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I resolve...
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
It's remarkable to me that I make the same New Year's resolution every year, and in the final moments of the year, that's when I remember how much I really screwed up that resolution. It should be simple: eat better, excercise, read more. Technically, I suppose that's three resolutions.
One by one, each resolution fell by the wayside ? cast aside like that shirt that I thought was really cool when I saw it in the store, then turned out to be itchy and made my belly look just about as big as it really is. Cast aside just like that.
This year I'll be smarter. This year I'm adopting resolutions that I can keep.
This year I resolve to work at a software company and occasionally eat okonomiyaki at lunch, and sometimes for dinner too, but never on the same day. (After all, there's only so much okonomiyakiing that a person should handle in a 24-hour period.)
I also resolve to type a great many words onto the screen, but not necessarily in the same document or in any particular order.
I resolve to breathe at least several times a day.
I resolve to eat, drink, and be merry, but not Pippin. (Sorry.)
I resolve to use the word "broccoli" in at least one sentence that doesn't involve James Bond.
I resolve to spend more money on taxes than I'd like to, and give several politicians a really good frowning.
I resolve to sing boistrously in my car when I think that no one is looking.
I resolve to go see The Return of the King at a movie theatre and re-watch The Two Towers when it comes out of video.
I resolve to only eat breakfast when I feel like it, and to feel vaguely guilty for eating a Sausage 'n' Egg McMuffin, should I happen to do so.
And I resolve to just be myself and not anyone else, no matter how cheap it becomes in the future to get a brain transplant.
I strongly suggest to anyone else who's foolish enough to have read this far down the page to adopt an attainable resolution this year. Just think how good you'll feel about yourself when December 31, 2003 rolls around and you can look back on the year and say, "Yes, this year I accomplished everything that I set out to do." At which point, you'll have to skulk out of the room under the glowering looks from those people who resolved to do ambitious things like getting healthy, going to the gym, and giving up smack (for example).
It's a small price to pay for a little bit of year-end smugness.  Cubey Terra
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Same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it ever was, same as it... ever... was...
Monday, December 30, 2002
Daylight was streaming in around the blinds when I woke up. I was late.
I got ready. The jeans hadn't dried completely since I did the laundry last night. I put them on anyway.
Getting into my car, I noticed that the shopkeeper in the store across the street was actually in her shop. I'd never seen that before. And my car started this time.
On the bridge, I avoided three cyclists who were riding in traffic instead of the bike lane half a metre to the right, then I passed the brand-new Starbucks in the new Pivotal building. It was full.
I stopped at a dozen or so stop lights on Robson. They all turned red. I then turned left, then right, then left before parking the car in the city parkade. A worker with a white pickup was sweeping used drug paraphernalia from the corners.
As I crossed the street, two lumbering garbage trucks stopped side-by-side for a chat, like elephants at the watering hole, and a rusty van drove past with blue smoke roiling from a broken tailpipe. The produce shop where they accept returned lettuce wasn't open yet and neither was that new Korean restaurant next door, where they had finished their new patio.
Construction workers shouted to each other from the top of the building that they built where the 7-11 used to be, and a man jumped from his car to shove a video box into the slot at Blockbuster, then I did the same. I turned left then right then left and left again and into the building and up the elevator and beeped my way into my floor and sat down at my cubicle and began to work.
Then I stopped for a few moments and wrote this before continuing with my day. Cubey Terra
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Dear Huey...
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Is it still hip to be square? I keep hoping it is, but I've been told that I'm clinging to an ideal from decades ago. Oh, for the glorious days of the past, when being square was hip. Thank you, Huey. Your song was a blessing for a great many fashion-challenged teens. Cubey Terra
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Cubey's Couch Crisis!
Saturday, December 28, 2002
As I mentioned a while back, I no longer own a television. This has caused a very serious problem for me. There's no way to arrange my furniture sensibly without the TV.
For a while, the corner was a gaping void ? a constant reminder of the absence of my old friend. To compensate, I moved the computer into that spot. Then I moved the couch closer to the computer so I could sit on it while surfing the net. That didn't work out, so I moved the computer back to my desk and placed Agent Q's tree (thanks again, Q) in the corner.
Picture a tiny livingroom with an absurdly huge sofa placed diagonally so that it faces nothing but the tree in the corner. I keep hoping there will be something good on the tree, but it shows the same thing night after night. I don't know what to do. I can't go into that room without feeling unsettled. Definitely bad feng shui. Cubey Terra
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It's quiet out there in blog land. Too quiet.
Friday, December 27, 2002
It's so quiet, you could hear a menu drop. Cubey Terra
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Hello. Hyppocrite speaking.
Friday, December 27, 2002
Shortly after yesterday's rant about the "disgusting exercise in consumerist greed", I felt a sudden need for a little exercise of my own. I disgustingly joined the throngs of consumers on Robson Street and greedily bought myself a portable MP3 player. I'm a happy consumer now. Cubey Terra
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Welcome to Boxing Day. Please remain calm.
Thursday, December 26, 2002
Christmas came and went without significant injury, and now we're left with nothing but the hangover (for some) and Boxing Day. As I drove along Robson Street to the office, the sidewalks were already teeming with rabid shoppers, looking to hit the GAP sale or pick up that special jacket at Banana Republic. I'm afraid to think how the Future Shop looks. It's probably under seige.
I can honestly say that I have never been to a Boxing Day sale ? I find the whole concept repulsive. It's a disgusting exercise in consumerist greed. Besides, I could never last through the lineups anyway.
Instead, I'm here at the office, where I can bank the time and take my holiday when it's more convenient.
What is Boxing Day, anyway? I honestly have no idea why the day after Christmas is called Boxing Day. Could it be: - A tribute to the sport of boxing?
- A rememberance of the Boxer Rebellion?
- The day we get rid of all those empty boxes from Christmas?
- A day to recognize the contributions to civilization made by the cardboard industry?
Any help would be very much appreciated. Anyway... time to get back to work. Cubey Terra
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T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the igloo...
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
T'was the night before Christmas, when all through the igloo
Not a creature was stirring, not even an emu;
The rabbits were strung by the bonfire with care,
In hopes that Bonhomme would prefer to eat hare;
The children were fearful and hid in their beds,
While little brown lemurs did jigs on their heads;
Anne Murray in her parka, and Jean in his cap,
Set up in the woods a great beaver trap,
When out on the snow there arose such a clatter,
I threw off the lemurs and watched them all scatter.
Away out the doorway I flew like a flash,
Expecting the Mounties to search for my stash.
The moon on the breast of the great spotted bird
Made the drunken old emu appear quite absurd.
When, what to my crusty red eyes should appear,
But William Shatner, and drinking a beer.
With a little smoked salmon, and poutine-on-a-stick,
I knew in a moment that Bill would be sick.
More eager than beavers his carousers they came,
And he belched, and he spewed, but they came all the same;
"Rex Murphy! Pete Mansbridge! now, Mesley, you vixen!
Come on, you Canucks! Come see what I'm fixin'!
To the top of the igloo! The top of the home!
No oolican, Mansbridge! Don't polish your dome!"
As snow drifts within an arctic storm fly,
When they meet with an inukshuk, mount to the sky.
So onto the igloo the carousers they flew,
While the Dougs they emerged from eating moose stew.
And then, after tinkling, I heard on the roof,
The Tragically Hip, all acting the goof.
As they struck up the band, and tested the sound,
Down the igloo slid Shatner, all jiggly and round.
He was dressed like the Captain, from his head to his shoe,
And kept on insisting that "I'm Canadian too!";
After years on the bridge when the Klingons attack,
He moaned of Kirk's death, with the bridge on his back.
His eyes ? how they reddened! his makeup how smudgy!
He'd had so much Molson's, he'd grown oh so pudgy!
The drool on his mouth froze hard in the snow,
It appeared his sobriety had started to go;
Then beavers appoached us, all baring their teeth,
And lemurs avoided being squished underneath;
To prove his Canuck-ness, Bill showed them his belly
He'd painted with maples leaves seen on the telly.
It was chubby and plump, a right jolly old gut,
And they quailed when they saw it, and pulled his shirt shut;
And shutting their eyes and a holding back vomit,
The beavers turned tail and fled like a comet;
Bill spoke not a word, but went straight to the stage,
And stepped up to the mic; and gave a look that was sage;
And sawing the air with hands as he started,
And lifting his voice, his talent departed;
He bellowed out loud, and the crowd gave a whistle,
And to him they flew like a misguided missile.
But I heard him exclaim to the townsfolk arcadian,
"Happy Christmas to all, and I... AM... CANADIAN!" Cubey Terra
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2 days until Canadian Christmas
Monday, December 23, 2002
All's well that ends well, as they say. Our runaway bird situation resolved itself this morning when Bill Shatner made a final attempt to seize the microphone while cleverly disguised as a spotted snow emu.
Our snow emu was immediately intrigued, and in the shade of the giant Christmas Tree, it made... er... romantic advances. Then dropped dead of shock on discovery of the gallant captain under the feathered disguise. Bill was devastated. It was the closest he'd come to "third base" in years.
With that, we dragged the emu directly to the feast igloo, where Carlo Rota plucked and dressed the bird, then stuffed it with open beer cans. Bill looked on enviously, muttering, "I... am... Canadian... too. I... am... Canadian. Spock! Do... something."
This afternoon the villagefolk and their children will converge on the feast igloo to festoon it with streamers and balloons. Well... strips of rabbit hide and inflated seal bladders, actually. But they impart a festive feeling, nonetheless. Tonight, we'll pass around the Molson's and listen to Bob and Doug (the other ones) sing the Twelve Days of Christmas until the wee hours.
And tomorrow... tomorrow Christmas Eve is finally here. Cubey Terra
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3 days until Canadian Christmas
Sunday, December 22, 2002
In size, Canada's population is less than that of certain small islands in the South Pacific. What this means is that everyone knows everyone else ? like a small town, but one that straddles the entire continent.
So I talked to Doug about the emu problem, who spoke to the other Doug, who dropped a word to the mayor, who in turn spoke with his twin brother the premier, who pulled some strings to drop a note to the groundskeeper on Parliament Hill, who in turn notified the prime minister of the threat to Christmas Eve. Without delay, Jean called up the entire Canadian Armed Forces to help us in our time of need.
This morning, when their dogsled arrived at the village, all three of them swung into action, combing the streets one-by-one, stopping only for an hour or two at the pub before resuming their anti-emu campaign. No keg was left unturned.
Around the village they stalked the renegade bird, from one side to the other and back again. They worked like a well oiled machine, running this way and that, with shouts of, "It's over here, eh!" and "Aw geez, ya hosers!"
I could tell they were becoming wearied when they started referring to their leader as "the ossifer" or, worse, "the left-tenant". When they collapsed, presumably from exhaustion, we gave them beds with a bucket beside each, as they were feeling a little ill.
On another note, the Mounties caught Shatner trying to sneak up to the microphone again. This time he was disguised as a simple wandering minstrel, seeking shelter and a stage from which he could recite I Am Canadian in return for a hot meal. Cubey Terra
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4 days until Canadian Christmas
Saturday, December 21, 2002
Shatner was spotted at the village perimeter late last night, trying to woo Céline with the ol' Kirk charm. He got as far as comparing her to a green slave girl from Orion when she was rescued by a passing Mountie. It was a truly selfless act on the constable's part ? he placed himself in the presence of great danger in order to save our best polar bear deterrent.
Meanwhile, back in the village, Bryan Adams and several unknown famous Canadian musicians rehearsed for the big night. Everyone agreed that Christmas Eve will be the best show since Anne Murray bit the head off a live ptarmigan and threw it into the audience.
During a rehearsal of Summer of '69, our emu became agitated, and no amount of beer or Doug's tender attentions could calm it. Eventually it broke loose and ran amok, overturning tables and disrupting 54-40's rehearsal of that song from the 80s that people still vaguely remember.
As long as we can contain the bird within the village, the Christmas feast isn't lost. It has yet to take to the air, so we guess that some remaining straps are hampering its wing movement, forcing it to remain earthbound. We could yet save the situation.
It does present a tactical problem, however. We can't enlist the Mounties' help, because we need them to guard the village against the polar bears and beavers. It's time to call in a little extra help. Cubey Terra
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5 days until Canadian Christmas
Friday, December 20, 2002
Last night's tree-raising party was just ripping along until Bernard Landry announced that he wants to separate Christmas from the rest of Canada. He'll hold a referendum as soon as he's guaranteed a "Yes" vote.
This morning Doug, Doug, and I trudged out onto the ice to fish for breakfast. Swatting away the swarms of wolverines, we contemplated a year without Christmas. On the one hand, as Doug pointed out, Shatner wouldn't harass us any more about hosting the Christmas Eve rituals. I had to agree with that one. On the other hand...
Actually, that first argument seemed pretty conclusive. For a few moments, we felt quite satisfied with letting Landry deal with Shatner, who was from Montréal originally.
But no... how could we tell the children that they could no longer sacrifice hares for Bonhomme? How could we tell them that there would be no emu hunt? No more clubbed baby seals? No more clearcut trees? No. For the sake of the children, we have to keep these traditions going.
Just then, Doug got a bite and reeled in his catch. Today, we eat narwhal. Cubey Terra
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6 days until Canadian Christmas
Thursday, December 19, 2002
As I said, I returned home yesterday morning to see how Doug was making out with the emu. He was almost to "first base" when I found them, so I gave them a little privacy.
The evening of the seventh day before Christmas marks the day we trek to the forest to find a Christmas tree. As the Dougs and I were choosing our saws, Premier Campbell dropped in to offer his assistance, which we gratefully accepted. Gordon, you see, is an expert in forestry practices and often astounds the villagefolk with his wisdom. Just last week he revealed that there is more old-growth forest now than there was 100 years ago. Amazing! At this rate we can clear-cut entire mountain ranges for decades and always come out ahead. Gordon is a very clever Canuck, and we're so proud to have him in our village.
With that, we set out to find the perfect tree. Gordon's mastery of the saw thrilled us and soon we had a great pile of felled trees to choose from. We left behind the largest of them, and instead chose one less than a metre across in the trunk. Against the cut end of the trunk, we pitched a lean-to and bedded down for the night, falling asleep while Gordon gleefully counted the hundreds of rings of our tree's great bole.
The Dougs, Gordon, and I arrived home this morning with the tree in tow, and settled in at the Campbell igloo for a hot breakfast of spotted owl poutine. Gordon entertained us during the meal with stories of his rise to power when, suddenly, he began to gag and choke, and turned blue in the face. Luckily, his twin brother, Larry, stepped in and performed the Heimlich, which dislodged the offending object. Somehow, Gordon had choked on the wishbone. That's what happens when you eat too quickly, I suppose.
I'm looking forward to this evening, when we erect the tree in the village centre, which always puts a warm glow in the hearts of the village men. Then we'll string it with garish baubles and blinking lights and gather round, sing folk songs, and quaff pints of mulled beer until we fall unconscious. Cubey Terra
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7 days until Canadian Christmas
Wednesday, December 18, 2002
This morning, I began my Christmas shopping. In this respect, I'm like our American cousins to the south, in that I buy presents. Traditionally, Canadians make their own gifts, which are usually sewn from furs or skins. Hats, mittens, mukluks, wallets, purses, umbrellas, interesting underwear ? all are hand-made for each person on our Christmas list.
In Canada, everyone is involved in the fur industry, and we enjoy the limelight it attracts. Why, every year we get hundreds of tourists hoping to take part in Vancouver's famous seal hunt. They come in droves from all over the world to encounter nature in its majesty. When you return with a sledful of baby seal pelts after a long day out on the ice, it's a glorious feeling ? especially if you clubbed them yourself!
Now, I'm not very handy with the leatherwork, so I threw on my snowshoes and hiked from my parents' igloo south to the ice floes of the mighty Fraser River. At the trading post by the river's edge, a clever shopper can haggle for all of the skins, furs, and handicrafts they need for the season at a very reasonable price.
Caveat emptor, Canadians often say. In fact, I believe that's even engraved on the side of those used subs that we bought from the Royal Navy. That motto particularly applies to shopping for seal furs, because some unscrupulous vendors will substitute any shiny, fur-bearing animal in its place. For example, last year my parents gave me a sweater that turned out to be knitted with possum fur! Oh, the embarassment that caused. Fortunately, the sweater is quite warm and I can now play dead when the need arises.
I wandered between the aisles and kiosks of the market, breathing the heavy scent of fried blubber and tanning seal skins. Even before noon, the market was thronging with furriers, shoppers, foodsellers, and tourists in North Face parkas taking photos of absolutely everything. At one point, a tourist asked for directions to the nearest corner store. A silence fell and confused looks were passed around. In Canada, you see, there are no "corner stores" ? in fact, there are no corners at all in our villages, because our igloos are round. A dozen or so helpful villagers directed him to the nearest depanneur while apologizing profusely.
By afternoon, I had an armload of baby seal products and a few blubber snacks to hold me until dinner. Christmas is only seven days away. So much to do, and so little time! I wonder how Doug is making out with that emu? Cubey Terra
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8 days until Canadian Christmas
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
The search for Peter Mansbridge continued until about ten o'clock last night, when somebody noticed that Peter was reading the news on The National. Baffled by this, we abandoned the search.
This morning, we walked over to the prime minister's place to get some answers. We arrived to find Jean and Aline stringing up their arctic hares for Bonhomme. It was a touching moment, and we hated to intrude on their Christmas preparations, but this was important.
As any Canadian knows, it's tough to get a straight answer from Jean. Doing so usually involves sitting around the fire listening to Jean babble incoherently while he waves his Inuit sculpture threateningly. Jean likes reliving the glory days when he could personally attack citizens at will.
Eventually we got some answers, but only after agreeing to let him throttle Premier Campbell. It seemed like a good deal to us, but things got messy when Gordon pulled out his pepper spray, making Jean cry, "Dat's no fair! For me, pepper, I put it on my plate!"
As it turns out, the Peter Mansbridge we had seen on the National was a clone. Moreover, we haven't had a real Peter Mansbridge since the 80s. Well, the clones are doing a fine job ? possibly better than the original, although, according to Jean, they have a repulsive habit of polishing their forehead with oolican oil.
Amazing. I'd just assumed that Peter liked Old Spice.
With that settled, we trudged home to continue our Christmas preparations. Cubey Terra
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9 days until Canadian Christmas
Monday, December 16, 2002
Tragedy struck in the night. Several beavers broke through the Mounties' defenses and dragged off Peter Mansbridge. There was a short delay before launching a search and rescue attempt ? apparently some people felt that Ralph Benmergui deserved more airtime anyway, while others didn't think we should direct more public resources towards the CBC.
In light of the morning's events, we chose to forgo tonight's planned festivities. The dwarves are disappointed, but I think they understand our reasons. Cubey Terra
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10 days until Canadian Christmas
Sunday, December 15, 2002
Success! After a long vigil behind the emu blind, our quarry took the bait. The spotted snow emu emerged from its burrow only long enough to drag the keg underground. An hour later, armed with shovels, we extracted the giant avian from its hole and lashed it to the largest of our dogsleds. The feast would be very flavourful this year ? the emu had consumed the entire keg.
The trip home was full of song and laughter. Our arrival at the village was marked with fanfare and cries of G'day, eh! After unhitching the dogs and lemurs, Doug slipped off to see his family, while the other Doug and I beat the emu senseless with the Barenaked Ladies box set.
Tonight, Sunday night, will be a quiet one. That is, as long as the Mounties can defend the village perimeter from the roving packs of beavers, which, at this time of year, leave their dams to raid villages for food. Cubey Terra
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11 days until Canadian Christmas
Saturday, December 14, 2002
By nightfall, the Dougs and I set up camp near the habitat of the spotted snow emu. We quickly built a roaring campfire on which I prepared a quick meal of back bacon, smoked salmon, and poutine. After the meal, Doug (the older one) pulled out his accordion and played a beautiful rendition of Be My Yoko Ono with the other Doug accompanying him on the spoons. We fell asleep with the silence broken only by a distant whistling marmot. I think it was whistling Stormy Weather, but I couldn't be certain. That wouldn't bode well for the hunt.
We awoke to strong winds that made the lemurs nervous. Camp coffee and a brief meal of bison jerky started the day before we set out on snowshoe.
The best way to hunt the spotted snow emu is to surprise it with a free keg of surprisingly strong Canadian beer. We placed the bait and settled behind the blind to wait for darkness to fall.
I imagine that the villagers of Steveston have almost completed their igloo. Even as I write this, the children are probably preparing the offerings of arctic hare. Making an offering of a hare, it is thought, will appease the wrath of Bonhomme: the fearsome snow creature that wears a sash and toque stained red with the blood of naughty children. At the coming of Bonhomme, all children must chant the refrain, " Salut Bonhomme, Salut le Bonhomme cannibale...", lest they be carried off to Bonhomme's kingdom and eaten on snow with hot maple syrup.
Dusk approaches. I should stop writing and help Doug and Doug with that flask of CC. Cubey Terra
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The Canadian holiday season: family, friends, gifts, and emus
Friday, December 13, 2002
Canada, a land frozen for ten months of the year and infested with blackflies for the other two, is very fond of its Christmas tradition. In the days leading up to Christmas, all Canadian villages are bustling with preparations for the big day. This year, I'd like to share with you the twelve days leading up to our Canadian Christmas.
12 days until Canadian Christmas
Today began at the crack of dawn as my brothers and I prepared the dog sleds for the hunt. Normally, we use six to ten dogs per sled, depending on the size of the animals we hunt. Today, we supplemented the dog team with a handful of lemurs, for our quarry is the spotted snow emu, which can grow to at least 4 metres in height and weigh about 300 kilograms. Its wingspan dwarfs a small airplane. The snow emu is a dangerous predator while in flight, and emus tend to flock together in squadrons of three or four. For safety, we hunt them at night when they're sleeping in their burrows.
Normally the task of leading the hunt falls to the eldest son, but since my brother, Bob, moved to the village of Winterpeg, which is near the arctic circle, the task has fallen to the second eldest, Doug. My younger brother, also named Doug, has taken part in the hunt ever since he was old enough to complete the rites of ascension.
Meanwhile, at the family home in Steveston, my parents and the other villagers are building the communal feasting igloo, which is much larger than a normal igloo. When complete it will accommodate all 34 of the villagers, the fire pit, and a stage where Anne Murray will sing Snowbirds and selections from Anne Murray's Classic Christmas. We used to have Mr. Shatner host the evening, but his rendition of I Am Canadian began to wear on us after his fourth encore. We politely suggested that he remain in California this year and enjoy a little sun on behalf of all his fellow Canucks.
Céline, on the other hand, is always welcome to our village at Christmas ? her vocal talent can frighten off even the most vicious of polar bears, thus keeping Christmas safe for all.
Having loaded the sleds with supplies, Doug, Doug, and I donned our parkas and snowshoes and set out into the snowy wastes, in search of the burrows of the spotted snow emu.
Cubey Terra
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The Return of the Lettuce
Thursday, December 12, 2002
So there I was at the local produce shop, wandering the aisles and wondering if I should keep blogging and if I'd actually stopped blogging at all. I grabbed a couple of items, and as I stood in line at the checkout, an older woman stepped into line in front of me.
"I wish to return the lettuce," she stated, matter-of-factly, in a thick eastern-European accent. "I have fridge full of lettuce. So I return it."
As she ploncked the lettuce in question on the counter, a couple of stray bits fell out the open bag. I expected the shop owner to refuse, but instead she happily gave the woman her money and took back the lettuce.
I was so entranced by the exchange, that, after paying for my things, I just stood there looking at the lettuce stupidly.
"Is there something else?" the shop owner asked.
"Um. N-no," I hesitated. "I guess this is the part where I leave the shop."
I had no idea that produce shops had a return policy. Do they offer specials on used vegetables? Cubey Terra
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A tragic setback
Monday, December 09, 2002
Day 12: I believe it was Cicero who once declared, Ita erat quando hic adveni. And I could say that again here, wholeheartedly, albeit with my fingers crossed behind my back.
Yesterday, on my twelfth day without television, Data and Geordi finished converting my microwave into a holodeck. The results were amazing: there, inside the microwave, rotated a fully three-dimensional cup of instant noodles.
The celebrations were short-lived, however: tragically, as Geordi was attempting to interact with the cup simulation, his head burst into flames. Data's tricorder revealed that the holographic emitters were generating massive amounts of microwave radiation.
Specifically, what Data said was, "Curious. It appears that? AAAAA!! Turn it off!! Turn it?" And then he exploded in a shower of sparks.
Funeral services for Geordi and Data will be held this afternoon at the dumpster in the alley. Be it known that they lost their socks in the line of duty.
I wonder what the Buffy-sock is up to these days? Maybe I'll give her a call. Disclaimer: This does not mean that I'm blogging again. I just had this one more thing to say. :)
Cubey Terra
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Just a couple of things...
Saturday, December 07, 2002
The blog may be done but I'm continuing with these: Photos: I updated this today with some more snapshots from Stanley Park and the University of BC.
Project Snack 2: Major St.John-Smythe has tackled another squid-based food item. Cubey Terra
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So long...
Friday, December 06, 2002
...and thanks for all the fish.
I've been at this weblog since July, and I've had fun with it, but now I'm calling it quits. I ran out of words.
If you have been reading regularly, thanks for taking part and leaving comments! You'll be sure to see me pop up in the comments on other people's blogs, too.
And now I'm off to rejoin my adoptive family of penguins.
Cheerio and toodle-pip!
- S. Cubey Terra
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Ice cube stalagmites
Thursday, December 05, 2002
Have you noticed these things growing in your freezer? Otherwise normal ice cubes seem to grow these inch-long spikes that come out at weird angles. It must be the freezer poltergeist. Maybe, a long time ago, someone had a tragic accident involving ice cubes, and now spends eternity haunting my freezer.
I'll take a picture if it happens again. Cubey Terra
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Recovering from TV addiction (continued)
Thursday, December 05, 2002
Day 8: At a time like this, I am reminded of the ancient Roman proverb, Te audire no possum. Musa sapientum fixa est in aure.
My technique of looking through the cardboard surrogate TV seems to be working just fine. I even simplified things by wearing the TV on my head and looking out through the screen-hole. Now everything is on TV!
So now I'm making my own TV adaptation of The Two Towers. I wear the TV on my head and read the paperback. It's very low-budget, but the production quality is incredible. It looks just the way I imagined it.
Cubey Terra
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Amazon.com
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Out of curiosity, I did a search at Amazon for my name. It worked!
For quite a while, the book's listed authors were Mario and Giulio Ferrari, who were actually the technical reviewers.
Yes, that's definitely a much-needed ego boost. :) Cubey Terra
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Ack
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
It's a pretty sad state of things when I'm bored enough to plant silly messages in people's referrer logs. Cubey Terra
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Recovering from TV addiction (continued)
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Day 7: One week without television.
I think I have this addiction licked, and the solution has nothing to do with sock puppets. After all, licking sock puppets just gets lint on your tongue (as it turns out).
For the solution, I returned to my surrogate television ? the cardboard box with the rectangular hole cut in the front. It was a reasonable puppet theatre, but Worf found it a little cramped by Klingon standards and kept killing his crewmates.
To help him out a little, I cut another hole in the back. And then it struck me. I could see right through the box. I could see out the window!
Yes, suddenly I was watching a show more interesting than any episode from any Star Trek series. Except maybe Amok Time, where Kirk and Spock fight with lirpas on the planet Vulcan. That one's cool.
Anyway, because my surrogate TV was next to the window, I could look right through it and watch the street below. I saw cars going back and forth. I saw the neighbors outside the house that really needs a coat of paint. I saw stray cats fighting for territory. I saw people walking dogs and picking up the poop in little baggies. I was watching reality TV.
Now all I have to do is wait for the neighbors to start doing wacky things like setting up aluminum ladders next to power lines or jumping off the roof into a kiddie pool. This should entertain me at least as long as it will take Geordi and Data to finish converting my microwave into a holodeck.
Cubey Terra
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Recovering from TV addiction (continued)
Monday, December 02, 2002
Day 5: On Sunday, I hit rock-bottom. After spending a few quality moments writing in my blog, I noticed a sound ? a familiar sound. What was it? So quiet, like distant voices and music. It sounded just like... like my neighbors were watching the Simpsons!
Slowly, quietly, I pressed my ear to the floor and for several blissful minutes, I listened to the muffled back-and-forth dialog and occasional "doh". Eventually Jean-Luc and Deanna brought me back to my senses. When I'm in a tough spot, I know which sock puppets I can count on.
Unfortunately, the Wesley sock has vanished. I can only assume that he's travelling in another dimension somewhere. Either that or he's in the wash.
Once you reach bottom, as Deanna says, it can only get better from there. At least I think that's what she said. At the time, she and the Riker sock were in the hot tub ? well, my kitchen sink, actually ? and she got a little distracted halfway through what she was saying. I'm okay about that. I mean, she wasn't my type anyway. I prefer something in wool.
Cubey Terra
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Recovering from TV addiction (continued)
Sunday, December 01, 2002
Day 4: I made it through all of Saturday. Around noon I cut a hole in the bottom of my cardboard box TV to make a puppet theatre. With a few socks and marker pens, I found I could make a pretty decent sock puppet for each of the cast of Star Trek: the Next Generation.
Captain Picard says I'm doing a fine job, and if I keep up the good work, he'll field-promote me to Acting Ensign. I think this is making the Wesley sock jealous, because he won't appear in my upcoming sock puppet movie. He'll keep doing the sock puppet conventions, though. The Deanna sock keeps distracting the crew with her low-cut poly-cotton blend, but I think it's good for morale.
I'm very glad of the puppet shows. Without them, I'd go completely nuts.
Cubey Terra
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Ten thousand visitors
Sunday, December 01, 2002
I missed the big event! At 7:49 am yesterday (Pacific Time), this site had its ten thousandth visitor. The lucky person is from the Russian Federation Zone 5 time zone and uses IE 5.0, but is otherwise anonymous.
To be honest, the visitor counter is a completely arbitrary number. After all, I started the counter back in February when this site had nothing more than the LEGO Mindstorms robots on it, and that was several months after I started the website. If I wanted to provide something more meaningful in terms of the blog, then I could say that at 9:03 am today, the site had its six thousandth visitor since August 16 (when I changed to a new web counter). The lucky six thousandth person was from Germany and landed on my NQC page.
The count is probably wildly inaccurate. According to my web server logs, half the visitors to this site don't get counted at all.
Be that as it may, the counter rolled over to 10,000 yesterday morning. (There was much rejoicing.) Cubey Terra
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