I am looking forward to this week at work. I will wrap up my projects and transition out my responsibilities to others. In one week, I will be moving offices across the parking lot and moving divisions and starting my new position. It will be good.
Listen:
Yesterday Spring, her dad and I went out and had breakfast at Wexford's, a popular breakfast joint in Wexford (years ago subsumed by Scarborough, and later in 1998 by the new "City of Toronto"). I had sausage and eggs. Spring had pancakes and syrup. Omer had a vegetarian omelette and home fries. We all had freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. It was good.
Listen:
After driving downtown to visit a big bank to do some banking, the three of us then made our way to the Ontario Science Center and it was - in my flippant opinion - a wholly lame place. If I were in grade 3, it might be cool. But then again, we didn't really visit many of the exhibits. It is a strangely disconnected experience - all the wandering around trying to figure out where an exhibit might be hiding in the vast and stark concrete hallways cluttered with old chairs and plastic boxes. There are few indicators of where all the exhibits are, and I felt like we were visiting a deserted conference center near the regional airport on the outskirts of Wichita, Kansas slated for implosion in a few days. However, the IMAX short film (45 minutes long) about Deep Sea Life was amazing, and now we want to see every IMAX film ever made - but they've got to be full length features. That was not lame.
In the Human Body exhibit I ran into Bob. Bob and I went to university together. He was a maniac - in a good way - mostly. We lived in residence the first year and partied hard. The residence association set up some sort of hunting game, a bit like 'tag' with toy plastic guns. The idea was to go a whole week without being successfully hunted, and you got clues as to who was your prey in the form of a note. It was nerve-wracking because you didn't know who among the crowd was your hunter. Classes and the university building itself were out of bounds, a safe place. Come to think of it, this would not be a very politically-correct game these days. Bob - who we called Militia Bob due to his being a member of the Canadian Militia and being rather militaristic - decided that the way to triumph was to set up a bush shelter in the valley behind the campus and spend all of the week when he was not in class hiding in a lean-to, wearing camouflage paint and his uniform. I believe he won the game in so far as he was never located and caught.
One fun evening he brought a grenade to a party - I guess he'd brought it back from Militia practice. The music was pounding, beer was flowing and Bob pulled a live grenade out of his jacket and placed it on a kitchen table. The music stopped, the beer bottles clinked as they were set down carefully, and the room slowly emptied of people who kind of kept smiling and stopped blinking. That's a good story. Bob now has a little daughter, and married his teaching assistant from one of our psychology classes. He is a paramedic and is likely a very good one.
Listen:
Today we are headed out to my parents' house to celebrate Easter over a dinner. It promises to be a very nice day.
Thanks for listening,
Mungo
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