Dearlove.ca

I have a marketing poster of Stewart Goodyear on the wall in my basement. The other day I was hanging out down there with K. As we were playing around on the marimba, he pointed to the poster and asked “Daddy, is that Barack Obama?”

Ah, what a cute kid.

It was Wednesday morning, and I couldn’t find my keys. In the rush to get out the door, I did a quick check of the usual places (basket, kitchen counter, dresser, pants pocket), but they weren’t there. Strange, I thought, I wonder where they could be?

Later that day, I began a systematic search of the house, from top to bottom. I looked in drawers, under the couch, behind the fridge…nothing. I checked the numerous bins of Lego in the boys’ room, and while I did find my watch, there were no keys. Beginning to feel slightly manic, I sorted through the garbage with chopsticks on the off-chance they had fallen in there amongst the discarded shrimp shells and leftover vermicelli noodles. No such luck.

I questioned the boys about it, and they said they had no idea where they could be. At one point K did offer, “Daddy, I saw your keys. They were by the iron so I put them under your pillow so you wouldn’t lose them. Or maybe I didn’t.” Sigh.

I became convinced that I had left them in the front door, and some evil, nasty man had walked by and snatched them from the lock. I came home on Thursday and fully expected to find our house ransacked, and then lay awake in bed that night imagining footsteps on the stairs. I could picture the headline: “Local Family Slaughtered, Dad’s Missing Keys to Blame”

After a few frustrating days of being locked out of both home and office, I came to the conclusion that they were fully and completely lost. I cursed my carelessness and made plans to change the lock on the front door.

Just before I walked out the door yesterday, I looked in an old Spiderman gift bag that was hanging on a hook in the boys’ room. There, at the bottom of the bag, were my keys.

With a mixture of relief and frustration, I immediately confronted the A and K about this unexpected discovery.

Me: “O.K., who put my keys in the bag?”

K: “I did, Daddy. It’s a present for you. For Father’s Day.”

Of course. K, with his fertile four-year-old mind, decided to take my keys from the front hall basket on Tuesday night and put them in the gift bag. He kept it a secret for five days because he didn’t want to spoil the surprise.

In a strange way, it was a cool Father’s Day present. It was completely unexpected, and was exactly what I wanted. Well played, K, well played…

I had an idea for this exact same product years ago, but I never got around to obtaining a patent.  Just like my “novelty wigs for bald babies“, other people are raking in the cash because I was too lazy for R & D.

A certain national arts institution confirmed this week that it was facing a significant financial problem for the next two seasons. With a looming budget deficit of nearly $4 million for next year, the institution has no choice but to cut 40 positions, largely through attrition and voluntary departures.

The story has been covered by the Globe and Mail and CBC. For your reading pleasure, here are a few comments left by readers of the on-line stories (reader discretion is advised).

Since few people outside of Ottawa get to benefit from anything that the N_C I say the whole thing could be cut. [Ed:  pretty sure there's a verb missing after "N_C".  I think it's "sautés"]

What exactly does the N_C do that contributes to arts throughout Canada? I don’t recall them sending any events outside of Ottawa.

The arts should be able to support themselves. If they cannot it shows that people dont really want it and are not prepared to pay for it. If you want to hear a choir you should be prepared to pay the cost to have the shoir [sic]. If not the choir should be folded. To [sic] many people have to pay taxes to support the arts , which the majority are not prepared to pay for. If it cannot support its self [sic], it should not exist.

We need more cuts to the arts and more spending on helping people who can’t feed themselves. Only 40 jobs out of 400, come on try harder.

The whole thing is a waste of money in the first place. People are suffering out there and arts is the absolutely last place government money should be spent. The orchestra plays as the Titanic goes down.

They should cut even more as it is money poorly spent. A public poll would show that the majority of the public would like to see even more cuts, as this is really not something that the public really needs or wants.

This is the great thing about the Internet – it allows for the sharing of views between intelligent, articulate, thoughtful people and ignorant assholes.

Among my many flaws is a somewhat compulsive need to maintain a clean and orderly home. It is practically impossible for me to go to bed if there are dirty dishes stacked on the counter. I get an adrenaline rush from eliminating clutter, and it pains me to see Cheerios scattered beneath the kitchen table.

This obsessive / compulsive tendency is amplified when we have visitors. I know it’s stupid to clean the house right before a bunch of five year olds come over as they’ll undo my hard work in less than 60 seconds, but that doesn’t stop me from getting all cleaning-crazy in the hour before they arrive. I’m pretty sure it drives my wife crazy.

In analyzing this behaviour, I did some reflection on what may have contributed to the formation of this unfortunate flaw. Perhaps something in my work history might shed some light on the issue…

• My first job was at a Knights of Columbus Hall. I’d show up on Saturday and Sunday mornings to clean up after banquets – wipe down tables, vacuum and sweep floors, wash windows, etc.

• I then spent two summers as a student custodian at my high school. For two months, I cleaned up dozens of classrooms, wiped down hundreds of empty lockers, swept and mopped miles of corridors, and painstakingly restored old gymnasium floors

• In 1993, I spent four months in the Band of Ceremonial Guard, which meant joining the Army Reserve. I probably spent at least 2 hours a day that summer ironing my uniform, polishing boots, combing my bearskin hat, and ensuring the turn-down on my bunk was the exact length of a bayonet. Anything less than perfection usually meant a dressing down and some kind of unpleasant punishment

• I followed that up with five summers as a member of the Fort Henry Guard. This entailed hundreds and hundreds of hours of boot polishing, brass shining, and de-linting

I think it’s obvious that those are all totally unrelated to my OCD. I guess I’ll just have to keep looking for clues in the distant recesses of my memory.

In the meantime, if you’re going to pop over for a visit, you need to give me at least an hour to get ready – you wouldn’t believe how much Lego is on the floor in the boys’ room, and don’t get me started about the dried milk patches on the hardwood.

BOGO.

Those four little letters are driving me crazy. Every store I walk past seems to have BOGO plastered all over its windows.

I know times are tough and retailers have to be creative. The idea of “Buy one, get one free” is great. For some reason, shortening Buy One Get One to BOGO just seems wrong.  I hate the way it sounds – BOGO.  BOGO BOGO BOGO BOGO.  See?

What infuriates me is how some retailers are playing fast and loose with the BOGO rules.  It should be buy one, get one – clean and simple.  Some sneaky bastards are using BOGO, but then in small letters it states “get second item for 50% off”.

That’s bullshit.  If you’re going to use the term BOGO in big friggin’ letters, at least have the decency to follow through with the universally-accepted meaning of the acronym.

During the festival I accompanied some artists to the PM’s home for a nice reception. In honour of this momentous occassion, the official photographer took a great picture of me and Mrs. Harper (hint: look for the red arrows). I shall treasure it always.

After seeing this clip, I have immediately started a world-wide search for eight talented and beautiful women to play marimba in my new ensemble. The most beautiful one shall shake her maracas in an erotic manner. I also need one crazy-looking guy to slap the bass. Together we shall set the music world on fire with our daring, precision and charisma.