Archive for November 2006
As promised. View the album here.
(The arena lends the pads, but is short of sticks. My father will buy Child Three a goalie stick for Chanukah, so long as I “tell him it’s no way to make a living!!!”)
Bonus proof that the world is ending:
In Montreal, it’s 15 degrees C and we’ve had a half-hour of snow this season.
In Vancouver, they have blizzards.
Rice University’s football team was invited to its first bowl game since 1961. When I went to the school, I saw the football team win a home game for the first time in four years.
My blog traffic quadruples Tuesdays and Wednesdays because this is the blog that shows up when folks search for “House” on Google. Sorry, Diane.
My teaching duties have ended for this year. The pay is OK, but what makes the effort worthwhile is when you get an e-mail that says “Thanks for a good course. I learned a lot!” And I did.
I have a long list of obligations to complete before I get back to original creative screenwriting. Oddly, blogging isn’t on the list, and yet….
I have just signed a contract for writing/editing/updating/research on some Montreal travel info. As I mentioned previously, I was offered the contract as a direct result of this blog. I’d like to ask all you Montrealers to add a comment to this post with your favourite things to do and places to go. Make my life easy.
Now, I’m off to get a haircut, call ACTRA, and write up a Reader’s Digest report all at once…. Multitasking’s where it’s at.
Dang. I had a post earlier, but Blogger lost it. Let me try to recreate it….
“Studio 60” made me chuckle last night. It seems like the show finally let Matt Perry do the funny in a way he’s comfortable with. He gave a performace that seemed… joyful. He gets to cock his head in that Matthew Perry way. Although his appearance has been poorly advertised, the episode gives show collaborator Mark McKinney some face time. Even playing a somber deadpan, he cracked me up with his first line.
(Posting about “Studio 60” before its shown in the US gives me a bit of a thrill. I asked Alex if that makes me a bad person and he said maybe, but it for sure made me a Very Good Canadian.)
The show is certainly getting funnier. It addresses an early critique of the show, that this drama about a comedy wasn’t funny enough.
Laughing is good, but I seem to only remember odd, disturbing dreams. Friday night, I dreamed that Elvi had left me to take up again with her Husband One (I’m her Husband Two). Last night, I dreamed that she’d come back from music camp, which in the dream she’d attended with her band. (In life, she’d gone with a gaggle of high-school girls.)
In the dream, she returned home with many tattoos. Her bottom was covered in a small fishnet pattern that had a rose at every intersection of the lace. Even within my dream, I thought thath the elaborate pattern had to be painful – but Elvi told me she’d been drunk so it didn’t hurt much. Her bandmates had tattooed signatures on her back. Down from her hips on the front of her thighs, the tattoo artist had written vertical sentences that alternated in black and orange ink. He’d written business card info and “care of” instructions.
I argued with her about the tattoos, but then had to leave to join family at a meeting in a sort of dining hall. The meeting before ours was some sort of Israeli-Palestinian workgroup. I entered the hall and sat with my (deceased) grandfather, my dad, and Child Three, also male. (The three older of us are all first-born males of their fathers; Child Three is a first male, but third child. That probably means something.)
They say you dream every night. Why do I only remember the harsh ones? I’m a dream analyst’s dream, I guess.
Next, I’d like to point you to Craig Mazin’s blog. I discuss my experiences with migraine and other headaches occasionally
I doubt too many of my readers don’t read Craig, but in case you don’t, I’d like to point you to his Artful Writer blog. He posts about how he gave up caffeine and got rid of his migraines.
Am I misjudging the situation, or does this NFL season feature far more shutouts than usual? Anybody know? Anybody industrious enough to crunch the numbers?
As I composed the first draft of this post, I received an e-mail from a travel-writing outlet, an e-mail that could help show that Blogging Does Pay. The editor had found my blog and expressed interest in hiring me for a freelance gig. Let’s see how that turns out.
This is what it looks like when a wife errantly feels herself too dignified to laugh at a whoopee cushion.
Child One and Wife One (and Only) spent the better part of the weekend at music camp. I’ve spent the last few days with Children Two and Three. They didn’t have school Friday, so I had them to keep me busy.
Elvi (Wife One and Only, or WOO) had taken the camera, so I have no pictures of Child One in goalie pads. We worked on half butterflies in practice this week.
Today, I’m reading a script for Alex and preparing quizzes for this last week of classes.
I hear a nap calling….
I wish my American readers a Happy Thanksgiving Day – or, as we in Canada call it, Thursday.
Tuesday, I started feeling human enough to put my hard contacts back in my eyes. Yesterday, my right eye was slightly irritated, not enough to do away with the lens, but enough that I took the lens out to clean it and re-inserted it.
So, at 4:45 last night (it gets dark early here by the North Pole), I’m waiting for oncoming traffic to clear so that I can turn left onto Somerled from Grand (southbound). Just as I have the room to go, I blink, and out pops my left contact lens, the one that had been fine.
Normally, a lens will rest on my cheek, and I can grab it – but this one is not there. I try not to move more than necessary as I scan my jacket and lap. Within seconds, the cars behind me start honking. I either have to drive, and move my arms to steer, or sit there and clog traffic while I look for the missing lens. Admittedly, it’s not “Sophie’s Choice”, but it is a $150 contact lens.
The eye that can still see is my keratoconoid eye, which remains a bit astigmatic even when corrected with a hard lens. The eye without the lens might as well be made of glass. And it’s night out already, remember. There’s no point in looking for the lens. I had to complete the turn.
I drive to our destination, Child Three’s hockey rink. I sit still. I ask Child Three to look me over to see if he can see the lens. He checks me out with the all the dedicated concentration of a goldfish on cocaine. He doesn’t see the lens on my jacket, on my lap, behind the rear view mirror, or in the glove compartment.
I also look, futilely. I have no choice. I have to get up. I hope the lens falls out of my clothing onto the driver seat, but I’m not that lucky. I carefully peel off layers of clothing. Nothing. There’s not much more I can do with one modestly good eye, no light, and an antsy six-year-old.
Child Three has always wanted to play goalie. (So did I when I was that age, and I did for a few years, until it got boring.) Tonight is the first practice in which the organization will distribute goalie pads and sticks to prospective goalies. I know the basic goalie techniques and I’ve been teaching them to Child Three off ice, but now I’m going to have to go skate with 45% vision. It’s doable, but I go on the ice hoping I won’t crush a kid on my blind side. I’m the only parent or coach there who has any goalie knowledge, so sitting out is not an option.
The practice went well. In drills, Child Three was super. He’s handling the stick properly, upright and flat on the ice. Unfortunately, he lost focus in the post-practice mini-game and went flopping on his belly. I’ll take pictures at the next practice, Saturday.
You Americans should watch “Studio 60” tonight. It’s a heck of a lot better than last week’s episode, and that’s not faint praise. The episode is about the show and post-show after the events in Nevada. It left me thinking by the end of the episode, “Wow, that all took place in real time.”
Writers especially will appreciate this week’s show, from the use of basketball overtime periods to designate acts to the advice to introduce a sidekick to help avoid voice-over exposition. That made me chuckle.
Those of us who watched last week’s “30 Rock” can compare how the two shows treat the issue of product placement. “30 Rock” made fun of the issue, with blatant mentions of Snapple, comic to the point of an actor in a Snapple costume. “Studio 60” takes a more serious perspective through Danny and Jordan’s discussion – which does its part to throw out some brand names. One cut from Danny and Jordan to the writers’ room reveals Ricky sitting behind a beautiful MacBook, Apple logo front and center. Danny also fetched some sort of food from a vending machine at some point, but I didn’t catch what that was – if that was product placement, it was ineffective.
The fictional “Studio 60” crew comes up with an elegant solution to product placement: they will design a set around LA billboard culture. I’m guessing the real “Studio 60” will be adopting that set for the same reason. It’s a nifty recursive solution.
That these two NBC shows about TV writers raise the issue leads me to wonder if a directive on product placement came down from NBC management one show cycle ago.
I don’t object to product placement. Last week’s “House” had John Larroquette’s waken-from-a-decade-in-a-vegetative-state Gabe ask what an Ip-Od was. Cute.
As I drifted off to sleep Saturday night, I had a great new slant on the beginning of “Sheep’s End” pop into my head. It’s down in note form, but I don’t have time to write it for a few weeks. It helps solve some nagging issues I had, with plot and cliche. And it adds a new joke, of the non-ass variety.
Saturday, while the rest of the family visited friends to shower, I waited at home to receive a replacement hot-water tank and the gentlemen who would install it.
They showed up and refused to either remove our old tank or leave the new one. Our house had two breakers of 15 amps leading to the water heater, but the tank needed at least two breakers of 20 amps, they said. I don’t know much about electrical systems, but I do know it’s relatively simple to replace a breaker. I promised we’d do that if they switched the tanks, but they refused.
Their steadfast commitment to the letter of the law might have been admirable had they not decided to spend the time meant for the replacement sitting in the truck doing nothing. They were still there when I left 20 minutes later to pick up Child Three from a birthday party.
Our friend Charles, who is skilled in the electrical arts, installed the correct breaker for us, and removed a wire patch as well. We got the new tank this morning. Luckily, the company sends crews out on Sunday.
I did shower yesterday, at my cousins’, but it’s nice to get the dishwasher back.
Bonus note to Shecanfilmit:
I read the Didion piece, and while I can relate to the misery, her facts are dated. There are now medicines that will stop migraines in progress, like Imitrex and Zomig.
I did try ergotamine therapy, but because I almost never get an aura, it doesn’t work well for me. Someday, I’ll write an essay on my migraine experiences – but the migraine itself was only a small part of my malaise of the past few days. I still have a bit of a tension headache….
I slept another 11 hours last night.
Tracy, my physiotherapist, worked on my shoulder a bit, then decided to try to help me with my headache. She used her fingers on my neck muscles near the skull attachments, in a way I can describe as either deep massage, pressure-point acupuncture, or plain old poking. She reduced the severity of the headache, but tension headaches are muscle-based after all.
I took some ibuprofen at night and was feeling good by bedtime, but the tension headache was back when I woke up. More ibuprofen banished it again.
Will Dixon asked in a comment to my last post if I’ve tried Zomig. I haven’t, but I do have a prescription for the similar drug, Imitrex. I use the nasal spray delivery, but I didn’t try it yesterday because of my cold. In hindsight, I should have.
(Zomig claims an efficiency of only 6% over placebo in the first ten minutes, rising to 40% better after two hours. Those are better response rates than Imitrex claims. Might be time to switch.)
Mr. Dixon also asks if there’s anything to be done about brilliant, disruptive children. I’ll limit my suggestions to practical solutions – one one one teaching would work well, but I can’t pay for it, nor do I have the patience to home-school.
In Child Three’s case, the disruption is a clamouring for attention, we think. He’s the youngest of three and I’ve noticed that he has usually had to be loud and repetitive to be noticed. I’m of the school that thinks the behaviour pattern is primarily ingrained rather than learned, but reinforcing the behaviour can’t help.
The strategy we’re going to try is to try to get Child Three to appreciate that he can get attention with results. I don’t think there’s a way to restrict his quest for attention, so the correct tactic is to target it in a more productive manner. It boils down to ignoring behaviour we deem unacceptable – not punishing it, but ignoring it – and awarding acceptable behaviour with attention.
In my e-mail sig, I quote the character Grandma Woody from “Northern Exposure”: “All we are, basically, are monkeys with car keys.” I believe that profoundly. We are the way we are because our genes dictate that. We can learn to change, but our nurture is only the veneer on our nature.
I have to admit that part of me says do nothing. The disruption only harms the other children and thus gives the disrupter a competitive advantage. But that’s just the Darwinist in me talking.
Bonus point for house:
Sometime yesterday, our water heater started to hemorrhage – wait, that’s not accurate. It started to aquarrhage from its base seal. We rent our heater, which is financially inefficient but should mean that when we have problems, they are fixed promptly.
We’ll be buying our next heater, elsewhere. And moving up from 40 gallons to 60 gallons, so we can stop rationing shower times when we have houseguests. Should we go for 80 gallons?
Kudos to the Gazette for the subhead on the story of the company that owns Victoria’s Secret buying local lingerie company La Senza.
The story, on the front page of the Business section, continues on page 2 of the section with this subhead:
But now, I have a little crap cherry on top. My last 24 hours:
11:30 am: Manage to teach through an entire class despite a head full of phlegm and cramps. I drive home and do some work for Alex.
1:30 pm: Child Two comes home from her half-day of school. I’m feeling exhausted so I ask her to wake me at 3:00 so I can go pick up Child One’s school carpool on time.
2:30 pm: Phone call for me.
3:00 pm: Child Two and I do carpool then retrieve Child Three from a friend’s house. We shop for dinner fixings.
4:30 pm: We ge home and I collapse on the couch. I still feel exhausted and my legs feel like lead weights.
6:45 pm: I force myself to eat a bit despite my low-grade stomach ache.
7:30 pm: Parent-teacher interview with Child Three’s parents. He’s brilliant and advanced, but disruptive and disorganized. I was never disruptive.
8:00 pm: Back home, I climb onto the couch and watch the Habs beat the Bolts. I take two Tylenol nighttime cold pills.
10:30 pm: Go to bed.
4:15 am: I wake up with a migraine. Take a Dilaudid (2mg). I try to read, but give up. I wander around because lying down is too painful.
4:45 am: I take another Dilaudid because the first does nothing.
5:45 am: Still in pain, I take a third Dilaudid. I hop in the shower because it’s the only thing I can do standing up.
6:15 am: I go back to bed. The pain is bearable, not gone. It feels like a standard tension headache.
10:15 am: I wake up. I read the sports section of the paper before I again succumb to headache and exhaustion and go back to bed. I also fell nauseated.
11:30 am: The migraine’s back full strength. This pisses me off. At least when I took Percocet, those pills would kill the migraines. I became inured to the Percocet and asked my doctor for something stronger. These Dilaudid aren’t so effective. I take two more. I wonder if I’m going to make my 3 p.m. physio appointment. I haven’t done any of the exercise for about a week anyway – my first lapse of more than two days since I started. And because I went to sleep with wet hair, I make Einstein look like a jarhead.
Now: Excuse me, but I think I have to go throw up.
Bonus pun from six-year-old Child Three:
“Dad, Uranus is like Jupiter because it’s full of gas!”
I massaged the blogroll. Goodbye, I Am Trying to Make You Laugh and Agents Are Evil. Say hello to the Word Demon and the jaWiki.
My synopsis went to Robert Saturday evening. I wish I’d been able to find a copy of the book, but I’m not displeased with my work.
I have two more weeks of school, then a week of grading. I’m chomping at the keyboard bit. I can’t wait to have large stretches of time to devote to my waiting scripts once December rolls in.
Friday night, I shared a delicious Vietnamese dinner with my small Montreal screenwriters group. We talked food more than writing, but one of the ideas thrown around the table was a collaboration. Collaborative writing – and I don’t mean two or three-person partnerships – is entertaining and can be good exercise, but my four dinner-mates were taking it a bit more seriously than that. I’m not sure I’m up for a serious collaboration, beyond what I do with Nearmiss. We’ll see what happens.