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Tuesday, September 19, 2006

She Married a Scientist from Inner Edmonton

On July 14, my old friends Jeff and Susan Shyluk arrived in Edmonton to help celebrate the nuptials of our mutual friend and University of Alberta Star Trek Club accomplice, Dr. Michael Snyder, a scientist, to the charming and enigmatic Naomi Littlewood.


Susan and Jeff Shyluk

On the fateful morning of the 15th, Jeff and Susan kindly made breakfast for Sylvia and I. Once our morning repast was complete, we dressed up, packed ourselves into Jeff and Susan's rental car, and made our way to Inglewood Park, just a few metres distant from my old apartment complex, Baywood Park.

We headed north on 170th street, stopping for a red light just south of the Mayfield Inn. Crossing the avenue before us was a black van towing an orange two-wheel trailer. The trailer looked a little shaky, and I wondered if it were going to come loose of the van's hitch. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than it changed from idle speculation to grim reality, and the four of us goggled in slack-jawed wonder as the trailer came free of its moorings, bouncing along behind the van, sparks and chips of asphalt flying.

I wondered if the driver of the van was going to stop. Sure enough, he did, and the careening trailer bounced off a curb and smashed into the van's rear with a deafening screech of metal on metal. A bald, husky, puzzled man emerged from the van, bewilderment filling his eyes as he surveyed the damage to his vehicle.

As a devoted lover of slapstick comedy, I couldn't help but laugh. I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I was cackling, despite the sympathy I genuinely held for the man's predicament. Jeff didn't help matters by saying "Where's the trailer?" over and over again in a "puzzled hick" voice.


Jeff goes YARRRGH!

That bizarre interlude concluded, we finished the journey to Inglewood park. The wedding ceremony was short and sweet, and featured a lovely quote from the cult film The Princess Bride, a touch I appreciated.




Naomi and Michael with their son Elliot

Here's the newly-sealed couple with their strapping young son, flanked by several members of the bridal party.


Michael and Steven Neumann

Here's the groom and our old friend Steven Neumann, Susan's older brother.


Jeff and Susan at the reception


Sylvia and I at the reception

As is usual at these human affairs you Earth people call "weddings," a reception followed the ceremony. Here many carbon units feasted upon the flesh of other carbon units. The flesh was good, far better than you find at most weddings.


Steven sticks his finger in Jeff's ear

Some of the flesh-sampling rituals puzzled me. But they were entertaining. Foolish Earthlings!


Susan and Jeff boogie

Unfortunately, this wedding also included that aggravating human ritual known as "dancing."


Susan and Michael dance


Susan and Michael dance as Jeff looks on


Sylvia and Jeff dance


Sylvia and Earl dance

I was unable to avoid participating.


Susan cuts Jeff in twain


Recognize this pose?

Foolish Earth beings! Your Jedi weapons are no match for the peerless might of me!


University of Alberta Star Trek Club mini-reunion

Gathered here, some of the membership and executive of the University of Alberta Star Trek Club, circa 1987-1991.


University of Alberta Star Trek Club Secret Salute

We hope that Michael and Naomi's marriage is long and prosperous.


A young family begins its journey

Monday, September 18, 2006

It's Quite Unusual (For Tom Jones to Play the Dump)


It's quite unusual for Tom Jones to play the dump
It's quite unusual but he has to prime the pump
So when Dad, Sean and I took some bulky garbage out
We were indeed quite shocked to see him sing and shout
Oh, there was no doubt

It's quite unusual to sing about old trash
It's even more unusual to do so with some dash
So when Sean chucked a cushion into the garbage pile
I sat back and just watched the big show for a while
Atop a garbage pile

It's not unusual to fill up our land with trash
Nor so unusual for Tom Jones to earn some cash
But if you ever saw the two in harmony, you might just think you'd gone crazy
Maybe it happens all the time, oh whoa ohhhhh
Trash will never go where you want it to
Why won't this crazy junk decline?

It's quite unusual to see singers at the dump
It's quite unusual to see Woods brothers at the dump
But sometimes garbage piles up and then you must take a trip
Haul a hide-a-bed upstairs and hope that you don't slip

oh whoa oh oh oh oh...

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Scaling New Heights

Today one of my bosses, Alberta Liberal MLA and Finance Critic Rick Miller, did something amazing.



To raise money for the Easter Seals, he rappelled down the side of the Sutton Place Hotel. That's him in the Batman costume on the left.


Risking life, limb and dignity, Rick raised over $2300 for the charity, which helps disabled youth reach their full potential.



Once Rick's precarious plummet was complete, he graciously posed for a photo with me. What I didn't realize was that Rick had an evil plan. "Come up to my office after and we'll take some more photos," he said.



Apparently Rick thought that since I was such a huge comic book fan, I'd want to try on the costume. Naturally I protested, but in the end, I relented. Could I really pass up a chance to dress up like Batman - and at work, at that? I think not. Sadly, I'm Christian Bale Batman trapped inside Adam West Batman's body.

All goofing around aside, I think it's pretty impressive for a politician to go out on a limb like this and raise money...while wearing a Batman suit, no less. So congratulations to Rick for being a truly dedicated (or should I say committed?) public servant.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

A Flawless Plan

From The Cat #1, 1972

Does a stick of dynamite tossed haphazardly at your murder victim really constitute "making it look like an accident?" Maybe she accidentally dropped her household dynamite.

Monday, August 28, 2006

My New Heroine

An Enterprising academic watched 700 episodes(by my count, pretty much every single one) of Star Trek to create her PhD project. I'll have to get my hands on this.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Solid Snakes


Snakes on a Sean.

Warning: This review contains sssssssssssspoilers.

The theme of the first decade of the 21st century is fear. Every day, citizens around the world are assailed by fear: fear of terrorism, fear of disease, fear of crime, fear for our children, fear of economic disaster, fear of the unknown, fear of the other.

Minute by minute, the increasingly inescapable media assaults us with images of disaster. Bodies are pulled from lakes. Children vanish - and worse, sometimes they are found, broken beyond repair. Other children, brainwashed by ideology, strap bombs to themselves to destroy their fathers' enemies. Adults, brainwashed by competing ideology, invent terms like islamofascism and Soviet Canuckistan to indelibly brand their philosophical foes as forever evil. Good and evil are back in vogue; shades of grey have polarized once more into black and white. As the real world grows more complex, as human interactions grow more nuanced, our popular perceptions of ourselves grow simpler.

Our media is failing us.

But once in a great while, a work of art challenges us to rip the caul of unreason from our faces to reveal the truth beyond. In the tradition of Citizen Kane, All the President's Men, Network and Absence of Malice comes...

SNAKES ON A PLANE.

Snakes on a Plane presents the viewer with an improbable scenario: Sean Jones (Nathan Phillips), a likeable surfer, witnesses the brutal murder of a Los Angeles prosecutor. But the killers spot Jones as he flees the scene and target the unlucky youth for assassination. Fortunately, crack FBI agent Nelville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson) intercepts Jones before the killers can get to him and arranges for the witness to be transferred to LA via a commercial flight. Unfortunately, despite precautions the killers learn which plane Jones will be on, and load up said plane with hundreds of venomous snakes, primed to burst from the cargo hold when the plane is high over the Pacific ocean.

Against this simple background, our most primal fears are laid bare. Fear of terrorism, fear of snakes, fear of flying, fear of a grisly death - within the first half hour of the picture, the unfortunate plane's passengers are subjected to every frequent flier's worst nightmare.

But first, a look at our heroes. In the fine tradition of the disaster films of the 1970s, the passengers represent a cross-section of Western civilization, updated for modern times. Our Stereotypes, and their likelihood of survival:

Tough as Nails FBI Agent (Black, star): Guaranteed to Survive
Likeable Witness: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Tough as Nails FBI Agent (White, supporting player): Doomed
Sexy Lead Flight Attendant: Guaranteed to Survive
Plucky, Not Quite as Sexy Flight Attendant: Fate Uncertain
Kindly Older Flight Attendant About to Retire: Doomed
Nervous Comic Relief Flier: Fate Uncertain
His Likeable Wife: Fate Uncertain
Horny Hipster: Doomed, Likely First to Die
Horny Hipster's Girlfriend: Doomed, Likely Second to Die
Sexy Hispanic Single Mother: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Her Adorable Baby: Guaranteed to Survive
Sexy, Flighty Blonde: Fate Uncertain
Her Chihuaua: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Arrogant Rock Star: Fate Uncertain
His Comic Relief Bodyguards: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Arrogant Balding British Man in a Natty Suit: Almost Certainly Doomed
Handsome, Exotic Asian Man with Martial Arts Skills: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Sketchily Drawn Pilot: Doomed
Sexist Co-Pilot: Doomed
Ambiguously Gay Male Comic Relief Flight Attendant: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive
Comically Overweight Asian Woman: Almost Certainly Doomed
Two Kid Brothers, Travelling Alone for the First Time: Almost Certainly Guaranteed to Survive

Each of these characters is granted one or two scenes that define his or her character. The more one-dimensional the character, the greater the likelihood of an early exit.

And so it begins. A digital timer counts down to zero in the darkness of the cargo hold, and the snakes, hundreds of them, burst free of their shipping boxes. (No explanation is given as to how the killers got the snakes through airport security.) With evil intent, they writhe across the floor, through the wiring...and into the passenger cabin.

It takes only a few moments for mayhem to erupt. The snakes attack without remorse, fangs snapping, venom spurting, hisses punctuating the screams of their wide-eyed victims. Fangs burst eyeballs, sink into bare bosoms, tongues - even, wincingly, genitalia. The filmmakers pull out all the stops. If you've ever had nightmares about something dangerous emerging from your toilet to attack your most delicate bits, THIS IS NOT THE FILM FOR YOU. Bloody froth bubbles from poisoned passengers. Arms and legs swell like grotesque, pus-filled balloons.

Naturally, only Flynn keeps his cool. As the passengers storm the front of the plane - thus far uninhabited by snakes - the FBI agent whips out his taser and mercilessly zaps the snakes, in much the same way as Jackson's Mace Windu character dispatched his foes in recent Star Wars prequels. He helps several passengers reach relative safety, then barks out one of the film's best lines:

"We have to create a barrier between us and the snakes!"

But it's a temporary solution at best. Flynn desperately searches for weapons, but discovers that the cutlery he hoped to use has been replaced with harmless plastic sporks. He contacts his supervisor at the FBI using the plane's air phone:

"You know all those security scenarios we ran? Well, I'm smack in the middle of one we didn't think of."

The horrified passengers, looking for someone to blame, begin to verbally abuse Flynn and the man who arguably got them all into this, Jones. But Flynn, with trademark cool, shuts them down:

"It's my job to handle life and death situations on a daily basis. It's what I do, and I'm very good at it. Now you can stand there and be the panicked, angry mob and blame him, me and the government for getting you into this, but if you want to survive tonight, you need to save your energy and start working together."

These events reveal the film's subtext. The government's efforts to protect us are futile. All the security in the world has not only not saved us from death, it has increased the danger. We have surrendered our civil liberties in return for a false sense of security that has made us more helpless than before.

So, with little choice, the passengers must take responsibility for their own survival. The Sexy Hispanic Single Mom sucks the poison out of a little boy's arm. The Plucky Lead Stewardess hacks a snake to pieces with a fire axe. The Likeable Witness finds his sense of courage and duty and helps use an inflatable life raft to secure seal off the first class section, where the survivors are taking refuge, from the snakes. Ambiguously Gay Male Flight Attendant nukes a snake in the microwave, while Handsome Exotic Asian Man with Martial Arts Skills kickboxes and karate chops snakes left and right. And through it all, Jackson's Flynn rallies the troops and dispatches snakes with a homemade blowtorch, a broken bottle on the end of a stick, and a harpoon gun.

It is exactly as delightfully ridiculous as it sounds, and the film has just enough self-awareness to gently mock itself without spoiling the proceedings. Back in Los Angeles, as the FBI tries to track down enough antivenom to treat stricken passengers once they land, a character barks, "There's only one man who could have gotten hold of so many illegal snakes!" When the electrical system fails on the airplane and the lights go dim, one unseen, formerly unheard character whispers melodramatically, "The snakes..!" The delivery of every gloriously cheesy line is note perfect. Jackson is clearly having the time of his life, and the supporting players give it their all.

When Flynn, pushed to the brink, finally utters his signature line - "I've had it with these motherblanking snakes on this motherblanking plane!" - the audience at the screening I attended burst into cheers - not simply because the line signals the beginning of the film's action-packed, mind-blowing climax, which truly must be seen to be believed - but because the line resonates powerfully with the frustration of ordinary people forced to live in a civilization that seems determined to consume itself.

Echoing Howard Beale's (Peter Finch) immortal cry of defiance from Network - "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" - Flynn's angry call to arms is a sentiment shared by every frustrated citizen tired of all the bullshit shoved down our throats by government and the media. Snakes on a plane - the concept - becomes a symbol for all that's gone wrong with the world, for the lost promise of the 21st century. Out of control rent increases? Snakes on a plane. Cancer diagnosis? Snakes on a plane. Can't take juice on your flight anymore? Snakes on a plane. Potholes flatten your tires? Snakes on a plane. Snakes on a goddamn plane.

The film's genius is simply this: the premise is so ridiculous that it reminds us of how silly the media boogeymen have become. The odds of your child dying in your backyard pool are far greater, statistically, than the odds he or she will be lured to his or her doom by an internet predator. More people - by several orders of magnitude - die every year in car crashes than died on 911. Our own laziness and stupidity will kill more of us than any number of "islamofascists." West Nile and Mad Cow will probably never kill as many people as our own lack of physical activity.

But there is no War on Pools. Dying of heart disease simply isn't as sexy as being blown up by a suicide bomber, and a media hungry to feed our insatiable appetite for the sensational will never report responsibly - not until we curb those appetites and demand better. (And perhaps not even then.)

Snakes on a Plane is probably this year's silliest film. But it is also one of the most revealing films of the new century, and like the b-grade SF that brought our fears of communism and the bomb to life in the 1950s, Snakes on a Plane will be remembered for forcing us to recognize our fears, and for slyly showing that fear itself is more dangerous than any physical or ideological threat.

Ssssssssssso saysssssssss Earl J. Woodsssssssssssssssss.

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Earlivators

I found a fun new tool today - a website that lets you create motivational posters using your own photographs and text. Here's the site, and here are a few of my own creations:































Let me know if you have a favourite - or if they all stink.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

A Bittersweet Return



Because we mortals are bound by the limits imposed upon us by the immutable laws of time and space, we inevitably come to that point in our lives when we discover that we can't go home again. The world spins inexorably onward, heedless of human desire, and those people and places we cherish most are lost.

SPOILERS for Superman Returns follow...

Superman Returns is a story about a man who is seemingly invulnerable, but nonetheless finds himself at the mercy of time's arrow.

The film begins with a brief explanation: five years ago, Superman left Earth to explore the remains of his home planet, Krypton, led to believe that there might be survivors. The world has had to get by without its greatest protector and inspiration.

After the very retro opening credits (a breathless journey through astronomical wonders such as asteroid fields, nebulae and exotic ringed worlds), Superman returns, his spaceship crashing into a familiar Kansas farm, where the last son of Krypton is reunited with his adoptive mother, Martha Kent.

At the same time, his old nemesis, the mad scientist Lex Luthor, has set a fiendish plans in motion - he wants to use Kryptonian technology stolen from Superman's Fortress of Solitude to remake the world in a form that will suit his grand ambitions.

Against this backdrop, Superman - and his other self, Clark Kent - attempt to step back into their old lives, first with Clark's charming, awkward return to the Daily Planet, then with a thrilling shuttle/airplane rescue. These sequences show that director Brian Singer made a wise choice in casting Brandon Routh as his lead; as Clark, Routh is vulnerable, sensitive, playful, and burdened with a secret almost too large to contain. As Superman, Routh is a force of nature, often silent, grim, determined to protect the world from farm; he even shows a glint of the slightly vindictive 1930s Superman, back when the character wasn't above putting the fear of God into the bad guys. (There's a scene in which a thug shoots Superman at point blank range...and the bullet bounces off Superman's eye. Routh offers a tight, mocking grin - clearly, the goon doesn't stand a chance.)

There follows a short but effective montage, in which news clips show Superman on the job around the world. I loved this brief sequence - it shows that Superman is a hero for all humanity, not just the United States, and that his spectacular feats are performed with a self-effacing grin and genuine concern for the people around him.

As might be expected, Clark's return is little noticed; save for young Jimmy Olsen, few seem to care that Clark is back from his "vacation." No one even questions his absence, nor remarks upon the fact that he returns at the same time as Superman. Some might see this as contrived, but to me it seems entirely proper; as Superman's human half, Clark is meant to be overlooked and ignored, or even viewed with slight contempt by those who cannot perceive his inner greatness. (Every geek in the world secretly believes in this powerful myth - that while we may be Clark Kent on the outside, inside we're something far more.)

Superman's return, on the other hand, is hailed around the world; people are understandably happy to have him back.

Except for Lois Lane, Superman's one great love. Hurt by the Man of Steel's abrupt departure, Lois has moved on with a vengeance, winning a Pulitzer for her article "Why the World Doesn't Need a Superman." Even worse, from Superman's point of view, Lois is engaged to Richard White, and they have a young son. White is genuine, charming, and clearly cares about Lois and their little boy; a worthy match for Lois.

Superman's attempt to come to terms with his new personal reality forms the core of the story; Luthor's plot is a device to move the more important personal journey forward.

And it succeeds in this regard. Luthor captures Lois and her young son; Richard is the first on the scene to rescue them, while Superman is occupied saving Metropolis from a killer shockwave. When Superman returns to pull the trio from the ocean, he asks Richard if he has a solid grip on Lois and the boy; when they rise into the air, the human chain they form is a symbol of their new relationship. Superman is at the outside, hovering above the humans; the others are clustered together as a family unit.

Shortly afterward, it looks like Luthor has defeated Superman, stabbing him with a shard of Kryptonite and tossing him into the ocean to drown. But Lois and Richard come to Superman's rescue, showing that you don't need to be a Superman to risk everything for the greater good. After a brief respite, Superman returns to Luthor's artificial continent and lifts it heavenward, heaving it into space and saving the world...though not without exposing himself to dangerous Kryptonite radiation. Superman becomes the man who fell to Earth, and once again it is up to human beings - good Samaritans, policemen, doctors and nurses - to save their own savior. Superman recovers in hospital, tended to and watched over lovingly by the people of Metropolis.

And then he's gone, for one last personal journey. For he has discovered that Lois and Richard's son is, in fact, his own; and he must say goodbye, for he knows that it is not for him to raise the child. He already has a family.

In a scene both tender and sad, Superman acknowledges his only son, accepting that the sleeping boy will grow up without his direct involvement. His decision to leave Earth to its own devices has exacted a huge personal price, and now Superman will have to live with the consequences.

As he leaves his son behind, Lois appears, calling him back to say goodbye.

"Will we see you around?" she asks.

"I'm always around," Superman replies, with that touch of bittersweet melancholy that comes only when you finally understand yourself and your place in the universe. One journey is over; the next stage of his life must begin.

There are some problems with plot and characterization in the film. Luthor's scheme to create a new continent would be much more plausible had his new world seemed like an appealling place to live. Who would want to build a community on a grey slab of lifeless stone? Granted, we know from previous films that Kryptonian technology can create creature comforts (see Superman II), but this film makes us question how Luthor expects his plan to work at all.

Also, Superman isn't the kind of hero who uses his abilities to eavesdrop on mortals. When he listens in on a private conversation between his lost love Lois and her fiancee Richard, he's behaving unethically; no question about it. If he had acknowledged this error somewhere in the film, I could have forgiven it, but as it stands we're left with the impression that Superman thinks it's okay to spy on people. A line of dialogue at the end of the film - an apology to Lois, an admission of how deeply the disappointments of his return have affected him - would have gone a long way toward addressing this problem.

Perhaps most troublingly, Superman's justification for leaving Earth behind isn't explored nearly enough. It seems irresponsible to leave humanity without his services just when people had come to take a protector for granted. A flashback sequence showing that Earth was in pretty good shape - perhaps a metaphor for the Clintonian 90s, the pre-911 era that now seems like a mini Golden Age - would have made his decision to leave more acceptable, and more tragic. He could have left without guilt, feeling that Earth's people had grown up enough to manage on their own, only to find (as he does in the film) that things have gone to hell. Superman should be anguished by his decision to leave, not because of the cost to his personal life, but because of the cost to the people he has sworn to serve and protect.

Finally, the decision to introduce a child into Superman's life, while it works thematically for this film, does raise questions for future storylines. I'll be interested to see how the series develops, given this new reality.

These flaws aside, Superman Returns is an ambitious film that tries to tell a very different, more mature story about one of pop culture's most enduring characters. Superman's struggle to come to terms with the passage of time and the regrets of possibilities lost is a struggle that every person shares, and because Superman, in the end, bears the burden with grace and even optimism, we too can draw strength from the very best of our human qualities: the ability to empathize with others, and to sacrifice our own happiness for the sake of our fellows. And to realize that we are stronger than we imagine, that the sacrifices we make help not only others, but ourselves.

We must remember, too, that Superman Returns exists within a very specific real-world context. It's a story about growing up, about moving past old regrets, and in that sense, it's a story that this generation shares. Those of us who were children when we first saw Christopher Reeve's Superman take flight in 1978 are the ones at the best age now to best appreciate this film, since many of us, now approaching middle age, are looking back and wondering which choices might have made us happier. Perhaps we, too, once abandoned our responsibilities to pursue our own ends, and came to regret the decision. Perhaps we kept secrets from those we loved, only to see them drift away. Perhaps our life's tapestry was forever altered by the careless trimming of a single, seemingly unimportant thread.

At the film's close, Lois begins to write a new article: "Why the World Needs a Superman," a rebuttal of her own award-winning piece. We never discover what she writes, but the answer seems pretty obvious to me.

The human family now comprises something over six billion souls. We are fearful and petty, vindictive and hateful, and we're tearing each other apart as we struggle for our share of the world's wealth. We poison our homeworld and ignore the suffering around us as we struggle to cling to our own small comforts.

We need a Superman - or something akin to him - for one simple reason: to remind ourselves that we can, we have, and we must do more. We can be a great people, if we wish to be, claims Jor-El, Superman's father; we only lack the light to show the way.

But here's the thing: we don't lack the light. It's all around us. All over the world, ordinary people donate blood. They protest against injustice. They donate to charity. They join political parties. They write letters to the editor. They volunteer. And they show compassion and kindness, whenever they can.

At this moment, all over the world, human beings are reaching out to help each other. Right now, someone is saving a life; right now, someone is offering comfort to the lost; right now, someone is making love.

In my deepest, blackest, most cynical moments, Superman and everything he symbolizes remind me that we have every reason to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity, because the evidence is not only all around us, it lives within us. Superman never left, and never will.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

A Tiring Endeavor



Rollin', rollin', rollin',
Keep those radials rollin',
Keep those rubber wheels goin',
Black Tide!

Heck bent for asphalt
Covered in dirt and road salt
The wheel is seen like this both far and wide
All the commerce carried
By wheels that haven't tarried
Steel-belted or simply with thick hides

Slap 'em on!
Blow 'em out!
Ride 'em hard!
Wear 'em down!
Slap 'em on, hit the road Black Tide!

Ride 'em hard!
Hit a nail!
Leave a raw rubber trail!
Burn 'em out!
Leave a skid!
Make a swing for your kid!
Roll them out, Black Tide!

Rollin', rollin' rollin'...rollin', rollin', rollin'...

Black Tiiiiide...

Black Tide! Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Weddings & Umbrellanappings



Last Saturday, Sylvia and I attended not one, but two wedding celebrations: one for one of her cousins, and one for my old friend Andrea and her beau Greg. Greg and Andrea were actually married in Germany back in December, but like the devoted friends they are, they've been travelling around the world to share their joy with their loved ones. Having known Andrea for over a decade and a half (!), I can say with confidence that Greg is a lucky guy, and even though I've only met Greg twice now, he seems to me to be a fellow of sterling character and most excellent good humour, a fine fellow indeed and a worthy match for Andi.

So congrats to both!

On a related note...




Attention Jeff and Susan Shyluk: Andrea kidnapped your umbrella. And now...



I have it! If you want to see your umbrella again, you must journey here, to Edmonton, with a shiny new Loonie and a willingness to play BRUCE LEE GAME!

BRUCE LEE GAME!

Tuesday, July 04, 2006

The Streets of Sean City



I think this could anchor Spike's fall schedule, don't you? Posted by Picasa

paper/cuts

I meant to mention this a long time ago, but better late than never. The latest issue of paper/cuts, the magazine of Grant MacEwan College's professional writing program, came out a few weeks ago, and my "box of bricks" story is included, under the title "They Ain't Heavy." It's great to have something nonpolitical and nonherbilogical in print! Thanks to Leslie for bringing this opportunity to my attention, and to Dustin for moving the box of bricks and thus inspiring the story.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Ear's to You

Today in first aid training we moved on to WOUNDS. I had to play victim in a couple of scenarios, and in the first, I was asked to play an auto mechanic who had somehow managed to cut off the top half of one of his ears.

So I improvised, moaning and groaning, one hand clapped to my ear. The "rescuer" - a fellow student who doesn't know the nature of the scenario - rushed in and followed the steps she'd learned.

"Hi, I'm Theresa, I'm a Medic First Aid and I can help you. Are you all right? What happened?"

I struggled to think of a plausible answer to her question. After all, a person delivering first aid should know what happened in order to react properly.

"I CUT OFF MY EAR! This is what happens when you run with scissors."

Best I could do on the spur of the moment. Anyway, she applied dressings, saved the top half of my ear, and called 911. SAVED!

Sadly, I found out that hands-on defibrillator training will have to wait until next year. But at least I know enough to operate one of the idiot-proof models if I have to. ZAP!

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Had I But Known



Perhaps tomorrow I'll finally be able to help Sean cope with this sort of unfortunate accident. Posted by Picasa

First Aid Training: Day One



Today at first aid training, I learned the ABCs of emergency response: Airway, Breathing, Circulation. Should some unfortunate soul clutch his heart and shriek "I'm having chest pains!" before blacking out at my feet, I'll know just what to do! I hope. Here's how I remember the procedure:

***THIS IS NOT MEDICAL ADVICE, MERELY MY OWN ATTEMPT TO SEE HOW MUCH INFORMATION I'VE PROPERLY ABSORBED...DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME***

First, I'll check the scene to see if there are any immediate hazards, seen or unseen: traffic, downed power lines, explosions, supervillains, poison gas, etc. Then I'll kneel beside the victim and say,

"Hello! My name is Earl. I'm just trying to be a better person..."

Gah, sorry. Wrong scenario.

"Hello! My name is Earl. I have first aid training. Are you okay?"

I'll prod the victim on the shoulder to test responsiveness. If the victim doesn't respond, this implies consent to begin first aid.

First, I'll call 911, or direct the nearest bystander to do so thusly:

"Call 911! Do you understand me? Will you come back when you've called?"

If the bystander understands, I'll slip on my sterile gloves on and continue to the ABCs.

First, I'll make sure that the airway is clear, by tilting the head back and lifting the jaw so that the victim's relaxed tongue isn't blocking his airway. (If there's a chance of spinal injury, I'll perform the chin lift ONLY.) I'll check the victim's mouth to see if there's anything blocking the airway.

Good Lord! A huge wad of bubblegum wrapped around a Dr. Julian Bashir action figure! I'll fork it out with my fingers and roll the victim toward me so that gravity will help any remaining debris or fluids drain out.

Next, check B for breathing. After rolling the victim back onto his back, I lower my head to the victim's face, listening for the sounds of respiration, feeling for breath on my cheek. GREAT KRYPTON! Nil breathing! Two quick rescue breaths are in order. I dig my sterile shield with one-way valve out of my pocket, tilt the head back by the chin, and plug the victim's nostrils with peanuts...I mean, my fingers. I blow through the valve and into the hapless sap's mouth for two full seconds, watching to see if the chest rises. It does. I wait a beat and blow again. Fwoosh!

Now check for C, circulation. Fingers pressed to the carotid artery, I check for a pulse. HOLY SMASHAMOLEY! NO PULSE! Wetting my pants, I realize I'm gonna have to perform CPR.

First, find the heart. With one finger, trace along the victim's abdomen to find the bottom of the sternum. Use that position as a pointer and place the other hand "above" it, toward the victim's head. Make sure the heel of the hand is over the heart, and start pumping: one thousand one, one thousand two...fifteen seconds, back to the head for another two breaths, alternate between breathing and pumping for one minute, then reassess whether the victim has started to breathe again.

He is! Hooray.

I also learned how to save a severed limb, how to hold someone's guts in, and how to ensure that a pencil embedded in the eyeball will do as little damage as possible. All in all, a pretty gory day.

As I anticipated, I had to stifle my laughter at the instructional videos. The acting is so awful, the situations so contrived that it's really hard not to guffaw. In the first segment, a homeowner climbs to the very tippy top of a rickety stepladder, overextends himself and crashes to the ground with an unconvincing "AIIIEEEEunf!" In another, a little girl is hit in the leg with a rock flung from a lawnmower blade, and the blood spurts through her clutching fingers. Pretty awful, I know, but the music, the lighting, the editing and direction all conspire to make the scene humourous instead of ominous. They've gotta work on that.

But the biggest news is that tomorrow they teach us how to use...

THE DEFIBRILLATOR!!!!!! BZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!!!! CLEAR!!!!!

The photo above captures the look on Sylvia's face when I told her this. Posted by Picasa

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

MEDIC!



Tomorrow and Wednesday I'll be taking First Aid training at the Legislature. My employer - that is to say, the government - is footing the bill, and it seemed like a golden opportunity to learn some important skills.

So, faithful readers, no running with scissors until Friday. By then, I should have some kind of fancy certificate.

Sunday, June 18, 2006

Another banner possibility

Another possible banner

New Banner (If I Can Make it Work)




If I can make it work, here's a new banner I may use. Anything to get away from the standard templates...

EDIT: Huh, I don't know why it turned orange...

Experimenting

I'll be playing with my blog today to see if I can personalize it a little. If this works, there should be a video in this post, and a countdown clock near the bottom of the right hand column...

[EDIT - I've taken out the video, since the ActiveX control was causing some of my visitors' browswers to crash.]

Monday, June 12, 2006

My Excuses for Not Blogging More Often




Dental appointment.




Sunburned during press gallery golf tournament.




Construction projects around the home.




Unexpected journeys backward in time.




Taking goofy photos of Sylvia.




Taking goofy photos in general.




And now for some real content. Of a sort. Can you imagine what Sylvia might be doing in this perplexing photograph? Enter YOUR guess in the comment field!