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Friday, December 29, 2006

Communicating with cats

We have a cat named Sam. It’s a long story, but basically Sam is a Persian rescue cat with a snaggle tooth. He is very smart, quite talkative, and more than a little neurotic. When he started having less than pristine litter-box habits, I started to worry. But his “accidents” were irregular and erratic. We tried cleaning the litter more often and watching for all sorts of other signs, but no luck. Eventually, I reached my limit, and said, “We’ve got to call in Lydia Hiby.” I’d heard about Lydia on a radio show a number of years ago, and we’d used her to communicate with a previous cat who had some issues. She was so successful in her diagnostics that we thought we’d try her again.

To make a long story short, in the new place, we’d put Sam’s litter box in the laundry room, and Sam was so freaked out by the vibrations of the washer and dryer that whenever we did laundry, he couldn’t bring himself to go into the room. And when we were away and my son would come over, he would do marathon stints of laundry, so the cat would sneak into the den and pee there. When I finally went into that room to unpack, and found little puddles, I started keeping the door closed. Then, he’d go on the bath mat, but one day I caught him doing it outside the closed door of the den and when I yelled at him, he disappeared under the bed and didn’t come out for the better part of the day. After the consultation, we moved the litter box, and Sam hasn’t had an accident since. Unfortunately, the only other place we could fit a litter box was just inside the front door - not a very nice welcome - but I suspect we’ll have some custom cabinet built that can hide a litter box beneath it it, and everyone will be happy.

The odd thing is that at the end of the 15-minute consultation, during which time we discussed all sorts of things (Lydia used to be a vet tech, so she can discuss health issues as well as psycho-social issues), I asked if there was anything else that Sam would like us to know. She said that Sam asked to have a bandana. I have no idea how he knows about such things, but we did get him a little cat bandana, and from the time we put it on him he has liked it. Now, I was prepared for her to relay answers to the questions about whether Sam was lonely (no, he loves being the only cat), why he doesn’t like to sit on our laps (he has some arthritis in his feet, and doesn’t like to have to jump up quickly, so prefers to sit beside us), why he is so fussy with his cat food (as a kitten, he was given baby food because he was so little and sickly), and did he mind when we went out of town and left him alone (no, but could we leave a t-shirt on the bed for him). But a bandana? Go figure. But I did notice that since the session, Sam and I seem to be getting along a little better. Or maybe it’s just my imagination.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

The un-holidays

This year, I chose not to write about my birthday because it was really combined with our other celebrations, and there seemed to be little to actually write about. We did have a cake and, when we couldn’t find a birthday candle, someone rustled up a full-sized dinner taper. I got a bracelet, which I discovered scratched up my computer case, so I took it off and put it with the other bracelets I don’t wear. Today I bought myself a late birthday present: the smallest photo printer I could find so it would fit on the little desk in the den. I did this after packing up the inkjet printer to take back to the office, after realizing that though it seems smaller enough in an office setting, at home it would take up te entire desk.

Yesterday, we had an un-Christmas day at home. Everyone does something a little different on the 25th of December - a day with the family, dinner with the folks, a frenetic day spent ferrying children in a sugar-induced high between variuos relatives. We said that any of our friends feeling the need to escape from relatives, take a break between sets of inlaws and mincemeat pies, or just wanting to come by for a visit, could feel free to stop in for some decidedly un-Christmas hang-out time. What they’d find at our place was us, in sweatshirts and slippers, playing ABC (anything but Cristmas) music and movies, and serving up comfort food (chicken soup, split pea soup grilled cheese sandwiches, or home made mac ‘n cheese), and a hot cuppa.

We had a small but steady stream of friends who came by to say hi, have a cup of soup, hang out for a bit, see new pictures of the grandkids, and ten go of to their next engagement. It was wonderful - perhaps we’ll make it an annual tradition.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Christmukah, West Coast style, part 2

What is a West Coast Christmukah without adaptation, otherwise known as compromise? If you don’t have sufganiyot, those little jelly-filled doughnuts, you go to Tim Horton’s and get an assortment of Timbits. If you don’t have traditional potato latkes, you make a low-fat version in a cast iron frying pan on a BBQ. We lit Chanukah candles and played Chanukah music, but also had a Christmas tree and played Christmas music. We exchanged Chaunkah gifts on Friday night, and Christmas gifts on Saturday night. The children enjoyed the gifts equally, not matter what type of paper was used to wrap them. The older kids entertained the middle kids, who entertained the younger ones, and a good time was had by all. Grandson #2 (designation by age) had a soccer game and his sisters formed a cheering section. The baby had great fun walking around the great glass windows, leaving little baby prints behind him. (I felt I should have chipped in for a big bottle of Windex.) I got to know grandson #1 a little better, and appreciate him a lot more. I can’t remember my password to upload photos here but I did put some up as a Google web album.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Christmukah, West Coast style, part 1

Last Thursday night, Vancouver suffered a terrible storm that knocked out some 3,000 trees in Stanley Park, downed power lines all over the city, and created all sorts of other urban havoc.

Needless to say, Friday morning’s carefully choreographed trip to Vancouver Island was not destined to go smoothly. It was supposed to go something like this: Finish printing corporate holiday cards by 6:45 AM. Granddaughter and grandson #1 (designation by age) gets dropped off at 7 AM. Son arrives at 7 AM. Load up car with luggage. Drop cards in mailbox. Pick up potato latkes and sufganiyot order at Solly’s bakery. D rive to home of granddaughter #2. Transfer everything and everyone into their family van. Son takes my car away. Drop off other car at the airport Park ‘n Fly (for the wife, when she arrives from Europe the next day, as she has no car keys). Continue to ferry terminal and get onto 10:15 ferry, crossing to Vancouver Island, crossing over to terminal where we drive north to Nanoose Bay, home of grandson #2.

Well, grandchildren get dropped off - 10 minutes early, even! - but the schedule goes downhill from there. The power lines are down between their house and mine, so my son’s alarm hasn’t gone off and his car is locked in his underground parking garage. So we have to drive over and pick him up, which is in the opposite direction of where we’re going, and the traffic lights are out everywhere, and the city crews are out everywhere, clearing fallen trees from the road, and it takes a very long time to get onto the highway. So we load the kids and luggage into the car and send them off the to ferry while my son and I head to the bakery. But between the traffic and the lights out ... well, we never do get to the bakery - thank goodness they were gracious enough to understand - because we’d miss the ferry otherwise, so we turn down a side street and head to the airport. Except we keep hitting traffic jams, so we alternately speed and crawl to the Park ‘n Fly, and then boot it to the ferry terminal. I jump out of the car with 10 minutes to spare (they’re supposed to cut off ticket sales 15 minutes before sailing) and plead for them to sell me a ticket because my grandkids and my luggage, even my reading material, is on board, not to mention that I’d have to wait for hours for the next ferry. The kind fellow lets me through, and I hoof it to the ferry, where the staff are waiting for me to board so they can close up the boat and pull up anchor (or whatever they do). I should know by now not to choreograph things so tightly.

More about the weekend later ...

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Differences in communication styles

Extrovert’s version of a “discussion”: 30 minutes of debate
Introvert’s version of the same “discussion”: 5 minutes of debate, 25 minutes of rehashing the first 5 minutes

Saturday, December 16, 2006

A Conspiracy of Paper, by David Liss

This was a book I picked up at the airport, or perhaps it was on a sale rack of a bookstore. A Conspiracy of Paper isn’t the sort of book I’d generally pick up, but I thought I’d move a little outside of my usual realm.  What a great read. It’s a book about the history of London in the 18th century, and to illustrate the history, the author, David Liss, weaves a tale that has characters from various classes so we can get a cross-section view of the stratas of society.

The protagonist is a a Jewish ex-boxer who has become a combination private detective / debt collector for wealthy clients. As he interacts with aristocrats, merchants, streetwalkers, petty thieves, and dilitantes, the reader is given a look into the legal, economic, and social workings of England at various levels. The author is a historian, and his attention to historical accuracy makes this book a particularly interesting read.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

The Falls, by Joyce Carol Oates

For many years, I’ve counted Joyce Carol Oates among my favourite authors. In The Falls, a story set in Niagara Falls of the 1950s and 1960s, she reinforces all the reasons why I keep coming back to her work. In a pararaph, Oates can set the scene, create its context, and build enough of a character profile to draw you in. Her writing is rich, but doesn’t drawn you down. It’s smooth without being slick. She tells a story in a personal way that can yet have enough dispassionate narrative that you as reader become enraged on behalf of the characters. You want to write letters to the editor, but wait - you remember it’s fiction. Based on facts, yes, and that’s what flames the passion that is stoked by Oates. The story of The Falls is a story of a woman in love, a woman loved, a woman abandoned by betrayal and death, but also the story of a player played, a town corrupted, a population poisoned, and a price extracted at every opportunity for a toll.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Obsan, by Joy Kogawa

Obasan, by Vancouver-born Joy Kogawa, is a book I’ve meant to read since somewhere in the 1990s when I first heard about it. But it wasn’t until I was at the Steveston Cannery to see a multimedia exhibit by artist Florence Debeugny this summer that I finally picked up a copy of the book in the gift shop. What a powerful story! I knew, intellectually, about this shameful chapter of Canada’s history (not that it’s Canada’s only shameful chpater, but that’s a whole other post) but Kogawa’s book really brought home the absolutely overwhelming grinding down of spirit and soul. The telling of the story from the perspective of the young protagonist, whose lack of information definitely affects her development, is reflected in the lives of the people around her, as well. It’s not often that I leave a book feeling so heavy that the story haunts me for months. This is one of those books.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

It’s not just the break-ins you’ve got to worry about

I had a bad technology day the other day. The kind where everything mechanical or electrical goes slightly wrong. Kind of like the planetary alignment that makes communication go wrong when Mercury goes retrograde. Anyhow, I drive into a parkade in a part of town where touristy meets dodgy, put down my window, take the little ticket, drive up the ramp, push the button to put up my window, and ... my window jams. Goes crooked, then goes right off the track entirely. I can’t very well leave the car in the lot like that - it’s like an invitation to vandalize - so I take the car out of the lot (their credit card machine is broken so I have to dig around for cash) and call my mechanic (but get voice mail) so take the car to the house of family, where we call BCAA (but the line is busy), so I leave my car there and take our other car, which had been stuck in front of their house for a week in a snowbank, and head downtown again. Time lost? Three billable hours.

The next day, I was ill - maybe from driving around with an open window? - and went to see my mechanic, who took the door apart and started running his thumb along the door frame. He told me that it was likely that someone tried to pry open the car door to steal the car, and in the process, bent the frame just enough that the window slipped when I put it down. Why? I asked. It’s an old car - why do you think I drive an old car? I don’t want to drive anything that’s desirable to car thieves. Doesn’t matter; it’s still a BMW, Henry says. Look, he says, the frame is bent here, and here. I wouldn’t have known if it hadn’t been for the window. There were no parts to be replaced, but I did pay for labour. So this was an expensive lesson for me. I have a security device called a Club, and I tend to use it when I’m parking in a dodgy or unfamiliar area of town. But I get lazy when I’m going home or to a friend’s house, and I don’t always put it on. Chances are that if I’d used the Club, I wouldn’t have had this happen because the car would not have been driveable even if entry had been successful. Boy, did I learn my lesson the hard way on this one.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Doug and Bob: Look what you started

Doug and Bob McKenzie did a Hoser rendition of the 12 Days of Christmas that started out with: On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... Beer. How can you top that? Well, I saw a sign on my way to work the other day:

What says Christmas
Like booze and strippers?
Book your Christmas party here
And let our strippers
Show you their Ho Hos.

Nuff said.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

More on avoiding Christmas [music]

Actually, I realize that I’m not avoiding Christmas, per se. What I’m avoiding is “holiday music”. It’s the endless repetition of songs I was never crazy about in the first place. It would be like loving classical music, and then being ambushed by disco music for two months of the year, or loving country music and having the radio suddenly burst into the same two dozen opera songs, repeatedly, two months of the year. I suppose that for those who have grown up with “holiday” music and have fond memories associated with it, there’s a certain reverie that comes with that time of year. But for me, it’s just an annoyance.

This morning, in a Nyquil-induced stupor, I wandered over to the sofa and turned on MuchMusic (a youth-targeted music station like MTV) just in time to see a commercial where a star topping an Xmas tree starts to sing a generic holiday song, wherein an ornament goes postal and demands that it stop. After a frantic sequence involving earmuffs and a chainsaw, bedlam ensues and the ad closes with a “holiday wrap” theme. So it seems that my sentiment is echoed quite widely.

Monday, December 04, 2006

Some companies just don’t get it when it comes to marketing

I got an interesting - useless, mind you, but an interesting spin on useless - offer in my inbox today. My mobile phone service provider wants to give me a shopping bag with their logo splashed on it. Well, if I drive to one of their stores, they’ll give me one, for FREE!! (I wish I knew how to make this blink and twirl like a bad marquee). I gather that by “free,” they will give me one even if I don’t buy one of the phones they’re pushing as holiday gifts to put into the bag so that I can walk around advertising their phones.

I understand that it’s supposed to be a clever promotional gimmick, and I can see one of their used-to-be-a-union-job marketers spinning in their swivel chair and sucking on a pen, wondering how to get the message out there, and thinking, most people just take the bag home and toss it, but if we can get people to re-use the bags for a month or so, that’s a lot of free advertising during a slow season. So how do we make them think of the bag as a commodity and not just a tossable receptacle? I know, people love free stuff. We’ll give them a bag, and stress that it’s free. I know you have that same picture in your mind.

Is it any wonder this doesn’t work? If the mental model (in other words, the general way we’ve come to expect that things work in the world) is that you go into a store and the retailer gives you a bag, for free, to put your stuff in, then what’s the commercial value of a shopping bag? Why would I want to come all the way to your store to pick up what’s basically advertising material? To walk around advertising your product for you, for free? Heck, you should pay me to advertise your stuff for you, and don’t be expecting me to have to come pick it up from you, either.

This is a typical example of poor user experience, and says to me one of two things, either that the company is grasping as straws to have some sort of promotional campaign with no budget (as in “oh oh, the company is in financial trouble") or that this is a company that just doesn’t get it (as in “out of touch with reality"). I don’t know which it is, and I don’t have the energy to really investigate, but it does make me wonder.

Friday, December 01, 2006

Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures, by Vincent Lam

Just finished reading Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures, a novel by Vincent Lam that just won the prestigious Giller Prize. Very interesting book - a series of short stories from the perspectives of a series of connected people in the medical profession. Each story puts forth the doctor as a person as well as a professional, and it’s easy to become engrossed in both the characters and their journies. In fact, I was counting on reading this book on the plane on the flight home, but I finished it at the hotel.