My friend's Dad knows the guy...

I’ve always wanted to start an Urban Legend, just to see if it makes the rounds and gets back to me.

I mean that it gets back to me legitimately, not by force like when your coworkers send you Power Point presentations that you are compelled to forward to 10 people in order to prove you care; get laid; thank your guardian angel; or help sick Jimmy beat the World Record for Get Well cards.

I became disillusioned by those e-chain-mails when I found out sick Jimmy was faking. To make matters worse, I learned that Microsoft is not working on a way to track the number of times an email gets forwarded. And besides, even if I had forwarded that “other” chain mail, I didn’t really think anyone in my Address Book was about to come calling wearing nothing but a raincoat. Especially not within 10 days.

No, I don’t want to contribute any more cyber-junk-mail to an already spam-burdened universe. I’m not talking about chain mail. Just a good old fashioned Urban Legend. For no other reason than to see if someone ever tells it to me as if it were true, because their cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s Dad heard it on CNN.

Urban Legends cover a broad range of topics, so I need to narrow it down. First off, nothing too salacious, or it might not get back to me. Or it might get back to me, and that could be worse. Nothing gory – too 70’s.

And certainly nothing involving any terrorist related topics that CIA search engines comb for daily. I do not need that kind of attention ever again.

I’m thinking of something relatively harmless. Perhaps it could involve the Lottery, or a haunted house; or maybe a central vacuum system. I really like central vac. I might throw in a natural disaster or a great act of kindness for good measure.

Here goes….

Just after Hurricane Juan hit the East Coast a retired vacuum salesperson was out walking along the beach in Saint John. Among the debris he noticed something odd sticking out of the sand. It was a plastic shopping bag, barely visible. He gave it a pull, and dug around it for a minute to see if it contained anything more than just sand. To his surprise the bag did have something in it – a paperback novel. Then he noticed something else – the novel’s bookmark – it was a Lottery Ticket. He checked the novel, but it had no name and no other means of identifying the owner. Since it was rather soggy, he dropped the book and the bag in the garbage, but he decided to hang on to the Lottery Ticket just in case. A few weeks later he remembered he still had the ticket in his pocket. When he went to the corner store to check it he was amazed to learn that he not only had a winner, but a huge winner -- $1 Million dollars!! Being retired and financially secure, and having no family he thought long and hard about what to do with the money. He eventually made his decision – the hurricane brought him the ticket, and that’s where the money should go. The day after he turned the winning ticket in to the Lottery Commission the City’s Parks Department received an anonymous donation of $1 million.

Now – to proliferate the “legend”. There is only one rule…
If anyone reading this – i.e. anyone who “hears” it directly from me -- decides to pass the legend along, they must also pass along the fact that it is fictional, and that I was just trying to see if I could start an urban legend.

Who knows, maybe one day someone will try to convince me that this story is true. Meanwhile, I’m going back to lemon tea and my shot glass full of cough syrup.

A Very Hard Week

It hasn’t been a very funny week.

Not one of us is healthy. Of the four of us we have varying degrees of an ear infection, 2 colds, and a mild case of pneumonia. Of course, that goes along with headaches, lack of sleep, and various other unpleasant aches, pains and discharges.

Late Thursday night, when the ER Doctor prescribed antibiotics for Evelyn’s pneumonia he said it would begin to clear up in a few days. He neglected to mention that it would “clear up” by draining out through her nose one blast at a time. Evelyn was very good natured about the 4 hour hospital visit, but only if I was standing up holding her. I was only allowed to sit for a few minutes at a time, and never more often than every half hour. She was entertaining though – looking at total strangers and spreading her arms out saying “TaDa!” then applauding herself.

Eventually in the midst of all the chaos this week we cooked a few meals. “We” being Carolyn. At one point she asked me to spot her while she retrieved a baking dish from under a stack of items on an upper shelf. I dutifully placed both hands on her arse and said “ok, now you won’t fall”. Apparently this is not what she meant. She didn’t say a word, but the reverberations I heard when the plastic patio serving platter bounced off my head provided all the information I needed.

The recuperation time provided me with a bit of extra television viewing. I finally noticed all the commercials announcing that Star Wars Revenge of the Sith is opening May 17th. Being a huge fan of the franchise, this is great news! It means that in another 6 months it will come out on DVD, and sometime after that I’ll finally have a free weekend to watch it! But not before I finally see the 3rd Lord of The Rings movie. Please don’t tell me how it ends…

A few commercials later and I had an uneasy feeling that I was forgetting something. At about 4:37 on Saturday it occurred to me to ask my spouse “so, what would you like for Mother’s Day?”

Lucky for me the weekend weather has been non-stop rain. It meant I was able to break the news to her that the fancy family picnic that I had "planned" was cancelled due to rain, not to mention illness.

It was a good save, even if I do say so myself. Although I suppose I have set the bar awfully low for Father’s Day, now haven’t I?

Trailer Crêpes

FIRST: a note for you newbies... Sometimes I embed a link in my blog articles. They usually show up as light blue and underlined (purple, if you have already been to that site lately). Click them if you like. They'll take you to a page related to the topic or word. And now, this week's blog.

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What’s in a name?

Friends asked me a while ago how I came up with the name for my Blog. They were speculating that the story would be hilarious. They were wrong.

Several years ago I was at a crossroads, and felt like I wanted a new career. At the time I was an avid hiker and photographer. I even had my own black and white darkroom. I had sold a few pieces of work before, without even trying, so I looked at college courses for photographic arts, and went out of my way to get tips and feedback from photographers who were more experienced than me. I thought a long while about what to name my photo biz. My initials are RIL, so I came up with RILEYPIX.

The business plan never unfolded – it seems that trying to make a living in Vancouver as a professional photographer is “difficult”. It’s a bit like deciding to be a professional fiddle player on the East Coast. There is a little bit of money to be made, but only a little, since the field is saturated with extremely talented people.

Back then I was a fan of the band Rhymes With Orange. Their bass player’s Mom was my boss for a while. I always liked the name, so when I started this blog, I stole half of it. I'm not sure what ever happened to them...

There. That’s the story. It is also the least funny blog I have written so far. Sorry.

But speaking of names… What IS in a name?

The language we use to describe things can be very telling about our values relative to the object. Better yet, they can mask them.

This weekend it was my turn to get the groceries. Shopping off of the list – buying items that aren’t already written down – is actively discouraged at our house, especially if I’m the one doing the shopping.

This weekend though, we’re all sick with the flu. I was tired and groggy, so I took liberties and bought a few extra items at my discretion. They were items that were not on the grocery list, either by neglect or design, and in my humble judgement, they were necessary.

Pop Tarts were not on the list. I got strawberry, which has been the subject of several science experiments by drunken Engineering students.

Shopping off of the list is a forgivable indiscretion. But when one brings home contraband treats, there are procedures. I followed none of them. After the groceries were put away, as everyone else was having lunch, I sat down to a pair of warm Strawberry Pop-Tarts. Right in front of the kids. My wife raised an eyebrow and looked at me like I had just dropped (more) jam on the carpet. Evelyn was unaware, but Bridget watched in silent awe as I ate the first frosted fruit pastry. I was half way through the second when she mustered the courage to ask “Can I have a pink sandwich too?” I gave her the remaining half of mine. She had a technique all her own – licking the frosting until she got down to the pastry, then slowly eating what was left one toddler sized bite at a time.

My indiscretion wasn’t that I indulged in my craving for Pop-Tarts. In fact when I went back to have more later I noticed I wasn’t the only one who could reach them in the top cupboard. No, my sin was to have introduced them to the kids. Really, who wants to explain to your friends that you’ve taught your three year old to eat Pop-Tarts. This, in the same month that she learned that Girl Guides are big girls who bring boxes of cookies right to your door.

No, I don't want to be embarrassed in the grocery store when a stranger overhears my preschooler ask for Pop-Tarts.

That’s why I’ve taught her to call them by their proper name: Trailer Crêpes.