Well, actually my nephew. Just goes to show that we start ’em young in our family.
Meaning the dance I did when those annoying cousins were philiminated last night. Woo hoo. If anyone noticed, Phil Keoghan got all choked up but, personally, I think it’s because, what with Charla’s height, she would have been perfect for… never mind.
Though I’ve worked in telecommunications most of my tech-writing career, and at one time for a company that developed hand-held programs, I’ve never really felt the obligation or need for a cell phone. Oh, I’ve owned them, have used ’em and, after a couple months, put ’em away and let the contract run out (yeah, just like my wimmen). Heck, got duped into accepting a Bell mobility plan a few months back, realised that the plan was structured so that I was paying a lot of money for what amounted to a walkie-talkie, and returned it as soon as possible.
So, Sat’day, doing the walking-along-Mont-Royal thing with the milliner, we head into a store to upgrade her old phone, which was held together with packing tape. Later, I’m telling her how great it was not to own one and how I really didn’t feel the need for one.
“Oh, you mean it wouldn’t have come in handy for Emergency A, Situation X, Misfortune F?” Um. Um. Okay, got a phone the next day. Did you know that they come web ready these days?
Decided to go for a jog last night. I haven’t willingly run since high school, which was, well, let’s say it was a few years ago. Grab my joggers, head over to Parc Laurier, figuring 30 minutes should do for the first time. Um, couldn’t even make it half way around the park. Now, granted, it’s a big park, but still. That’s depressing. I’m used to biking or skiing where, if you stop moving your legs, you’ll still have some forward progress. Running? Not so much. Yikes.
Here I am, intending to climb Grand Teton next year, a technical lead of over 13000 feet, and I can’t even keep the pace for 5 minutes? Oy.
I was at the milliner’s last night, when she says, “hey, I have something to show you.” She pulls out a box of condoms, which she had just bought at the drugstore. “Look, they’re Olympic-themed.” Sure enough, there were gold-, silver, and bronze-coloured condoms.
Cools, says I, lets try them out.
“Which colour do you want to try,” she asked, batting her eyelids.
“Um, how about gold, as in ‘going for the gold,'” I macho’ed.
“Well, okay, if you insist,” she replied, “but I would rather you tried silver.”
She answers, “Because, for once, I’d like it if you came second.”
I hate going through the trouble of peeling a mango, only to realise a few bites into it that it’s still unripe. Damn, I was looking forward to a soft fruit, with sticky sweetness running down my chin, whereas instead I get this stringy chunk of dust that makes me wonder about all the carcinogenic pesticides that might have been used in its production.
Don’t mind me, I think I’m just a bit hypoglycemic at the moment.
Went down to New Hampshire this past weekend, with the milliner, to do some climbing. We headed to Rumney, packing the car with foam mattresses, chairs, pillows, espresso maker, all for two days of “roughing it.” Ageing has its privileges. Also, it sure is sweet getting to the border and, when the guards see us, don’t even bother asking for ID, we look that harmless.
Anyhow, I quickly realised that I’ve gotten weaker since I was last there, and had a difficult time getting up climbs I used to dance on. In fact, at one point I remarked that, gosh, it was nice that the first tie-in bolt on one climb was high up, because if I happened to fall at least I wouldn’t hit the ground. After which, I make a few moves and go flying off.
After that, we decided to call it a day, and drove into town for supper. On the way back, we drive up to a duck on the road. Not dead, mind you, just a duck holding its ground. It ain’t moving. We edge the car closer, and still it just stands there. Cars are now backing up behind us. So, I get out of the car, walk up to the duck and try shoo’ing it out the way. The little cluck just turns around and quacks at me! “Dude, you’re not making me look good in front of the partner. A bit of cooperation here, mkay?” It finally decides to move, still quacking its displeasure at me. I get back in the car, with the milliner laughing her head off at me. For revenge, I think I’m gonna make me some magret this weekend.
Riding on my way back home, I see a bunch of fire trucks on my street. Shit, the Plateau arsonist has struck again, I think. Getting closer to home, I pass the local ice-cream parlour, and what do I see but about ten firefighters, stripped down to their tight-fitting T-shirts, all lapping away at their cones. Strangely, there was no gaggle of drooling women around, but I think the message hadn’t been broadcast.