Heads or Tails

Today I proved that odds are in favour of the flipper, (as opposed to the caller...not the flippee.) I know what you're thinking: the odds of flipping a coin are 50-50, right?

Wrong!

Let me explain. There are three ways that a coin can land when you flip it: Heads, Tails, or on it's edge. Today I flipped a coin to decide if I was going to make an afternoon Starbucks run. Heads I go, Tails I don't. It came to rest up on it's edge. No kidding! Of course now I was faced with the paradox of neither going nor not going to Starbucks, (follow that?) I instead took it to mean I should make my own decision and not leave it to chance, so I went. Anyway, what this incredible event proved is that it's not 50-50 when you flip a coin. It's more like 49.[some long string of 9's] Heads vs. the same Tails, and some very small fraction left over for the edge. Really though, when something like that happens, who doesn't try to do it again immediately? I flipped the coin two more times and it came up Heads both times, so what I really proved today is that when you flip a coin, two thirds of the time it will come up Heads, and the other third it will land on it's edge.

Hey, like the government and TV execs, I can make stats say anything I want.

If fact, tonight I'm going to prove that 100% of Kevin's prefer Dairy Queen to the gym on Tuesdays.

All for now,
Kef...

Wrapping up Winter

Well, it was a hard fought battle but our team couldn't pull through for the win on Friday, so that means another curling season is pretty much in the books. The other team still has a game on Monday that might be worth some cash but that'll be it. All the snow around here is gone, even the giant mall parking lot piles, and today it is raining which is good because it gets most of the crummy winter salt off the road. Winter truly is over, which gets me thinking about this summer.

I've had the 'spring' jacket on for a while, (even for a few days that probably were too cold.) I pulled out the carpet car mats and they're ready to go in. I ran outside for the first time this past week; I've been on the treadmill all winter. I put the bike back together a while back, (I was hopeful,) including the new aero bars I got a Christmas. I bought myself a race wetsuit that I am dying to try. Then I started looking at my calendar...

Yeah, if you want to do anything with me on any weekend over the summer, you'd better let me know now.

The first thing I did was put all the races from the Subaru series in. Eleven races in total, but I hope to hit nine of them. I actually did this a ways back to work out the training schedule, but this is the first time I've tried to see how the rest of the summer shaped up. Next I put in the weddings. The Roomy and Ang, Boomer and Ryguy, Crustina and Andrew, (yeah, he doesn't have a nickname.) Plus my cousin but that isn't until October. Four weddings...not like I haven't done that before. (Just no funeral, please.) Next was the camping weekends. I think there is only one for sure but maybe I can squeeze in a couple more. Also, I think I am going back to baseball this year. Chucky asked me to play on the Wishing Well men's team this year so that should be fun. There's the weekend away with the Youth Leaders... Ugh, I haven't even figured out when I am going to golf yet, plus I have to move at some point. I can see September coming and I won't even know how it got here.

Anyway, I think the point was that I am excited about this next season and how it's going to unfold. I'm sure over the next couple of weeks there will be even more that I will have to shoehorn into the calendar but it always seems to work out.

Now I just have to pray that we don't get the one last Easter snow storm for which the TDot is famous.

All for now,
Kef...

Stupid FREAKIN' iTunes!

I have a complaint.

"You take three months away from blogging and you come back with complaints?" the tens and tens of my readers ask.

Yes...deal.

I think one of THE dumbest, most ridonkulous things a piece of software can do, is access the internet using an already open browser window. What if I am doing something important in that browser window? What if I am writing on my blog? What if I am writing an email? A long email. One that has taken a lot of thought and time in collecting my thoughts and editing them into comprehensible sentences.

I am especially angry at iTunes right now. In fact, Apple in general. I had even (briefly) considered buying a Mac next time compy blows up... NO MORE!!

Let me set it up for you. I was writing an email to a friend on my hotmail account. Yes, I use hotmail, I have always used hotmail, I will always use hotmail because there is nothing more frustrating than trying to make sure everyone knows your new email address. Anyway, writing an email. A long one. To put it in perspective, it had been about 45 minutes. Suddenly, the music I've been listening to stops and I take the opportunity to put in the new CD I got today. iTunes doesn't show the CD for me to play it. This didn't truly surprise me with all the copyright blah blah blah. I wondered if I was missing something though so I tried to get some help. Apparently iTunes help is web based because the option I selected brought up the email I had been working on and proceeded to go to a new page.

AHHH! NO! STOP BROWSER! BACK BUTTON! Son of a... (I think I truly did stop here, I'll have to ask the Roomy.)

The email was gone. First person that says I should save my work as I go...I take their space bar! I was so mad I hit the close button on iTunes immediately. The dang program started up again. What the... I hit close again. Starts up again. "Give me a break!" (may have yelled this) I hit close one more time. The freakin' iTunes program starts up again... "SCREW OFF!!" (This, I know I yelled.) The next thing I did may have been a little irrational, but I had been in a bad mood for most of the day and we had lost our curling match earlier in the evening. I proceeded to hit CTRL-ALT-DEL about 37 times...hard.

Yes, I gave my compy the Three Finger Salute, usually only reserved for such special occasions as the Blue Screen of Death. It's ok, it has recovered enough for me to tell you all about it here. Man I hate Mondays sometimes.

I hope I have the Tuesdays tomorrow...

All for now,
Kef...

Only the good die young

Well, I guess it happens to the best of us. I haven't been on here in ages, but I figured it was time to make a little update. That little update happened over on the Blogger profile side of things. I am no longer a 20-something. That's right, as of Friday I have officially complete my third decade of life and am now the big 3-0. Really, I don't feel any different, despite all the ribbing I've been getting about it. I think the good part is that I am not the first of my close friends by far to go through this. My Sis of course says she can't talk to me again until she gets there... I wonder if I can hold her to that? (haha, just kidding krispy!)

Something a little more exciting than me getting older is the fact that today was Youth Sunday at our church. This is when the Youth groups (SWAT for high school and Area 51 for Jr High,) take over the morning service. Today the SWAT band did all the music, (they rock!) Well, almost all the music. The band made up of completely students is so good that none of us leaders have to help, so we got together and did our own song. It was cool to get up there with Boomer, Ems and Chucky...it feels like so long since we've done it. The Roomy got some people to participate in some of the games that he does at a typical Area 51 gathering. For example: Vegatabowling! He sets up golf tees like bowling pins on one end of a table and someone stands at the other end and spits a brussel sprout out of their mouth to knock them down... Yeah, Narsty! Anyway, then he gave a great talk in place of one of the regular pastors, (not that their talks aren't great, too...) and then we ate pizza! In fact most of the guys are probably still there playing Settlers. I couldn't stay because today is the first day of curling playoffs. Speaking of which, I should be off.

I drive a lot slower now, you know...

All for now,
Kef...

That is the night before the Christmas

You may remember my slightly strange activity that I call retransing, which is using an online translator to translate into, and back from a foreign language in order to create something funny, (or just completely random.) I am at it again.

In the spirit of the Holiday, I present to you, A Visit from St. Nick.

That is the night before the Christmas, passing by the house completely because the mouse is not made equal, you stirred any creative things which are not,

The stocking caught with the smokestack of worry of the desire that, St. Nicholas directly is there,

As for offering/accompanying with their beds as for range of vision of the candy it danced with the head, but you drew close entirely securely

And for napping the long winter, it solved mamma of her handkerchief, and I of my hats exactly,

When with the lawn that kind of the sound which is said shakily happening there, as for problem those which are in order to see I leapt from the bed.

I like the flash flew in the window, pulled the shutter which was opened and tore, and threw on the sash.

Month of chest of snow which was dropped newly gave the gloss of noon to purpose next

The miniature sleigh, and the reindeer of 8 minimum something to the eyes which are thought in my doubt should appear, the time

The small old operator and, therefore and it was fast actively, I had known when that becomes St. Nick,

Quicker that coursers than ワシ it came, he blew called the whistle, shouted, and those with appointing;

"Now, Dasher! Now, the dancer! Now, Prancer and Vixen! Comet! Cupid! Donder and Blitzen!

On porch! On wall! The current dash which leaves! Dash! Be mixed up do everything!

When meeting to the leaf and the obstacle which "it flies before the hurricane of the wildness and dries,

So it threw as a mount to the sky to house-top, coursers of toy and complete sleigh of St. Nicholas.

And next, with glitter, I inquired about prancing and pawing of the hoof where each is small with the roof.

That I pulled by my hand, turned simultaneously, Nicholas came with the limit under saint of the smokestack.

As for him, the clothes to that feet from that head of all furs as for arrival and that clothing all ashes and the smut it changed color;

He threw with that, and depending upon him like the fair entrance of the itinerant merchant the bundle of the toy where that pack is visible.

Whether -- those shone or, that eye! The cheerful how that cavity! That cheek seemed like that nose like the rose and the cherry!

The that droll small mouth was pulled like the bow, self-depreciation of that jaw the snow was white;

The smoke which surrounds that head like the flower garland and the stump of the tube which he grasps hard with that tooth;

There was a wide surface in him, the small circular stomach shook, that him like bowlful of the jelly when laughing.

He is chubby, in spite even in by my I meet to him the time, portly you laugh, the right being pleasant, the old elf, me;

The ま of that eye twist of going back and forth and that head in order to know that has nothing the fact that I fear, gave me directly;

He spoke the word which is not, but it advanced to that work straightly, and satisfied stocking everything;

The fact that side you put that finger of the urgent movement, and that nose, and the fact that signal on the smokestack is given, then being turned, he rose stand;

He leapt to that sleigh, it gave the whistle to that team, like the feather of everyone thistle it flew.

But as for me before he drove from vision, "everything happy Christmas to everything he who inquires about that you shout is completed cripes."

Wow...just wow. Yeah, don't ask. I have NO idea where "cripes" even came from. Soon we'll have the outcome of the Trivial Pursuit competition. So far we've found out that we are pretty even, (the Brother in Law has a half game edge,) and we shouldn't let my Mum play, she aparently knows almost everything...about everything...except maybe basketball.

I will provide the final results as soon as they are available, as well as the results of the impromptu billiards tournament that has been going on. Until then I leave you with:
"Dash! Be mixed up do everything!"

All for now,
Kef...

Freak Curling Accident

Well, the last post brought on more comments than usual. The Fabulous Mira seems to have sparked some debate as to the validity of playing Trivial Pursuit against family members. I agree with the Sis on this one; who you are playing against is less than relevant unless you grew up in a bubble together. And, I am pretty sure that Mira is 3X New Year’s Eve champ because I wasn’t there for any of those games. (Zing!) I was on her team for our last round of Shout About, (at her birthday,) and we kicked more than a little ass in both games.

But alas, I now declare that subject closed until after the Championship has concluded. It is time to move to more pressing matters. Like how much my foot is FREAKING KILLING ME right now.

Sunday at the curling club started out like any Sunday at the curling club. [Curling: n/v – origin, Scotland – 1. The OTHER Canadian dominated sport played on ice.] Show up, change, stretch, shake hands with the other team while exchanging pleasantries such as “Nice to meet you,” “Good Curling!” or “You are SO going down!” Next, I moved on to the ice to start the game and noticed something strange. The ice was pretty slippery.

Let me take a moment here to explain to those of you who do not curl that I am not completely insane. Yes, ice is always slippery. But, curling ice is pebbled, (they lightly sprinkle water onto the ice so it is not smooth but has a “bumpy” texture, kind of like an orange peel,) and we wear soft rubber soled shoes that grip the ice. Sometimes due to temperature changes or other phenomenon that I am not aware of, the ice gets frosty, (yes, frost on ice, just accept that I know what I am talking about,) and then it is slipperier than normal.

Anyway, I throw second so I was sure to be careful while sweeping our Lead’s rocks until it was my turn to throw. As I moved to the end to take my turn however, I had a momentary lapse of balance and started to slip. Experienced curlers have two instincts if they find themselves falling during a game: 1) Don’t crash your broom on the ice if you can help it, and 2) Don’t crash your head on the ice if you can help it. I managed crash neither broom nor head on the ice and landed solidly on my rump, which may already have a couple pounds of the winter weight on it so it was a decently padded landing. But, here is where the “Freak” part of the accident comes in. At the end of a sheet of curling ice there is a bumper to stop rocks that run through the house. This bumper is just high enough that I can almost get my foot under it. As I slipped, I attempted to jam my foot into that too small space, (not on purpose,) and seeing as it only almost fits, I caught the end of my toe and nearly ripped my big toenail clean off.

I’ll pause here while everyone makes either the universal “Ooo-that-musta-hurt” grimace, or the “Ooo-I’ve-done-that-it-does-hurt” wince with nod.

So now it’s Wednesday and I think I may be in more pain than when it actually happened. I woke up at about four this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep because of it, and I’ve actually considered whether it would be better to just lose the entire foot. (Only briefly, I know how lucky I am to have all my working body parts.) You’d be surprised how hard it is to concentrate when someone is jamming a spike into your toe while it is on fire! Ok, I’m exaggerating and probably sound like a bit of a baby…but I don’t care!

In other recent news, Christmas is upon us so the cubicle decorations have made their way out of the box again and this year my floor is having a team decorating challenge! Stay tuned for pictures.

Icicle lights + green cardboard cut-outs + glue + glitter = no end of holiday fun!

All for now,
Kef…

It's On

I was wondering what to blog about, and then I received this comment:

anonymous said…
actually it was free range from a local
farm
and you suck at trivial pursuit

Section one of comment is a true story. Part of our conversation at dinner was about how it seemed odd that this free range monster chicken had less growth hormone and other like additives than most grocery store birds.

Section two of comment is NOT a true story. My immediate reaction to section two would normally be, “Your Mama sucks at Trivial Pursuit!” but alas, I believe I know who this anonymous lurker is. It is none other than the almost entirely, but not quite completely less than famous Professor Krispy Giggle-Guts Googieboggie Wise III, (or, My Sis,) and therefore as I mentioned previously, the Mama comment is probably inappropriate. (And, untrue as me Ma has some mad skillz with the trivia.)

Anyway, the Sis, (who continues to think I am a geek, (or nerd, I can’t remember which,) for having a blog and yet continues to read and occasionally comment on said blog,) is probably just a little upset that she lost twice on the weekend. I can understand her frustration. She did not have the luck of the draw for most of the second game. Frequently she would get a brown question (Arts and Lit) for a pie which went something like this, “Who was the poet laureate for Ireland from 1742 to 1753?” (I made that up; I don’t even know if it has an answer.) Then, on my turn I would get something like, “What is the title of the second book in the Lord of the Rings trilogy?” Also, keep in mind that we were playing an original 1981 edition of the game, which incidentally is the year the Sis was born. This was funny when it came to some of the blue (geography) questions that asked us about East Germany, Czechoslovakia, and the USSR.

She’s probably also upset that she subsequently lost the several rounds of “Question Offs” that we had. [Question Off: [kwes-chuh~n awf] – noun – origin: Belleville, early 21st century – 1. A situation where each player in a game of Trivial Pursuit is required to answer all six questions on a single card, the winner being the player that answers the most questions correctly. Usually used to break ties or settle family disputes.]

Or, she’s upset about my uncanny ability to produce answers to questions without even knowing why, (or, as the Brother in Law puts it, to pull answers out of my ass.) For example, take my thought process to answer the question, “Who was the Prime Minister of Britain that preceded Winston Churchill?” Brain says, “Hmm, I’m not good at history. Ok, let’s work this out; I heard a name once, (I think,) that sounds British and sounded important, you know, leader-like.” Mouth says, “Chamberlain…?” Brother in Law falls over backwards (literally) in disbelief. I have since read up on Chamberlain so if the question comes up, “What was the name of the peace treaty Chamberlain signed with Hitler in 1938?” I will know the answer.

The point, (I think,) is this: It’s on!

I hereby declare that this Christmas Holidays will be the official time of the World Championship of Trivial Pursuit. [Note: “World” is used very loosely here. See historical reference on the Badminton Championship of the World.] We will play any and all versions of Trivial Pursuit available, (within reason; I wouldn’t make everyone play the Star Wars version because I would own,) in order to determine the true champion. The contestants of course will be myself, the Sis, and the Brother in Law. Others present will be welcome to join but we wouldn’t want to embarrass you all.

And Kristy, no reading all the cards to study up!

All for now,
Kef…

Thanksgiving Chicken!

I have mentioned in the past how I am not a fan of turkey. Oversized, dried-out, monster of a bird… don’t get me started. So although I was looking forward to spending time with family this past weekend for Thanksgiving*, I was not necessarily looking forward to the dinner.

As it turned out, I was pleasantly surprised. I looked into the fridge on Saturday and saw what I thought was a smallish turkey ready for the evening feast. (Ready to be part of the feast, rather than ready to partake of it… just thought I’d clarify.) The bird I discovered however was not a smallish turkey, but rather an obscenely largish chicken. How large? Let’s put it this way. If one was to go to a Swiss Chalet for lunch after church on a Sunday, (as close to 99.97% of church goers in the TDot do,) and one was feeling quite hungry, one might order the Half-Chicken Dinner, rather than just the Quarter-Chicken (white or dark.) Half of our Thanksgiving Chicken fed the five people sitting around the table to the “OOOOooooOOOO I am so full” level.

This of course helps my argument against turkey. Even though this chicken was friggin’ huge, it still kept all of its juicy chicken goodness, as opposed to the not-so-juicy turkey not-so-goodness that we are normally accustomed to at Thanksgiving. (Note: except for the turkey my sister, Professor Krispy Giggle-Guts Googieboggie Wise III, made last Christmas which was insanely juicy, (i.e. you could almost wring it out,) due to the fact that she basted it every two minutes according to Cheri.)

I realized something else while hanging out with my sister all weekend. “Your Mama” jokes just aren’t as effective on siblings.

Oh, and I’m better at Trivia Pursuit than my Sis.

All for now,
Kef…

*To any American readers this seems pretty normal, but to explain for those in the Great White North, my Step-Mum is American, (and Canadian, but she was born in the U.S.)

Formerly Known As...

My good friend JWE, (also known as the Neurotic One,) who used to get a link for his name but doesn't any more because he doesn't update his blog... In fact, I think it has come to getting bumped from the side, too.

Anyway, where was I? JWE has changed his name. He shall henceforth be known as:

Jarnospaldervangundersonsen Spelly McSpellerson

Ok, so I changed his name for him, but he brought it on himself. As in the past I will shorten his name for blogging purposes which should be nothing new as his old last name contained redundant letters and people were always trying to shorten it for him. I am debating about the short form, however. One option is JSM, you know to keep the three character standard. This could get confusing for some readers though as Jess sometimes uses the JMS as a sign-off. I'd hate to have someone confuse the two of them because Jess is prettier and Jarnospaldervangundersonsen is a bigger geek, (Hold on now...those are both compliments!) The second option for contraction is JSMcS. There are more letters, but five is way easier to manage than the forty-five in his ridiculously long name.

I wonder if his wife will want to change her name? I don't think she did the first time, (you know, redundant letters and all,) but Angel McSpellerson actually sounds kind of nice. I'll be there on the weekend so I can sort out all the details.

That is, if I don't get buried under the shed.

All for now,
Kef...

Man Cannot Live on Candy and Caffeine Alone

Usually I get a bad case of Monday every week. It strikes hard around sunup and continues until almost noon. Sometimes, after an exceptionally busy weekend or a late Sunday night, the flare up of Monday can continue well into the afternoon. Monday isn't contagious but symptoms are such that one should be isolated if at all possible. One can usually counteract Monday with a healthy dose of caffeine. A Grande Americano will do the trick, but sometimes the forth shot is required.

Occasionally in a week where there has been a particularly virulent occurrence of Monday, it is followed by an outbreak of Tuesday. Tuesday is different in almost every way. It is usually accompanied by a higher than normal level of morning cheerfulness, random silliness, loud talking and bad jokes. (With individuals where loud talking and bad jokes are common, these symptoms are greatly magnified.) Tuesday can also be contagious, infecting others with silliness and loud talking especially. The cause of Tuesday is a mystery but theories include too much sleep after a case of Monday or an overactive adrenal gland. Unlike Monday, caffeine will NOT help a case of Tuesday, in fact it is almost guaranteed to amplify the visible symptoms. However, those that have become addicted to caffeine to battle Monday will find ceasing consumption next to impossible.

Yesterday I had an extremely bad case of Tuesday. Mix with that with the fact that it was Candy Day, (otherwise known as the Eve of All Hallowed Saints Day,) and you'll see the potential recipe for disaster. I ate about six pounds of candy yesterday and drank upwards of three Grande Americanos, (Americanoes? Americani?) Around mid-afternoon, when I was starting to feel the effects of a combined sugar and caffeine crash, I did what any sane individual would do with the materials at hand. I ate more candy and drank more caffeine. Bad news. I went home after work and slept a good portion of the evening away on the chesterfield while my body screamed at me, "What are you doing to me you crazy ba-- fish dropping?!"

In the late evening, I contemplated my state of being and it occurred to me that it was almost November. "That it!" I said, (to nobody in particular because the Roomy wasn't home,) "Time to recommit!"

If you're unfamiliar with my story thus far, my brief lack of internal monologue refers to The November Resolution. Now keep in mind that I have not fallen completely off the wagon. I have been shifted all the way to one side and am holding on with both hands, but the lifestyle change I made has stuck for the most part. At this point I need to recommit to rising early for spin class or the treadmill, hitting the weights a couple times a week, and bringing a healthy lunch more frequently. I am still curling twice a week and playing squash once or twice a week so it shouldn't be too hard. I am setting a bigger goal for next summer by training for a half marathon and hopefully the half-iron triathlon in Parry Sound. So, now that we know all that, there is only one more thing to say:

The faster I finish these m&m's and jelly beans, the faster I can get on with it.

All for now,
Kef...