Well we seemed to be the subject of a mis-understanding today. My wife invited friends for dinner(?) after church. We started making lunch at about 1 o'clock and still no friends by 2:30 p.m. Just as we were about to eat lunch without them, they arrived. They had had lunch and were expecting to stay for dinner! Oh well. The supper(!) was containerized and put in the fridge and then we enjoyed some Old Credit brewski's. The supper tasted just fine reheated, after 2 x 680 ml brews I don't think I could have managed to cook it properly just then anyway. We did have a good time chatting Our only regret is that we could have used that extra 3 or 4 hours we waited around to complete some of the many chores that need to be done here at the Trapper Estate.
It's summertime so I expect the frequency of postings to hubbo.com will decrease.
On the way to my in-laws vacation home on Wednesday afternoon we dropped in on my 92 year old great aunt Edna. She's my paternal grandfather's sister: the second last in that generation. She seems to have multiple problems including heart attack, small strokes, falling often, breathing problems — she's on O2 right now. She looks far older then when I last saw her at my uncle's funeral a couple of years ago. It's very sad, she told us she was ready to go now. Her life now is a semi-private room from bed to chair and back again.
You may recall that my son and I packed a truck full of furniture from this vacation home a couple of weekends ago. My wife and I helped to pack up the "the little stuff" left over, only about three full-size vanloads full! Who would have guessed there was so much stuff in all the cupboards and closets of the place — the detritus of 15 years I guess.
I have a driving arm sunburn as our 10 year old van has non-functional air conditioning and it was pretty nice day yesterday. Now I am off outside to plant peonies, irises and early blooming daylillies I brought from the (now former) Howards place in Bobcaygeon. I don't keep things usually but I do have a collection of perennials from various places. Some of my daylillies are descendents of those planted by grandfather over 30 years ago, for example.
ttfn
Our daughter, Brianne, (actually she's our older son's girlfriend to whom we've become very attached) explained those horse show classes to me and why Percy, her horse, was being so ornery.
Well, here's the difference between the flat classes - the first was pleasure hack. Percy was supposed to look like fun to ride. Although he normally is fun to ride, he wasn't looking it much yesterday! He was supposed to be relaxed and nice during that class. The second class was show hack, which means he has to look 'showy' and more energetic. He was extremely energetic all day, although who knows why, since for the past couple months we've been riding in the heat and he's had no energy at all, and he usually jumps much better i think a large part of that ws an equipment problem... more on that later... anyway, i think he's also a good looking horse which explains why he placed in the show hack. the 'hand gallop' (really just an opened up canter) was good for him and i know he looks good doing it. could have been a large factor in that. equitation was the third, where the judge was judging me, but it would have gone a whole lot better if a) percy wasn't getting all strung out b) all the bugs weren't bothering him so much (that's why he was doing that head bobbing thing!) and c) if we'd practiced backing up a lot more in our spare time. i don't think i've ever tried that before! also, i was getting tired and kind of sloppy, due to the fact that it was so darn hot, i hadn't eaten anything all day, percy was pulling down his head especially at the canter, and the judge kept the classes going waaaaay too long! so, plans have been cancelled to go to next weeks show at a farm called old orchard because it takes way too much work, but i am still planning on going to the one in august.
the equipment problem - usually percy wears a piece of equipment called a running martingale. this attaches to his girth and runs up between his front legs to his chest, where it splits into two pieces with rings at the ends. the reins on the bridle go through the loops (one loop for each rein). this is supposed to keep him from putting his head too far up or down when i am riding properly (with contact on the reins). he can put his head as far down as he wants with this as long as the reins are continuing in a straight line, in other words, they are relaxed. these types of martingales are not allowed in the hunter ring. i do not know the reason. they are also not permitted in the flat classes. however, hunter classes do allow 'standing martingales' which also attach to the girth, but only have one strap that attaches to the noseband on the bridle. this really restricts movement of the horses head - and the one we had on percy wasn't his since he usually doesn't use one, and it was about two inches too small for him. i think this is why he was jumping so strangely and why he refused, since he loves to jump and has never refused a jump in the time i've been riding him. i would rather have had him able to put his head anywhere than ride with the martingale, but my coach wanted to use it. we'll know for next time, though! : )
I wish I were a jelly fish
That cannot fall downstairs:
Of all the things I wish to wish
I wish I were a jelly fish
That hasn't any cares,
And doesn't even have to wish
'I wish I were a jelly fish
That cannot fall downstairs.'
A triolet by G.K. Chesterton
Julie and I spent some time in rural Ontario this weekend. This year, instead of going off to sing in Europe we'll be house-sitting for a couple while they go to the U.K.: she to sing, he to visit relatives. They have a lovely "century" home on 100 acres of farm land near Plattesville. On Saturday we went for supper for our instructions. I learned how to operate the new diesel riding lawn tractor, the kind you find operating on golf courses and the large lawns in front of suburban offices. He said it would only take three to four hours to process the property! For touching up there's a pushable gas mower and small riding lawn tractor and a gas operated weed whacker. Glory be, I must remember my hearing protectors. My host also has a full size tractor, he bought at some farm auction, for the heavy work like pulling down dead trees or carrying away brush to a distant spot on his property. If it isn't too hot I will probably spend some time pruning the shrubs and trees around the house. As Stratford is about 40 minutes away we'll probably catch a play or musical during our stay on the farm.
Today we went to see Brianne ride her horse Percy in a practice "show" at the stables just north of Milton. It was very hot, even in the shade of tree our skins pinkened. Unfortunately, the heat seemed to have put Percy in a mood because he balked at doing the required jumps. One such "balk" caused Brianne to slide off Percy. She was unhurt except for pride and dignity. She didn't quit: she picked up her crop, started the circuit with Percy and gave him a few swats to the rump. Well ladies and gents, he jumped that jump he had balked at and all the others, too. Just being ornery on a hot day. I also learned that I am no horse show judge. There were three "flat" events where the riders were asked to have their horses alternate between walking, trotting, cantoring and even galloping. I couldn't tell what differed betweem those three events. Perhaps I needed a program or maybe I'm just plain ignorant when it comes to the finer points of horse show(o)manship. I'll ask Brianne.
I enjoy your emails, not that they have been funny or up-beat all the time, but you write about you and your surroundings in your own inimitable fashion. Having known you for over 40 years: each email, to me, seems like a little personal character snapshot. I like that. I have also noticed a general improvement in structure, grammar, spelling, word usage, etc. in your emails over the course of your teaching season. Are you editing and re-reading more or is the discipline and practice of writing a weekly newsletter and having the time to read "literature" improving your skills? I suspect it is probably a combination of both.
If your emails didn't do anything "for me" I wouldn't have posted them. Though they be pretty low, I do have some standards, you know. I encourage you to continue writing those emails -- it doesn't have to be weekly, though as you note in your email, there's a kind of discipline involved. Even and especially in the Arts discipline is required.
I believe you are trying too hard to be "the best" teacher. Julie and others could tell you that problem kids come in all shapes and sizes and income brackets. And teaching at a private schools you get much more parental involvement, a double-edged sword where the line between involvement and interference is very blurry indeed. I have talked to teachers in our choir who have suffered nervous breakdowns due to the (mostly) psychological harassment of a department head or principal. Instead of being the best just do your best, a subtle difference perhaps. However, it allows you to embrace and do your best at other activities in your life as well as the one that "pays the bills". This email is starting to ramble on, characteristic of an open loop system. When you are not talking directly to the person you are addressing, one tends to pile on the advice.
To summarize, keep in touch. It shrinks the distance between us. After all, we spent almost 20 years in spitting distance of each other sharing the room.
June 22, 2002
Dear Friends and Family:
This is likely the last edition of my news from Aiyansh. Next week at this time I will be approaching Vancouver after a two day drive from up here. I may continue to write similar letters from Victoria. This depends in part upon your interest. If I hear from many who enjoy reading my weekly column, who want to still read my thoughts, then I’ll carry on with it.
These letters were meant as a bridges between me and the world of friends and family who I had left behind in the urban world. This is, after all, an exotic place. It is so unlike the heavily human-inhabited environs where most of us have lived our lives.
One reader wrote that the predominant feeling he got from my letters was a sense of my loneliness and isolation. This is an unsettling observation. I would like to think that I have experienced many other feelings here too. I asked a wise woman who moved up here a few months ago, as a nurse, whether she was enjoying herself. She has spent a lot of time in nature, exploring the area. She has a gentle dog with wolf blood whose eyes are a eerie turquoise colour. Vernal replied seriously to my flippant question. She told me that she cannot say she has enjoyed herself here, but she has felt content.
I have felt enjoyment here only in brief moments, and I don’t think I have felt content even for a moment. Vernal is here with her husband Eric. Vernal is, first of all, an artist. She disciplines herself to spend as much time each day working on her art as she does in her nursing employment. Vernal and Eric have their home base in Northern Minnesota. She learned about this two year nursing contract on the internet. They have a small farm in Minnesota, goats mainly. But Eric is retired. A fit man, Eric is often gone for weeks at a time on wilderness adventures. In short, Vernal’s situation is very different from mine.
But is this discrepancy in contentment between she and I a matter of our situations? Or is it an internal matter? The truth is, of course, that there is no clear line that can be drawn between own’s feelings and one’s situation. Each continually creates and sustains the conditions for the other. Vernal disciplines herself to do her creative work, and this in turn creates feelings of accomplishment and contentment. I enjoy writing these letters and the time that I spend writing them is good time for me. Putting my experience into words feeds me. When I write to you the churning of my thoughts calms and my experience resolves into some kind of meaning. Perhaps there are people who hit upon the source of their contentment and build fulfilled lives by mining that source. And then there are those who seem unable to find the source of their contentment and who must therefore make their way in whatever way they can, feeling neither content nor fulfilled. I have been of the latter group. And I hope to change this.
Being here hasn’t changed this. A change of situation, even one as pronounced as this, doesn’t by itself change the person. A beautiful vista does not bring sight to the blind man. My most disturbing revelation this year has been that, so far, teaching doesn’t feed me. I have willed it to and wanted it to, but mainly I don’t enjoy it. Perhaps it is teaching here in a difficult situation that has made teaching unpleasant for me. I am not ready to scrap the business yet, I have invested too much into it. I’ll carry on. But I’ll keep an eye open for that source of fulfillment. Writing may indeed be it. But writing what? And for whom? I am obliged to pay my share of the family bills so my source of fulfillment seems to need some sort of connection to the making of money.
Alas, I have taken a turn in today’s writing into the twisted paths of my inner thoughts. No volcanoes or dogs or Sasquatch or Potlatch to be found so far in these words. This, perhaps, is natural enough. After all, I am leaving here. These woods and people with all their stories and events will carry on without me. I am grieving leaving here. As lonely as it has been at times, my life here has provided me many personal freedoms. My time, apart from teaching, has been my time. When I chose to go walking in the woods there seldom was a competing obligation to prevent me from doing so. And the woods were right there. 10 minutes from my front door I was on a path where in a whole year I only once passed a human being. My path looks down into a ravine upon a snow fed creek that rushes with clear, clean water. There are moose and bear droppings along my path. I meet foxes and other small animals routinely on my walks.
I had secretly hoped that I would find myself here but it seems that I did not. Now I will go home and continue the search. While I was here I missed my wife and daughters keenly. Now I will be with them again. I will see my friends again. I will rejoin my men’s group.
It isn’t what you have or haven’t got around you that builds the power of contentment in life. This contentment is internally generated. Still, I will shed tears to look out my window and not see those snow covered peaks which are here my daily friends. I will not experience that soft blanket of silence which nestles me to sleep here, but which is stolen by the city’s constant drone. I don’t wish to portray myself in melodramatic terms. These feelings are real for me. Leaving here means I am launching on a new adventure. Much of what I have learned here I am as yet unaware of. I bring back gifts hidden in my psyche. I return as an emissary of the great untrammeled wilds. I have had here a moment’s reprieve from anthropocentrism, the terrible disease of our race. Who knows what I may do with the clearer knowledge that our two-legged tribe is far less significant that we imagine it to be?
Anyway, I have drifted around enough for one day, I’ll be in touch,
Love, Tom.
oakes@wcta.net (Charles & Peggy Oakes)
Source: rec.humor.funny
Little Johnny and Jenny are only 10 years old, but they just know that they are in love. One day they decide that they want to get married, so Johnny goes to Jenny's father to ask him for her hand. Johnny bravely walks up to him and says, "Mr. Smith, me and Jenny are in love and I want to ask you for her hand in marriage."
Thinking that this was the cutest thing, Mr. Smith replies, "Well Johnny, you are only 10. Where will you two live?"
Without even taking a moment to think about it, Johnny replies "In Jenny's room. It's bigger than mine and we can both fit there nicely."
Still thinking this is just adorable, Mr.. Smith says with a huge grin, "Okay then how will you live? You're not old enough to get a job. You'll need to support Jenny."
Again, Johnny instantly replies, "Our allowance...Jenny makes 5 bucks a week and I make 10 bucks a week. That's about 60 bucks a month, and that should do us just fine."
By this time Mr. Smith is a little shocked that Johnny has put so much thought into this. So, he thinks for a moment trying to come up with something that Johnny won't have an answer to.
After a second, Mr. Smith says, "Well Johnny, it seems like you have got everything all figured out. I just have one more question for you. What will you do if the two of you should have little ones of your own?"
Johnny just shrugs his shoulders and says, "Well, we've been lucky so far..."
The first graders were attending their first music lesson. The teacher was trying to begin at the beginning. She drew a musical staff on the blackboard and asked a little girl to come up and write a note on it.
The little girl went to the blackboard, looked thoughtful for a minute and wrote, "Dear Aunt Emma, just a short note to tell you I'm fine."
Heard on CBC Radio One this morning during a piece on some local jazz festivals in Toronto this week:
What do you call a Jazz Drummer without a girlfriend?
...Homeless!
I took the the network interface card (NIC) out of the win98 box to replace the dead NIC in my FreeBSD box acting as router and firewall for my home LAN. Today my son dropped off a new PCI bus NIC. First problem, it seems the floppy drive in the old win98 box doesn't work. I had to burn a CD with the floppy contents so that win98 could read the NIC drivers. Second problem, the "brain dead" part: win98 insists on reading the Windows 98 CD to copy all the dll's, drivers and exe files associated with a network card. They are all there folks. The old network card was using them. All that needed replacing was the actual NIC driver itself. Anyway, after pressing "Skip File" millions of times, the win98 box rebooted and the NIC card is finally installed and working. What would have taken 10 or 15 minutes in FreeBSD took an hour or two. This box needs reformatting because each reboot can be on the order of minutes. Someday soon I'll upgrade it to win2k.
"No one who cannot rejoice in the discovery of his own mistakes deserves to be called a scholar."
Donald Foster, admitting that his work to establish Shakespeare as the author of an obscure poem is wrong.
Source: New York Times article A Scholar Recants on His 'Shakespeare' Discovery
Do you ever wonder whether the stuff you do at work has any significance? I, for one, am glad the academic community is around so that they can discuss, nay argue, about who wrote an obscure 578 line poem called "A Funeral Elegy" dated Jan. 25, 1612. Now the good Professor Foster admits the evidence now seems to point to John Ford (1586-1640) rather than to Shakespeare as he previously hypothesized. I present this little factoid in the interest of promoting stimulating conversation at your next meeting or party!
I woke up early this morning and couldn't back to sleep — my brain decided to be active. I was thinking back to our wedding day and seeing what and who I could recall.
Julie and I met in a small choral group called the Melodante Singers. They were a "community-based" (i.e. rather than church or school affiliated) choir, a "collective" I would call it for want of a better term. It wasn't until about 20 years later, when Julie and I joined the Bell'Arte Singers, that we would find an equivalent "collective". Basically, a group of friends and colleagues committed to learning and presenting choral music with a music director who's been there since its formation. Admittedly, the Melodantes did not have the musicianship of the Bell'Arteans but we made up for it socially with the almost monthly parties. John Purdy was its director. He also was my mentor and singing teacher during my later teens as my father had divorced my Mom and left the home several years earlier. In fact, John was the one who gave me tickets to the ballet and said he couldn't go that night and why don't you ask that soprano Julie? The rest is history, as they say.
At our wedding the Melodantes were well represented: John played the organ, Garvin Farr sang during the "signing of the register", Ian Cox was an usher and several others were in the congregation and attended the reception. We were fortunate that my uncle Bill Service had just been recently ordained as a United Church minister — he married us that day at Kew Beach United Church. The wedding party on "my" side including my friend, Frank Lo, as best man, Ian Cox, and my brother Bob, who now calls himself Robert. Julie was accompanied by Maureen Barlow, her sister Kim and my sister Jane. Sadly, Maureen died during heart transplant surgery several years ago. I've lost track of Frank and Ian.
It was a muggy, sticky day as I recall. Good thing the suit was rented! I also recall the photographer. I believe the original person was a friend of my in-laws but he couldn't make it so a colleague of his was sent. His wise-cracks and demeanour were awful. My wife and her bridesmaids had to put with him all day. I barely could stand it the hour or two after the wedding. We became very good at pasting on smiles. In the end though, the pictures turned out great.
I remember having a good time at the reception. I belong to a rather large family so I "owed" dances to seven or eight aunts, two mothers, two grandmothers, cousins, friends and so on. With the open bar I wasn't allowed to have an empty glass in my hand - it's a good thing a) I ate Julie's as well as my meals and b) my best man didn't drink at the time. He had rented a limo to take us to our nuptial hotel, the Royal York in Toronto. (I registered as James Russell to prevent a couple of my wise-guy uncles from playing tricks.) That also reminds me that the reception venue (Town and Country?) included a hospitality room for the bride and groom. As we weren't going to use it my father-in-law (John Howard) offered it to out-of-town friends. They experienced the French-sheeted beds in our stead!
A lot has happened since that time: our grandparents' generation is gone. I've lost an uncle and Julie has lost a sister. But we carry on honouring their memories and remembering the good times of years gone by and those still to come.
And yes, Julie and I continue to sing together just as when we met.
I know what I was doing. Party! What a great reception my father-in-law gave us: a jazz band, an open bar, delicious food (roast beef if I recall). But most of all I married and am still married to his beautiful daughter, Julie. Weren't we a pretty couple back then? I guess we have matured somewhat now — our kids are approaching the age we are in this picture! Ah so many memories.
"Not all chemicals are bad. Without chemicals such as hydrogen and oxygen, for example, there would be no way to make water, a vital ingredient in beer."
Dave Barry
Friday evening through Saturday morning
June 14-15, 2002
Etobicoke Centennial Park, Toronto
Relay for Life 2002
Some members of the Bell'Arte Singers are entering a team in the Canadian Cancer Society Relay for Life 2002 event.
Susan made hats for us with TBA, Team Bell'Arte, on them. Unfortunately her brother died recently so she and her husband were missing from the team. Another couple showed up briefly in the middle of arranging a deal on their house. However, they took a cell phone call and were required to leave before midnight in order to sign back the "final" offer before it expired. I had to leave after midnight because June 15 was a "moving the furniture from my in-laws vacation home and re-distributing it amongst the relatives day". Despite this, our team captain, Tim, stayed 'til the morning and, I'm sure, represented TBA very well. Congratulations to the team and Tim, who, by the way, is also a cancer survivor.
I, personally, enjoyed this year's Relay for Life much better than last year's at Birchmount Park. I can't name a single factor but I note these points:
- The rain held off so we could do our paces on the track. Last year it rained and the activities were all held in the arena.
- Less crowds: I believe this is the first year for Centennial Park in Etobicoke at the western edge of Toronto. This meant more parking, food, more room on the track.
- Closer to my home: I didn't have to drive across Toronto this year.
- A fine team: Last year's team was also great, except for one person we were members of this year's team. As noted above, the team had our own hats.
Lest I forget, my personal "in memoriam" for this year, was in honouring the memory of my sister-in-law, Corinne who died of cancer last November. I purchased a memorial candle which was included with the 100's lining the Centennial Park track. Our team remembered Phil King, a tenor in our choir, who passed away from cancer a couple of years ago.
Dear Friends and Family:
Are you still out there reading these things?
Wow, It sure is hot here! The temperature has been climbing all week under brilliant blue skies. The last couple of days we have been into the plus thirties Celsius. No complaints. The kids have been bringing water bottles to school. Most of the water ends up all over them and the school as a result of the water fights.
On Tuesday I took my grade eights to the volcano; the source of the sprawling, 6 meters deep, lava beds that cover the floor of the Nass Valley. For all the lava that spewed from there some 270 years ago the actual crater was a humble thing. About 30 meters deep and the same in diameter, its sides are dressed in a layer of tenacious lichen. I had pictured a tall, conical mountain whose cavernous center would plunge into unseeable depths. Wisps of smoke would emerge from a bubbling cauldron of lava lurking deep in the Earth’s bowels, poised to spurt out and once again asphyxiate, burn and bury a horrified population.
No. This is an extinct volcano. On the way to the main cone we stopped to peer into a small “spatter cone”. This meter diameter aperture was created when an underground lava stream was blocked off and punched a hole upwards. 5 meters down this cone there was snow that we were told never melts. So much for boiling cauldrons of subterranean fire.
And the big cone is not on a mountain top either. The volcano formed its own inconspicuous hillock of basalt splatter fragments nestled in a valley below the snowy peaks all around it. Comments by my enthusiastic students afterwards usually were along this line:
We walked all that way just to see a hole in the ground.
But they had fun. I was there and saw them enjoying each others company. Personally I was awe struck by the beauty of the hour long trail that we followed to get to the volcano. First we walked along a trail cut into a hill through a mature forest. The sun speckled through the foliage overhead giving a light like that of a cathedral with stain glass windows. The sub soil in the forest was all the black basalt blown rock flecks that had settled from the spewing volcanic blast furnace. This rock is light because it is like a Styrofoam rock, all air bubbles.
Exiting the tall forest we came to a tiny lake which resembled a bathtub on the verge of overflowing. To circle the end of the lake we had to cross foot bridges over a network of creeks which were industriously emptying the overflowing tub. Like the lake, these creeks were at absolute capacity. They were chock full of water and descending rapidly downhill. They raged! A huge quantity of water competed furiously with itself to crash headlong through these narrow channels (at most 3 meters across). The noise and power of the water was thrilling and breathtaking. As we walked on sections of the path which came within an arms length of the creek banks, the roiling current spurted out and splashed at our feet, hinting that at any moment it would snatch us to our doom in this rush to hell. And all this dizzying aquatic madness took place in a sun-speckled woods that possessed the charm and beauty of an elf’s paradise. This was Tolkien’s Rivendell!
Then we left the woods and entered the desert of the immediate volcanic area. Here the sun’s power beat down upon bleak hills. These hills are merely lichen decked mounds of those black volcanic rock fragments. We were fortunate that day to have a cool breeze and an air temperature in the 20 degree range. Today’s 30+ heat would have cooked us but good on our march up the side of the volcano. As it was there were few complains about heat or dehydration.
Our guide told us Nisga’a legends about the volcano while we ate our lunch and peered down at that disappointing, overgrown crater. The word is that some teenagers persisted in tormenting the “humpies” (a kind of salmon with humps on their back) that teemed shoulder to shoulder in the river that year. Despite stern warnings to desist they did things like stick burning torches in their humps. The gods got fed up and BOOM!
When people in one village saw smoke rising in the distance they sent scouts up the hill to see what was happening. The scouts came back with an incredible story of a fire monster reaching its evil fingers across the valley and eating everything in its path. Most of the villagers dismissed this story, who ever heard of a fire monster? (The last volcano in the valley was 10,000 years previously, and there was no oral history of that) But a few decided to run first and scoff later, they headed for the hills. The fumes from the volcano were full of toxic substances and it is said that as soon as the smoke touched them people were turned to stone. Those few who survived did so by getting above the level of these toxic gases and burying themselves to their necks.
The gods of the Nisga’a did pitched battle with the fire monster and, after many set-backs at the hands of this awesome foe, they finally stopped him in his tracks. It was a great bird, laying her beak across the valley, that brought the lava to a halt. Our guide noted that if the lava had stopped of itself the end of its last finger would describe a semi-circle. Instead, the lava stopped along a straight line across the valley. The line made by the bird’s beak.
Afterwards it took months or years for the lava beds to cool. The survivors took dogs with them as they tried to find ways cool enough to cross to where their villages had been buried in lava. If a dog got scorched they didn’t go that way.
Well, by this time lunch was et and our young natives were getting restless. So we retraced our steps along that magical trail. All in all it was a successful day.
May your health grow better daily!
Love, Tom.
Two buffalo were standing on the range when a passing tourist said, "Those are the mangiest, scroungiest, most moth-eaten, miserable beasts I have ever seen."
One of the buffalo turned to the other and said, "You know, I think I just heard a discouraging word."
Marketing — You are ambitious yet stupid. You chose a marketing degree to avoid having to study in college, concentrating instead on drinking and socializing which is pretty much what your job responsibilities are now. Least compatible with Sales.
Sales — Laziest of all signs, often referred to as "marketing without a degree." You are self-centered and paranoid. Unless someone calls you and begs you to take their money, you like to avoid contact with customers so you can "concentrate on the big picture." You seek admiration for your golf game throughout your life.
Engineering — One of only two signs that actually studied in school. It is said that ninety percent of all Personal Ads are placed by engineers. You can be happy with yourself; your office is full of all the latest "ergo dynamic" gadgets.
Accounting — The only other sign that studied in school. You are mostly immune from office politics. You are the most feared person in the organization; combined with your extreme organizational traits, the majority of rumors concerning you say that you are completely insane.
Management/Middle Management — Catty, cut-throat, yet completely spineless, you are destined to remain at your current job for the rest of your life. Unable to make a single decision you tend to measure your worth by the number of meetings you can schedule for yourself. Best suited to marry other "Middle Managers" as everyone in you social circle is a "Middle Manager."
Senior Management — (See above. Same sign, different title)
Customer Service — Bright, cheery, positive, you are a fifty-cent cab ride from taking your own life. As children very few of you asked your parents for a little cubicle for your room and a headset so you could pretend to play "Customer Service."
Partner, President, CEO — You are brilliant or lucky. Your inability to figure out complex systems such as the fax machine suggest the latter.
Wednesday, June 12, 2002, 8 p.m.
Broadcast of the June 8, 2002 Bell'Arte Singers and Budapest Central Choir concert on the In Performance program of CBC Radio Two.
Usually it is some months to a year before I hear our choir's recording of a particular concert. This time, it's been less than a week. CBC chose to air the two combined choir works of the Chichester Psalms and the Missa Brevis. In general, I liked what I heard but I do agree with some of the Toronto Star music critic's "faint" praise. Alas, the two choirs combined don't have the same sound as the Bell'Arte Singers. Perhaps we'll hear ourselves alone on Sunday.
Yesterday it got hot and the people of Ontario turned on their air conditioners (surprise!). Apparently this caught the IEMO off guard at about 10 a.m. yesterday morning as the price of electricity shot up to 70¢/kWh. So far the average price has been between 3 and 4 cents per kilowatt-hour. As I haven't signed on with an energy marketer I will be very interested to see how this affects my electricity bill.
FAQ: Why do I receive an error message in WIN2K that says my password
must be at least 18,770 characters?
contributed by John Savill, http://www.windows2000faq.com
A. This error occurs when you're running Windows 2000 Service Pack 1 (SP1) and you connect to an MIT realm and select Change Password from the Security dialog box (Ctrl+Alt+Del). (An MIT realm is a Kerberos realm used for authentication in the same way that Win2K uses Kerberos 5 for authentication.) The full error you'll receive is "Your password must be at least 18,770 characters and cannot repeat any of your previous 30,689 passwords. Please type a different password. Type a password that meets these requirements in both text boxes."
To correct this problem, contact Microsoft Product Support Services (PSS) and request an updated msgina.dll file (version 5.0.2195.3351 or later).
Congratulations to all for returning your concert music. And special thanks to those who knew they couldn't attend and forwarded their music to us.
We only have one set outstanding and that member hasn't been out in the last while, nor, apparently does that member read the emails!
There are still a few copies of Ice and Snow and Libera Me out there. Please check and mail them back to us once you find them. You may not be aware that not only did our resident composers compose these scores, they also typeset, printed and provided these copies to the choir. Let's not abuse their generosity.
Julie and I plan to do an inventory of the choir music this summer for several reasons:
- our successor(s) will have an easier job
- the music director and the librarians will know what we have on hand
- the music is an asset which should be mentionned in the Bell'Arte Singers financial statements.
So, if you find any Bell'Arte music kicking around your abode, please send it to us. We'll accept it, no questions asked!
There seems to have been a rumour going around that Julie is no longer sharing the music librarian duties. This caused some marital disharmony at the Trapper Crescent estate. I believe I was mis-quoted when I said Julie hadn't be able to do much of the librarian stuff before this concert due to course work and teaching duties. Rest assured, her quick sorting abilities yesterday allowed us to find out who was "naughty or nice" in short order!
Have a great summer!
Your Music Librarians
Jim and Julie
Saturday, June 8, 2002 8:00 p.m.
Metropolitan United Church, Toronto
Budapest Central Choir
(Baptista Egyhaz Kozponti Enekkar)
Bell'Arte Singers
Leonard Bernstein Chichester Psalms
Zoltán Kodály Missa Brevis
Gábor Oláh and Lee Willingham conductors
It was muggy in the church last night and we did stand a long time on those risers, but despite the physical difficulties I believe the concert went well. According to the programme, CBC Radio Two will be broadcasting (parts of ?) the performance. So, for those of you who couldn't attend or ourselves in the combined choir who could only hear our own and the neighbouring parts, the performance will be aired:
- In Performance on June 12, 2002
- Choral Concert on June 16, 2002
I could have been better prepared for this concert. Sometimes I rely just a little too much on my sight-reading ability and depend just a little too much on the other great singers around me. In the words of our director I should have "owned" the pieces more. Be that as it may, I didn't make any obvious, audible mistakes. There were certainly opportunties for that in some of the the Glick In Memoriam Leonard Bernstein movements and in the Bernstein Chichester Psalms, particularly in the allergo feroce section of the second movement where the men have sudden, accented interjections here and there.
I also discovered from the programme that the Budapest Central Choir director, Gábor Oláh, like the Bell'Arte Singers' director is a singer, too. This makes quite a difference from a choir perspective in that the director can mold and demonstrate how they would like the sounds to, well, sound. I see also from the programme that as well as Gábor, his son, Zsolt and his daughter (?) Irén were the baritone and mezzo-soprano soloists respectively. His brother, Imre, is in the Bell'Arte Singers. A family affair indeed! Oh, and I must commend to you the counter-tenor, David Dong Qyu Lee — a very clear, excellent voice. Apparently he has moved to Toronto so I expect we'll hear more of him in the future.
Of course, I made myself popular once again after the performance by nagging people to return the music. I take my music librarian responsibilities seriously, I guess. The Kodály Missa Brevis was borrowed from the University of Western Ontario music library. Each overdue score is charged $2/day and the due date is early next week.
I hope those of you who were there enjoyed it and, to those of you who couldn't come, I have noted in the Events on the side panel when the broadcasts are supposed to take place.
After the concert, we (my wife, another soprano from our choir and two of my wife's "course-mates") wandered about the area looking for a place to slake our thirsts and ended up at Denison's Brewing Co. & Restaurants specifically in the Louie's Brasserie & Patio section. We found several other choir members and Lee were also there. Being a fan of micro-brewed beer, I was delighted to be able to try their wares. The dark lager was good. Certainly I will have to return and try some of their other brews. Unfortunately, in that part of the restaurant they only serve (non-fish) seafood which I don't care for. I was looking for some salty, fatty pub-type fare (wings, fries come to mind) but the Growler's Pub section appeared to be closed.
Hello all you great readers out there in other parts of the real world:
I was listening to “Basic Black” on the CBC this morning, Saturday, June 8, and an excellent song was played. A patriotic stalwart of the Canadian music industry, The Arrogant Worms, have a song called “We are the Beaver.” If you get a chance to hear it I think you’ll agree that it makes one want to stand up and proclaim allegiance to our eager B nation. Some lyrics that particularly stood my patriotic hairs on end went, more or less, like this:
All those other birds and animals just TAKE from the land,
But our beaver always GIVES a dam.
And isn’t it just so, eh? That hits the proverbial nail on the head in terms of what I, as a Canadian, believe about my nation. And if you don’t agree with me!? Well then, well, OKAY!, that’s fine.
Yeah, yesterday I went in to the big town, Terrace, for the evening. My groceries were running low for one thing. But I was also responding to an unprecedented opportunity that had been offered me. I was asked by Barb, our school counselor, to sit on a panel of judges at a karioke (sp? my spell checker let me down on this one) contest. Barb’s husband is a principal at a school in way-up-there Northern BC. It is expensive and time-consuming to fly out so he doesn’t get down to see Barb very often. But, when in his home town of Terrace, Barb’s man is known as the king of karioke.
Anyway, their home base for this is the legion hall in Terrace. And this was where the contest was to take place. I had never spent time in a legion hall and this, in itself, was an educational experience. When I first arrived with Robert (our principal, my traveling companion, and a fellow judge) I immediately noticed long tables full of women and men of advanced age and, in many cases, infirm body. My attention then became ensnared by a fellow traversing the room with a cup of coffee. This fellow, clearly of the advanced age corp, had no apparent concern about keeping his coffee still. He wasn’t even looking at it. No, he marched and meandered the length of the well populated hall with his coffee sloshing and swirling. The carpet skirting the bar, from what I saw, absorbed more of this man’s coffee on his passage over it than he would when he completed his swaggering trip to his table.
We ate the steak dinner fare offered at a reasonable price and settled in to the comfort of an atmosphere which was like that of a pub though considerable less formal and more familiar than a pub. More like a club. It was a place where everyone knew everyone and business people, paunchy retirees, and lushes felt equally at home.
Finally, after some technical difficulties with cables, the karioke contest began. This was the finals! No screeching crooners amongst these dozen. They had made the cut and all of them could hold a note. As judges at the judges table we were equipped with reams of score sheets, one for each contestant, and familiarized with our task. Each singer would sing in turn through FOUR complete rounds. That’s 48 songs! Yes, we were told, settle in for a long and entertaining evening.
And so the singing began. Selections ranged from Annie Lennox to the Beatles to Country to some contemporary rock. The singers ranged too. Han, had there been a category for sincerity, would have won it hands down. With eager smile, white dress-shirt tucked into his belly button height black pants, and wispy body, Han sang his selections straight from the heart. I soon become a fast fan of Han the man.
But there were other singers who could belt out a tune without looking at the words on the TV screen. I liked Richard. Richard had the studied presence of a classic crooner as he served out goldies like Sinatra’s “I Did it My Way.” He had changes of clothes to match each of his selections. Richard, very black and round and personable on stage, used a variety of lip manipulations to add texture to his vocal presentation. I found the lip stuff a little distracting. Still, what he lacked in silky smoothness, he made up for in power and feeling. He scored high and, at evening’s end, as a result of his placing by the judges, I dubbed him Richard the III. On my score sheet he tied for first.
Andrew, the man who Richard tied with on my score sheet, walked away with the $1000 first prize. (Yes, you read right, there was a sweet pot!) Andrew seemed to be something of a dark horse. The people I sat near didn’t know him. Andrew, however, was well known to a cluster of noisy female fans in the back of the hall who swooned and cheered his Tom Jonesian gestures in their direction. I would not have been surprised to see panties flung on stage. Andrew sang country songs and it was, primarily, a country crowd. Clearly he knew his material and delivered it with unwavering skill and gusto. He deserved his prize. Now I imagine him on the road driving a Winabago full of his adoring country dames heading for the next small town karioke contest.
Between songs our friendly MC (president of the legion, head of the social committee, and drinker of a bottomless supply of beer) thanked Rosie’s Delivery Service, Hank’s Auto Parts, and all the other generous sponsors of this event. And I consistently failed to win any raffles or door prizes that I entered. And, at 1:30 am, the event wrapped up and Robert and I began our 1˝ hour drive back to Aiyansh. We talked to stay awake, debriefing our judging experience. And we marveled at a northern night that never got completely dark. On the empty Nisga’s Highway we gazed at stars and at the outlines of the mountains against the deep blue night sky. As we approached Aiyansh the eastern horizon was beginning to brighten into shades of yellows and gold.
Be happy and well.
Love, Tom.
If you have been peeking at this website you will know that today is concert day for the Bell'Arte Singers and the Hungarian choir from Budapest who will be joining us. Last night was dress rehearsal. Our conductor will be directing the combined choirs in Leonard Bernstein's Chichester Psalms. I understand his english directions, of course. Gabor Olah will be directing us in the performance of Zoltan Kodaly's Missa Brevis. Even though I know no Hungarian nor does any of it sound like the languages I am familiar with (English, Français, Deutsch, Italiano) Gabor's musical and voice production directions were clear enough — we just need translations for such directions as "start at 4 bars before rehearsal number 6". I am looking forward to tonight. CBC will be there to record for some future broadcast on CBC Radio 2.
Well it's June and the weather is now typical for a concert: warm and humid. I hope Metropolitan United Church has enough thermal mass to be cool enough tonight. Oops, time to go to catch our 5:00p.m. rehearsal call.
This joke sounds much better than it reads. Go ahead, tell it to someone.
The Pope was finishing his homily. He finished with the Latin phrase, "tutti hominis" — Blessed be mankind.
A women's rights group approached the Pope the next day. They commented that the Pope blessed all mankind, but not womankind. So the next day, after his homily, the Pope concluded by saying, "tutti hominis et tutti feminus" — Blessed be mankind and womankind.
The next day, a gay-rights group approached the Pope. They said that they noticed that he blessed mankind and womankind, and asked if he could also bless 'gay' people. The Pope said, 'Yes.'
The next day, he concluded his homily with "tutti hominis et tutti feminus et tutti fruity."
I didn't get a chance to post yesterday: the company took our project team out to lunch, our relay team ran the race in the evening, and I was too tired (but not too tired mind you, wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more) when I got home.
Lunch: Kinectrics, well at least the general manager of the department, took our project team out to lunch yesterday at the Canadiana restaurant to congratulate us on a good, nay excellent, first quarter 2002: meeting milestone targets, delivering deliverables, and getting invoices paid. I had ceasar salad, a tasty pork souvlaki dish and washed it down with an Upper Canada wheat beer. I had the chance to talk to a couple of project team members whom I didn't know as well. I just felt a little over-garliced in the afternoon.
Relay Race: Kinectrics entered two teams in the YMCA Corporate Challenge 4 x 5km Relay Race. Team 10 with a collective time of about 98 minutes had our best time ever. Of course, this was our first time ever!. One of my teammates said that he/she ran slower than expected. However, I countered that our team ran fast enough to be able to get pizza, beer and seats in the hall before the line-ups started and there was standing room only. Surprisingly today, other than a bit of stiffness, I feel OK. Update: Here are the race results
Award: We were called into the project manager's office this morning and I thought the news would be that our hours would be cut back. Turns out that the team members received corporate award letters which weren't ready in time for yesterday's lunch. Not only that, we get to take someone out for dinner or to a theatre at corporate expense (up to some limit, of course) and we can order a logo'd jacket. All right! Perhaps I'm easily amused but I haven't "won" anything before that I can recall. The expense allotment will be convenient seeing as our 24th wedding aniversary is coming up in less than two weeks.
Three old ladies were sitting side by side in their retirement home reminiscing. The first lady recalled shopping at the green grocers and demonstrated with her hands, the length and thickness of a cucumber she could buy for a penny. The second old lady nodded, adding that onions used to be much bigger and cheaper also, and demonstrated the size of two big onions she could buy for a penny a piece.
The third old lady remarked, "I can't hear a word you're saying, but I remember the guy you're talking about."
This Washington Post article describes the problem of (North) Americans not reading the manuals that come with their expensive purchases, be it DVD players, digital cameras, cars, washing machines and so on. As an engineer, I usually find it a challenge to figure out how to operate an instrument without reading the manual first. (Though I do read it eventually; otherwise, I might miss out taking advantage of some of the features included in the cost.) But Mr and Mrs Average (North) American ignore the manual and phone the toll free number instead when they experience problems and miss out on many of the features of the product. Hence (And here's my chance to use the much maligned <blink> tag :-) the result is the now cliché flashing on the VCR. Anyway this is all a lead in to a joke I saw today in the Clean Laffs email letter.
One of my daughter's wedding presents was a toaster oven. Soon after the honeymoon, she and her husband tried it out. Almost immediately, smoke billowed out of the toaster. "Get the owner's manual!" her husband shouted.
"I can't find it anywhere!" she cried, searching through the box.
"Oops!" came a voice from the kitchen. "Well, the toast is fine, but the owner's manual's burned to a crisp."
When your wife says, "What do you think?" she is not asking for your opinion. She is asking for her opinion, from your mouth.
Source: FunnyMailer
Tom, Dick and Harry were in the pub enjoying a few quiet drinks one night, when they decided to get in on the weekly raffle. They bought five $1 tickets each, seeing it was for charity. The following week, when the raffle was drawn, they each won a prize.
Tom won the first prize — a whole year's supply of gourmet spaghetti sauce. Dick was the winner of the second prize — six month's supply of extra-long gourmet spaghetti. And Harry won the sixth prize — a toilet brush.
When they met in the pub a week later, Harry asked the others how they were enjoying their prizes.
"Great," said Tom. "I love spaghetti."
"So do I," said Dick. "And how's the toilet brush, Harry?"
"Not so good," Harry said, "I reckon I'll go back to paper..."
Dear Friends and Family:
The school year is wrapping up and I will soon be heading home. I won't be back here next year. This is mainly because I don't want to be away from my family any more. I greedily listen to the good news from Alexis, Nicolia, and Rhea about their activities and accomplishments and I want to be there to celebrate with them.
I am currently involved in a search for summer - and beyond - employment. Victoria is not an easy place to find work - especially as a teacher - but I am determined to get settled back there somehow. I welcome any brainstorms any of you may have in that vein. I am following all leads. I am thinking in particular about my "transferrable" skills, about what other kinds of work that someone with my “skill set” can make a positive contribution to. I find it difficult to gain a perspective on my own strengths and, also, to come up with a matching set of possible occupations. No big deal, but pass them on if you do have any suggestions these may help me spread a wider search net.
Being near the end of the year I am easing up on my students some of the time. My Grade 9 Career and Personal Planning class comes to me on Friday for the last period of the day only every other week. This has not been a period for which they or I have much academic ambition. I therefore relented when, yesterday, one of the students offered to bring in a DVD player and a teen movie. Unfortunately, the movie he brought would not play. Even before we began setting up the movie other students had asked me if we could go outside. Why not?
So my eight students and I of slipped out the school's back door and gathered for a game of capture-the-flag in the woods. All eight of them were totally into this and obviously enjoyed crashing and creeping through the woods in pursuit of flags, each other, or escape. I just wandered around in the wood lot cheering on whoever seemed to be the underdog. Too often at this age (14-15), and particularly in this native teen population, the teenagers are too “cool” to act like kids and just have fun. Too many are already drinking heavily on weekends and hanging around in peer groups that scorn unselfconscious play.
I found it odd when I came here that many of the teens look upon nature as a boring place where only goody-white people like me would deliberately spend any time. Surrounded in their villages by vast woods all their lives, nature is no novelty to these kids. It is just there, a place which is occasionally good for picking pine mushrooms but is otherwise a tangled, messy place where bears lurk behind every hillock. The woods is a business place with some use value, but not a recreational or intrinsically valuable place.
So, in this context too, I was glad to see these 8 teenagers crashing through the woods and obviously enjoying themselves. All 8 (remarkably, because there are many who are not) of these teens are in good shape and keen to run. I was impressed with their agility, especially how they would run full tilt through a thicket without dashing their brains out on a low limb or tripping up on tangles of fallen branches. Maybe I am reading too much in to what I saw, but I fancied I saw a “native” ability there, in spite of their oft expressed disdain for being in “nature”.
I cheer all you who are overcoming adversity in your lives and carrying on. I sympathize with those of you who often feel that the demands of your life are too great and that you will not succeed in overcoming them. Carry on! It is a difficult life but a good one, all the better for those who have the faith to keep walking forward until the mists of despair lift. Your noble efforts will bring you to a better place.
Love, Tom.