a topic for another post), the book was almost guaranteed to appeal to the likes of Me.

JPod - Douglas Coupland

Okay, I haven't finished reading this yet. As a bonafide professional computer geek, Coupland's Microserfs resonated with me when I read it 10 years(!) ago. Some of Coupland's work since then has been less to my liking, but I picked up JPod mostly on the assumption there'd be a Microserfs vibe there. Honestly, I've only read the 3-page stream-of-consciousness preamble to the first chapter. Coupland is amazing. I hope the rest of the book is as good.

Monday, June 12, 2006

Theater of Cruelty

This title is actually not mine, but let's start at the beginning of my explanation. Somewhere around the year 1982 (yes, yes; mists of time and all that...) when I was still a Student, it was required that I should take some manner of Liberal Arts elective in order to escape the semester alive. As a Student of 'computer studies', this news fell on my psyche like acid off a duck's back. Touchy, feely coursework was to be endured, not enjoyed. It was a beer-stain on the rich tapestry of logic and technology that I was weaving for myself. In short, I was not with the programme.

But, a credit was a credit and so I made my selection; something general interest that afforded a bit of literate sampling without too much commitment. A spoonful of Voltaire, a mere taste of debating skills, maybe some critical analysis for dessert - it might not be so bad, I thought.

And it wasn't so bad. Had it not been for this one, lonely credit I would never have been exposed to likes of Herman Hesse's Siddartha nor would I have taken the time to really think about the context that lies between People and Technology. In the years since, I have forgotten the professor's name - but I'm thankful for the chance to have been his Student.

Which brings us back to Theater of Cruelty; which I learned about during that semester. The term is generally attributed to French actor/writer Antonin Artaud (died somewhere around 1950 - although I could Google this I suppose). Artaud had a passion for the experience of theater. That is, he believed that the audience was a central character in any theatrical production, not merely observers. In fact, the theater-in-the-round concept that is popularized, for example, at the Stratford Festival was inspired by Artaud's theories.

Theater of Cruelty summed up Artaud's position that theater should be an in your face experience. It was all about shattering illusions of reality and generating a more visceral response from the audience who, in turn, would feed that whole vibe back to the performers.

The expression stuck with me all these years, and it seems to be a good metaphor for the Blogging experience. So, am I in your face? Am I shattering your reality? Hardly. But I'll wager that those who post their thoughts on-line with a modicum of anonymity are, by definition, speaking Truths hidden in their daily lives. And that's our own small Theater of Cruelty, isn't it?.

Cue the Afterschool Special tinkly music.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Blogging is Hard

So a few days ago I create this blog for the main purposes of (1) being able to post some comments on another blog and (2) just to see what this Blogger thingy was all about. I knew I probably should not (or maybe could not) actually write stuff here, but I had this weird compulsion to do it anyways. The same kind of compulsion that drives one to pick at a scab just to see what's underneath; all the while knowing that it hurts and looks gross.

A few posts under my belt and now I'm getting all introspective-like. Do I have anything interesting to say? Is there anybody out there? Can I even write something reasonably coherent? Pondering on these weighty questions, I think I've made a few breakthroughs:

  • Blogging is easier to manage than writing a journal (which I've forever intended to start but just never have...)

  • writing something...anything...is fun. I get excited when an idea pops into my head that might look interesting written down. This is tempered by the fact that my fun ideas are actually pretty boring after all. The 3 (count 'em!) posts to-date represent the Good Stuff. You've been warned.

  • further to the last point... I am developing an irrational fear that, after a few blog posts, I'm might enroll in a night school Creative Writing course on the mistaken belief that I could be A Writer. Talented people like Neal Stephenson and KD are writers. I'm a guy who likes to writes stuff down for his own cathartic purposes. I can't be the only one in the blogosphere with this fear. I think the Continuing Ed people need a heads up. Just in case.

  • I didn't think I'd care if anyone read any of my posts, but Comments are like crack. I think I do care. Must be my healthy - albeit suppressed - Ego.

  • It's waaaaayyy too easy to be too cute, too precious when writing stuff you secretly hope other people read. I wonder how actual, live (or dead) writers deal with the Cringe Factor. That's probably what they call editting. I must remember to do that more often.
So much for self-actualization. I must get back to thinking about that really interesting idea for a post about London's proposed pesticide ban. Or maybe that fun idea about those colourful people I meet downtown at lunchtime. Man, I got a million of 'em.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

From Failing Hands....

Literature and history are chock-a-block with father-son conflict stories. You know, the dramatic coming-of-age scenario where the son becomes a Man in his father's eyes; but only after some requisite conflict. At least, I'm pretty sure those stories out out there.

I seem to be playing a part in one such saga. My son, all of 10 years old, is decisively kicking my ass in what was once my sole household domain - video games. It started innocently with the now-ancient Nintendo deck. I showed him the ways of Mario 1, 2, and 3 with a patient paternalism, secure in the knowledge that he had only taken a baby step into a larger world.

From the old Nintendo we graduated, together, to a used Nintendo 64. Still, I was there to break the trail and show him the way. Then he discovered Zelda, and I lost him without realizing that cold truth. Where I was always looking for the next frenetic side-scroller, Ben was patiently exploring treasures and learning the magical songs of Link's ocarina.

From there, it was Gamecube and more Zelda, a dash of Starfox, a cup of Animal Crossing, some Spiderman, and more. Sure, once in a while he'd ask me to help him out of a jamb to finish some level. But I was being left behind, and I knew it. I was a spectator. In desperation I brought Sonic Head2Head into our world thinking it would take us back to the way it used to be - playing side by side with Dad always edging out a win or graciously faking a loss. And it was that way, at first. Soon, even the speed-demon action games were out of my league, however. He was just that good.

In my quiet desperation, I ushered him into a world I knew I could still rule - PC games. With twitchy fingers and a dispassionate eye, I revelled in my mastery of Jedi Knight 2, Pod Racers, Rogue Squadron, and many more; always with Ben by my side and, once more, as my pupil. Inevitably, even these games bowed before his younger reflexes and his determination to master their missions. And when he grew fatigued with space travel, I would find him inventing theme parks and riding the rides he imagined.

Ben soon graduated to a used PS One by way of his sister's short-lived fascination with Dance, Dance Revolution. But that was simply a gaming footnote beside his real prize - his beloved Playstation 2. From there, he entered a class of player that far eclipsed his father. Harry Potter, Kingdom Hearts 2; it didn't matter. He finished them all and never needed me for anything other than an occasional "check out this Boss, Dad!".

So this is the end of our drama, for now. Ben becomes the Master to his own video game Padawan. Sure, I have yet to relinquish my crown to him in some small corners of our gaming kingdom. Call of Duty 2, Medal of Honour, and Fear are still mine for the glory. But I know it's just a matter of time before he's old enough for these kinds of games and I'll be brushed aside again.

In the meantime, I'm content in knowing that we still share the same interests, even if we sometimes exist on different levels. Sure, he can fly an X-Wing through narrow canyons and summon whirlwinds by blowing a few notes into a strange flute, but (as I remind him) I get to stay up late and eat junk food all night long if I so choose. So there.

Addendum: Apropos of nothing in particular, except that someone asked me for this, here's the result of a (very) little Star Wars video project we did last Summer.

Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Geekier Than Thou

I discovered a truth today, and it pains me to the core. Okay, it's not so much a truth as it is a suspicion. Apparently, there is a class of Geekdom that is a target of derision for even other Geeks. That's right, a Geek caste system. I've heard the sniggering and I've attempted to brush away the finger-point crosshairs from my chest. But I must face the facts - I'm a Geocacher.

Geocaching is a pursuit so pervasive and yet so shrouded in mystery, even Dan Brown doesn't know about us. But we're out there with our waypoints, our GPS receivers, and our pocket full of dollar store trinkets; all searching for treasure. We're right under your noses, searching through your neighbourhoods, and you Muggles never notice us.

In it's simplest form, Geocaching is a high-tech cross between treasure-hunting and hide-and-seek. 'Geo' belies the fact this pursuit is geographic in personality and scope. 'Cache' is a treasure chest of some manner - an ice cream pail, a jar, something that can hold items and protect them from the elements. Hence Geocaching has something to do with hiding and finding treasure chests somewhere Out There.

A typical scenario; Bob creates a cache and fills it with some treasures (doodads, geegaws, etc.), a log book, and (likely) a little written description of Geocaching. Bob then hides the cache somewhere in the world - literally. With his trusty handheld GPS receiver, Bob notes the coordinates (latitude and longitude) of his hiding place. Next Bob goes to a Geocaching website (try www.geocaching.com) and registers his cache with some manner of description.

Now the fun begins.

Mary sees Bob's cache entry on the Web and uses Bob's coordinates to go off in search of the cache using her own GPS. It's not as easy as it sounds. Just because you know where something is does not mean it's easy to find. Mary risks life and limb to find Bob's cache and when she does, she signs the log book, maybe takes a treasure item, and then leaves a new item behind in the cache. In the final act, Mary goes to the Geocaching website and records her visit so that others, including Bob, can read about her adventure. In a sense, Bob and Mary have just played a variation of hide-and-seek, with Benefits.

Sounds like a laugh riot, eh?

As I darkly hinted, we Geocachers are legion. There are literally hundreds of thousands of caches hidden across approximately 221 countries today. In London (Ontario), alone, there are hundreds of caches. They're in our parks, off out walking trails, even out in plain site. And we're creating more every day.

Which brings me full circle to my suspicion. On a typical lunchtime walk through the downtown environs, I thought maybe a little Geocaching would be fun. Yes, Gentle Reader, there are a few caches hidden in downtown London. My usual walking partner is someone who, by profession, is a Geek of the computery sort. A fellow traveller in Geekdom, as it were. I was sure that this Geocaching thing would appeal to my friend. But in the thick of the hunt, he laughed and suggested this was too Geeky a pasttime, even for a professional Computer Geek. I think I even heard the word 'tricorder'. And the way he laughed..... long-ago childhood visions of being 'picked last' crystalized in my Mind's Eye. I knew I had slipped a rung on the Geek ladder.

But nevermind. I'm a Geocacher, and only one of many. We are Out There, you know.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

I'm New, Be Gentle

I've been forced to create a Blog in order to comment on another Blog. This is the result. If you're reading this, I'm wondering why you're here. Obviously your Googling powers are something beyond what the World has ever seen.

Maybe something interesting will show up here sometime. Who knows. Stay tuned. But don't be disappointed...

Oh, and if you're still here, please leave a comment so I know it was you. Then just turn off the light.