Now this is all that reality TV can be. Not a gang of strangers forming alliances and performng ridiculous tasks in an artificial closed environment — this is the game of life. I love The Apprentice.
Sixteen people of various backgrounds — self-made men and women with street smarts and no formal education, Harvard MBAs, small business owners, executives and consultants — jump through believable hoops for Donald Trump in this ramped up version of a job competition, vying for the position of president of one of Trump's companies.
At the start Trump established two teams — the men and the women — and each week he sets a new challenge. Thus far: to sell lemonade on the streets of New York; to devise a marketing campaign for a private jet rental company; to negotiate the lowest price on a list of items, including a box of cigars and a leg wax; and to manage Planet Hollywood on Times Square for a night. The losing team meets with Donald Trump in the boardroom, where someone has to take responsibility for the loss. Someone is "fired."
The women have won every task to date. Now, watching last night, we were starting to get upset about this, because the women have used sex every time. Only in the marketing campaign, where, however blatant, it consisted of clever images and words, was it the least bit appropriate; otherwise, the women flash skin and play dumb to get what they want. If this is how it's going to be, they may as well prance around in their underwear till all the men have been eliminated.
But it seems this behaviour was starting to offend Donald Trump's sensibilities a little, too. He called the women aside to have a word, and wagged his finger at them. Tsk, tsk. Such bright women, such base behaviour.
Of course, they're playing to win, by any means possible. Who can blame them? Well, Trump can. It's his game, his rules. The women should feel shamed, but it seems this gaggle thinks there's something here that's open to debate. The strategy they use next week will be telling. (And watch out, cuz they can be catty little bitches.)
Yesterday's instalment was the first to bring us into the area of the ethically questionable. The men, to sell more merchandise, sold "autographs"; though they never lied, they created a context that intended to mislead. Meanwhile, the women pushed alcohol. Really pushed. To the extent that the restaurant's general manager needed to remind them that they can be held liable for incidents resulting from their patrons' condition on leaving, and to scold them for drinking on the job.
How far will they go to win this job? More importantly, how much brown-nosing can the TV-viewing public stomach to watch? Why doesn't Donald Trump just hire me and be done with it?
Friday, January 30, 2004
Thursday, January 29, 2004
Use your imagination
We watched Sesame Street together this morning. Elmo interviewed Robert De Niro about his profession, and Robert De Niro explained that acting was using your imagination to pretend you're something else. Then he gave some examples. He pretended to be a dog. "Woof, woof." And then he pretended to be a cabbage. Cut scene to show a muppet-cabbage sitting on Robert De Niro's stool, and Robert De Niro's voice saying "Look at me, I'm a cabbage — an excellent source of riboflavin." Very surreal. I laughed hysterically. Helena just looked at me; I guess she didn't get it.
I was surprised that Maud Newton found news of Boohbah to be blog-worthy. Of course, this is the show that's taken the Teletubbies' timeslot. The Boohbahs are rounder and fluffier than the Teletubbies, with an updated colour palette and an electronic soundtrack. Picture the Teletubbies at a rave. I haven't decided yet how I feel about them. The Teletubbies seem so charming and sane and sensible by comparison.
I was surprised that Maud Newton found news of Boohbah to be blog-worthy. Of course, this is the show that's taken the Teletubbies' timeslot. The Boohbahs are rounder and fluffier than the Teletubbies, with an updated colour palette and an electronic soundtrack. Picture the Teletubbies at a rave. I haven't decided yet how I feel about them. The Teletubbies seem so charming and sane and sensible by comparison.
Timing is everything
Yesterday, Helena became a one-nap-a-day baby. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but I kept hoping for later.
This means not only less sleep for her (and less quiet time for mommy), but a tad more crankiness. It seems that she's still a bit tired and fighting it, but she doesn't quite know what else to do with her extra time. Neither do I. Ack. This is going to take a bit of adjustment for both of us.
That also makes two days in a row where she's literally fallen asleep in the middle of lunch.
Along with the new sleep pattern, Helena's exhibiting some new weird behaviour. She'll lie down anywhere, for no apparent reason. Sometimes to flail about, sometimes to just really feel the floor. Lie down in the kitchen and kick the refrigerator. Lie down in front of the balcony door and stare up at the ceiling (sky?). Lie down under the coffee table.
Also noteworthy was yesterday evening's standing — unaided, prolonged, and deliberate. And with one hand in mine, and the other hand in J-F's, we walked steadily across the living room. It's like she's a real little girl, holding our hand to cross the street or something. Any day now, she's going to stand up and assuredly walk from here to there, just like that.
This means not only less sleep for her (and less quiet time for mommy), but a tad more crankiness. It seems that she's still a bit tired and fighting it, but she doesn't quite know what else to do with her extra time. Neither do I. Ack. This is going to take a bit of adjustment for both of us.
That also makes two days in a row where she's literally fallen asleep in the middle of lunch.
Along with the new sleep pattern, Helena's exhibiting some new weird behaviour. She'll lie down anywhere, for no apparent reason. Sometimes to flail about, sometimes to just really feel the floor. Lie down in the kitchen and kick the refrigerator. Lie down in front of the balcony door and stare up at the ceiling (sky?). Lie down under the coffee table.
Also noteworthy was yesterday evening's standing — unaided, prolonged, and deliberate. And with one hand in mine, and the other hand in J-F's, we walked steadily across the living room. It's like she's a real little girl, holding our hand to cross the street or something. Any day now, she's going to stand up and assuredly walk from here to there, just like that.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
The coolest board game ever
The Mystery of the Abbey. How come I didn't know about this in time for Christmas? Why don't I know more board-game-playing adults?
Loved by Eco readers everywhere, and available at a store near me.
Loved by Eco readers everywhere, and available at a store near me.
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Stretching the boundaries
Till yesterday, come naptime (or quiet time) I would lay Helena on our queen-sized bed — a futon mattress on a low-to-the-ground platform, low enough that I really wasn't concerned those times she fell, rolled, slipped off, back in the early days when she'd just discovered she had mobility and started to explore her boundaries. There she was surrounded by pillows and cats, with books and a toy or two always in reach. It seemed so much more civilized than the prison of her crib.
Those days are over. Though she'd wriggled down from our bed a couple times in the past, yesterday it clicked. She would not be bound by these four edges a mere foot off the ground.
Life will never be the same again. Everything on the bed must be moved to the hallway. Then to the closet. Then back to the hallway. No, the closet. What's on the bed again? Cat? Pet him. Chase him into the hallway. Check the closet. What are these clothes doing hanging here? Should put them on the bed. Or in the hallway. Where'd the cat go? No time for napping. Ack.
Those days are over. Though she'd wriggled down from our bed a couple times in the past, yesterday it clicked. She would not be bound by these four edges a mere foot off the ground.
Life will never be the same again. Everything on the bed must be moved to the hallway. Then to the closet. Then back to the hallway. No, the closet. What's on the bed again? Cat? Pet him. Chase him into the hallway. Check the closet. What are these clothes doing hanging here? Should put them on the bed. Or in the hallway. Where'd the cat go? No time for napping. Ack.
Is your church ready?
The Passion of the Christ is being touted as the most authentic and biblically accurate film on the subject, but according to Rev. Mark Stanger, "It's absolutely not."
An interview in Salon shows why Christians should worry. It seems Mel Gibson doesn't have much regard for "biblical scholarship" and looks to The Book for the literal truth.
Did you feel in the storytelling there were any particularly glaring omissions or otherwise historically inaccurate stuff?
Not really, except that Jesus' crucifixion was made too singular. This was an ordinary event. Jesus was one of dozens of insurrectionists that the local Roman occupiers would have crucified, but [Gibson] tried to make his suffering especially agonizing and horrible. That was the other subtext — I thought there was an unspoken assumption that somehow, for Jesus' death to have meaning to believers, it had to be more horrible than any other kind of suffering and death.
...
Holding this up as somehow emblematic of something central to our belief — this preoccupation with both sin and blood sacrifice — is just absolutely primitive.
There's an effort to use the film as a tool of conversion, but it's too Hollywood to work. Strictly preaching to the choir.
An interview in Salon shows why Christians should worry. It seems Mel Gibson doesn't have much regard for "biblical scholarship" and looks to The Book for the literal truth.
Did you feel in the storytelling there were any particularly glaring omissions or otherwise historically inaccurate stuff?
Not really, except that Jesus' crucifixion was made too singular. This was an ordinary event. Jesus was one of dozens of insurrectionists that the local Roman occupiers would have crucified, but [Gibson] tried to make his suffering especially agonizing and horrible. That was the other subtext — I thought there was an unspoken assumption that somehow, for Jesus' death to have meaning to believers, it had to be more horrible than any other kind of suffering and death.
...
Holding this up as somehow emblematic of something central to our belief — this preoccupation with both sin and blood sacrifice — is just absolutely primitive.
There's an effort to use the film as a tool of conversion, but it's too Hollywood to work. Strictly preaching to the choir.
Monday, January 26, 2004
There's a town I know where the hipsters go
Bedrock! Twitch! Twitch!
Opportunity knocked on Mars on January 24th. Photos confirm it was a hole in one, landing inside a crater—a good thing when it comes to studying the geology of the planet.
Meanwhile, the Spirit is still willing, but weak.
Opportunity knocked on Mars on January 24th. Photos confirm it was a hole in one, landing inside a crater—a good thing when it comes to studying the geology of the planet.
Meanwhile, the Spirit is still willing, but weak.
Curious
I had to see what all the fuss was about. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon, is a wonderful read, and there's not much else to say on the subject that hasn't already been said.
I had no intention of reading this book, actually. Though the title gripped me, it's been reviewed to death, with only lovely, positive things said about it. (What a turn-off.) But then I cracked it open at the bookstore, and I was hooked. Read an excerpt and decide for yourself.
The premise of telling a tale from the perspective of a 15-year-old autistic boy is inventive. The execution of narrating the (mostly) everyday events in a detached and logical manner is skilled. The character is heart-warming. There is not the mystery that the title and opening pages suggest, but we see Christopher's world unfold and unravel. (And everything's tied up properly in the end.)
Haddon tells a little of what was on his mind when he wrote the novel. He knows autism. I do wonder if he's capable of writing in another voice.
I wish I'd waited a couple months and saved a few bucks on a paperback, but I'm not sorry to have read it.
I had no intention of reading this book, actually. Though the title gripped me, it's been reviewed to death, with only lovely, positive things said about it. (What a turn-off.) But then I cracked it open at the bookstore, and I was hooked. Read an excerpt and decide for yourself.
The premise of telling a tale from the perspective of a 15-year-old autistic boy is inventive. The execution of narrating the (mostly) everyday events in a detached and logical manner is skilled. The character is heart-warming. There is not the mystery that the title and opening pages suggest, but we see Christopher's world unfold and unravel. (And everything's tied up properly in the end.)
Haddon tells a little of what was on his mind when he wrote the novel. He knows autism. I do wonder if he's capable of writing in another voice.
I wish I'd waited a couple months and saved a few bucks on a paperback, but I'm not sorry to have read it.
Animated Pynchon
I still don't know what Thomas Pynchon looks like, but I do know how to pronounce his name.
It's a testament to the far-reaching tentacles of the Simpsons that they can get a grip on this guy, or at least his voice, "appearing" as himself in last night's episode.
I'll have to get around to reading Gravity's Rainbow someday.
It's a testament to the far-reaching tentacles of the Simpsons that they can get a grip on this guy, or at least his voice, "appearing" as himself in last night's episode.
I'll have to get around to reading Gravity's Rainbow someday.
Saturday, January 24, 2004
Cryptic
The Cryptographer, by Tobias Hill, is not so much about a cryptographer as about a woman trying to understand the cryptographer. That the subject is a cryptographer is not particularly relevant, apart, perhaps, from his natural tendency to behave cryptically. All that matters is that he has power and money. He is money.
In the Globe and Mail, cryptographer John Law is likened to Gatsby, but he is not quite so pathetic or tragic.
The Guardian sums up the novel well, though I think it is mistaken in calling it "a thriller, however poetic and elliptical." The novel throbs with an underlying intrigue, but there is never a quickening of the pulse.
According to the Telegraph, "The plot lacks depth or plausibility." I have to agree. Maud Newton didn't like it at all, but I think it has some merit.
It is a character study. As I mentioned previously, the book offers some insight into money, particularly into people who work with money without having any per se. Anna Moore, tax inspector. She carries on her side a balance of a kind of power, a sinister but moral intimidation, only The Revenue wields.
Though the relationships between characters ring true and resolve as it seems they must, they are riddled with elisions. Hill uses a poet's trick of using empty spaces to give the content meaning, but I found myself working too hard to fill in the blanks. For example, while Anna has occasional obligatory dinners with her sister where they are as conversationally distant as strangers, there remains a "sisterliness" in their dialogue that I credit more to accident (and my ability to read between the lines) than to Hill's skill.
Anna's relationship with John Law starts nicely, but evolves not plausibly at all. Their initial conversation, believably, is imbued with innuendo. They engage in a dance of flirtatious contact over months. That a year later this woman might construe this as love and pursue him to the ends of the earth is just silly.
The prose is elegant, but the plot is a Prufrockian missed opportunity.
In the Globe and Mail, cryptographer John Law is likened to Gatsby, but he is not quite so pathetic or tragic.
The Guardian sums up the novel well, though I think it is mistaken in calling it "a thriller, however poetic and elliptical." The novel throbs with an underlying intrigue, but there is never a quickening of the pulse.
According to the Telegraph, "The plot lacks depth or plausibility." I have to agree. Maud Newton didn't like it at all, but I think it has some merit.
It is a character study. As I mentioned previously, the book offers some insight into money, particularly into people who work with money without having any per se. Anna Moore, tax inspector. She carries on her side a balance of a kind of power, a sinister but moral intimidation, only The Revenue wields.
Though the relationships between characters ring true and resolve as it seems they must, they are riddled with elisions. Hill uses a poet's trick of using empty spaces to give the content meaning, but I found myself working too hard to fill in the blanks. For example, while Anna has occasional obligatory dinners with her sister where they are as conversationally distant as strangers, there remains a "sisterliness" in their dialogue that I credit more to accident (and my ability to read between the lines) than to Hill's skill.
Anna's relationship with John Law starts nicely, but evolves not plausibly at all. Their initial conversation, believably, is imbued with innuendo. They engage in a dance of flirtatious contact over months. That a year later this woman might construe this as love and pursue him to the ends of the earth is just silly.
The prose is elegant, but the plot is a Prufrockian missed opportunity.
Friday, January 23, 2004
Rover has something to tell us
Good Rover. It seems Rover is responding to commands. But we still don't know what Rover is trying to tell us.
Meanwhile, Mars Express has detected ice at the southern polar cap. Water!
Maybe Rover is thirsty. For a little Martian blood. Go get 'em Rover.
Meanwhile, Mars Express has detected ice at the southern polar cap. Water!
Maybe Rover is thirsty. For a little Martian blood. Go get 'em Rover.
Sleeping with baby
Have I mentioned how much I hate sharing a bed with Helena? I mean I really hate it. It evokes an image of all sweet and tenderness, mother and child basking in each other's warmth, anchored in peacefulness, restful. But it's the opposite.
It might be that she feels my presence, and that keeps waking her. Or possibly, in the course of a usual night she wakes just as often, but since I'm in the next room I don't notice. If we're sharing a bed, there's already an unusual circumstance at play: we're in a strange environment, staying the night with family or friends; or as was the case last night, Helena wakes in the night, crying frantically for some reason we can't pinpoint, and cannot be calmed.
J-F suggests nightmares as the source of her trouble. I usually suspect teeth. Yesterday may have been the wind rattling her windows (though she continued to wake in our room, which has no such windows to rattle).
For some reason, once she's in our bed, J-F sleeps soundly, assured of her security. Not me. I'm not at ease. I'm still afraid of crushing her; she's still tiny. And I worry for her, speculating on her pains and fears, and praying for her restful sleep.
Yet, after a dreadful night, I look forward to sharing a nap with baby this afternoon. Perhaps we'll fall asleep in each other's arms while I'm reading to her. More likely I'll crash to the mattress, digging my palms into my eye sockets, waiting for the Motrin to kick in, and Helena will clamber over Mount Mommy, and bounce along my thigh in victory, and climb back to the other side, and try it again, and again, and again, till she collapses in exhaustion.
It might be that she feels my presence, and that keeps waking her. Or possibly, in the course of a usual night she wakes just as often, but since I'm in the next room I don't notice. If we're sharing a bed, there's already an unusual circumstance at play: we're in a strange environment, staying the night with family or friends; or as was the case last night, Helena wakes in the night, crying frantically for some reason we can't pinpoint, and cannot be calmed.
J-F suggests nightmares as the source of her trouble. I usually suspect teeth. Yesterday may have been the wind rattling her windows (though she continued to wake in our room, which has no such windows to rattle).
For some reason, once she's in our bed, J-F sleeps soundly, assured of her security. Not me. I'm not at ease. I'm still afraid of crushing her; she's still tiny. And I worry for her, speculating on her pains and fears, and praying for her restful sleep.
Yet, after a dreadful night, I look forward to sharing a nap with baby this afternoon. Perhaps we'll fall asleep in each other's arms while I'm reading to her. More likely I'll crash to the mattress, digging my palms into my eye sockets, waiting for the Motrin to kick in, and Helena will clamber over Mount Mommy, and bounce along my thigh in victory, and climb back to the other side, and try it again, and again, and again, till she collapses in exhaustion.
As much as I wanted to see Howard Dean on David Letterman last night, I couldn't stay awake that late. The top ten list he delivered is available on the news wires, or see the video clip at the official Late Show site.
I particularly like Dean's Austrian accent.
I particularly like Dean's Austrian accent.
Thursday, January 22, 2004
Rover distressed
We're very much dismayed to hear the news that the Rover Spirit has "a serious anomaly" and has been issuing a distress signal.
But wouldn't it be cool if the reason was that the exploratory space vehicle had tripped the security alarms of some nearby colony, so over the last few days the Martians assembled and devised a war plan and stormed down on Rover, atomizing it!?
But wouldn't it be cool if the reason was that the exploratory space vehicle had tripped the security alarms of some nearby colony, so over the last few days the Martians assembled and devised a war plan and stormed down on Rover, atomizing it!?
Engineering 101
My favourite kids' show is Tiny Planets, featuring two animated creatures named Bing and Bong, "heroes of the universe." At the beginning of each episode they are given a mission, to salvage some desperate situation on a faraway planet, that centers around a key point of physics (usually). Some examples:
Episode 2 "Snow Problem"
Educational Concept: Rain and snow are different forms of water.
Episode 44 "Flocker Flicker"
Educational Concept: Animation works by presenting a series of still pictures very quickly, one after the other. The result is that the pictures appear to move.
Episode 47 "Flower Power"
Educational Concept: Sound can be directed (Megaphone) so that the listener hears it more loudly.
It's amazing! Helena's a little young to fully grasp these concepts, I know; but I try to watch this show regularly with her, hoping to instill a sense of and wonder at how things work.
(Bong not required for full entertainment value.)
Episode 2 "Snow Problem"
Educational Concept: Rain and snow are different forms of water.
Episode 44 "Flocker Flicker"
Educational Concept: Animation works by presenting a series of still pictures very quickly, one after the other. The result is that the pictures appear to move.
Episode 47 "Flower Power"
Educational Concept: Sound can be directed (Megaphone) so that the listener hears it more loudly.
It's amazing! Helena's a little young to fully grasp these concepts, I know; but I try to watch this show regularly with her, hoping to instill a sense of and wonder at how things work.
(Bong not required for full entertainment value.)
A new day
Thirty hours plus of fever hovering at 103°F, one sleepless night, constant vigilance, worry like I've never worried before. Yesterday was miserable; though Helena still had some smiles and giggles, even a dance, in her, they weren't quite right — they weren't her. But she slept through last night, her temperature returned to normal by morning. Her appetite is not back in full force yet. The sparkle of fever in her eyes has been replaced with a weariness. But it's over.
I commend the people at InfoSanté CLSC for being well informed, reassuring, and authoritative in their approach.
A word on ear thermometers: Though they're said to be not very accurate, they're fast. They're a godsend. Accuracy is overrated at times (ssshhhh, don't tell my clients). Knowing how it measures her baseline temperature, I can gauge all readings relative to each other.
Fever aside, one of yesterday's biggest disappointments was that Teletubbies is no longer carried by our local PBS station. I'm not sure it's quite sunken in with Helena yet.
I commend the people at InfoSanté CLSC for being well informed, reassuring, and authoritative in their approach.
A word on ear thermometers: Though they're said to be not very accurate, they're fast. They're a godsend. Accuracy is overrated at times (ssshhhh, don't tell my clients). Knowing how it measures her baseline temperature, I can gauge all readings relative to each other.
Fever aside, one of yesterday's biggest disappointments was that Teletubbies is no longer carried by our local PBS station. I'm not sure it's quite sunken in with Helena yet.
Wednesday, January 21, 2004
Tuesday, January 20, 2004
Oprah's book club
The new book club book: One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I guess I should read it. (Can it be better than Love in the Time of Cholera?)
Ah, the mystery of the Church
"It is as it was," but, "That is not true," is the latest report on Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ."
(Note the use of the article "the" with "Christ." It's not a reference to the biographical name but is used in the sense of "messiah." Mel Gibson is spelling it out.)
(Note the use of the article "the" with "Christ." It's not a reference to the biographical name but is used in the sense of "messiah." Mel Gibson is spelling it out.)
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