GLOBADOM

Dave sent me this video, obviously from some years ago (since some years ago is how long ago mountain bike racers would be caught dead in these colours) of a very interesting way of handling rider infractions.

No posts lately? I haven’t had a lot to say. The weather is shockingly good, and I’m loving it. It was so mild yesterday that I rode home from work in my fleece jersey and shorts. No leg warmers. That’s surprising.

Since I love the program, I ought to mention this, too: Picasa 2 is out now, and it corrects the only complaint I had about the old version (you can now zoom in on an individual picture), and it adds several other simple editing fixes for pictures. I haven’t tested the improved integration with Blogger yet, but that seems like a good idea! It’s still free, too.

I have lots of minor, mostly boring projects around (plus The Lovely One’s car purchase project, which should be interesting). I’ll tell you about some of those when they’re done. But I did do some baking last night, making up a batch of peanut butter cookies from a slightly surprising recipe. There are three ingredients: 1 cup of peanut butter, 1 egg, and 3/4 cup of sugar (the recipe suggests one cup of sugar, but I’m happy with less, and this with unsweetened peanut butter). So simple, even I can make them.

TLO’s assessment was right: needs more chocolate. They’re okay as they are, but chocolate chips really make them nice. My mother-in-law also points out that these cookies cannot be taken off the tray until they are cool, or they will deform.

So there you go. An amusing video, a comment about the weather, a link to a computer program, and a cookie recipe. One-stop shopping.

I’m late. I know. My sincerest apologies for making you wait. I have been indisposed and haven’t even wanted to venture out of doors. Outside scary. Yet, I have put my fingers to work in order to bring you this installment of “The Sublime and the Ridiculous.”

Again, I’m going to cheat a bit and put my sublime and ridiculous thoughts together into one tangled web. However, it is my posting and I claim the right to amend its weekly pattern as I see fit. There! My obsessive-compulsive side has quieted down.

I’m going to buy a convertible. It is going to be cute, speedy, and newish, if not new. Why? What is the impetus for this decision? Well, let us go back. M*A*S*H was high in the ratings. Vietnam was in full swing. Polyester was all the rage. And Travolta was thin. Yes, it was into this truly classy decade that I was born. My parents possessed a bright, red Cortina. My father told my mother it was burgundy. Surprise. Anyway, on the day I was taken home by my parents from the hospital we rode in this lovely chariot and it suddenly overheated in the middle of a hot July day. I am told I screamed. It was to begin a long saga of screaming in unreliable, frightening vehicles. To give you a few anecdotes from previous years:

-1969 Valiant – this was a tank which constantly broke down on highways in the early morning hours and dripped brown fluid on the shoes of the front passenger (namely me) from the inside

-the truck – my father only ever owned one truck. No one remembers the make, we’ve all blocked it from our subconsciouses. What we do remember is that one Halloween night, my brother looked through the front window and exclaimed, “Dad, isn’t that your truck going down the street?!” Indeed, a theft was in progress. Progress that was quickly halted as the truck stalled a block from our house and the thief was caught trying to get it started again

-the FIAT – an acronym for “Fix it again, Tony!” Unhappily, my father owned the car and the name

Now, let’s get to my car owning days:

-Chevrolet station wagon – a cast off from my dad – in order to get it started, someone else had to hit the starter motor with a crowbar while I revved the engine. Mall security frowns on engaging in such practices

-Toyota Tercel 1983 – thanks again, dad – this wasn’t a terrible vehicle, but large amounts of duct tape on its exterior didn’t help to form a loving bond between the two of us

-Toyota Tercel 1992 – our current vehicle – we actually obtained this from someone other than my dad, but the curse continues. We’ve had it for two years and have already had two accidents – one for me, one for my other half. Being the superstitious sort, this doesn’t fill me with a sense of security. Also, it burns oil at an alarming rate, the fan belt constantly needs tightening, the alternator had to be replaced – a saga unto itself etc…..

ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! No more ridiculous vehicles. I want the sublime experience of the wind in my hair, the stereo speakers echoing my favorite songs, and the calm, the calm that come from driving a reliable car. Please, God, I’ve been good.

And a quick hello to new reader Kelly, who will be shortly perusing this site.

Yes, the readership is that small that I can greet them individually. It’s like a PBS pledge drive, but without the annoying beggary.

That starts next week.

Half-remembered quote of the day: “they go brain dead for a few months, and then they have little froggy thoughts again.”

That’s Ken Storey, a researcher at Carleton who studies tree frogs; they have the remarkable ability to survive being frozen solid.

The Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs has a few websites devoted, I guess, to teaching the rest of us about their fair land. Notably, behold Trends in Japan, an earnest but interesting look at stuff happening there. It’s not J-list, and that’s a point in its favour.

On the home front, I have been blessed with three mysteriously rain-free commutes in a row. This morning I rode to work wearing only a fleece jersey on top, my first one-shirt ride of the season. I also put in a remarkably quick commute. I wasn’t pressing much, but the combination of not riding through small rivers, the light clothing load, and a minor but very effective seat adjustment consipred to greatly improve my speed.

Ah, TMQ, the great explainer of football. There’s a funny story about my current interest in the NFL: I started reading Easterbrook’s “Tuesday Morning Quarterback” column (this was back when it was part of Slate), and it was so interesting I began to watch the football games so I could keep up with the column.

But this note has very little to do with TMQ, and only a little to do with football. Across all sports, we idolize the close game, the close series, the dramatic comeback. Red Sox go down three games, then come storming back to win four in a row to defeat the hated Yankees? That’s a story! Red Sox toast subsequent opponent in four straight games? Not so interesting.

I beg to differ. To the extent that sports standings and playoffs have any meaning, it is to bring to life the idea of “may the best team win.” We decry games decided by factors beyond the control of the players, like a blown call. The fundamental drive is to see the contest decided in favour of the best team. Indeed, we basically use the contest to decide the matter of best team. And then we forget all about the losers.

If you’re going to do this, doesn’t a game (or series) that’s too close to call invalidate the process? When a game goes into overtime, it largely becomes a crapshoot, since you can hardly say that if a game is tied at full time, the better team is clearly the one that scores the next goal. You’ve already determined that the two teams can play each other close enough to tie after a full game! The overtime period (especially a sudden-death overtime) is a crude mechanism. Look at what happened last weekend: Jets miss two field goal attempts, and that makes the Steelers a better team. Sure, the Steelers made theirs, but the Jets got into winning position twice, and on average, their kicker should have made one of those kicks. So you’d expect, most of the time, that the New York Jets had won the game. Except they didn’t.

So a close game tells you little about which team is superior, and suggests that the resulting standings change, be it a better league record or advancement in the playoffs.

But a blowout, now that tells you something! Win 47-17 or 20-3, and you’ve demonstrated statistically meaningful dominance. Were the Falcons and the Pats better than the Rams and the Colts? All signs point to yes.

Close games have their own rewards (drama, entertainment, good NFL film fodder), but I’ll take a statistically meaningful blowout.

Sure, Tweety could fly away. But he doesn’t because it is all the better to torment Sylvester! He’s actually a twisted, twisted individual. Hmmm. This may be the one time that Grant’s minor in abnormal and clincal psychology could prove useful!

I still haven’t brought my wired cola mug into the lab. I will, but I was a bad girl last week, and did very few things that I “should have done”. Am going to do better this week.

I ran my 5km this morning without too much trouble. It was quite good — I wasn’t too dead at the end. I probably could have done another couple of laps. I’m still going pretty slowly though, compared to how I was before Christmas — up to 10s slower per lap. I still get ’em done, though, so I suppose that’s something. Tomorrow I’ll make it my goal to speed up a bit.

My friend Kim and I are talking about sharing a leg of the Banff to Calgary run. One leg is 15km, so if we split it, I should be able to do that. I did 11km in Vancouver, but it’s easier to work out in Vancouver than it is in Calgary (I still suspect altitude is the culprit). If I can run 5km every day, I should be able to do 7.5 once. We’ll see, I guess! Let’s hope it’s closer to Calgary than to Banff. Bloody altitude.

It has been -30C here in Cowtown all week. A lot changes about the world beyond about -15, I think. You really can’t go outside for any length of time without bits of you freezing (bits that really shouldn’t be frozen). I mean, it’s one thing to have your nose hairs or eye-lashes freeze — it sucks, but they’ll thaw. It’s the other bits that are less pleasant.

Also found out that I am having trouble with allergies due to the cold (or more specifically, due to the central air heating system in my flat). It’s strange, it doesn’t seem to matter how many times I find out that whatever symptom I’m experiencing is due to dust allergies, I still believe that THIS TIME, it can’t possibly be THAT. Anyway — yaaay! You might think it’d be depressing to find out that you have Yet Another Allergy Problem, but it’s really not. Because now that I know what it is, I can DO something about it. I always feel better when I can begin a crusade to defeat the EVIL DUST MITES OF SATAN, as opposed to just sitting about feeling miserable and sorry for myself!

In addition this means I am now the official Queen of Steroids ™. I have them for my skin, my lungs, and now for my sinuses. Go me! Maybe that’s why I’m doing so well with the running. Hmmm….

Hello, everyone. This blog is brought to you from my bed which is warm and comfy. Bed – the soft choice.

I’m actually witnessing a really ridiculous cartoon right now. I am not generally a cartoon watcher, except for The Jetsons, but an insomniac like myself sometimes falls prey to Sylvester and Tweety. Tweety can fly. I’ve seen him fly. He flew a few moments ago. So, I ask you, why doesn’t he fly away when Sylvester chases him? He is running away from Sylvester at the moment. Does he do this to build calf muscle? Is this an aesthetically pleasing quality that makes up for his inexcusable lisp? A “puddy” cat? Come on! It is definitely a lower quality cartoon creation that utilizes such poor diction. Well, that’s the ridiculous part of this posting done with. Now, let’s hope something sublime happens in the Porky Pig cartoon that is now gracing the screen. Hmmm…….no, I’ll have to think of something else.

Well, I was recently reminded of a sublimely enjoyable book that was given to me by my best friend a few years ago. The other night/early morning (insomnia again) I caught the beginning of an A &E documentary called The Secret Life of Geisha. In it, the author of Memoirs of a Geisha, Arthur Golden, is interviewed. If I ever had the opportunity to meet Mr. Golden, I would thank him for the many hours of enjoyment his novel has given me. I think I have read it at least five times and it has kept me company on various trips to Europe and the States. Its paperback cover has been drenched with seawater and its interior has held crumbs from a muffin or two. All this soiling is a testament to the love I have lavished on it. The character of Sayuri is carefully drawn and I feel for her as she goes through every historically accurate trial and tribulation on the way to becoming a celebrated geisha. Golden also achieves something quite remarkable in the novel. He mesmerizes us with the beauty of the kimonos and the intricacies of the tea ceremony, yet shows us the politics and truly hierarchical nature of the geisha world. It makes the life of the geisha enjoyable to read about and view through art, but one which I would rather not enter into. I urge all of you to read or reread this novel. I would also recommend the A&E documentary and non-fiction writings about geisha and kimono by Liza Dalby, the only Caucasian woman to become a geisha (she is also interviewed in the documentary).

Now that’s a sunset.

One of the neat things about the specialty modes of the Coolpix (sunset, night scene, etc.) is that they tend to suggest certain pictures. After all, if you’re out wandering the streets and you turn to see a dramatic sunset, well then you just have to whip out the old camera and grab a picture.

Another nice thing about digital is that by using the LCD monitor, you can frame sun shots without damaging your eyes.
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Do not stare directly into the cat.
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This is a shot of the Fraser river, taken from the Albion ferry. The river was filled with ice chunks as far as the eye could see.

What was I doing crossing the Fraser so far from home, on a day when the temperature never got above freezing? I was in the middle of a 60km bike ride.
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