Lest we forget

"...If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields."

The Move is Complete

I have not yet begun to enjoy the extra space of my three-bedroom townhouse, because I am still surrounded by boxes. I got some unpacking done yesterday, but none today, because I do volunteer work on Wednesday mornings, and then had to come in to work.
I was counting on getting more unpacking done tomorrow morning before coming in to work, but now the boss wants me in at 9:30 am for a half-hour session with the company lawyer on libel and other legal matters related to news. Oh, well.

Coffee the Prettiest Cat Ever seems to be enjoying the new place, too. She was pretty freaked out by all the boxes during packing, and the unusual activity leading up to the move. She voiced her disapproval to being shut in to the bathroom yesterday morning while the movers got their truck loaded. But once I got her to the new place, she walked around as if to say "Nice place, Dad. Is that OUR furniture? Cool!" After a bit more exploring, she hopped up on the back of the recliner -- one of her favourite perches -- and took a cat nap. We also had a chance to take a snooze together in the same chair -- one of her favourite bonding activities -- while waiting for Cable Guy to show up.

If anyone knows a spell that will result in all the boxes being unpacked and everything put where it belongs, conjure away.

This is TORTURE!

Almost 3:30, and still no call to pick up my house keys! ARRRRGGGGHHHH!
Oh, the humanity!

This is just for Kitty

Not one for the squeamish! This is courtesy of my buddy Chris.


Woman swallowed whole by leopard

I thought it was one of those fake emails too, until I saw the photo below. Somehow the woman was lodged in the leopard's throat and they finally *cut the leopard's head off to let the woman escape.

She was unharmed.... Unbelievable!!

*CAUTION-
Photo follows...may be too frightening for some viewers

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Woman swallowed whole by leopard! You just had to look didn't you!

Is it ironic...?

...That the word pronunciation is frequently mispronounced?

Seven more sleeps...

Number 8 will be in my new home. MY home. Owned by ME.

Woot woot.

That is all. Thank you and good night.

I'm learning from Kitty

You'll be proud of me, Kitty.
This morning, there was a voicemail message awaiting me at the Assignment desk. It was from a sarcastic arsehole who called just before midnight last night, while evacuated from his apartment because of a suspicious package found in the building. He berated 'A' News as being number three in the market and a bunch of idiots, ending it by saying he would check with CBC today.
So I called him back this morning (thank Gawd our voicemail systems records the caller's number). You should have heard the nervous laughter when I identified himself and told him I didn't appreciate the tone of his call, but understood that he was in a stressful situation. He was amazed that I called back, and apologized. I pointed out to him that CBC doesn't even staff its newsroom on weekends, and that he would be lucky to even find a phone number for CBC or the local CTV station.
We ended the conversation sharing a laugh over the way police apparently handled the entire situation, ordering an evacuation, but some people ignored it, and leaving those who obeyed to freeze in the cold, damp night for over two hours.

I do believe you have emboldened me, Kitty. I also know that we should only use our Force for good, but can we use it for evil once in a while, just for shits 'n' giggles?

By the way, I met the fancy cat with the leopard spots last night. He's amazing!

My, like, language-related rant of the week

I challenge everyone under 30 to go an entire day without using the word "like".
Hell, I would be happy if one of you could get through an entire sentence.

Note to Steve, Steph, Gilles and Jack:

Canadians obviously were NOT in the mood for yesterday's election. Woe be the tide whoever causes us to have another one in the next three years.

And not to forget Liz: With all due respect to your Party's raison-d'etre, what the hell were you thinking, especially actually believing you could beat Peter MacKay in Central Nova? Give your head a good, hard shake.

Yours truly,
Bob

Verbing nouns drives me crazy!

I'm the cranky old fart in the 'A' Ottawa & The Valley newsroom who rails at young reporters and newswriters about things like using the wrong word, misspelling, misprounciation (including pronouncing pronunciation as "pronounciation") and many other things. I've even been referred to as being pedantic (look it up).

What really tightens my colon -- but not my semi-colon -- is verbing nouns, as Calvin and Hobbes call it. That is, using words like transition, reference and access as verbs.

Today, I thought of a couple other nouns that are commonly used as verbs: party and beer, as in "When we were partying and I finished a beer, I hollered over the music to you, who were standing near the fridge, and said 'Yo, Dude! I gotta dead soldier over here. Beer me!'"

Next week's cover of The Economist

With thanks to my old hockey buddy Chris...

So let me get this straight...

American financial institutions need a 700-billion-dollar bailout, using tax money paid by John and Jane Q. Public.
One of the companies leading the way down the financial toilet is Lehman Brothers.
Yet as the big hand was reaching for the flush handle, the top executives at Lehman's were being paid hundreds of millions of dollars in bonuses and dividends, led by the CEO, who picked up a cool 200-million himself.
"Crass" and "criminal" aren't nearly strong enough words to describe this debacle. This, while nest eggs are being eaten by possums.

SHEESH!

"It's too late to turn back now..."

With apologies to The Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose for the heading...
All of the conditions have been cleared, and in exactly 30 days, I will own my own home!
Now, the fun part: de-cluttering, packing and the actual move. I have an estimator from a moving company coming over Friday morning.
Any packing and/or moving tips? Horror stories? Come on, dish.

Catching up on something else significant

I'm on vacation this week, because Little Bro Dan and Pretty Christine are in town visiting. I decided to take some reserve time, so that I don't have to always say "Aww, I can't go, I have to work." As luck would have it, the time has also come in handy for doing home-purchase stuff, too.

So Dano and I went out yesterday and bought our outfits for the wedding. It's a Jamaica beach wedding, so we got nice khaki-coloured Dockers. Dan got a white shirt, and I got a light blue one. It's subject to Bride Approval, to make sure it goes well with the Maid of Honour's turquoise dress.

Thursday night, both families went out for supper to celebrate Christine's new job. The Pretty One has finally landed a job in her field, after working retail and clerical for the two years that she has lived with Dan in Timmins. She has a BA in psychology, and starts as a counsellor with a family counselling centre on October 7th.


Tomorrow night, we're gathering for a big meal at The Pretty One's family's home in Rockland.

My Dano is such a fine young guy. He knew that I was searching for Wii Fit. Thursday afternoon, he called to make sure I was still looking, and said he would "set me up with it." That night, he gave it to me. It turns out he was in WalMart, saw Wii Fit and bought two -- one for The Pretty One and one for Big Brother Bob. He wouldn't hear of letting me pay for it.

Anyway, that's what else has been going on in my life lately. How've you been?

The worst part is over

The offer has been accepted, all conditions met or removed, and we move on to the closing. The money-sucking lawyers have five weeks to do what little they have to do, and I take possession of my first home on October 31. So now, I have to get off my duff and start packing.

Oh, wait: I take back the "worst part" bit. Packing and moving are collectively the worst part. Hopefully, this will be the last of that nonsense for 14 or 15 years.

To Greg, on his 50th birthday

This is my buddy Greg. Today would have been his 50th birthday. He was killed in a car accident when he was 22.

Greg and I became friends when we were 13 and in Grade 8. We became part of a group of seven guys who were absolute best of friends in our teen years. Our parents called us the Dead End Gang. The other five guys and I remain very close to this day. We might not always communicate often enough or get together often enough, but when we do, it's like we had left off yesterday. We know that the other guys are always there for us, at least in spirit.

It's the same thing with Greg, even though he's been dead longer than he was alive. I'm not sure I believe in an afterlife and communication between this life and that one, but Greg has provided evidence that could be used to convince me. For months after his death, I would wake up at night, at precisely the time we were told he had died on the highway between Timmins and Iroquois Falls. Greg frequently shows up in my dreams, acknowledging that he's dead, but popping in anyways. And this morning, at precisely 4:44, something startled me awake. Four is the hockey sweater number that Greg always wore.

I was a young newspaper reporter when Greg died. My column that week was a tribute to Greg and our friendship. I wrote that friends might die, but true friendship like ours never does. I believe that to this day. I also miss Greg to this day.

Happy Birthday, Buddy. I'm always here for you, and know that you're here for me, if only in spirit.

IT'S A DONE DEAL!

There was a wee bit of back-and-forth, and I ended up offering $100 more than the listing price, but I got it!

Moving Day is Halloween Day!

Can I please have two "woot"s?

The offer is in

I should know by noon tomorrow whether it has been accepted.
I looked at several today, and this one just felt SO right in every way, I decided to put in an offer right away.

The house hunt is on

I'm 50 and have never owned my own home. It's for a number of reasons, among them the fact that until the past few years, I didn't make enough money, and wasn't sure where I would settle (even though I lived in Timmins for almost 14 years, but low-income years).

I am ready for home ownership, and the switch to putting a huge chunk of my monthly income into paying the freight on my OWN place, instead of someone else's. The timing is good, too, because with the stock market the way it is, home ownership is the only really safe investment that you can count on to give you a decent eventual return on your money. My mutual funds are in the tank.

So I've been pre-approved for a mortgage and have consulted my cousin, the realtor. Tomorrow morning, we go on six showings.

Wish me luck. I'll update as I can.

A nice story about a fine young man

I work with a young guy who actually just turned 25 yesterday. I knew he was a good kid with a kind heart, but something he told me about last week convinces me of that.

Brent has legally changed his last name to his mother's maiden name. His dad abandoned Brent when he was just a little guy, and has not been a part of his life since, so he and his brother were raised by their mom. His grandmother has been a big influence in his life, too.

Brent says he's been thinking of this name change for a long time, and that his father's last name has no real meaning or significance to him. So he did it, and presented his new birth certificate to his grandmother as a gift for her 84th birthday. His mom and her aunt were there, too.

Brent says his grandmother has never been much of an outwardly emotional person, but the smile she displayed at her birthday gift spoke volumes. And then later, when no one else was around, she turned to him and said "Your grandfather would be very proud of what you've done." Brent didn't know his grandfather, either -- he died either before Brent was born, or when he was very young (I can't remember which, although he did tell me). Brent says that he knows that his grandmother was also telling him in her own way, how proud she is, too, and how much the gesture means to her.

I am so impressed with this young man. That is a big thing to do. Your name is such a part of you and your identity, and to change it for any reason is huge.

Brent often calls me Papa Bob, saying I'm kind of like a surrogate dad to him. That's quite alright to me. And being a very outwardly emotional person, I couldn't help but hug him, to show him how proud I am of the gesture that honours his grandmother.