10,000 words about Montreal

As you may have noticed, I've been feeling somewhat restless lately. I'm pretty sure that I'm just in the mood to get away from routine for a while, so Sarah and I are going to make a brief jaunt to a strange and far-away land. Some refer to this place as Canada; others call it the Icy North; a few people don't call it anything but wish it would stop touching us and give us a little personal space.

Whatever you call it, we're leaving for Montreal on Thursday morning and coming back on Saturday night (to Lapeer--this serves as your notice of our ETA for Hannah's birthday exgtravaganza Mom and Dad). It should be fun: they speak another language there (by provincial law, French is the official tongue), it's supposed to be a nice city, and the 10 hours of drive time (each way) should help cure my recent wanderlust.

Things to do before leaving: (a) take my psychopharmacology final, (b) mention to Sarah that, while she was sleeping, I unilaterally decided that we were going to take a trip to Montreal and booked two nights in a hotel there.

Partially kidding.

I'm hear.
Nothing's knew.
Finals weak.
Eye only have won.
Still halve two study.
Goodknight.

My spring semester finishes up on Wednesday evening. I've been trying to figure out what sort of great vacation I can take from Thursday to Saturday-ish. I haven't really come up with anything yet. Maybe I could go for a walk. Exciting.

What will I write about today?
False.
Better luck next time.

P.S. Here's something to think about:

Played golf today.
Great time.
Shot an 81.
Should be happy.

Not so fast.

Could have been a 79.
I don't blame the divot.
Near the 18th green.
Still could have made par.

Didn't.

Recently, a tornado struck a remote camp in Iowa where a group of teen-aged Boy Scouts were having a leadership retreat. Nearly fifty people were injured, and a few kids were even killed. When emergency crews arrived at the scene, the Scouts had already set up a makeshift triage unit and were doing their best to treat the injured and limit loss of life. The news media immediately hailed the helpful survivors as heroes.

I don't deny that this was a horrible event. At the same time, it made me wonder about what the word "hero" means to us. These kids certainly did well, did what what right, but didn't they simply do what anyone should be expected to do in a similar situation? They helped people who needed it: they didn't go out of their way, they worked together, they came to the aid of their fellow human beings. This is how we define heroism? Helping someone even though you probably won't get anything out of it (other than not seeing your friends die). Really?

Who do I blame for this? Me? Certainly not. You? Probably not. The news media? Absolutely. Keep your eyes peeled for more on my growing irritation with the ever-increasing negative influence of this group of headline-grubbing, attention-diverting, fear-mongering individuals, but here's a sneak preview: I don't care what John McCain and Barack Obama had for breakfast. I don't care what they said to some guy at Arby's in 1987. I want to know what they're going to do about energy. About health care, poverty, foreign policy, social security, the subprime mortgage fiasco, and the world's food supply. I want to know who they are as men, fathers, and leaders. I want to know about their spiritualities, their personalities, and their humanities. Make it so.

And speaking of the candidates, I'm sure that both of you are reading this right now, so let me go on record by saying: cut the crap; I'm tired of the political rhetoric; if this is going to work, you have to cooperate too; when someone asks you a question, answer it directly. If what you have to say keeps you out of office, then you weren't the right person for the job to begin with. Done and done.

Bad news.
I ate some carrots.
They gave me gas.

Not the expensive kind.
There's an idea.
A methane-fueled car.

Yesterday we had a big storm. It only lasted for 20 minutes, but when it was done, our street was littered with tree branches, and a giant tree had been uprooted and was resting on our neighbor's house. Apparently, much of the area saw similar problems, and I found the response of the local ABC affiliate to be a little absurd. For the remained of the evening, they had an information bar scrolling across the bottom of their programs. Among the messages about power outages and weather updates suggesting that viewers email their photos and videos of the storm to the station.

Let me get this straight. They want ME to send the news to THEM? What? Isn't this precisely the OPPOSITE of what's supposed to happen? What's the rationale here? Yeah, ahh, we're really swamped right now covering high gas prices and the presidential election that doesn't take place for five months, so if you don't mind, would you do our jobs for us?

Yeah, no problem, and I'll also come down and wipe your butts for you after use the restroom.

There once was a house that was much too hot.
Just sitting around you'd sweat a lot.
The sun beats in.
It's hotter than sin.
I'm going to leave.
Or buy another fan.

Line 5 doesn't rhyme with lines 1 and 2.
It's supposed to.
That's what makes a limerick and limerick.
Well, then this isn't a limerick.
I guess not.
Okay then.

Let's drop it.
Drop what?
I don't remember.
Who are you talking to?
To whom are you talking.
That's what I said.

That's the problem.
Wasn't this a poem?
No.
Okay then.
I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree.
I refuse to do that.

It's hot.

The Detroit Red Wings (hockey), my hometown team, won the Stanley Cup (NHL championship) tonight. On my scale of exciting life moments, this ranks as a 6. But the scale goes up to 400 zillion, so I don't think this event was quite as high ranking as you were initially led to believe. I just wasn't raised to be a hockey fan.

Here's a question for you: I'm going to go to bed.

Top tens signs I'm not motivated to post today:

10. I do a top ten list regarding signs that I'm not motivated to post today
6. I skip numbers
3. I don't finish the list

I stayed up two hours too late doing statistics. And not for fun. Not at all. Then again, who says Beta Coefficients aren't fun. Actually, I say that. Especially when you don't know what they are. That makes two of us. And 20 of us, if you count everybody else in my class, which I do.

In other news, we have ants. Big black ants. Two or three a day. Generally upstairs. I'm pretty sure that, one day soon, hoards of them are going to break through the wall and carry us away. I'll call it "Mold Debacle Two: Ant Boogaloo." You probably didn't get that. I'm going to bed. (Because I'm being wisked there by ants.)