This, That & The Other

I'm bored and I don't really have anything good to say... So here goes another post. So what have I been up to lately, you ask.

Well as I said, not much.

For example, in an effort to do something more productive with my time, I applied to a graduate program through a university in Sweden last week. Pray for me to your respective higher power that I get in. It's a Master of Child Studies, which I don't know what I'll do with or if I actually want to break my back to get, but since I've about the most indecisive person I know when it comes to my life and I'll likely not make a decision as to what I'm doing with my post-volleyball career anytime soon... I figure it's something. Whatcha gon' do. Great reasoning, I know.

Also related to life direction & time usage, I decided to make a new year's resolution for the first time ever this year. This is normally the part of the post where I have a passionate reason for not doing one before... but in this case, I guess it's just 'cause I was too lazy for the first 22 years of my life. Anyway, instead of only one grand 2009 resolution that I'd never remember, let alone fulfill, I decided I'd do 12. One per month. If I like it, I'll keep doin it... If not, it's out. It's all dramatic like that. Anyway these mini-resolutions aren't exciting enough to mention here but I'll indulge y'all on one example.

I unfortunately have a genetic weakness for chocolate (runs in the fam. It's my cross to bear...) and February is that time of the year where I realize I have 3 months til people I know will see me again and will be horrified by the way French cuisine has treated my bod. So I decided it was time to reign in the beast and give up my vice. (See what I mean about the resolutions not being exciting...) Unfortunately I shared this idea with The American back in January and a couple days later she decided she was gonna give up drinking for 4 months. I couldn't be shown up just like that, and so to make it fair and due to the challenge, my chocolate-less life has been extended to 2 months, starting yesterday. It sucks already. For example, in the 2 days since starting I've
had the following eaten in front of me - chocolate-filled crepes, a box of belgian chocolates, and homemade white chocolate mousse. I knew this endeavour would suck, but it's like people are inadvertently pullin' out all the stops for me to fail. Why do bad things have to happen to good people?! Why.

Cancel the Valentine's shipment

In other areas of life, things are little better. Kidding, life is good for the most part but we're going to Italy for a match soon and it's about to be rough. We made it to 1/4 finals of CEV cup and consequently we get to play Vini Monteschiavo Jesi, aka the 3rd ranked team in Italy's A1 Series. Italy is the best league in Europe and who knows if we would've even beaten the Ukrainian team we didn't have to play in the 1/8 finals... this might all sound pessimistic but for those in the know, it's more like reality. To break it down, think of it like we're a high school team playing the Bulls in their MJ heyday. I've had at least 5 different fans tell me we have absolutely no chance whatsoever... Oh the love. Those would be our "fans". So yeah, the people are behind us and should be fun. On the bright side, free trip to Italy?

Are you there God? Its me, Co.

I won't get into personal volleyball frustrations, but this is about the time of year where one feels the need to start a countdown to the end of the season... Which I'd be looking forward to if, for various reasons, I had any idea what or where I'm gonna be for the summer... And that about wraps up another round of super optimistic upate of the latest whatnot that's goin' down in my hood. Don't say I didn't warn.

Cross-Country Journeyings

After enduring what can only be described as a road trip of epic proportions, I unfortunately no longer have usable legs or a tailbone. My sports career has been a long and fruitful one and though I'm forced to walk away from the game I love, I'd like to thank my parents, my teammates and the many coaches that have been there for me al--

K, bad jokes aside, I'm semi out of commission because we had a match up in Calais this weekend and instead of flying - as I'm told the club used to back in the pre-economic fiasco days - we decided it would be fun to drive. And by "we" I mean the president and coaches.

So Friday after training we once again saddle up the ol' mini-buses and the caravan across the entirety of France begins. According to Google maps, it's supposedly only about a 9 hr trip... but somehow that translates into more like 11-12 hrs when you stop for multiple bathroom breaks and oh, I don't know, a full 3 course proper sit-down lunch. Forget making good time, it's apparent these people appreciate a good meal. I mean really appreciate. Then again, I guess you know you're in the culinary capital of the world when...

So, many hours later, we arrive in at our destination. The gym was old-school sweet and channeled somewhat of a hockey rink feeling. Naturally, as a Canadian, I felt right at home. The hockey rink vibe was due to the fact that the stands directly behind the bench were divided into what can only be described as penalty boxes. Enough room for maybe 3 people in each, I liked to think each walled section could either be utilized for crowd control to maintain the peace during a rowdy upset. Or sold as exclusive high roller court-side suites... The marketing department and I are in negotiations.

But I digress.

So we roll in and took care of the biznass we came for, winning in 3. Holla. Nevermind we won the first set 25-15 and then somehow barely came out alive with a 31-29 W in the 3rd... A win's a win. Oh and I played pretty well, which is a refreshing change from my on-court antics of late.

Anyway, travelling to/being in Calais was interesting for a couple of reasons... First, being a native of a Commonwealth country, and the fact that we were so close to Britain I could almost taste it, I felt a special connection with the (true) motherland I hadn't felt before. Heck, a couple times I almost burst into a rousing solo rendition of God Save the Queen. I'm not sure if all the driving was getting to me but I think it was just the proximity to the English-speaking world and the possibility of hearing decent music that warmed my heart. It doesn't really make sense, but allow me to explain:

In my opinion, the French do many things well. They do a good meal. They do a good wine. They do a good revolution. However, they do not do good music. I'm sorry, but it had to be said. 4 months in and the standard French musical fare is starting to get to me... I've been fed a steady diet of bad dance music, campy guitar singalongs and old Rihanna. And I don't get it.

The English - while their traditional cuisine leaves more than a little to be desired - I say they know how to do good music. Obviously and especially good rock, to which I'm particularly inclined. I recognized a couple songs in the restaurant during the post-game meal that nearly brought tears to my eyes since they were both 1) new, and 2) decent. And both by indie English bands that have not seen the light of day further south of the "border". I love France, don't get me wrong, but ah for a moment I pined to be back in a land of decent musical taste.

Moving on.

This trip was also interesting because the Canadian in me was brought out more than once. Obviously the hockey-gym thing was a factor but also because it started to snow heavily on the beginning of the return drive home. My panicked coach - being an inexperienced southern driver - handed the team wheels over to me and let me just say - the mini-bus might not look like much, but she handles like a beaut.

Actually, I chilled in the back of the bus and just hoped the unfortunate weather wouldn't tack on an extra 3 hours to the already lengthy voyage. It did make me reminiscent of home though... For about 2.4 seconds. A swift snowball to the face from my asst. coach snapped me out of it though, and I quickly remembered this was why I left Alberta in the first place.

So cold, so bored.

The real Canadian in me also shouldn't have been complaining about the voyage because this little joy ride was chump change compared to many a road trip I've taken in my youth. I don't know if Canadians don't believe in jet travel or are just too cheap for it, but I've concluded it's more something like a twisted rite of passage. 14-hr team trip to Vancouver? Check. 20-hrs solo drive to Winnipeg? Check. Oh wait, twice? Check. 36-hr family vacay drive to California? Check. Check. Check. (We made that trip a lot...). You get the picture.

So 10 hours across France shouldn't have been a big deal but, just my luck, I was sitting on the only chair in the van that was more of a jump seat than a real spot. Less padding, more pain. Basically, after my laptop died I had nothing left to focus on but the soreness of my bod, the van's mood lighting (there was an actual button on the ceiling, next to ON/OFF and DOOR that said MOOD. When pushed, it cast an appealing orange glow about the interior of the vehicle. I swear I'm not kidding this time) and the horrible music playing on the radio.

Not to be a downer, I'll finish this by returning to the fact that we played well, and more importantly, this trip is done for the year. Calais comes to us next and I will appreciate every minute I spend not in a mini-bus rumbling down French freeways... Which, at some point during the trip, ALWAYS lead to rolling down the main street of a small village going, at most, 40 km/h. Who planned these "highways"? It's another thing I don't think the French do well... But that's a story for another day.

A Lesson In Crime

So first off, I was wrong.

Way back in post #1, I thought, or rather HOPED, my life would get incrementally more exciting every day that this blog existed. This has definitely not happened, and if anything, I can say I've comfortably adjusted to the life of your average 90-year-old.

I pick 90 as my "actual" age because my next door neighbour also happens to be my Granny. Let me explain. Granny - also affectionately known as Gran-Dogg, The Grannery, or G-Dizzle (embarassing but yes, seriously) - turns the big 9-0 this August and I can confidently say she's busier than I am at this point in time.

Established 1918. The Woman. The legend.

While she's busy birdwatching, out gardening for hours on end, or just generally doing whatever else is takes to be cute and old, I've been at home for 2 weeks and have resorted to... alphetbetizing the family VHS collection? Re-arranging the silverware by size and weight? I knew I'd reached rock bottom when I resorted to plucking my leg hairs individually.

Needless to say, my mom will say she has plenty of jobs around the house to keep me more than busy but... let's put that aside for now. I'd like to say I could get a job and make myself useful in other ways - particularly ways that add to my bank account - but seeing as how I'm only home for 3 weeks that's not too realistic (or at least this is a good way to justify it). Plus, I thought it'd be a nice chance to unwind and take a break after 4 years of backbreaking work at ASU. (Please keep reading after you settle your laughter). Ok, really it just wasn't realistic to try to get a job for 3 weeks and it HAS been nice to spend some quality time with the parental units so I shouldn't be complaining at all.

Lucky for me, spending a significant chunk of quality time with the parents has yielded some interesting stories. Since my life is so engrossing of late, I'll live vicariously through my dad on this one and recount a story he told me he had at work recently...

It starts out as any other ordinary day. Gary heads off to work, sack lunch in hand comprising the same 3 sandwiches - 2 ham-and-cheese and a peanut butter and jam - he's been eating for the last 3o years.

Tangent: My brother and I once sat down and tried to calculated the estimated number of sandwiches my father has eaten since he started working for Greyhound back in the 70's. According to our math: roughly 12 a week x 48 weeks a year x 30 years = An astounding 17,280 sandwiches. Give or take a couple thousand since he tends to eat at least an additional one a day while not at work. 17,280! Unreal. The man's a machine. His net carb intake has to be off the charts, especially when he indulges in his favourite type of sandwich - the Breadwich. No need for fillers or condiments folks. No, this is just pure, unadulterated bread at its finest. Basically it consists of a slice of bread as a filler between 2 slices of bread... 3 slices stacked on top of each other, sandwich style. Simple, yet effective. It should be noted, a Breadwich is most perfectly concocted using ONLY bread from Bee-Bell Bakery in downtown Edmonton. Our family has buying bread only from there since they opened, and let's be honest - the Meeks have kept the place afloat through many a hard time since let's crunch some more numbers... 17,280 sandwiches = 34,560 pieces of signature Cracked Wheat.

Anyway, one day, Gary's confidently manhandling The 'Hound (translation: driving le bus) as he has many times during the past 30 years of honest work. He's truckin' along, scratch that BUS-ING along, enjoying the sights and sounds of some scenic Alberta highway, when a passenger comes up looking more than a little distraught. Anticipating this wouldn't be a routine complaint about the A/C or the smell in the washroom, Gary inquires as to what is the problem. The guy half-yells that someone has stolen his wallet. My dad, cool as a cucumber asks for the details, obviously expecting some sort of story or verbal communication of some kind. Instead, the guy just turns around to reveal the backside of his jeans, back pocket-less! Someone obviously had not just sticky fingers but a sticky scalpel or scissors of some kind (?) and had succesfully removed not only the wallet but just snipped around it and removed the entirety of the man's jeans pocket as well! Obviously that was one bad sleeping position. I imagine this might be hard to picture so imagine something like this:

Instead of lips though, picture your wallet. Or where your wallet once was...

Brilliant? Ridiculous? Hilarious. Well sucky for that guy actually. Not only are you out a wallet (been there done that. It was brutal). But also say good-bye to a perfectly good pair of jeans. The perpetrator, or The Perp as I like to call him/her, just killed 2 birds with one stone. (The other bird being defacement of property as well?)

Anyway, the story got me thinking... maybe in my last week off at home I ought to research going into this line of work. Obviously the days of pickpocketing are no more... Today it's more like Total Pocket Removal. Creative, efficient, and totally unprecedented. Yikes. Remind me to protect my pockets next time I fall asleep on any form of public transport...