I hate, hate, hate Windows Live Messenger! 

A friend of mine provided a URL as part of his personal message (just following his name on my list), but although I am able to highlight it, copying and pasting it is out of the question.  Right-clicking is deactivated, as is Alt+C.

 I noticed a similar thing the other day when I wanted to copy and paste something from the history of a Messenger conversation.  Impossible!

 Am I missing something here?  Or is time for me to dump WLM/MSN and go the non-Microsoft route?

I heard a story the other day from a woman I know, who we will call Nancy.  Nancy works for a large, well-known store that has an outdoor, partially sheltered seasonal department.  It is not only store policy that no one smokes there, but it also the law.

Upon seeing a costumer smoking in the store’s seasonal department, Nancy approached him and told him that he was not permitted to smoke in the store and to please take it outside or extinguish it.  The customer apparently then told her “no”.  She repeated herself and pointed out that it was the law, to which he said “well, what are you going to do about it?”

I am appalled that this man could be so thick.  What is it that makes certain people appoint themselves law-makers and gods?  Does he really believe that he is in the right?  Surely not!  Or is he just being pig-headed about it to see if he can push the staff to their breaking point? 

I would have dearly loved to hear that this story ended with the idiot (and cigarette-stinky) man being arrested and horribly brutalized in prison, but obviously that was not to be.  Instead, my friend Nancy - like most other under-paid chain store associates - dropped the subject and walked away, presumably hoping that the bozo would suck that cigarette right into his throat on the next drag.

Ever since I was 16 and my boyfriend at the time showed me the video tape of Howie Mandel’s Watusi Tour, I’ve considered myself a big fan of Mr Mandel’s.  I thought that particular stand-up routine to be hilarious and, although I’ve not seen the complete show again, I’ve watched lots of clips on YouTube.  It brings back memories for me and I can still laugh at it now.

Years later, I saw Howie Mandel hosting Deal or No Deal (which, I believe, he still does) and I remember thinking that he was still charming and funny (and kind of cute with the shaved head), but I could easily take him or leave him.

And now, tonight, for the very first time, I’ve watched the car crash known as Howie Do It.  It’s a half-hour TV show on NBC, hosted by Howie, where he gets dressed up and plays practical jokes on unsuspecting people through hidden cameras.  Not only is this a theme that has been revisited way too many times, but the jokes aren’t even funny.  They are uncomfortable to watch (one guy thinks he’s auditioning for a job on TV and then finds out that it was joke and that he ultimately still does not have a paycheck coming in) and they are completely unoriginal.

The Global TV website calls it a “ground-breaking new prank show”.  I agree with the prank part, but ground-breaking?

I realize that I’ve only seen one episode and maybe I’ll keep my eye out for another one to get a fuller picture, but my initial reaction is definitely one of disappointment.

As I look back at the clips of the Watusi Tour, I’m struck by how exhausting hanging out with Howie Mandel must be.  But still, the Howie of 1986 rocks:

I decided to do our groceries in Massena, New York, USA today.  To do that, I needed to do the hop, skip and jump over two bridges.  But more importantly, I needed to get past the US border guys. 

From past experience, you don’t speak unless spoken to and whatever you do, don’t crack a joke!  Anyway, I’m not an idiot:  I know to answer their questions and, hopefully, quickly, be on my way.

Today’s border crossing was interesting though.  I got asked more questions than ever before and even had the guy ask to look in my trunk.  It went a little like this:

I pull up, take off my sunglasses and hand my passport into his outstretched hand.
Border guy (for lack of a better title):  What is the purpose of your visit into the United States?
Me:  I’ll be shopping.
BG:  And how long will you be staying?
Me:  An hour or two.
BG:  Where are you going?
Me:  Massena.
BG:  Where specifically?
Me:  I don’t know the name of the store where I’ll shop.  This is my first time coming across for groceries.
BG:  So, (looking at his screen, having swiped my passport) is this your first time in Massena?
Me:  No, I’ve been here before, but not for groceries.
BG:  Where were you born?
Me:  England.
BG:  How long have you been a Canadian citizen?
Me:  Since I was about 7.
BG:  Have you ever been arrested?
Me:  No.
BG:  Fingerprinted?
Me:  No.
BG:  Had a criminal record?
Me:  No.
BG:  Been refused entry into the United States?
Me:  No.
BG:  Are you carrying in excess of $100,000 in cash?
Me:  No!
BG:  How much cash do you have on you today?
Me:  Ummm, I don’t know… a bit of change.  My purchase will be made on credit card.
BG:  A bit of change?  In excess of $10,000?
Me:  $10,000??  No, a bit of change, like a dollar or two.
BG:  Well, some people see $10,000 as a bit of change.
Me:  …
BG:  What do you do?
Me:  I work at _______.
BG:  What do you do there?
Me:  I’m a ________.
BG:  Who’s vehicle is this?
Me:  Mine.  And my husband’s.
BG:  And everything in the vehicle belongs to you?
Me:  Yes.
BG:  I’d like you to pull forward a few feet and pop the trunk.
Me:  Ok.  (I pull forward and pop the trunk.)
BG:  (He looks around and returns to my car window.  He hands me my passport.)  Have a nice day.
Me:  Yeah, thanks, you too.

All this probably only took about 3 or 4 minutes. 

As I waited in line of cars for about 20 minutes to cross the border, I did not see him check anyone else’s trunk or spend nearly as much time with them. 

Does he have a quota of cars to check or people to give a hard time to?  Or did I set off his inner alarm bells?  Did I seem dishonest?

But as usual, Canada is much easier to get into.  My return crossing with the Canadian border guy was almost like talking to a friend.  He asked if I was bringing any goods into Canada.  I told him yes, groceries.  How much did they cost, he asked.  $88 American dollars, I said.  Have a good day, he said.

I wonder if the Americans would hire that guy.  I like him best.

UPDATE:  Since writing this post, I’ve written further about border crossing requirements here.

My two-year old daughter loves Barbie DVDs.  She has others to choose from (Dora, Max & Ruby, Little Einsteins, etc) but ultimately opts for Barbie every time.  A real girly-girl, my daughter.

We started our Barbie DVD collection with The Magic of Pegasus and The Island Princess, and then added Mermaidia and Fairytopia.  Our fifth and most recent addition is The Diamond Castle.  This DVD, my friend, is by far the worst of the lot.  It features two friends, Liana and Alexa, and they love, love, love to sing the most annoying songs in the world.  High-pitched and screeching, they trawl through song after song, repeating a select few over and over again.  Just to frustrate me, I’m sure.

Sweetheart, I say soothingly to my little girl, wouldn’t you like to watch a different DVD now?  You’ve seen that one at least 6 or 7 times today alone!

No, she says. 

This one is the newest one and must be watched until the DVD wears itself thin.  Just my luck, that doesn’t happen with DVDs, does it.

For all you parents out there with little Barbie-loving daughters, steer clear of The Diamond Castle… or get yourself some quality ear plugs.

Something’s been bothering me.  It’s not anything that’s life-changing or life-or-death, but it’s a daily question mark for me and I’m now seeking an answer.  Can anybody help me?  Can anybody put this niggling question to rest?

Is it Mr Noodle or Mr Nuno?

(From 4 minutes)

I hate Elmo’s voice.

Snow sucks.  It really, really does.  Over the last week, we’ve had about 40 centimeters of the damn stuff and temperatures sometimes dropping to -25C.  That 25 degree BELOW zero. 

Since moving back to Canada, we’ve had two decent winters where it snowed and the temperatures did indeed drop, but this week has been terrible.  Definitely the worst winter so far.  And the irony is that, officially, winter hasn’t even begun.

How depressing.

Anyway, so we’ve shovelled the car out numerous times and I have even found myself stuck in a snow bank.  No, not in the car, but on foot.  I was trying to get to work this morning and was utterly dismayed to see that they had yet to clear the sidewalks. I trudged along in knee-deep snow (no easy feat), swearing under my breath, and couldn’t believe it when the sidewalk ended with the biggest, deepest and widest snowbank I’d ever seen.

What choice did I have?  I couldn’t turn around and head back.  I had to scale the snowbank.

But fresh snow is not ’scalable’, is it?  No, it’s soft and fluffy and ever so damn pretty.

I sunk in to my waist and had I not had two beautiful children awaiting my return in 4 hours, I may have given up right then and there.  My thighs had ceased complaining and were now completely numb and I’d swear that half the snowbank was in my boots.  My gloves were wet and I was exhausted.

But as I am indeed sitting here typing about all this, it must be obvious that I pushed on and finally emerged from the snowbank.  Yes, completely pissed off and swearing a bit more audibly now.

I spent my 4-hour shift with wet jeans and socks and was thrilled to see Hubby arrive to pick me up. 

My hero.

We, as well as our neighbors across the street, live at the very end of a street and so have no one on one side of us.  We love it, as we can almost imagine that we’re alone.  We’re loners, really. 

I was standing at the kitchen sink yesterday, washing some dishes, when I noticed the neighbors across the street pull into their driveway.  The man got out and went to unlock the front door.  Then I watched the woman get out of the car holding what looked like a small white cloth.  Perhaps a wipe or something.  She walked over to the fence that divides their property from the clearing beside it and then tossed the cloth over it.  She then went back to the car and started getting the shopping bags out.  She brought a couple of bags into the house, where they surely have their very own garbage can, and I could tell that the cloth that she threw over the fence never even crossed her mind again.

We’ve noticed that this couple doesn’t recycle, so we already had a low opinion of them.  Judgemental, I know, but who in their right minds doesn’t recycle nowadays when they have the facilities to do so?

I couldn’t believe what I’d just witnessed!  I wanted to go out there and rant at her.  It is SO out of order to be dropping garbage on the floor, especially if you at directly outside your own home.  I don’t even spit my gum out on the ground and I never, never drop any garbage on the ground.  Candy wrappers, scraps of paper, old receipts… nothing!  I put them into my pocket and bring them to my home garbage if I don’t find one sooner.

I don’t mean to sound so high and mighty but littering like that is just plain wrong.

Did I rush out to pick up the garbage she’d dropped?  No.  The wind was blowing strongly and I knew that the cloth would be at the next block by the time I got out there.  In fact, I watched it blow away.

A day later, I’m still seething about it though.

My stepdaughter, who is 17, is a budding vegetarian.  I put it in that way because she says that she wants to become one but never really gets around to doing anything about it.  She’s never been particularly fond of meat and, I’m sure, could live without it easily.  But I don’t cook vegetarian, so she simply eats whatever I cook.

While we were out recently, she saw this horrible-looking chunk of tofu and she actually bought the yucky thing.  Now, I admit to not having any tofu experience so perhaps I shouldn’t comment, but…

Yesterday, stepdaughter had evening plans so she was not going to be around for dinner.  A perfect time to try the tofu!

She looked up a recipe online and started her preparation.  The recipe called for soy sauce and honey, so stepdaughter did as was instructed (or close to it at least).  Then she took out the frying pan, greased it up and dropped her chunks of tofu into it.  From the living room, I could hear it sizzling away.

A few minutes later, I went in to the kitchen to see how her meal had turned out.  Four cubes of pale cheese-like substance lay in a bowl.  They looked slightly fried on their edges.  Stepdaughter and I stood over the bowl and each wrinkled up our noses.

“Wanna try it?” she asked.

“No way,” I said.  “It’s your supper!”

She picked up a piece and gingerly took a nibble from one edge.  “Ugh!”, she shivered.

A few minutes later, the frying pan had been washed, the bowl was drying in the rack and the whole pack of tofu was in the garbage.

“Can I have a chicken burrito, please?” she asked.

A budding vegeratian?  Maybe not.

Today was grocery day and Hubby and I took the kids to Food Basics.  As Hubby was getting our daughter into her buggy/baby carriage, I took J, our 3-year old son, to the trolley drop-off shelter and lifted him into one. 

J was crying.  Not because he was being put into the front of a trolley - he likes riding up front - but because he was tired.  He’s been up since 5am, or maybe even earlier, and he was starting to feel the pressure.

An employee of Food Basics was there too, collecting trolleys and tidying around.  He saw J crying and looked sympathetic.  “Are you having a bad day, buddy,” he asked.

J kept moaning so I replied for him: “He’s just tired.  He’s been up since 5am.  So Mummy’s tired too!”

“I’ve been up since 4:30am.”

“Have you?  Well, that is not my usual schedule, so I’m definitely tired,” I said.

Then he said something that I’ll have a hard time ever forgetting: “I always get up at 4:30.  I don’t start work until 10am, but I like having breakfast really early so that I can move my bowels before I leave the house.”

And what do you say to that?  How does one respond when one receives a comment about a stranger’s pooping habits?  The answer?  Well, you just stand there, trying desperately to find a way to get the hell out of there.  Fast.

My mouth hung open, as if my next words were on the tip of my tongue.

And then my worst fears were realized:  he continued!  Damn, I should have said something to throw him off the track!!

“I ride a bike to work,” he confessed, “so I need to make sure that I’ve moved my bowels before I go.”

With an awkward smile, I told him, “That’s good to know.”  And then I ran away.  Literally. 

Why do people feel that they can tell me these things?