10 pixels in - my first video game review

(Note: Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at http://danigirl.ca/blog/2007/08/24/10-pixels-in-my-first-video-game-review/)

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Not too long after my recent post talking about how the boys have transitioned from a TV addiction to a computer game addiction, I got an e-mail from a nice lady offering me a sneak preview of "the first video game made for kids 3-6 on Nintendo DS." The boilerplate advertised that "Storybook DS features skill-based mini-games and read-aloud fairy tale adventures for shared play and interaction between mom and child." I wrote back to say thanks for the offer, but we only play games on the PC and we don't have any game consoles. She wrote back to say, "No problem, we'll loan you a DS console for a while to play to the game. You can keep the game cartridge, and send back the console when you're done."

Hard to say no to an offer like that, isn't it? And that's how someone who doesn't really like video games becomes a video game reviewer - or at least whores her children out as video game reviewers. Let the record show that they didn't seem to mind.

So I have to start out by admitting that I'm a little bit biased against handheld games, especially for the preschooler set. I like to see and hear what they're doing, and it's harder to share a four-inch game console than it is to sit together in front of a 15 inch monitor.

Having said that, I have to admit I was immediately impressed with Storybook DS. I know kids get this stuff so much more intuitively than we did, but literally within one minute of snapping the cartridge into the console, Tristan was using the stylus to colour a picture. A few minutes later, he was showing Simon how to do the same. With no input from us, they found their way through a counting game, a music game, a drawing tablet and a storybook reader.

Both boys enjoyed Storybook DS, even if it was a bit on the simplistic side compared to what they are already playing on the computer. Tristan had an easier time navigating and exploring, but both boys could use the stylus to play by themselves. I'm not sure about it being billed as "shared play and interaction between mom and child" - more like interaction between child and video game. I peered over their shoulders a few times to see what they were up to, but three of us jockeying for position around a four-inch screen didn't work well for us. If you'd like to pick one up, they'll be available in stores in late September. (Sorry for the lack of links. I had asked for a URL to point to, but never did get one.)

It was nice to be able to test-drive the Nintendo DS as well as the game itself, and Beloved didn't waste any time going down to the local rental place and picking up a few other games for us to try. I can see the appeal of handheld games, especially for long car rides, or for when one wants to watch TV and the other wants to play games, but I'll stick with my initial assessment of handheld games. They might be a nice treat for the older kids, and no doubt my 3 and 5 year old would love to have one, but when we finally capitulate to a game system for the family - sadly, with three against one I know it's a matter of when rather than if - I'd much prefer a full-size, TV-based console rather than a handheld one.

So what do you think? What age - if any - do you think it's appropriate for kids to start playing with personal, handheld video games? I don't think I can hold out on this one forever, but seven or eight years old sounds about right to me.

Random bullets to banish the brain clutter

(Note: Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at http://danigirl.ca/blog/2007/08/21/random-bullets-to-banish-the-brain-clutter/)

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Blogging really is a feast-or-famine kind of thing, isn't it? There are times when your brain is empty, and you go days fearing you may never be graced with an inspiring idea again.

And then other times, your brain is so busy blogging all.the.time that at any given time, you have half-composed posts oozing out of your brain, begging you to get to a keyboard and release them to the Interwebs. This is one of those times. I have a lot of ideas rattling around, but nothing cogent enough to form a full post.

Thank goodness for the existence of random bullets!

• We woke up this morning to what appears to be a brand new double mattress delivered to our front lawn. Problem is we didn't order a new mattress. I have no idea where it came from or, more importantly, what to do with it. It's garbage day today, so maybe one of the neighbours put it out and some prankster dragged it down the block to our lawn? But seriously, have you ever dragged a full-sized mattress anywhere? It's not like the wind just picked it up and carried it over. The irony is that we could really use a new double mattress, but I'm not sure I trust providence enough to accept randomly occurring mattresses as part of the natural order of things.



• I was supposed to call for my Integrated Prenatal Screening blood test results yesterday - and I completely forgot. I guess I'm not too worried about them, eh? I'll try to remember to call today.



• I also go for my first official appointment with the midwife today. Yay!



• Today is my sister-in-law's birthday. Happy Birthday, Belinda!! Sometime in the next four days (oy, my memory sucks!) is my very dear friend's birthday. Happy Birthday, Jojo!! Saturday is my cousin's birthday. Happy birthday, Mike!!



• Last Sunday would have been my 18th wedding anniversary, had I not bailed from the practice marriage back in 1993. Eighteen years! Eek!!



• I find it somewhat validating that since I have made the jump to WordPress, Haloscan has been under some sort of spam attack. I think the last time I had to delete a spam comment was months ago, and I've had to delete more than 20 in the past week.



• Tristan has been on a 'what I want to be when I grow up' kick lately. Last month, after visiting the African Lion Safari, he wanted to be an elephant trainer. The other day, I was getting ready for work when à propos of nothing, he announced, "Hey Mom? When I grow up, I want to be king." (pause) "Why are you laughing?" You go, Tristan! Queen Mother sounds like a lovely career option for me.

Information overload

As usual, I consumed most of the newspaper on the bus on my ride to work this morning, and I have to tell you that the news was not good.

Aside from the fact that I now have a new big boss (holding off judgement on that for the time being) I read that Mattel has announced another massive toy recall for lead paint and dangerous toys. Then I read an article that says out of 250,000 births in Canada every year, as many as 1,700 babies suffer skull fractures or other traumatic injuries during birth. And to completely wreck my morning, a new study confirms that "eating large quantities of junk food when pregnant and breastfeeding could impair the normal control of appetite and promote an exacerbated taste for junk food in offspring."

Sigh. It's enough to make you want to crawl back into bed and hide there for a day or two, isn't it?

Since I went looking for it and you might want to do the same, here's the Mattel recalled toys list. It mostly affects Sarge from Pixar's Cars for lead paint, and some Batman, Barbie, Polly Pocket and other toys for dangerous magnets. We have a Sarge, but he's been with us since Christmas and the recall period is for Cars from May through August 2007. But still!

I mean, seriously, when you think of name-brand toys you can trust, don't you think of Fisher Price, and Barbie, and Mattel, and even Thomas the Tank Engine? These aren't dollar store junk toys, for goodness sake. I'd rant a little more on this topic, but Ann Douglas has a great article up over on Yahoo Parenting that says it far better than I ever could.

As for the birth injuries article, well, that just makes me feel a little bit better about my decision to go with the midwife. And about my consumption of junk food? I'll have to pause a moment to wipe the crust of honey cruller sugar from my fingers while I formulate a proper response to that one. In the meanwhile, I blame my mother.

The news isn't all bad, though. If you're looking for something a little more lighthearted, field reporter Fryman sends along this link to a photo gallery on the Globe and Mail's web site of roadside mascots, including the World's Largest Atlantic Salmon, Perogie, Fly Fishing Rod and - of course - Hockey Stick and Puck. Canadiana at it's best! How many of them have you seen? Wouldn't it make a great end-of-summer road trip to tour around and check them all out?

Sonic booms are cool

I first read this story in the newspaper on Sunday morning, and I can't stop thinking about it. Everyone I've spoken to in the last couple of days has been subjected to this story, so fascinated by it am I.

Did you hear about the 62 year old French guy who's about to be launched to a height of 40 km (25 miles) and do a seven minute free fall on to a Saskatchewan field, exceeding Mach 1 and creating a sonic boom with only his body in the process?

I'm honestly torn between "how wicked cool is that?" and "what kind of suicidal dumbass is he, anyway?"

From the canada.com article:

At 40,000 metres, temperatures are around -100 C and the air is so thin he will have to spend hours beforehand inhaling pure oxygen to remove all traces of nitrogen from his blood. He must nose-dive out of the pop-can-shaped capsule, freefalling for seven minutes before pulling his chute 1,000 metres from landing for an eight-minute descent to the ground. But if he goes into a spin at the start, no one knows if he will survive as he plummets to Earth at speeds reaching 1,500 km/h and in cold dipping to -115 C, breaking the sound barrier at 1,067 km/h and crashing through the ozone layer.

There's also an article in the Times Online that describes the experience of the previous record-holder for longest freefall: "set by Joe Kittinger, a US air force test pilot who jumped from just under 20 miles in 1960 and told of his four-minute 36-second descent in a 1961 autobiography, The Long Lonely Leap. 'There is no sound, no movement,' he wrote. 'No wind hisses in my ears or billows my clothing.'"

Apparently, if Fournier is successful with his Grand Saut (French for Big Jump), he'll break four records: the longest freefall, the fastest freefall, the parachute jump from the highest altitude and the highest altitude achieved by a human in a balloon. The part that really fascinates me, though, is the "crashing through the ozone layer" bit, coupled with the breaking of the sound barrier with his body. From the few articles I've read on this, they have no idea what the impact of creating a sonic boom will have on his body.

What do you think? Is this guy a hero, or a Darwin Award waiting to happen?

Summertime food ideas?

While I love this steamy hot summertime weather, it's sapping my already-nominal culinary inspiration. I've completely run out of fresh summertime food ideas. We've done burgers to death, and I've lost my taste for hot dogs. It's too hot to boil pasta, and we've had enough corn on the cob to pluck an entire corn field clean.

Last night, we had one of my summertime favourites: steak and veggie kabobs rolled in peppercorns, grilled on the BBQ and then served as make-yer-own pita sandwiches with tzatziki and feta and fresh cucumber and tomato slices. Mmmmmm!

Save me from another pizza; I'm desperate for inspiration. What's your favourite summertime meal?

Wherein I give up my eco-principals for convenience

For a week, we're a two-car family. We're watching my parents dog while they're on vacation, and my mom loaned me her car for the duration. It was my intention to leave the car in the driveway except in case of emergency, but I was going to take the opportunity to switch out the boys' full-sized car seats for booster seats. (If you've ever installed car seats into a two-door, pre-LATCH system Sunfire with bucket seats, you'll know the pain of which I speak. But we got new CARS booster seats for the boys - Granny is going to be the coolest of the cool the next time she takes them for a ride.)

I'd toyed briefly with the idea of taking my mom's car to work (shades of high school) but decided in the end to take the bus, as usual. However, when the bus showed up this morning, I walked on and realized that there were no seats. No seats. It's a 40 minute ride, and I would have had to stand the entire way. Not going to happen.

So I pulled the bell and got off at the next stop and marched righteously back to the house, muttering to myself the whole way about how I pay a premium fare ($81/month) for my express pass and I'm three months pregnant and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand up the whole way to work at six friggin' thirty in the morning and what the hell are all these people doing on the bus anyway because it's July and shouldn't they all be on holiday or something?

It was a gorgeous morning to be driving with the sunroof open, hot coffee in my hand. I didn't get to read the morning paper, but I listened to CBC the whole way in. My route of preference brings me first through pastoral countryside, where I can wave to the cows, then along the full length of the Rideau Canal. On the early side of seven o'clock in the morning, there's no traffic to speak of.

No rude person tried to take up more than their half of our shared seat, no crazy driver lurched to sudden and unexpected stops, nobody's oversized back pack bonked me in the head as they shifted back and forth in the aisle. It cost me a whole $7 to park half a block from work and the most traumatic part of the commute was choosing between the sketchy elevator and the even more sketchy stairwell in what must be the world's scariest parking garage where I tried hard to not touch any surface with my bare flesh.

I've long acknowledged our days as a one-car family are limited, and I'm proud that we've lived in the suburbs for four years without a second car. But there simply isn't room across the back seat of our Focus wagon for three car seats, and I absolutely refuse to spend an entire year of maternity leave stuck in the house at home with no car and three kids while Beloved drives back and forth each day.

And after years and years of subjecting myself to the whims of OC Transpo twice a day, I could get used to driving downtown by myself. It's still a bargain at twice the cost of the bus.

Order of the Phoenix

So I don't usually do movie reviews here, mostly because I don't see nearly enough movies. And this isn't exactly a movie review, because it's not terribly critical. But we went to see Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix on Friday night, and though Beloved and I have rehashed it to death, I still want to talk about it.

(Lots of people are talking about it, and it tickles me to no end that when you google "Harry Potter invisible horses" my blog is the first search return that pops up. The traffic spike has been pretty funny to watch.)

So, have you seen it? What did you think? (mild spoiler alert - consider yourself warned)

I have to say I loved it. LOVED it. The "fidget factor", the means by which I measure my own engagement in a film by the number of times I shift, stretch, check my watch and look around the theatre, was a perfect score. I think I shifted from one cheek to the other once, that was it. I was completely engaged through the whole movie. And I have to say, the theatre was packed and kids between the ages of 8 and 16 comprised about 1/3 of the audience - and yet, with the exception of one annoying giggler in the front row, the theatre was largely silent and glued to the screen throughout. (It really was cute seeing kids showing up dressed in robes.)

It's rare, so rare, when you can love the book and love the movie. The only example that comes even close for me was Carl Sagan's Contact, one of my top-ten fave books of all time. The movie did the book justice, but wasn't nearly as wonderful as the book.

Now, as I may have mention once or ten times, I've been re-reading the books for the last couple of months, and I just finished Order of the Phoenix the night before we left for Bar Harbor so all the details were fresh in my mind. There were quite a few points where the book and movie diverged, but I imagine a movie true to a 600 page book's every detail would probably run somewhere around 26 hours, so I get the shortcuts they took. I realized after the movie that there was not a single reference to quiddich in the whole movie. Not that I missed it; I always kind of found the whole quiddich thing kind of tiresome.

It was too bad we didn't see more from some of the supporting cast, but again I can see why they had to trim things down to size. Even Ron and Hermione probably had about three pages each of dialogue in the whole movie. I didn't find Dolores Umbridge nearly toady enough, but that was my only quibble with the casting. They did a fantastic job with the special effects and a great job with the Ministry of Magic. I loved the final battle scene, especially the one brief bit where Harry and Sirius were fighting Death Eaters side-by-side. Probably my favourite scene in the whole movie - very stirring, especially for a hormonal pregnant woman.

As we were walking out of the theatre, I told Beloved that I'd happily turn around and go watch the whole thing again. It was that good. And then I went home and read the last four chapters of Half-Blood Prince.

Six days and counting. I'm stoked.

"Elephants outstanding"

Some items from the newspaper are just too precious to pass by without commenting on them.

Apparently, three elephants escaped from the Garden Bros Circus in Newmarket, Ontario (near Toronto) and went on a 3 am stroll through suburbia. The electric fence penning them in somehow lost power, and when the elephants realized it, they knocked down the fence and made a break for it. Take a moment to picture two full-grown elephants - elephants! - roaming around in your suburban neighbourhood under cover of night. And now imagine being the caller, or better yet, the dispatcher, on this 911 call, as reported in the Globe and Mail:

Caller: “Hi. Umm... we've found an elephant walking down the street near the community centre, the Ray Twiney."

Operator: “Sorry?”

Caller: “We've found an elephant walking down the street. Like the ones from, like, the circus at the Ray Twiney Centre. One of them got loose and it's walking down the street.”

For the next few minutes, the caller explains that there are, in fact, at least two fully grown, trainer-less elephants milling about, as a woman in the background can be heard futilely exclaiming: “Don't let it cross the street!”

Priceless!

Now playing at your neighbourhood grocery store

I was absolutely fascinated by a recent post of Julie's over on A little pregnant. She was talking about going into a grocery store in her town and finding that they have carts with television sets embedded into them, so for a dollar your kidlets can watch an episode of The Wiggles or Bob the Builder or whatever while you do your grocery shopping. A TV! In the grocery cart!

I had to know more. From the Cabco website, makers of the TV Kart™:

Designed for use by parents and caregivers of children aged between two and five years, TV Kart™ Classic engages children so parents can relax and have a better shopping experience in retail stores.

Inside each TV Kart™ Classic, there is a steering wheel, interactive buttons on the dashboard, and a 7-inch TV monitor on which children watch selected TV programs.

There is seating for two pre-school children and appropriate safety belts aboard each kart. The adult carer can select what their children watch from a range of appropriate pre-school programs on offer.

Now, I'm the last person to get all high and mighty about TV. I've capitulated to the fact that all four of us are junkies for the big electric nipple, and the TV is often on at our house even if it's just background noise. And you know I don't have a problem with the idea of a DVD player in the car for long trips - although I will say that I'm purposefully avoiding a built-in DVD system in the car because I wouldn't want the kids clamouring for it while we drove to the library or, say, the grocery store.

But seriously! Are kids so unable to entertain themselves - to contain themselves - that we need to sedate them with TV for 60 minutes so mom or dad can pick out the Lucky Charms and cookie dough ice cream lima beans and organic free range chicken in peace?

Call me crazy, but I don't actually mind shopping with the kids. Sometimes. In our neighbourhood we're even lucky enough to have a grocery store that offers a free (FREE!) drop-in playzone where you can leave the kids while you shop. But it's small and the produce and meats haven't been the best quality lately, so we only shop there occasionally. Heck, there are times when I actually like taking the kids with me to do errands. Simply for the (gasp!) pleasure of their company.

And even if you can get past the whole TV in the cart thing, which you can see I'm not quite able to do yet, it's bad enough with the stores that have carts shaped like race cars. The kids know which stores have them and tend to whine if we don't get one. I can only imagine the ruckus if they were anticipating a TV cart and didn't get one. Or if they happened to notice some other kid watching TV in a cart while they had to, you know, not watch TV. Oh, the whinging!

Whaddya think, bloggy peeps? Would you pay a dollar for the priviledge of using a grocery cart with a TV in it? Or would you stop frequenting your favourite store if they suddenly started offering them?

Harry Potter and the invisible horses

This has been bugging me. I've been re-reading the entire Harry Potter series since some time in February or March, and I've got three weeks to finish re-reading Half Blood Prince before the last one comes out.

If you are even remotely a fan, I highly recommend doing this, by the way. I read the first three books back in 2000 or so, and have read each subsequent one as it came out. (That and blogging may well have been the only two times in my life I was even incrementally ahead of the pop culture bandwagon instead of running behind it, begging to be let on.) Anyway, re-reading them has made me even more of a fan, and I'm going to be hugely disappointed when the last one is done and there's nothing left to anticipate.

But something is bugging me - well, aside from the central question around the ending of Half Blood Prince, which at least will likely be answered by the last book. But in the Order of the Phoenix, they have those flying skeletal horses - Thestrals? - that you can only see if you've witnessed death. Harry can see them by the beginning of the fifth book because he's witnessed Cedric's death in the Triwizard Tournament. But the central mythology around Harry is that when Voldemort tried to kill Harry his mother's love protected him, so Voldemort killed his parents instead. Wouldn't Harry have therefore witnessed his parents' death as well, especially since when he encounters the Dementors he talks about hearing his mother screaming? So hasn't he technically witnessed his parents' death as well?

This kind of things are keeping me up at night...

Knock knock

Tristan told his first joke the other day.

"How do you stop a cat from meowing in the back seat?"

"You throw him in the front seat."

I laughed, partly because lame though it was, I'd never heard it before, but mostly because I was delighted that Tristan joins a long line of ancestry in love with bad jokes.

Of course, that was immediately followed by a thousand nonsensical and increasingly unfunny versions from both boys, including "How do you get a pepperoni to stop pizzaing in the back seat?" "You put it in the front seat." If nothing else, they got the format down pat.

Previously, knock-knock jokes reigned supreme. My repitoire for knock-knock jokes is unparalleled.

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Isabelle.
Isabelle who?
Isabelle broken? I had to knock.


Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Police.
Police who?
Po-lice open the door, it's freezing out here.


Knock-knock.
Who's there?
Dwayne.
Dwayne who?
Dwayne the bathtub, I'm dwowning!

The boys are good at memorizing them, but also favour the non-seqitor over an actual pun. For instance:

Knock-knock.
Who's there?
C3p0.
C3p0 who?
C3P0 ate spaghetti for dinner!

I think we need some new material. Care to dip into your repretoire and share your fave kid jokes?

"Home delivery is for pizza"

The title to this post is a bumper sticker from the American College of Obstretricians and Gynecologists quoted in an article about "freebirth" in today's Citizen. The article discusses the apparently increasingly popular choice of some expecting mothers to deliver baby at home with no medical professionals in attendance - no doctor, no midwife, no doula.

Um, no thanks.

(I'm sure my mother is breathing a sigh of relief right about now.)

I guess I'm a moderate on this particular spectrum. I have to admit, I'm a little cynical of people who choose "convenience" c-sections. (We had an interesting discussion about this last year.) And note here I'm talking about convenience c-sections and am in no way being critical of c-sections in general - hell, that's how I debuted almost 38 years ago.

On the other hand, while I can appreciate on an intellectual level why someone would choose an unmedicated child birth, I'd no sooner choose to have my wisdom teeth pulled without medication than try to birth a child without it. The irony is that my body is particularly unresponsive to the epidural, and after hours of tinkering with the "cocktails" both boys were fired out pretty much without the benefit of anesthesia.

While I would never choose a home birth, and certainly not an unassisted one (and again, please let me say that this is not a criticism of those who do - just one girl's humble opinion on what's best for her parts and her babies) I have to admit that for the first time I'm idly considering switching from an obstetrician to a midwife.

(My mother is shaking her head in dismay.)

I've actually always rather enjoyed my obstetrician's clinical professionalism. If I remember correctly, she once served at the chief of obstetrics at the hospital where the boys were born. We've had some pretty traumatic moments with her, from the elevated risk of Down syndrome with Tristan to the miscarriage last year, and while she was never exactly warm or comforting, I was always reassured by my faith in her capability. And yet, because of the nature of her practice, she hasn't been present at the birth of either boy.

A midwife appeals to me because of the extra attention implied in midwife care: the extra hand-holding, extended appointments, and after-birth care. Truthfully, I don't even know that much about midwives and the regulations that govern them here in Ontario. Last I heard, if you have a midwife in attendance at a hospital birth, you are encouraged to leave soon afterward, as opposed to the 48 hours that you stay if you have an OB in attendance. Is that right? And midwives are covered under OHIP (public health insurance), right?

Anyway, I likely won't change - but I'm curious. Where do you find yourself on the continuum - freebirth advocate or convenience c-section or somewhere in between?

Coveting a ditigal SLR

For more than a year, Beloved and I have been talking about getting a digital SLR camera. We started talking about it in abstract terms, a "someday" kind of wistfullness. Beloved is a master at overcoming my resistance to the purchase of new home electronics - I was opposed to the DVD player, the laptop, and our current point-and-shoot digital camera, to name just a few of the things I completely opposed in principal and have since come to know and love. But over the last six months, the "someday" wistfullness has crystalized into me searching sites for product reviews, best prices, and feature comparisons.

The problem with the digital SLR is that I really, really want one. I took a couple of photography classes over the years, and I was just getting comfortable using my dad's 20 year old Canon AE1 hand-me-down when we capitulated to the world of digital point-and-shoot cameras back in 2003. I think I'm a pretty good photographer, and I already know my way around f-stops and focal lengths and aperture, and would really like to have the chance to try out those skills on a digital SLR. I want one, but I can clearly see that we don't need one.

I do love our little Canon Power Shot (or is it a Sure Shot?) and it's done us well over the year, but I fear after a scant four years, it's on its way to meet its maker. They have a bad reputation for the LED screen dying after just a few years, and ours has already lasted longer than some other friends of ours who have the same make and model. At the time, we spent more than $500 including taxes and warranties, so if we're going to have to get a new camera anyway, it seems reasonable to me to spend the extra and splurge on the digital SLR.

And then my cheap side speaks up and chastises me for coveting something so expensive when we already have a perfectly functioning (so far) camera that takes lovely pictures. And I start thinking that for the price of an entry-level digital SLR (and the taxes, and the warranty, and whatever accessories we absolutely must have) we could replace our ugly, unmatched and quickly deteriorating living room furniture. Or we could do a really good job of turning our partly finished basement into a kick-ass playroom/family room. Or we could replace the ugly sky-blue carpet that I hate so much with at least laminate on the main floor, if not hardwood. Or, you know, we could do the responsible and adult thing and pay down some of our rather outrageous consumer debt. Yah right, as if that's going to happen.

In my brand and feature comparisons, I've narrowed my choices down to a basic Canon Rebel and a Nikon D40. Since we already have a Canon, I understand that the couple of hundred dollars' worth of memory cards we have would be compatible, which is a definite selling point. Plus, as I said, my dad has a lovely if not antiquated Canon AE1 with some very cool lenses, some of which may (or may not) be compatible with a new theoretical Rebel, should we be able to convince him to donate them to our cause.

I even toyed with the idea of picking one up while we're down in the States, but Beloved loves his extended warranties, and I'm not sure how well they'd translate cross-border. Besides, with the Canadian dollar creeping towards par, I'm not sure the savings would be huge or worth it.

I'm on the fence, but canted dangerously at an 85 degree angle towards capitulating to my desire. So, whaddya think? Do you have a digital SLR? Do you have any recommendations, tips or thoughts? Go on, convince me. Beloved will thank you for it!

Edited to add: Thanks for all your comments and opinions. You twisted my rubber arm. We are now proud owners of a Nikon D40. I'm in love!

Stalking Stephen King

I was 10 years old when I picked up a copy of Firestarter that my mom left lying on an ottoman. I was fascinated by the story of Charlie McGee, the little girl who could light fires simply by thinking about them, and by the way she was treated as a lab project. I became an instant fan, and went on to read almost all of Stephen Kings books... probably a large part of the reason that I'm almost 38 years old and still prone to being afraid of the dark! But in addition to scaring the pants off me at regular intervals for the past 30 years, I think I've also learned a lot about the craft of writing, and of storytelling, from Stephen King. Even after all the novels, I think On Writing remains my favourite of his works, and one of my greatest inspirations as a would-be writer.

So when we were noodling ideas on where to go on our summer vacation and we stumbled on Bar Harbor, and I realized that to get to Bar Harbor we'd have to drive through Bangor, Maine, my fascination with Stephen King helped seal the deal. I was introduced to the idea of Maine through the works of Stephen King: Salem's Lot, Carrie, Cujo, Pet Semetary, The Tommyknockers, and of course, It. I think It scared me worse than any other book in my life, and it's actually set in the town of Bangor, masquerading as "Derry."

I was delighted to find out that the Bangor visitors and convention bureau actually sponsors the Tommyknockers and More Bus Tour of Bangor, a tour of some of the places immortalized in King's work - and then was crushed to realize we will be missing the first tour of the season by a scant five days.

Reading this article in Maine Today about Stephen King's Maine, I followed references to Bett's Bookstore in the heart of Bangor, home of a giant collection of King's works and memorabilia. I sent a quick e-mail to the owner briefly outlining my fascination with Stephen King, our upcoming vacation and my disappointment at missing the bus tour. He returned my e-mail the same afternoon, saying he'd be glad to give me a copy of the same map they use for the tour if I'd like to stop by the store.

In my ongoing stalking research, I found this Roadside America link with photos and a map to the exact location of Stephen King's own house, just around the corner from the bookstore. I mean, it's one thing to take a walking tour of the Barrens *shudder* or to make my way up to the Standpipe, but to actually walk by Stephen King's house? Way wicked cool!

So, our trip to Maine will be memorable for many, many reasons. There's a playdate scheduled with an old bloggy friend I can't wait to meet, and the boys' first trip to the ocean (and out of the country, for that matter.) There will definitely be my first-ever visit to Target.

But Stephen King? I've got shivers just thinking about it.

Talk amongst yourselves

Ugh. Not feeling well today. I've been really lucky with my headaches lately, as they are becoming increasingly rare. Unfortunately, right now when I do get one there's not much to do but pray that the Tylenol works and crawl back into bed.

But now that you're here, you can't just wander away. In anticipation of our road trip at the end of the month, tell me the best (or worst, or funniest, or simply most memorable) road trip you ever took. For me, the stupidest one was hitchhiking from London to Sudbury with my boyfriend when I was 17.

The lost post

Some time between midnight and two in the morning, I woke up with a perfectly brilliant idea for a post. I lay awake for a moment, working out the details and crafting the structure. As I stumbled to the bathroom and back to bed, I actually laughed out loud a little bit with delight at the sheer cleverness of it. I pulled the comforter up tight against my chin, making little mnemonic links in my head so I would be able to retrieve at least the kernel of the idea from the foggy recesses of my brain.

So strong was the resonance of that flash of insight that the first thought that traversed the blank expanse of my brain upon waking was one of curiousity. I had an idea, said my sleep-addled brain, a really good idea. Now, where did I put it? And though I spent quite a few minutes sorting through dusty piles of clutter and looking in long-forgotten corners and cupboards in the dark warrens of my brain, it was no use.

There was even one breathtaking moment of near-revelation, when I sensed the impression of the idea standing nearby, waiting for me to quiet my noisy brain long enough to recognize it or follow the breadcrumbs of nearby concepts so the idea could reveal itself to me in all its inspired glory. But no. It's gone.

Damn. I'm sure it would have been a much better post than this one, too. Any idea what it might have been about?

The Secret, and other thoughts

Jojo dropped off her DVD of The Secret last night, as promised. I'd been hearing a lot about it, and I was curious in a skeptical sort of way. I had mostly dismissed it until some reasonably credible people in my life started singing its praises, and then I heard that the mentoring and coaching program at work was also advocating it.

Beloved and I watched it together, and I have to admit that there were no dramatic epiphanies on either of our parts. The Secret is basically a repackaging of the power of positive thinking mixed in with a bit of theosophy and a little bit of The Force thrown in for good measure... conveniently, the three tenents upon which I've already built my own rather esoteric faith system.

The premise is that your thoughts and feelings have a physical power, and that there is a universal "law of attraction" that draws what you think and feel to you. In short, if you send good energy out into the universe, the universe sends good things back to you. I'm completely on board with that philosophy, and have tried to live my life that way for years. Where I am still a little skeptical is the extrapolation from that, where The Secret claims that whatever you want, as minor as a parking spot close to the door at the mall or as major as a multi-million dollar mansion by the beach, you can draw to yourself through three simple steps. First, tell the universe what you want. Second, visualize not only that you actually have what you covet, but allow yourself to experience the positive emotions that you will feel when you have the thing you covet. Third, believe in the power of your thoughts.

Hmmm.

I remember back in the early 1980s when we were growing up, we used to play a lot of cards as a family. My dad, who was in sales at the time, was a hugely strong believer in the power of positive thinking, and he'd slap his hand on the deck of cards and 'demand' which card he wanted to pick up. I can't remember how frequently it would work as a ratio of the number of times he tried it, but damn if it didn't work at least often enough to leave an impression with me all these years later.

So maybe there is something to this. I mean, I do agree with Shakespeare, who says through Hamlet, "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."( I,v, 175) And I can't argue with the underlying premise. I just have trouble with the covetous aspect of this particular philosophy, that you can attract stuff to you by simple virtue of your desire.

I also have a bit of a problem with the idea that you attract everything to yourself, including the bad stuff. You attract cancer and AIDS and poverty through negativity? And the idea that you can cure yourself of something - again, cancer comes to mind, but I'm also thinking of infertility here - by simply willing it away? What really bothers me about this is the implication that if you can't will it away, you simply aren't trying hard enough.

Anyway, it was very interesting, and the timing was certainly right. I've been making a conscious effort to lead a calmer, less obsessive, more "zen" life since last Wednesday. I'm giving myself over to the universe, placing my faith in fate, and I have to tell you it's been incredibly liberating.

I've decided, for example, not to go for a beta blood test to find out the actual hCG count. This is a huge departure from the girl who kept obsessive results of hormone levels and follicle counts in an excel spreadsheet through four infertility treatments. Those of you who were around last September when I found myself pregnant will remember the great gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands that occurred when the blood test came back at the high end of normal, possibly indicating twins. The great irony, of course, is that high hCG is at least ordinarily an indicator of a strong pregnancy. So, I've decided this time to simply be grateful for the positive pregnancy test this time around, and wait patiently for the first ultrasound in two weeks.

Same with the nanny that we interviewed the other day - the same day, in fact, that we found out about the pregnancy. She's great and I really like her, but I'm not sure we can pay what she needs. So I made our best offer, and she's been considering it. I could have obsessed and been anxious and fretted for days, but none of that would have made any difference whatsoever. Instead, I've given it over to the universe, and know that whatever was meant to be will happen. I've done what I can, the rest is up to her.

I'm not sure if I can keep this up, but I'd like to try. I think this is what people who have true faith in God can do - simply turn over their hopes and fears to God, with the faith that God knows best and the Will of God will prevail.

But on the off chance it might help, I think I'll take a few quiet minutes over the next little while to visualize the new caregiver frolicking happily in the park with my boys, and my round-bellied self waddling up the street to meet them with my heart spilling over with joy. I mean, it can't hurt, right?

Whaddya think? You buy it?

Thirty years of Star Wars

I've been meaning to blog for a few days about the 30th anniversary of the release of Star Wars.

Thirty years.

Thirty!!

Star Wars is, hands down, the single most influential movie in my life. It also happens to remain my all-time favourite movie. My childhood memories are tightly woven into a backdrop of Star Wars movies, toys, books, bubble-gum cards and mythology. On this anniversary weekend, there have been plenty of articles in the media about how seminal Star Wars was, and how it changed the movie landscape forever. From an article in the weekend Citizen:

No wonder the U.S. Library of Congress' National Film Registry has named Star Wars "a culturally, historically, and aesthetically important" film, or that the American Film Institute placed it 15th on its list of the top 100 films in the 20th century. And then there's that ubiquitous line from the movie: "May the Force be with you." The AFI ranks the phrase as the eighth-greatest quote in American film history. In this light, it is no exaggeration to say, as film critic Stephen Greydanus puts it, "the Star Wars universe remains a cultural institution of immense proportions."

I clearly remember going to see it for the first time. We went with another family, and on the way to the theatre the four adults sat in the front and back seat of our wood-panelled Cutlass Ciera station wagon (it was, after all, 1977) and we kids rolled around like peas in a 10-gallon tub in the back. Return of the Jedi was the first movie my brother and I were allowed to attend without parental supervision; I remember my father dropping us off in front of the downtown cinema - in the days before the mall-based multi-plex - for an 8:30 am showing.

When we got our first VCR in the early 1980s, one of those giant ones with the square buttons you pushed down and held to make them stick and where the lid opened upwards to accept the cassette and the 'remote' was attached by a long cord and consisted of an analogue switch with two options 'pause' and 'play', Star Wars was the first movie we rented and later copied. I lost count of how many times I watched it through high school, but it was in excess of 120 times. (I may have mentioned I didn't get out much in the earliest years of high school, and by the time I had a pack of friends, they were the kind of good-natured geeks who loved nothing better than to watch Star Wars again and again right along with me after hours spent playing D&D.)

Growing up, my brother had tonnes of Star Wars action figures and playsets. We (note the plural possessive - they may have been gifts for him, but we played with them together) had the ice planet Hoth, the Death Star, and of course, a Millennium Falcon. I had a wicked crush on Luke Skywalker through the first two movies, but as I entered my teen years my tastes strayed from Luke's clean-cut innocence to the roguish worldliness of Han Solo... because in the end, no matter how good the girl, she always likes the bad boys the best.

All these years later, I will still queue up Star Wars in the DVD player if I have an open stretch of evening and feel for a little cinematic comfort food. I think it's safe to say that I would personally rank the movies in the descending order they came out, except that I liked Episode III more than Episode I. I'm a purist, though. The new series, the Anakin stories, are good movies in and of themselves, but they don't hold a candle to the original trilogy.

The Interwebs are full of Star Wars tributes and memes, but these two I couldn't help but share. Have you seen this this hilarious photo from Flickr? Apparently the US Postal Service decorated mailboxes to look like R2D2 in honour of the movie's 30th anniversary. The photo is clever, but the comments embedded into it are hilarious. (Note to self: figure out how they did that - very cool!)

And one last treasure to share with you: this clever little plot comparison between Star Wars and Harry Potter from Neat-o-rama. Perhaps this one appealled to me in particular because I'm deep in the heart of the Harry Potter books, currently in the thick of the Goblet of Fire, working my way through the series in anticipation of Deathly Hallows this summer. Funny to think that Harry Potter may be for this generation of kids what Star Wars was for me!

This post is getting unweildy and I still haven't examined how Star Wars influenced me spiritually, or how Beloved and I still compare and contrast what the movies meant to us growing up. I haven't had a chance to talk about the quotable Star Wars, and how the language of the movie introduced me to a world of rebel alliances and emperors and bounty hunters and cantinas and smugglers and ambassadors - words I learned for the first time through Star Wars and that coloured forever my understanding of them. I haven't gotten into how Star Wars made me curious about life on other worlds, and inspired a life-long love of astronomy and fascination with SETI... I could go on for two sets of trilogies!

What does Star Wars mean to you?

A birthday gift for Papa Lou

It's my Dad's birthday today. Dad, if you happen to be reading, go away! You can come back tomorrow, but if you read any more you're going to spoil the surprise of your birthday present.

(I can never tell which of my family members reads the blog with any regularity. I know my Mom reads every day - Hi Mom! - and I've set the blog as the default home page on our internet browser, so I know Beloved reads the posts about him and the ones with catchy titles. My sister-in-law in Windsor has said she reads it, but I don't know how regularly - Hi Belinda! - and while I think my brother mostly ignores it, his wife drops by sporadically. Hi Nat! Where was I going with this? Oh right, I was giving my Dad time to leave the room so we can talk about him.)

My Dad doesn't ask for much, and he's difficult to buy for simply because what he wants he immediately goes out and gets. (At least I come by my lack of impulse control honestly!) He has been known to buy stuff for himself on December 23 that someone has already bought and wrapped and tucked under the Christmas tree for him.

So when he mentioned that he would like a cordless drill for his birthday to replace one that wouldn't hold a charge more than a few minutes, I was thrilled to have an easily obtainable gift that I would love to give, and that he would really need and (hopefully!) would not acquire for himself in the days leading to his birthday.

The only caveat was that he wanted to make sure it had a minimum of XX volts of power. I say XX because within three minutes of the conversation, I was distracted and whatever number fit into that XX slot was lost forever. I think he said 18v, but he might have said 12v; I didn't want to ask him because that would confirm that I was taking him up on his suggestion and he would know he was getting the drill for his birthday. (Subtle, eh? Almost as subtle as writing on the Internet about it.)

The very next week, Canadian Tire had a nice 12v cordless drill in the flyer for 35% off, and I made a mental note to pick one up and ask my brother if he wanted to share the $50 cost with me. (Hey, we're Dutch and Scottish; what can I say, we're cheap.) He didn't immediately reply to my e-mail, but I wasn't too worried about it. I saw the flyer on the day before the sale came into effect, and thought every single day of the seven-day sale, "I've really got to get over to Canadian Tire and buy that drill." I finally made it late on the last day of the sale, a good 10 days ahead of my Dad's birthday. I was a little concerned that he had said he wanted a 18v instead of a 12v, but I figured if he really had his heart set on a 18v, he could just trade up.

Drill safely tucked into my closet, I sent another e-mail to my brother asking if he wanted to go in with me. A few days after that, I saw in a flyer that Zellers had an even nicer 18v cordless drill with two batteries for only $40. More power for less cost? That in itself is a gift my Dad would be all over!! But I promptly forgot through the weekend to get myself over to Zellers to pick one up. So yesterday morning I called Beloved from work and told him his task for the day was to get over to Zellers to buy that drill, and we'd take the other one back to CanTire.

After I called Beloved, I called my brother, who reported that he had in fact received my e-mails, and had found a great deal at Rona on an 18v cordless drill, so he had picked it up. He wasn't entirely sure how or when he'd get it up to Dad here in Ottawa, but it was still a better deal than the original one I'd bought at CanTire. I told him about the Zellers deal, and he agreed that it was the best deal of all and we would respectively return our other cordless drills to Rona and CanTire.

Are you keeping track? At this point we've purchased not one, not two but THREE cordless drills. When we get something into our heads as a family, we really follow through!

Beloved called me late yesterday afternoon to report that he had successfully acquired the third and final drill. He said that while he and the boys were in Zellers, they encountered - of all people - my Dad. I don't think I've ever heard my Dad talk about Zellers before. He likes Winners and WalMart and the dollar store - oh how he loves the dollar store! - but I haven't ever heard of him haunting Zellers. I was SURE that Beloved would report that they found him with cordless drill in hand, but apparently not. Beloved and the boys had a close call, though, diving into a nearby rack of clothing when they first spotted Papa Lou, and then leaving the drill safely hidden in a pile of clothes while they went over to say hello. Tristan relayed the story to me with great hilarity as I tucked him into bed last night, highly amused that Beloved had to quickly clap his hand over Simon's mouth as an abrupt end to a sentence that began, "Papa Lou! Guess what? We just bought you a ...."

Okay, so this post is more for me than for you. I'm okay with that if you are. Truth be told, it's really for my Dad, who is a living example of what a great father and a wonderful grandfather should be. He'd appreciate a story about how his family schemed and planned and leapt behind racks of clothing to avoid him.

Happy birthday, Dad, even if you aren't allowed to read this post until your birthday is done!

Now, where DID I put the receipt for that first drill?

Doctor doctor

I've been feeling like crap all week, and chastising myself for not being able to shake off what seems to be nothing more than a cough, albeit a deep and juicy one. I've been sooooooo tired, though, and if I do anything more energetic than, say, lift a coffee cup to my lips, I've been left feeling clammy and yucky.

Since Tristan has been on antibiotics for a double ear infection all week, I thought I should cram in a quick visit to the doctor before our camping weekend. Kind of glad I did - turns out I have walking pneumonia. (!) Suddenly I don't feel so bad about feeling bad! Funny how validating it is to have someone confirm that yes, you are actually sick.

I checked with Dr Google when I got home (a very risky business at the best of times, even post-diagnosis) and lookit that, my doctor with all the fancy degrees is right, the symptoms that have been plaguing me all week do sound like walking pneumonia.

That's five trips to the doctor in eight days for the four of us - Tristan's (almost) well-child annual check-up on Wednesday; a double-appointment to the after-hours pediatric clinic on Friday when we noticed discharge coming out of Tristan's ear (and wanted to get Simon's chest cough looked at while we were at it); Beloved went to a walk-in clinic for tendon problems in his thumb; plus my visit to my GP. (Sheesh! My last visit to the doctor before this was my d&c follow-up in November; my last visit to my GP was in August.)

Can I get a hallelujah for socialized medicine? The longest any of us waited was 26 hours, for my appointment yesterday. We paid nothing for any of the visits. I'll get 80% of the drug costs back under my health-care plan at work.

(The boys have no idea what I'm writing about, only that mommy is too busy playing with the computer to pay attention to them. Again. But they're sitting at my feet playing doctor with Simon's doctor kit. Way too cute!)