morning gruel

like i said, no brain damage

When people find out that I freedive, they often ask me how long I can hold my breath. When I answer six minutes, I often get incredulous looks -- like they think I'm lying or something. Then they go on to say things like, That's impossible, you get brain damage after four minutes.

Well, here's something for the non-believers. Oh, and hopefully the rest of you are interested too. This is the video footage of me at the nationals, holding my breath for six minutes and four seconds. It's a personal best.

Don't worry, the video isn't six minutes long -- they fast forward through some of it. And for those of you who really want to see what a competition's all about, here's video of my dynamic swim and my ocean dive.

All this and not the slightest bit of brain damage. Then again, how would I know?

What was I talking about?

what's in a name

One of the many things you have to think of when expecting a child is what you're going to name it.

I realize that it's not a priority to decide on a name twenty three weeks before our baby arrives however, I like to be prepared. So I've been checking out baby name websites. Oh boy, there are a lot of names to choose from. And now Morgaine and I have a list with many, many names on it. Of course I'm not going to tell you any of the names that have made it onto the list. You're just going to have to wait like everybody else. But what I can tell you are some of the names that didn't make the list. And just let me say, there are A LOT of names out there that I most certainly won't be naming my child. Here are a few of them:

Boys names: There are two names of note that pretty much mean the same thing: Satan and Lucifer. Yup, they were found on a legitimate baby name website alongside names like William and Robert and John. I think any other variation on the theme such as Mephistopheles or Prince of Darkness should also be avoided.

Girl names: The one name that really stuck out for me was Pagina. Need I say more? It's probably not pronounced like it looks, but it did make me check to see if Venis was amongst the boy names.

cheap and crappy

It has occurred to me that I write about food a lot.

Let's face it, I love food. And not just good food. I also love cheap and crappy food. The only thing that keeps me from eating terrible food on a regular basis is the knowledge that it's so darn bad for me. It also helps that I'm vegetarian and am therefore not tempted by most fast food.

However, last week I passed by an A&W and something inside me (perhaps a tinge of nostalgia) said, Mmmm, A&W. And then I thought to myself, There's really nothing for me to eat there... except onion rings. Oh man, A&W onion rings! When was the last time I had those? You can't get cheaper or crappier food than A&W onion rings. I just had to have them.

I parked my willpower at the door and walked in. As the woman behind the counter took my order, I thought about how delicious the rings would be. And then I realized that only the first one, maybe even the first two, would be delicious. After that I would start thinking What exactly am I eating? and What kind of oil do they cook these in? and What is that batter made from anyway? And by the third ring the grease would get to me. As much as I wanted those onion rings, I knew that once I ate them I would wish that I hadn't. I found myself wondering if perhaps they would sell me just one onion ring. Or maybe two.

But instead of attempting to barter for a single onion ring, I summoned up all of the willpower that I had left outside, canceled my order, and left.

almost as awesome as cake

So there was no cake at the party.

Beyond my obvious indignation at being hauled to a party after work and not be fed cake, I was shocked to find that the only desert item on offer was chocolate covered strawberries.

You see, I've never been a firm believer in the combination of chocolate and fruit. In fact, I'm quite against it. Don't get me wrong, I love them both separately but I'm no fan of the combo. When I am presented with a chocolate/fruit hybrid, depending on my mood, I will think one of two things: 1) What a waste of fruit, or more likely, 2) What a waste of chocolate.

And that's pretty much how I felt until the other day. No, I wasn't converted by Heather's (so I'm told) delicious combination of strawberries and chocolate. I didn't go near them. What got me was the banana loaf that I had when I went out for a cup of tea. I thought those dark spots were currants or raisins or something not... chocolate. It turns out that the combination of bananas and chocolate doesn't entirely repulse me. In fact, that loaf was quite delicious. But I think I was tricked into liking it. I think it's more likely that it was the surprise of chocolate that made me like it, as in: Oh my god, I didn't know I was going to get chocolate this morning! This is the best day ever!

Because let's face it, unexpected chocolate is pretty darn awesome. Almost as awesome as cake.

but will there be cake?

I'm supposed to go to a party after work tonight.

It's a housewarming party for my friend Heather. Now, I'm happy to attend this little soiree. But if I have to go to a party and show up late, I would much prefer it to be a birthday party. Why, you ask? It's simple really. You see, birthday parties have cake which, as you may already know, is one of my favourite things in the world; it falls just behind Morgaine, our soon-to-arrive child, and the cat. So it doesn't place in the top three but it's pretty high on the list. It certainly has the highest ranking of all other inanimate objects.

Now, the great thing about showing up for a birthday party late is that by the time you get there everyone's drunk and no none will notice when you go for that third slice of cake. But as I mentioned, tonight's party is Heather's housewarming party. Do they even have cake at housewarming parties? Maybe I should bring one as a gift. I can see it now:

Me: Happy housewarming, I brought you a cake.
Heather: Thanks Craig, why are all the corner pieces missing?
Me: Oh look, there's Morgaine. I gotta go say hi...

what was i thinking?

I am supposed to be reflecting on the meaning and purpose of my blog. But I've been busy.

That's a lie. I mean, who doesn't have time to think? The truth is that I've been avoiding thinking about morning gruel for the last couple of days. I can't handle it. I can't stomach the questions that I am faced with. Questions like: What am I doing? and What was I thinking?

I do not yet have any definitive answers. I only have vague ideas that may eventually form answers.

But here's one thing I've decided: no more judgment. No more talking about other people and how wrong or foolish I think they are, even if I'm just kidding. This may be a tough one for me because I love to make fun of people. But as I have recently discovered, blogging can be hurtful to others and while harm was not my intention, it was still the result.

But what will I do to replace the gaping hole left by the absent sarcasm? Well, just because I shouldn't make fun of others doesn't mean I can't make fun of myself. So I will no longer point out the foibles of other people. But you better believe that when I do something strange, silly, or just downright stupid, something that makes me smack my head and say What was I thinking, you're gonna hear about it. So now to replace the recently abolished category Maple Bacon, I would like to introduce a brand new category... What was I thinking.

Of course I pray for infrequent postings in this category. But hey, we all screw up sometimes.

(re)think

I have had to rethink my approach.

If you look to the left, you will see that I have eliminated a category. Maple Bacon no longer exists. Neither do any of the entries that belonged in that category.

Why? Well for those of you who have been here for a while, you know that Maple Bacon was all about the neighbours. I wrote about them freely and jokingly, always embellishing greatly both the situation and my feelings. But often I was unkind. And sometimes I was just plain mean.

I knew that I was kinda nasty, but I justified it with the knowledge that I didn't really mean what I was saying. And I figured that since the we don't run in the same circles and I maintained their anonymity, they would never know. And heck, I had fun making up little stories about them.

But blogs are public after all. I was shocked to learn that my neighbours had read my blog. I went back and reread all of my entries that referred to them. I was embarrassed.

Why did I write those things about these people that I don't really know? Because I thought it was entertaining? Because I thought it was harmless? Well, clearly I have caused some harm with my blog. And for that I am truly sorry.

It's time for me to rethink what I'm doing here. It's time to regroup and retry.

number four

I was in grade eight or nine when some genius teacher at my school thought it would be a good idea for me to see the school's counselor. The thing was, my school didn't have a counselor. I suspected that he was brought in just for me and maybe a couple of other 'troubled' kids. To prove my point, do any of you lovely readers who went to Westgate when I was there remember there being a counselor? And no, I don't mean a career counselor. I went through the career aptitude software with Mr. "call me Reg" Klassen just like everyone else. I mean a real counselor. I mean, where the heck did this guy come from? Was I part of some twisted experimental counseling program?

The counselor's 'office' had two doors: one opened into the library, the other opened into the teachers' lounge. Come on people, you don't make an insecure kid walk through the dead silent library where everyone looks up from their books to watch you enter the room that no one ever uses except this new mystery counselor-type person. And the counselor shouldn't then proceed to ask said kid personal questions with his teachers just on the other side of one door and his fellow students behind the other.

Geographically speaking, that room did not feel like a safe place to share. And so I didn't. I hated my first counseling session. I felt unsafe and the counselor was patronizing. Then to finish off,  he told me I could come see him anytime. Right. I never went back. From then on I figured that if I needed help with anything, I was on my own.

Well, that was over 20 years ago and luckily I don't feel that way anymore. I'm currently on therapist number four (if you include the patronizing guy). She's working out pretty well.

sputnik vs. chicken

The sputnik-headed dog came in again last night.

I just couldn't do it. I couldn't ask his owner not to bring him into the store anymore. Beside the very understandable concerns that customers have had, I have no tangible reason to banish this pitbull from the store. Yes it's true, he could completely snap one day and that concerns me. But he hasn't snapped yet and I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But to be perfectly honest, I only say I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt. I'd like to believe that I trust this dog fully and that's the reason why I haven't wanted to say anything. But the truth is, I'm a chicken. I don't have the guts to tell this guy that his dog's not welcome. Mainly this is because I don't trust that I have the communication skills to do it in a way that won't offend.

However, I have to consider who would be more offended: the sputnik owner at being asked to not bring his dog in anymore, or me for having my hand torn off by a pitbull. Umm, I win.

canine cosmonaut

There's this dog that comes into my store. He's very friendly, very calm, and he hangs on his owner's every word. Basically, he's a sweetheart.

But he's a pitbull. And just about the biggest pitbull I've ever seen with a head, as my employee Mel says, the size of a Sputnik. So it doesn't really matter how darn friendly this dog is, he pretty much looks like he could kill you if he sneezed in the wrong direction.

Now, I've gotten to know this sweetheart of a dog and I trust him about as much as I'm willing to trust any breed of dog that's prone to psychotic outbreaks. But many of my customers who come in when the dog is there are simply faced with the biggest, scariest dog they've ever seen. And they've told me so. The fact is that some customers are uncomfortable being in the store when the dog's there. Which means that I now have to do something I've never had to do with a dog owner before: I have to ask him to leave his dog outside. The owner is incredibly nice and I think he's aware of how intimidating his dog can be so I don't think it'll be much of a problem. At least I hope it won't be a problem because not only could the dog kill me, his owner is a North American Karate champ.

If there's any sign of aggression I'll just hold my breath and play dead.