Category: Uncategorized

The good news is, I didn’t set the house on fire. The bad news is, I didn’t sleep a wink thinking about that red and black wire getting jiggy with each other.

Oh right, you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?

The short version is, I installed a digital thermostat on the weekend. It went pretty well, except for the extra wire. As if you thought I might possibly skip the long version for just this once…

I like to consider myself a handy chick. I have my own power tools, I know the difference between a Robertson and a Phillips head, and I can make a rough approximation of a dove-tailed joint with hand tools. I’ve assembled a new barbeque, taken apart an old one to see why it wasn’t working, figured it out and put it back together again.

But electricity scared the bejesus out of me. I don’t mind messing with tanks of flammable gas, but I am definitely antsy about electricity. Which is kind of ironic, because my grandfather was a master electrician. I could have used his assistance yesterday. Everybody told me it was a simple task. Match up the coloured wires and you’re done.

For six months, I lurked in the thermostat aisle at Canadian Tire, reading the packages and comparing models and features, weighing my desire for a programmable thermostat against my deep-seated fear of setting the house on fire. I’d linger in the dining room, gazing resentfully at the ancient $1.99 discount thermostat that came with the house and dreaming of programs and digital readouts. I’d prowl around other people’s houses, looking for their thermostat to confirm the fact that yes, in fact, everybody else has a better one than me.

(Okay, maybe I’m hyperbolizing just a little bit here. But, sadly, not much.)

So on Saturday, I impulsively (inasmuch as having pondered something for six months can be impulsive) ran out to Canadian Tire and shelled out $39.99 for a 5+2 programmable digital thermostat. I read the “quick installation guide” on the package once in the store, once at a red light on the way home, and one last time sitting on the dining room floor with screwdriver in hand. I installed the batteries, and when the LED readout popped up just as promised, my confidence was bolstered.

I stood up, took a deep breath, and pried the old thermostat off the wall. To my delight, the wires were attached just as the quick-installation guide promised, and I unscrewed the terminals without incidence. And yes, I had even remembered to turn off the furnace switch before getting started. Wondering if I had missed my calling as a professional digital thermostat installer, I gleefully screwed the back plate of the new thermostat on the wall. I started matching up coloured wires to their terminals, green to G, red to R, white to W and yellow to Y, black to … black to … what the hell do I do with this black wire?

And so I turned back to the mangled wreckage of moulded plastic wrap (digression: is that not the most annoying form of torture ever invented, trying to get stuff out of that hard plastic shrink-wrap stuff?) and noticed the owner’s manual. The one with the detailed installation instructions that say “when removing the old thermostat, make careful note of where each wire is attached to your original thermostat.” That would be the theromostat lying discarded on the counter, any connection to its former wires long since forgotten.

Oh crap.

Did I mention that although I bought the thermostat on Saturday, I waited until Monday to install it? Thanksgiving Monday, the statutory holiday when neither electricians nor digital programmable theromostat installation help desk people were taking calls. I reread the installation instructions with the same level of attention that Jennifer Anniston’s property lawyers read her and Brad Pitt’s divorce proposal.

From what I could gather, a wire previously attached to an Rh terminal could be attached together with an Rc wire to the R terminal. In other words, I could attach the red and black wires to the same terminal. Now, I’m no electrician, but I do know that if you attach two live wires, and they are the wrong live wires, armageddon ensues.

So I did what every girl does when she gets into a jam – I called my Daddy. He opined that the black wire was a ground, and I could just leave it exposed and tucked away. I didn’t like that advice very much, so I shopped around. I called my former good buddy ÃœBerGeek, whom I should know better than to call for DIY advice after hearing about how he dumped acid all over himself fixing his garburator pipes. I explained my two alternatives (leave the black wire exposed, or attach the black and red wire to the same terminal) and he said, “Uh-huh, that sounds good” to each option.

Finding this less than reassuring, in desperation I finally called my father-in-law. Since I have never actually called him before, let alone for consultation on matters that could burn down the family home of his grandchildren and only son, he sounded pleased in a perplexed sort of way to hear from me. After hemming and hawing for a while, he said that in household wiring, black and red are usual positive wires. I paused, the enormity of what I don’t know about electricity weighing heavily on my shoulders, and then asked in a small voice, “Is that good or bad?”

In the end, without providing any sort of comfort or reassurance whatsoever, he did convey the fact that he was of the opinion that attaching both wires to the same terminal was not the worst possible idea ever, although only marginally more astute than leaving one exposed wire.

(Are you still reading? Am I still writing? We both deserve some sort of endurance award for that. Courage, we’re almost there.)

In the end, I attached the red and the black wires to the same terminal. I sent Beloved downstairs to flick the switch to re-engage the furnace, not exactly sure what to expect or what form of disaster recovery I should be ready to initiate, but nothing more exciting happened than the furnace fan humming to life. I stood guard over the thermostat for a few doubtful hours minutes, but it showed no predisposition to self- combustion or other socially unacceptable behaviour.

Sadly, that’s the end of the story. Are you kicking yourself for riding it out, hoping for a big finish? Hey, you can’t say I didn’t warn you with the short version… no Jerry Bruckheimer-esque special effects were promised, or even alleged.

But, um, is there an electrician in the house? I’d feel a lot better about leaving those black and red wires together in perpetuity if I could have the blessing of a professional, or at least someone with the courage of their convictions.

You’ll have to excuse me, I have made just enough references to my house burning down that I now have a stomach-ache and have to find some wood to touch in a big hurry.

Saw this over on Marla’s blog and couldn’t stop laughing. Hers is funnier than mine, but it’s still worth a lazy-day blog.

The game is, Google “(Your-name) needs”, including the quotation marks, inserting your name where indicated but without the parenthesis. (I’m not insulting your intelligence, really. I’m quite sure you get the idea. But don’t forget the quotes – it’s important.) So, to clarify, I Googled “Dani needs”. Anybody need a recap to this point? And then you share your top five – or, if you’re Marla or me, your top 500. Cuz more is always better than less!

I pulled these off in order. They have this oddly narrative quality to them…

“Sweet Dani needs warm temperatures for rapid growth.”

“Dani needs to be able to face those curbs alone.”

“dani needs ‘Help’ but Not of The physical type “

“Dani needs revenge. “

“dani needs to do something new, exciting that will serve her well later.”

“What will you do when Dani needs to retire?”

“Dani needs the love, support and discipline that only two parents provide”

“Dani needs no redemption.”

“Dani needs a moment.”

(but the masses grew surly and demanding)

“Dani needs to finish stuff alot more people Are waiting.”

“dani needs sleep”

(and then, it turned ugly)

“Dani needs to be sliced.”

“I really think that Dani needs a swift kick in the johnson for being a frigging twink.”

“Dani needs this within the next 3 weeks.”

And that’s when I stopped reading.

Categories: Memes

Just a note of thanks to the guys (and girls?) at that Library Thing, also known as my newest obsession, for quoting me on their buzz page. I am truly addicted to Library Thing, and keep finding excuses to huddle in the basement and catalogue more and more books.

Gonna have to pony up the $10US pretty soon so I can key in more than 200 books – over 150 in there now, and many shelves yet to go!

Happy Thanksgiving Weekend, my Canadian bloggy friends!!

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Categories: Memes

What I want to know is, how come when I’m standing at the bus stop, or in the shower, or in the checkout line at the grocery store, or at 4:05 in the morning, I’ve got all these tremendous blog ideas, but when I am actually staring at the computer, fingers poised expectantly over the keyboard, I got nothing?

Not nothing, really, but nothing coherent. For example, I could write about how this really freaked me out. It’s an article about, among other things, a company called Life Gems that “transforms the carbon in cremated remains to graphite and finally a yellow or blue diamond.” Ick. I mean, think of the pressure – no pun intended – of walking around with the compressed remains of your loved one on your pinkie finger. Aside from the ick factor, I’d be terrified that I’d lose it or scratch it. Every time I bumped into a door frame (happens a lot more often than you might expect) I’d be apologizing to the dearly departed. No thank you.

Or I could whine about how my family might have to not have a Thanksgiving dinner together this weekend. My dad is sick with some sort of lung ailment that might be tuberculosis, or might be something benign. They did some sort of medical test last week, and he has been on “house arrest” – not allowed to see anyone except my mother – while awaiting results. Those results were supposed to be in yesterday, but they weren’t. So if they aren’t in today, he has to stay in seclusion and we can’t spend any time with him (or my mom) until the test results come back in – the Tuesday after the holiday weekend at earliest. My poor mother is going through grandson withdrawal, but was lucky enough to bump into Beloved and the boys yesterday in – of all places – the parking lot of Toys R Us. Hmmm, wonder what she was doing there?

On a less whiny note, I was also thinking about talking about Random Acts of Poetry. I’m not a huge fan of poetry, not because I don’t like it but because for the most part it makes me feel a little less bright than the average bulb. There are lots of poems I like, but mostly because of the play of the words and the rhythm of the verse – think The Creation of Sam McGee. But I do love this idea of Random Acts of Poetry, mostly because I think any initiative that combines literacy, reaching out to people and a sense of humour is a worthwhile endeavour. Imagine standing at the bus stop, or walking down the street, completely absorbed in your own mundane thoughts, and having some strange person accost you and ask, ever so politely, if it’s okay if she “poems” you. I might go out at 11 o’clock to see the poeming at the Maman statue; it’s only a building away from here.

In the end, I thought I’d blog on this oh-so-scattered Friday, about two not-quite-anecdotes from my boys. Simon is at the stage where he is stringing two and occasionally three words together, although for the most part only Tristan, Beloved or I can understand him. He has mastered two key phrases that turn me to jello instantly. Whenever I hand him anything, he says, “thangumummy” (most gracious thanks, mother) and “lubbumummy” (I love you, mummy.) It really is fortifying to be loved so completely, and to love so completely in return.

And the last word goes to Tristan. He and Beloved somehow got on the topic of kissing and girls. Beloved asked, “Would you ever kiss a girl?” To which Tristan responded, “Ewww! Girls are disGUSting. I only kiss Mummy.”

That’s my boy.

Update – the test results are in, and whatever is making my Dad sick is not contagious and not TB. Turkey Day is back on!!!

As I’ve mentioned recently, I’m struggling with matters of faith and the Catholic Church.

I was greatly fortified recently to read that the Church has officially stated that the Bible should not be interpreted literally. (Are you listening, my creationist friends? Genesis is just a nice story, not an accurate account of historic events.) Wow, I thought, who knew? The Church may be modernizing its thinking after all.

Then I read today that the Church is considering to refuse communion to state leaders of countries who condone abortion or gay rights – like Canadian prime minister Paul Martin. Now, I’m far from being a Paul Martin supporter (although I do believe he’s better than the alternative), but this to me is an outrageous act of blackmail on the part of the Church. No government leader should be religiously censured for the laws of their country.

Martin’s response? “I believe in the Charter of Rights, and I do not believe that the prime minister of the country can cherry pick those rights.”

Bravo.

I really am a sucker for these things. I saw this one over at Scrivenings. (And I’m further stealing his idea of stashing my answers below the fold.) If you didn’t get enough from my 101-things list, here’s some more that you really didn’t want to know about me.

[ ] I’ve run away from home.
[ ] I listen to political music.
[ ] I collect comic books. (no, but Beloved does – and even teaches comic book illustration and design at the Ottawa School of Art.)
[ ] I shut others out when I’m sad.

[x] I open up to others easily. (Perhaps a little too easily, one might say.)
[ ] I am keeping a secret from the world.
[x ] I watch the news.
[ ] I own over 5 rap CDs.

[x ] I own an I-Pod. (well, it’s an MP3 player – does that count? Is iPod like Kleenex and Frisbee now?)
[ ] I own something from Hot Topic. (I don’t know what Hot Topic is.)
[ ] I love Disney movies. (I live with an animator. I am sick to death of Disney movies.)
[x] I am a sucker for hair/eyes.

[x] I don’t kill bugs.
[x] I curse regularly.
[ ] I paid for that cell phone ringtone.
[ ] I have “x”s in my screen name.

[ ] I’ve slipped out a “lol” in a real conversation.
[ ] I love Spam.
[x] I bake well. (Define “well”. I have my moments, but I’m no pastry chef.)
[x]I would wear pajamas to school. (Would, yes. Did, no.)

[ ] I own something from Abercrombie.
[x] I have a job.
[ ] I love Martha Stewart.
[x] I am in love with someone.

[ ] I am guilty of tYpInG lIkE tHiS.
[x] I am self conscious.
[x] I like to laugh.
[] I smoke a pack a day.

[ ] I loved Go Ask Alice.
[ ] I have cough drops when I’m not sick.
[ ] I can’t swallow pills.
[x ] I have many scars. (Not many, just one set of small but noticeable ones on my lower lip from a dog bite at age 6.)

[x] I’ve been out of this country.
[x] I believe in ghosts.
[x] I can’t sleep if there is a spider in the room.
[ ] I am really ticklish.

[x] I see/have seen a therapist.
[ ] I love chocolate. (I like chocolate, but don’t love it.)
[ ] I bite my nails.
[x] I am comfortable with being me.

[ ] I play computer games/video games when I’m bored. (I don’t have enough spare time to be bored.)
[x] Gotten lost in your city. (Rarely, but it’s happened.)
[x] Saw a shooting star.
[ ] Gone out in public in your pajamas.

[ ] I have kissed a stranger.
[x] Hugged a stranger.
[x] Been in a fight with the same sex.
[ ] Been arrested.

[x] Laughed and had milk/soda come out of your nose.
[ ] Pushed all the buttons on an elevator.
[x] Made out in an elevator.
[ ] Swore at your parents.

[x] Kicked a guy where it hurts. (Hit, not kicked.)
[ ] Been skydiving.
[ ] Been bungee jumping.
[x] Broken a bone. (The pinky finger of my left hand, possibly one of the most disposable bones in the human body. Remember that, Yvonne?)

[x] Played spin the bottle.
[x] Gotten stitches. (Lots and lots of stitches!)
[ ] Drank a whole gallon of milk in one hour.
[ ] Bitten someone.

[x] Been to Niagara Falls. (I ‘stole’ my parents’ car and drove to Niagara Falls without permission. I only got caught a month later when the bill for the Texaco card came in and I had charged $5 because we ran out of money. At the time, I had no idea that an itemized statement would indicate gas was bought on Main Street, Niagara Falls. I was not a bright teenager.)
[x] Gotten the chicken pox.
[ ] Crashed into a friend’s car. (But I have been in a friend’s car when HE crashed into a friend’s car.)
[ ] Been to Japan.

[x] Ridden in a taxi.
[ ] Shoplifted.
[x] Been fired.
[x] Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back. (Many, many times.)

[x] Stole something from your job.
[ ] Gone on a blind date.
[x] Lied to a friend.
[x] Had a crush on a teacher/coach.

[ ] Celebrated Mardi Gras in New Orleans.
[x] Been to Europe.
[x] Slept with a co-worker. (Literally slept with, during a ball tournament weekend with eight of us in one room. Never had sex with a co-worker, though.)
[x] Been married.

[x] Gotten divorced.
[ ] Saw someone dying.
[x] Driven over 400 miles in one day. (That’s what, 600 km? I used to do that every second week, one way, the year Beloved and I started seeing each other, before he moved to Ottawa.)
[x] Been to Canada. (AM in Canada.)

[x] Been on a plane.
[x] Seen the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
[x] Thrown up in a bar.
[x] Eaten sushi.

[ ] Been snowboarding.
[x] Been skiing.
[x] Been ice skating.
[x] Met someone in person from the internet. (Met most of my best friends that way.)

[ ] Been to a motorcross show.
[x] Gone/Going to college.
[x] Done hard drugs.
[x] Taken painkillers.

[x] Cheated on someone else.
[ ] Were so bored you took this survey. (I’m not doing it because I’m bored.)
[ ] Have a tattoo.

Categories: memes

Oh. My. God.

I have not been this excited about the Internet since I ‘discovered’ blogging. Have you seen that Library Thing? It’s an online catalogue where you can store all your book titles in one spot.

Let’s back up a minute and examine what we know about Danigirl:

(1) She loves books.
(2) She loves collecting books almost as much as she loves reading books.
(3) She is an obsessive bean counter at heart.
(4) She is incapable of wandering more than 20 feet away from her computer for more than three hours at a stretch.
(5) She is an inveterate exhibitionist, and her favourite game is “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Wrap up all these qualities into a box, put a lovely ribbon on it, and make it ridiculously easy to use and painfully addictive, and you have that Library Thing.

I spent an hour and a half last night feeding two shelves of my favourite books into Library Thing’s database. Fifty-eight books down, 600 to go. Okay, maybe I’ll get bored and lose interest before I get to the cartons of pulp paperbacks stashed in the closet. But probably not.

And – did I mention they provide a blog trick? Books, beancounting and BLOG TRICKS, you say? Can you believe how cool it is? Now you can see five random titles from my library each time you drop by, right there in the sidebar below the word of the day.

You’ve got to try it! I thought it was a pretty neat trick until I actually tried to add a book… then I was hopelessly smitten. All you do is key in a couple of key search terms, and the database populates the rest of the information for you. It’s a tool for bookloving, bean-counting, blog-tricking LAZY people – it’s uncanny, I tell you.

Categories: Books

I’ve just been over reading a blog that I peruse from time to time. I used to really admire her, but frankly lately I’ve been finding her a little vacuous. I was getting all riled up about her comments on what makes a good father and working mothers, and started wondering to myself why I even read her blog at all any more if she so irritates me.

Why indeed?

You know what, I have the same problem in real life. I have friends (no, I’m not talking about you) who more often than not really irritate the shit out of me. Why do I keep them in my life?

I’m not talking about the good friend who has a bad day, or the friend going through a particularly needy time, who might be taking a little more than he or she is giving at a point in time. I’m talking about the kind of friend who hurts your feelings, who doesn’t respect you, who says things that offend you on a fundamental level. Why do I keep letting those people back into my life?

I think this is more a girl thing than a guy thing. I think for the most part, if a guy doesn’t like another guy, he just forgets that the guy he doesn’t like exists. Problem solved. For some reason, girls seem to have to keep picking at the scab of a failed friendship to see if it’s still yucky. Inevitably, it still is. Or worse, girls are unable to acknowledge a bad relationship, and will continue to harbour deep resentment while putting up a sunny face.

I can’t figure this one out. It’s not like I’m starved for friendship. Matter of fact, I am incredibly blessed to have so many people I adore in my life, and who treat me with love and respect in return. In my humble opinion, the most basic definition of a friend is someone who leaves you in as good or, for the most part, an even better state of mind than when you encountered her (or him). You should not leave an encounter with a friend feeling hurt, or annoyed, or rolling your eyes.

So does that make me the hypocritical one? I am so pathetically non-confrontational that I wouldn’t say boo to my own shadow most days, so small pebbles of grievances and petty (or not-so-petty) annoyances accumulate until they become a mountain of bad feelings.

How do you deal with this? There is no ritual of spring-cleaning for friendships. How do you deal with people in the same social circle as you whom you can’t stand to be around? How do you tell someone with whom you used to be quite close that you don’t feel the same way anymore? Or should you? How do you tell a friend that the funny little running joke she’s been making for years is actually something that grates on you like fingernails on a chalkboard?

And no, really, I’m not talking about you.

(Edited to add on 6 April 2006: Would anybody be so kind as to leave a comment to tell me why people who have ‘livejournal’ and ‘friend’ in their URLs seem to be stampeding to this post today?? I’m dying of curiousity!)

My lawnmower died. Well, the motor part is still working, but the handle snapped clean in half. It actually died about a month ago, just as I was starting the back lawn. Because I am stubborn, and because I suffered some sort of delusion that I could let the lawn go for the season after the end of August, I bent over double and pushed my half-a-lawnmower back and forth for the better part of an hour to finish the job. A lawnmower with an 18 inch handle cutting 6 inch thick grass takes a lot more effort than you might suppose.

So, sadly, I had to put the lawnmower (technically, the two halfs of my ex lawnmower) out on the curb on garbage day. Which seems appropriate, really, because that’s where I got it in the first place. About a year and a half ago, I was walking home from picking up Tristan at daycare one day, and there it was, sitting at the end of someone’s driveway with a “FREE” sign taped to it. Free, I might have mentioned previously, is one of my favourite words.

So I snagged it. Did I mention that I was pushing the double stroller at the time? And that I had the dog with me? We got some priceless looks that day, our little caravan with me pushing the double carrying about 70 lbs of chubby babies and restraining the 100 lbs dog on her leash with one hand, dragging the free lawnmower behind us with the other hand. But did I mention FREE?

For what it’s worth, and to provide you with an accurate record of my complete history of lawnmower ownership (hey, it’s not easy coming up with something to write *every*single*day* you know), my first ever own lawnmower was also free. Well, it wasn’t exactly mine, but a loaner from the benevolent ÃœberGeek. When I scored a free lawnmower of my own, I sent that one back into rotation among the mowerless. Everybody deserves at least one free lawnmower in a lifetime, don’t you think?

Our driveway donor lawnmower lasted an impressive two full summers before giving up the grass last month. Since it perished at the end of August, I was pretty sure we could just let the lawn go native for a few weeks and soon those long, waving blades would be buried under an avalanche of snow. Nice theory, except this is the endless summer of 2005, where it tops out at 26C in October. In OCTOBER!

I knew I had to do something when I’d let the dog out into the back yard and lose her in the meadow. And tall grass makes a great hiding spot for poop-bombs, turning a quick pick-up into a search and destroy mission. I had to finally give in and borrow my folks’ lawnmower on the weekend. And I discovered that most wondrous of grass-cutting options, the mulch. No more projectile grass cuttings! No more digging the swing and slide out from green haystacks after every lawn trim. (Um, yes, we really do have to work at cutting the grass more frequently.) Mulching rules!

I was going to write this post yesterday and solicit your lawnmower feature recommendations. But showing my usual lack of impulse control, when we went to Canadian Tire last night to see what remainders might still be hiding amidst the newly arrived snow blowers and Christmas decorations, I found a display model identical to the one I had borrowed from my parents, and they were willing to knock 15% off the price to be rid of it. So I bought it.

So now that it’s too late, tell me anyway what’s your favourite lawnmower feature? I personally am deathly afraid of gas mowers, so I was happy to snag an electric. (The boys – all three of them – heavily advocated for a ride-on, but I don’t think our yard is large enough to allow for a turning radius.) I opted not to get the bag feature at the back and saved a stunning $12 more.

More importantly, how old do you think the boys have to be before I can force them (ahem, politely request their assistance) to cut the grass? I remember doing it at age 10 or 11, but I figure they’re big boys, I can start ’em early.

I should’ve got the model with the harness.

Edited to add: here’s a better question. What’s the best FREE thing you ever got??