Pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler

Playing pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler

Playing pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler

Playing pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler

Playing pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler

Playing pool with Shari, Jenna and Skyler


My new ride

My gorgeous new 2012 Street Bob. I absolutely adore it, and yet I'm already thinking about new bars, new pipes, a new seat...


Button, button, who's got the button?

The elevators in my building are moody. Sometimes they are in the mood to bring me to my floor. Sometimes they are in other moods.

Sometimes they are all in the mood to gather on floor five and go nowhere for awhile. I think they chat with each other. Maybe they chat about the people in the lobby who are staring up at all the floor indicators displaying the same number. Whenever that happens, I always kind of hope all the doors will slide open at once and coins will pour out. Elevator jackpot!

Usually the elevator on the right is in the mood to stop one floor above the one I actually want. I press 8, it stops at 9. Unless I try to trick it and press 7, then it stops at 7. Well played, elevator on the right.

Elevator in the middle is the one that breaks down the least. Elevator in the middle is a stalwart. Elevator in the middle is also a little smug about it.

Today I got in elevator on the left. I pressed 8, as I tend to do. The doors closed, the lifting bits did lifting things, and up I went.

Ding! "L" changed to "2".

Ding! "2" changed to "3".

Grunk! "3" stuck around for awhile.

Grunk is not a good elevator sound. It's a "we're not going anywhere for awhile" sound. Grunk was accompanied by a shudder and a shimmy. Nobody likes an elevator that dances.

There was now a distinct lack of moving upwardness.

I've never been trapped in an elevator before. Happens all the time in the movies. But the movies promised me I'd be trapped with a group of diverse strangers including at least one who panics and one who'd strike up a romance with me by the end of our ordeal.

Not being in the mood for any panicked self love, I decided to forego the movie scene and try pressing buttons.

The buttons were still very good at lighting up. I lit them up, one by one at first and then a big strum downward to get the rest. I lit up them all except 12, because having at least one button unpressed meant there was always a chance. Tom Hanks on the island with his unopened FedEx box, that was me. Except in an elevator.


The alarm button made a shrill buzzer noise I could hear echoing in the lobby downstairs. The lobby that, I now recalled, had a "back soon" sign at the front desk instead of the usual security guy.

I opened the little door labeled "emergency telephone". I'd always wanted to use an elevator telephone.

There was no telephone in there. This movie scene was getting more disappointing with each shot. No plucky group of strangers. No panicking stock broker. No cute shy girl I would defend against the panicking stock broker when he finally snapped. And now no telephone.

There was only a button. What a letdown. I'd already pressed a bunch of buttons. Buttons were no longer nearly as interesting as there were at the start of this journey.

I pressed the button. It lit up red. At least that was new. Nice emergency colour, too. Good choice.

I could hear a telephone dialling. Ring, ring, ring, click. Pause. Ring, ring, ring, click. Pause.

Ah, this was probably calling down to the desk in the lobby. The one with the "back soon" sign instead of a person. The "back soon" sign did not pick up.

This went on for awhile.


I could hear the security guy saying something. It was garbled, but it sounded like "Muffins! Muffins!" I was pretty sure I wasn't hearing him correctly.

I was also pretty sure he was banging on the wrong elevator door.

I pressed my hands flat against the door and slid it open, revealing the back of the hallway side door. Yep, the security guy was definitely one elevator over. I could hear him more clearly now. He wasn't offering me muffins.

There was a long piece of metal hanging vertically against the back of the door in front of me. There were rubber wheels on either side. Probably a catch of some sort. I pressed it up, and that door slid open.

Well, that was disappointingly easy.

The security guy looked over. I said a cheery "hi" from halfway down toward the floor below. I may have waved.

I began to crawl out, but he stopped me halfway. He wanted me to put the elevator on service. I may have arched an eyebrow.

He handed me his keys, then I dropped back down into the elevator. "Kind of ironic if this was the point where I plummeted," I said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, how would you get your keys back?"

"No, we have spares."

This whole movie needs a rewrite.


Jenna Day

Jenna's birthday

Jenna's birthday

Jenna's birthday


Radio Radio

Driving home tonight I didn't have the aux cable to connect my iPhone to the car stereo. And the satellites were playing hide and seek. Well, they were playing hide and I was playing seek. They won.

So instead I had to listen to ... normal radio.

It was still just as bad as I remembered. Five or more commercials for every song, constant prattling on about station identification, and dull, bland, oh so tepid tunes. Skimming back and forth across the dial my choices amounted to generic classical music, waiting room soft rock, jazz so flaccid it made me want to push the button for my floor, or assembly line pop music with singers punted up a half an octave by autotune.

Aren't I old enough that kids today are supposed to be listening to music that scares me? What's with all this saccharine and emo stuff? Shouldn't their bands be able to beat up my bands, especially since my bands forgot to die before they got old?

Or is there simply no time for that between the ads? Ads and ads and ads and more ads and coming right up some music honest this time we really meant but first a brief word from all of the sponsors in the world.

Aside from local traffic reports, now mostly replaced by the maps on my phone, I'm afraid I won't miss it when radio finally powers down and donates its frequencies to some other use. How far the airwaves have fallen.

And now, bring me the head of the one they call Bieber!