In which technology proves my point, as if I needed more proof

I am having an identity crisis with the paper towel dispenser in the bathrooms at work. Sometimes it refuses to believe I exist and will not dispense towels to me no matter how frantically I wave my hand in front of its evil eye.  Other times, I just have to breathe in its general direction and it spews paper towels at me repeatedly and with gusto. It’s like it’s a little PO’d it has to get up from its coffee break. “You want paper towels? Here! Have some more! Got enough yet? Ya!? Well I think you could use a little MORE! Those hands look a little moist to me! Moist hands! Moist hands!” I think it needs counselling, or a vacation.

When I typed the word counselling in my word processor it refused to let me spell counselling with two ll’s. I bet it doesn’t like programme either. Yep, got the red line. Let’s try humour. Nope, doesn’t like that either. Those it just underlined. But it flat out refused to let me have my two LL’s. Changed it without even asking. How rude.

Two instances in just one day that prove my earlier point that our technology has already taken us over. The paper towel dispenser has dispensed with its job description and my word processor is taking it to the nth degree. How hard can it be to add humour, programme, and theatre to the standard issue dictionary?

I would like to hear in which ways technology no longer is the slave but the master in your life.

Posted in Aliens and uncharted planets, Minor notes in the celestial chord, Observatory | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

I, Widget

You are approved.

Operation prohibited by disc.

You have 81 friends.

This page has a skabillion hits.

You are not authorized to access this information.

You know those movies where killer Robots take over the world? I, Robot or Terminator are good examples of this genre. In this type of movie we are supposedly cathartically living out our fear that one day our technology will usurp our authority. The father is killed by the son as it were. And somehow, that doesn’t ring true for me. I don’t think our greatest fear is that our machines will take over the world. I think our greatest fear is that they already have.

I wait for bank machines to approve me. Complex computer programs are used to calculate how trustworthy I am to get a loan. Facebook tells me how many friends I have. Even this blog tells me how popular I am by the number of times people have clicked on this page.

More and more each day I am authorized, approved, or judged by an inorganic entity. Even childbirth is so mediated by technology that caregivers tend to look to the machines and not the person. I remember being strapped up on one of those labour monitoring devices while giving birth to my first. I gasped to my husband after a contraction “Oh, that one was really bad.” To which he replied “It wasn’t as bad as the last one.” Because you see the numbers on the screen readout hadn’t gone up as high as the previous contraction. “Uh, excuse me. I’m the one experiencing the pain here, not that G-D readout box.” Oh, my poor husband. Really, he was just trying to be comforting, and in his defense, there probably wasn’t a correct response at the time. My point is that I became just the wall outlet for the machines. They were plugged into me and I was emitting interesting data for everyone to write down (and ignore, but that’s a post for another time) on charts.

But beyond becoming the source by which we buoy up our self-esteem (or ride the wave of self-loathing), numbers dictate what it is that we like and think of as good art. Read this eye-opening article.

Scary stuff eh what? If I’m reading this correctly, it means that a widget is not just validating our artistic choices, it’s dictating them. Surveys do the same thing for politics.

Yoiks!

Coming to a cinema near you, the action-packed drama starring Will Smith (there, I’ve mentioned a celebrity’s name, so now I’ll get more page hits)…

I, Widget.

Posted in Aliens and uncharted planets, Mothership, Observatory, Twilight | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Yiddish Policemen’s Union

I finished reading The Yiddish Policemen’s Union by Michael Chabon this week. Wow. What a weird ride. I usually polish off my books in about 2-3 days. This took me three weeks. So, it was not what you might call a page turner. HOWEVER. That doesn’t mean it’s not a good book. It was like eating really rich, quality chocolate. You can only eat so much of it at any given time.

In brief, it’s a murder-mystery story told in a film-noir style, but the world this takes place in is an alternative-reality world where the country of Israel never happened. Instead, the Jews were re-settled in Sitka, Alaska where they were given a 60-year safe haven. This story takes place in the sunset of those 60 years. The Jews of Sitka are preparing to be once again ousted from their country.

It was densely written with images that I just don’t have the vocabulary to describe properly. Here’s an example to give you the flavour:

His dream makes a knight move, and with characteristic fervor, his little sister, Naomi, begins to explain to Landsman Einstein’s famous proof of the Eternal Return of the Jew and how it can be measured only in terms of the Eternal Exile of the Jew, a proof that the great man deduced from observing the wobble in the wing of an airplane and the drift of a dark bloom of smoke rising from the slope of an ice mountain. Landsman’s dream calves other slow iceberg dreams and the ice hums with fluorescence. At some point the humming that has plagued Landman and his people since the dawn of time, which some in their foolishness have mistaken for the voice of God, gets trapped in the windows of room 505 like sunlight in the heart of an iceberg.

It’s darkly beautiful and unexpected.

I heard once that an experiment was done on speed typists. Instead of typing a bunch of sentences, they were given just a bunch of random letters to type. Their speed diminished drastically. They type fast because there are common sequences in our words. Patterns.

It was a similar experience reading this book. It defied my normal experience of reading a book because there were few of the familiar patterns that I’ve come to expect in reading a book. It took longer to understand. Consequently, it also took longer to get absorbed and I never really lost myself in the story, which for me is one of the pleasures of reading.

Still. I think it’s worth the effort.

Pick it up. Read it. Let me know if you agree.

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Spring, Spring, Spring!

Go here to Jane Siberry’s brilliant Pay What You Want store. Then go to her album Teenager and download the song When Spring Comes

Happy music.

This song contains the brilliant line

I think I would read my books if they weren’t on the ground and I wasn’t on the window ledge dropping them on the ground.

Celebrate the equinox. Spring is finally here! 

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Self-esteem? Check!

Oh, my boys. <Shakes her head>

The three-year-old as, I said before, is now doing really well both at home and in his new daycare. He is getting particularly good at recognizing letters.  I was watching him “read” his truck book with my nine-year-old son. The three-year-old is doing a great job at pointing out all the colours and finding letters he knows. And son number one is actually quite impressed with how well son number two is doing.

Wow, you’re doing a great job!

I know. I so good. <giggle>

The nine-year-old isn’t much better. He’s been privy to the conversations with the vision therapist who would say to me things like “Have you ever had his IQ tested? He is really smart. I might even call him gifted-disabled” Of course, that was BEFORE the fabulous results from vision therapy, so he’s probably all gifted now.

Now, to understand the nine-year-old you have to go back with me to a time when he was about four. This was the truck phase. While travelling in the car, we had to point out every truck and tractor that would pass us. One day, I pointed out a large piece of machinery and said to him

Look at the tractor!

With a voice full of disdain I was informed

Mom, that’s a digger.

(You have speak slowly and use an upward inflection at the back end and your inner monologue has to go something like “How stupid is this person, driving me around, incorrectly identifying large machinery? I mean. Gawd”). What I’m trying to get across here, is that he’s always been something of a know-it-all.

At the last parent-teacher interviews this know-it-allness of his came up yet again. So, I’ve been trying to have something of a conversation around it. I was trying to get across the idea, that he needed to consider that sometimes he might not be correct, and it would be better to have a conversation about things rather than an I’m right, you’re wrong kind of discussion (which I guess is really much more of a lecture or monologue than a discussion, but you get the idea–see, YOU get the idea.)

After school the other day, this is the proclamation from my son. 

You know, it’s hard to be gifted. It gets you into trouble once a day.

But it doesn’t end there, oh no. He goes on.

You know it got Jesus into trouble too. Like that time in the temple when his parents didn’t know where he was.

So, to all his teachers past and present, girlfriends of the future and those people who will still be his friend even when he would rather be right than be in a relationship, I’m sorry. I tried.

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You’ve Come a Long Way Babies

It really hit me this week, that things have changed this year. We still live in the same house. The kids go to the same school. My husband and I are both working at the same jobs. But things are vastly different.

Problem one: Last year, at about this time, it became very clear that the daycare I had all the kids in, was just not working for any of them. Prior to that, my then almost-three-year-old had been looked after by my sister on my workdays. She is great with kids and she had managed to get him mostly out of his difficult phase. I was even starting to like him again (See entry, I Like Your Hair–Parenting on the Edge). Within two weeks of starting him at the new daycare, he was back to being his agressive, wild, angry self of before. The daycare workers were complaining that he was screaming and the other kids didn’t like him. So, after much fretting and wringing of hands, we pulled all three of them out of the daycare. I went to my employer and explained the situation and really, truly, amazingly, they agreed to let me come into the office only one day a week and work the rest of the time from home. I love my employer. Then, my sister agreed to look after the kids on that one day a week for the next few months. I love my sister.

Problem two. My daughter has ADHD and learning disabilities. Severe ones. She has almost no working memory and processes information VERY slowly. So, you can imagine that if it takes you a long time to learn something and then even when information gets in it just empties itself out of your head in seconds, you might have a problem paying attention. And then, on top of it all, in the summer, our neighbours had a burglary, and this sent my daughter into a tail-spin of anxiety.

Problem three. Throughout his schooling life teachers have been telling me that my middle child, while being very bright has trouble paying attention, calls out, has terrible handwriting and is easily distracted in groups. I took him for his eye exam and the optometrist told me that she believed he needed vision therapy. He might also need auditory therapy and occupational therapy.

So, here I am with three kids, all of whom are suffering from some kind of inability to get along in the world. And then to top it all off, I started to have back problems.

All this means that by the time October rolled around this is what our schedule looked like:

Daughter: Math Tutor twice a week ($200 /month), Psychologist once a week ($600 / month, although we will eventually get that money back through extended health), Dance Class once a week ($42 / month).

Son: Vision Therapy once a week ($400 /month), Gymnastics once week ($65 / month)

Son and daughter both go to Catechism once a week $125 per year.

Me: Chiropractor twice a week ($40 / visit, although again, I will get most of that back through extended health).  

Youngest son: Gets dragged around from place to place.

When I added it up, it turns out to be around 40 appointments in any given month. 40!! At a total cost of over $1000 / month + daycare.

So, where are we now?

First, a new daycare opened up in town. My youngest started going in November. HE LOVES IT! The daycare workers tell me he was difficult at first. His lowest moment was when he hit one of the teachers. But they’ve persevered and with their guidance, firmness and genuine like of who he is, he is just thriving. He’s making friends. His vocabulary is increasing by leaps and bounds. And most importantly, we can like him again! He’s affectionate and loving and just a joy to have around. We still have some arguments mostly around computer time and bedtime, but that’s pretty normal I think. So, problem one solved.

Second, my daughter has overcome most of her anxieties. Her school managed to get her a designation that gets her some additional help in school, so while this is still a struggle. It’s getting much better. and, for the first time ever, (my daughter is in grade 6) a girl at school wrote BF on the Valentine’s card she gave to her (my daughter). I can’t tell you what a difference that makes to have a friend. The math tutor closed up shop for a while, so we don’t go to her anymore, and we only need to see the psychologist once every 6 weeks. Very manageable. She didn’t want to continue tap dance, so we’ve dropped that.

Third, my son (the middle child) went to vision therapy for 5.5 months. On all their criteria he is now at his age or well above. He is reading at a grade nine level and his visual memory is that of a 12.5 year old. (He is 9 and in grade 4). Pretty amazing when you consider that on a lot of their criteria, he started out at about the level of a 6-7 year-old. On his last report card he got mostly B’s and two C’s, a vast improvement from the all C report card of only three months ago. And his teacher most importantly reports that he is much better able to focus and get his work done.

And me. These are the things that don’t hurt anymore: neck, right ankle, left knee. My carpal tunnel symptoms have been reduced by about half. I have an amazing chiropractor. I still have a bit of trouble with my right shoulder and right hip (the soaz muscle, or as my husband likes to say, my so’ ass), which I think is mainly due to the hazards of a short person, on a long drive when she has to drive a standard transmission. I need to go only once every two weeks now.

So, this is what my life looks like now. I go into work two days a week and work around an additional 8-10 hours from home over the course of a week. My youngest goes to daycare three days per week (and loves it) I see the chiropractor if it’s an on-week. My son and daughter go to Catechism once a week. There are no other lessons, tutoring, or specialists. I go to rehearsals between 1 and 3 times per week and a voice lesson once a week. I now have the most demanding schedule of all of us. But even then, it’s a joyful thing and not fraught with “have-to do this thing to ensure child isn’t living in my basement suite when they’re 30.”

There are still problems of course, but there are truly fewer of them and they are more focused instead of seeming all-pervasive.

I felt badly for a while that we’re not signed up for soccer, baseball, or even swimming lessons, but you know, given where we’ve come from, I think we’ve earned a couple of months of no pressure. Don’t you?

I am so grateful to so many people for helping us through this last year. My husband, who has been working himself to the bone to earn enough money to pay for all the stuff our kids needed. My boss who was brave enough to change his mindset from being paid to work a certain number of hours to one of being paid to do a job. That takes courage. My sister who has stepped into the gap countless times to lend a hand and other times just to talk it through (or at times cry it through) on the phone. My parents for being the after-school care and advocates for my daughter. Our kids’ school for trying their hardest to get the extra help my daughter needs. I am grateful to my nearest and dearest, Nicole, Bill and Silvie for letting me rant, rave and cry when it was just too much and too unfair. I am grateful to the moms who I collected over the year who are also going through this maze of learning disabilities. Swapping stories is powerful stuff. And finally, I am grateful to the host of specialists, Dr. Davies, Dr. Johal, Sharon, Dr. Irving, Dr. Darby, Julie-Ann, Joanne, the school-team, who listened and gave their expertise and liked and loved my kids. Just writing this all down is making me cry.

It really does take a village. And for my village, dispersed as it is from Granville Island to Hollywood, I am so very grateful.

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Happy New Year!

Tomorrow is my birthday!

I love my birthday. I’m not so sure about the numbers that seem to be escalating alarmingly, but I just avert my eyes from that and be happy because it’s MY DAY!

MINE!

And, I think March 15th is the best day to have a birthday for the following reasons:

1) You can say “Beware the Ides of March” instead of “twelve more shopping days until my birthday.”

2) It is one week before the start of spring, which gives one a running start at new year’s resolutions.***  

3) It makes one a Pisces, which is great. We are highly sensitive, I would even say slightly psychic people. Shut up, I said psychic, not psychotic. Although I would say that the fish tends to live in the underwater of the sub/unconscious and has trouble bringing their (Okay, MY) creative life on to dry land.

4) It makes one not only a Pisces, but a Pisces on the cusp, which sounds like I’m on the brink of greatness and who doesn’t want to be great? I was told that March 15th is the beginning of the astrological year, (I don’t know if it’s true, someone TOLD it to me, so I don’t have to prove it, they do) so March 15th is the day that witches are born. I’m not a witch but it’s kind of cool to believe I’m born on the day that deeply connected, supernatural creatures are born. Perhaps that’s why I’ve played so many sprites, wizards, fairies and if truth be told, crazy people (who are said to be off with the fairies, or pixielated).

*** I believe that the reason that New Year’s resolutions fail is because our new year is actually at the TOTALLY wrong time of year to be making New Year’s resolutions. How, in the middle of the dark of winter are we supposed to re-make ourselves? All I want to do is nap in January and February (see post OF WINTER MELANCHOLY). Then, I was made aware of what should be a totally obvious fact, that January, did not used to be the start of the new year. March was the start of the new year. Think about it, September = 7, October = 8, November = 9, December = 10. Now count backwards. If December is the tenth month that makes March the first. Some emperor somewhere wanted the start of the year to be named after him and COMPLETELY SCREWED US OVER in the process. All these years, we’ve been beating ourselves up because we thought that change is hard. Well, okay, change IS hard, I certainly don’t dispute that. But how much harder is it when we’re at the lowest point in our energy cycle? Go with the natural flow of the seasons I say. I hereby declare: The new New Year is the First Day of Spring. The Vernal Equinox. Start resolutions from a place of balance (however tentative) and burgeoning life (however green and tight the bud).

Christina descends from her soapbox.

So, I’m glad you stopped by. Leave me a birthday limerick in the comments. I dare you. Extra points if you use the word purloin.

Posted in Stardust, Sun, Vernal Equinox | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

It’s a bird, it’s a helicopter, it’s me, plummeting to my fictional death

I’ve been meaning to post this for a while.  This is the green screen work that was done for the concert version of “It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Superman” with APPLAUSE! Musicals in Concert.  In this I got to play my first villain–Dr. Sedgewick, five-time loser of the Nobel prize. Because all her work has been overlooked by the world, she is going to take out the world’s symbol of goodness, Superman.

So, most of this is Superman of course. And then there is the moment where predictably the arch villain gets what’s coming to her and meets her death falling off of a helicopter while trying to escape. You have to imagine me screaming from the wings to make it really worthwhile. While we were filming it I nearly took the director out, who was holding up the ladder/trapezey thing that I’m hanging on to, while himself standing on a ladder. My death throes were pulling him over and as he was calling out “I’m falling! I’m falling!” I was thinking he was just calling out directions and kept on flailing about. Sheesh. I can be a real moron sometimes. (As well as an overlooked evil genius)

You see all that Superman cape waving going on? That is the industrial wind machine of the director and me waving an enormous piece of…something…I don’t even rememer what it was, cardboard, plywood, sheet metal? Anyway, it was hard work let me tell you. We had to switch sides between takes because our hands were cramping up.

Not bad I think.  An appropriate amount of cheese.

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Barenaked in the Book Store

Barenaked Ladies in concertReally. How great are the Barenaked Ladies?

The ladies are launching their first ever children’s album in May (“Snacktime” is its name) and debuted some of the material from that album at the Chapters store in Langley (BC). The first 200 families got to sit down in plastic chairs. And then they just let people in who could peer out from the aisles of books to watch the show.

Our family was one of the aisle peerers (we were in the “studying for your LSAT, SAT, MCAT” section. It was the aisle to be AT.)

It was great! I haven’t had that much fun at a concert in years.  I mean the Police concert was awesome too, but for my money ($100 as opposed to free), this outranks them. Plus, we were about 50 feet away as opposed to the 1/2 mile at the Police concert.

But really, they are just great guys. so winning in person. Funny. Smart. Their between-song banter was hilarious, ranging from comments about their own unfamiliarity with their own material, to comparisons between Hannah Montana and Britney Spears (give her five years and BZZZZ), to family dynamics (the first kid gets organic, the third kid gets the shaft).  The funniest bit was when they got to the part in the million dollar song that talks about “building a tree fort in their yard” and how they’d like to set up sections in their tree fort like Chapters. That was already funny. But there was a “Storytime” sign of which Steve could only see the letters TORY and he noted that it was a propos that the TORY section was so far away from the ARTS section. HAH! Okay, maybe it’s a “you had to be there” thing, but trust me, it was very funny.

Oh yeah, the songs were good too. My personal favourite was 7 ate 9. But Polliwog and Eraser were great too.

We left with huge smiles on our faces. These guys are peacemakers. We should be sending them in to sort things out in the Middle East. Maybe they should be the opening act at the next Camp David summit. At a minimum maybe they’d be able to get everyone to stop taking themselves so seriously.

I think besides their music, I like them because they seem to have zero ego. They just do what they do really well and have a great time doing it.

You guys are my heroes. If you ever need a backup singer….

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Job Descriptions? We don’t need no stinkin’ job descriptions!

I was a lifeguard/swimming instructor all through my university years. This job was a logical extension of my love of water–I am after all a Pisces. I had spent all my summers from grade three onwards being a pool rat at my local swimming pool. I passed all the swimming levels that were available for my age by the time I was 12 (only failing Intermediate level once because I had difficulty mastering whip kick) and then throughout my teen years took advanced aquatic courses until I had all the certifications I needed to work as a lifeguard/swimming instructor.  Hooray! A well-paid job that combines work with an activity I love.

However, once I got that job as a lifeguard/instructor I was a little shocked to find that a love of water is a bit more removed from the practice of working around water than one might expect. Indeed, I discovered that the goal of most of the people employed in this field was never to get wet at all. Now, for the actual lifeguarding part I understand that. If you are getting wet that means you’re having to do a rescue and that probably means you weren’t running your pool very well in the first place. A good guard tries to keep the pool patrons from endangering themselves well before they are in any danger. “Hey, kid, you don’t look you’re very comfortable in the water, I’d like you to stay in the shallow end.” That is a good guard. Observant. Sets parameters to keep the patrons safe.

Where the it became odd for me was in the swimming lessons arena. Status was gained by having the most number of consecutive classes which you could teach while staying on dry land. The jargon for swimming lesson was “wet class” or “dry class” As in “I have 5 wet classes and only 3 dry ones” If you were assigned 5 or more low level pre-school classes (always a wet class) that meant you were either low on the totem pole, or simply not well-liked by the head guards. Worse, was if you were assigned a wet class followed by a dry class, followed by a wet class, followed by a dry class. That meant the head guards were messing with you–the Teabagging Water Torture.  Teaching a dry class right after a wet class means that you stand shivering on the deck for half an hour while trying to wring out your damp towel enough that it might give a modicum of dryness and warmth.

And while I seem to be arguing against my point, I’m not. It’s not really that bad. The water is warm, although the initial shock can lead you to believe otherwise. You learn to bring two towels or build a relationship with the head guards to warm your towel up in the boiler room.

It was my first (but not the last) experience of how a key ingredient in a job can become removed through culture.

I recently encountered it again, where a group of people with a certain job title, stopped doing one of the key aspects of the job and were shocked and not a little p-o’d when requested to take it up again. The astounding part of this for me is that if you were to ask a focus group of ten people to write a job description for this job based on their perceptions of what people who hold this job do, there would be about five items that all ten of these people would put down. One of these five would be the task this group was no longer doing. It’s that obvious.

It’s a common belief that we human beings try to make our beliefs and our actions synch up. We rationalize our behaviour. We act according to our beliefs. We don’t like to believe one way and act in another. And yes, I’ve certainly seen that. I have also experienced the exact opposite. It is entirely possible to believe one thing and act in contradiction to that belief. It is also possible to hold two entirely contradictory beliefs and still be okay with that. I like being a swimming teacher. I don’t like being in a pool.

As Walt Whitman said so succinctly

Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. (I am large. I contain multitudes.)

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