And it’s hot. And smoggy and smokey, too.
I mean, his head is gigantic. It’s freaky and disturbing.
That is all.
I matched two numbers plus the bonus number on the Lotto 6/49. This means I won…
I got several e-mails today with various shipping labels to print out for UPS, so that I may ship my defective monitor eastward to Samsung for repair or replacement.
They got my postal code slightly wrong. Oops.
They also got my city wrong — Richmond instead of Vancouver. Bigger oops. “We’ll have new labels sent to you in 24 to 48 hours.” Today is Friday so that effectively pushes everything back to next week. Oh well. As long as they don’t suddenly decide I live in Madagascar, I guess things will be on track…eventually.
Yesterday afternoon as I was reading interesting tales o’ the Internet, the monitor screen, with no warning or fanfare, suddenly went dark and the power light shut off. I tried the power switch but to no avail. A computer reboot did nothing. Switching cables and testing it on the server machine proved as successful as Nine Inch Nails at the Grand Old Opry. After eight months the monitor was dead. I was and am chagrined. Today I get to find out how good Samsung’s warranty service is.
In case you want to avoid it, the model that went kaput is the T240.
Last night I tried the Strawberry Banana Burst protein drink powder (with water) and as expected science cannot successfully mimic the flavor of banana or strawberry. Plus the use of the word “burst” is totally gratuitous. There was a vague hint of something strawberry-like in there somewhere but mostly it tasted like scrapings from something dry, gritty and with all flavor carefully stripped away, like bones collected on a dusty summer day out in Death Valley. It might be better if you added real bananas and strawberries to it, skipped the powder and devised whatever you deemed an appropriate “burst”. On a scale of one to five steroid-injected weightlifters with huge muscles, tiny brains and no ability to touch themselves, I give Strawberry Banana Burst one weightlifter.
After seeing someone ask about “tasty” protein drinks on Quarter to Three, I thought it might be a good idea to look for something myself to help boost my protein intake post-workout.
I went to Whole Foods today and found this:
As you can see by the mungy cup and torn packaging I have already sampled the “decadent chocolate” variety. The directions advise you to add the powdery whey protein goodness to water, milk or fruit juice. I imagine milk is the preferred choice to create a pseudo-milkshake but I have no milk and it’s more sugar than I’d like, anyway, so water it was. Having read stories describing these mixes as tasting like “chalky coconut ass” (!) I was prepared for the worst but in fact, it was kind of tasty in a diluted sort of way. Next up is “strawberry banana burst”, which may be trickier to fake than chocolate but I’ll know in just two short days!
I also bought a pair of proper shorts for jogging. Like nearly every other item of clothing I have, the shorts I bought two years ago are now too big. The new shorts are very light and perhaps a wee bit shorter than I expected but since my legs are the one certifiably* sexy part of my body, I’m okay with that.
* really, give me a minute and I will print the certificate
Back in April I was downtown for a date and arrived a bit early, so I roamed the West End, an area I had lived in when I first moved to Vancouver back in 1986. Much was unchanged but as with other areas of the city, there has been an effort here to provide a little local flavor to the neighborhood by using a specific color theme for the neighborhood’s light standards, bus shelters and garbage cans.
Some bus shelters are the regular gray, others are blue or black.
The ones on Davie Street are pink.
This is not an inappropriate color scheme for Davie. I have to admit to feeling a bit awkward with people belting out showtunes while waiting for the #8 to show up.
You know how often the sequel is worse than the original? Keep reading!
In my previous entry I noted the swift action of my credit union on spotting fraudulent charges on my credit card. At the time I had just assumed someone had absconded with my credit card info using digital trickery. It was not until the following day that I went to pay for some groceries that I discovered that my wallet was no longer comfortably nestled in my left rear pocket as it always was. Uh oh. I put the grocery order on hold then returned home, searching for my wallet but knowing it would be futile. It had probably been 24 hours since it went missing.
I don’t know if it actually fell out of my pocket (seems unlikely) or was stealthily plucked away but suddenly I had no wallet, no credit card, no ATM card, no birth certificate, so SIN card, no ID, nothing. I was persona non grata.
I phoned Sue and bless ‘er heart, she volunteered to drive me to the credit union to get a new ATM card. We arrived 15 minutes before they closed, the next day being a Sunday. I explain my situation but the teller says that to get a new ATM card, I will need ID. All of which has been stolen. Well. But not to worry, I could still withdraw a small daily stipend by standing in line and getting good old-fashioned cash, just like people did back in the 1890s. How quaint.
What followed over the next few days was a series of circular checks where each piece of ID I needed to recover required some other piece of ID I needed to recover. But all was not lost–literally! I still had my paper birth certificate (the plastic-coated wallet-size version was in my, uh, wallet), so I had a starting point in recovering my identity. Monday morning and I headed bright ‘n early to Service Canada and presented my certificate, waiting to hear how long it would take to get a new Social Insurance card. “This birth certificate is invalid,” the woman behind the counter said, her lips twitching mysteriously. She explained that there was no registration number on the certificate and thus it was not valid. Little did I know that 44 years ago someone was screwing me over. I wasn’t even a month old. No wonder I’m so cynical. The woman behind the counter told me I could get a replacement certificate at Vital Statistics. She looked up the location and assured me it would be “fun” to go there. Government services and fun together? Cats and dogs, I say.
But I go.
Vital Statistics is in an office on ultra-trendy Robson Street downtown, hence the “fun” or so I assume. But you know, it’s just a street downtown on a Monday morning. It’s not like there’s a Mardi Gras parade with people flashing their bits and showering everyone with candy. So I go in and I’m told I can get a legit birth certificate in five business days and for free! But only if I hand over the invalid one. I reluctantly do so, giving up the only piece of paper that states who I am.
It turned out to only take four days for the replacement to arrive by mail. The newly-redesigned birth certificate (made over in 2008) came with a sheet listing its many improvements, one of which was a size designed to be inconvenient to fit in wallets and purses, to reduce loss or theft. I expected to see “Looking at you, dumbass” after that bullet point.
The tale of ID recovery took an unexpected twist midweek when I got a lumpy envelope in the mail. It was encased in a plastic Canada Post bag with a boilerplate apology for the condition of the envelope therein, saying it was being delivered in the state in which I found. I opened it up and there was my wallet, with my BC ID card taped on the side of it. Apparently the thief took the Visa card and tossed the rest on the ground and some sympathetic person dropped it into a mailbox. Yay! Thank you, mystery person who did this.
I went to the credit union, got my ATM card re-activated and today received my new Visa card, one day earlier than their estimate. I checked to make sure everything looked kosher and discovered I have enough Visa points to buy an iron. Woo! I already have an iron. I can also buy a Cineplex gift certificate that includes a pair of movie tickets, two regular drinks and a regular popcorn. i think that combo normally costs $300. It’s like buying six irons.
But for now I rest content that I no longer have to meticulously replace all of my ID. My wallet is now kept in a front pocket and any non-vital ID is kept safely tucked away here at home. I also will amend my previous judgment that “people suck” to “some people don’t suck.”
Two random gripes:
#1: I get a call from my credit union. The woman speaks with an accent so it’s somewhat hard to follow at times but she asks me about these weird charges on the card to fashion stores and The Source. I am confused, as I’ve never made these. She verifies a few legit ones but it becomes apparent the card has, in her words “been compromised”. She nukes it, tells me I’ll get a new one in 7-10 business days and in the meantime no credit! Woo. People suck.
#2: I buy cat food at a local pet food store called Tisol. Being the environmentally-friendly guy I am, I bring my own bag. Last week I put the four large cans on the counter. There are two women behind the counter, one at the register and another beside her. Register woman rings up the order while the other asks me if I need a bag. I say no, I have my own here. I pay for the cat food (using my still-working debit card) and the other woman just stands there. She doesn’t bag the cat food, she just stands there and watches me until I do it. So the lesson is obviously screw the environment and make them cough up one of their own plastic bags, because they always bag it that way. Great service, there.
Did I mention people suck?
Some random thoughts on the weightlifting:
- the 3-times-per-week routine is working out fine so far, I don’t feel like I’m overworking myself
- I am no longer feeling sore between sessions
- I do not look different nor has my weight changed but it’s still early
- I have girlie shoulders. Any exercise that involves the shoulders (like the shoulder press) makes me cry.
- I am probably going to move from 10lb to 15lb weights. For most exercises the 10 pound weights don’t seem to be pushing me enough.
- Slowing down the reps has helped by requiring a bit more effort
- the cheapo mat I have curls up and sucks. Not that it curls up and sucks as part of some trick, though that would be neat. It just generally sucks. I’ll probably be getting a rubber-backed replacement.
- I actually remember to stretch before starting now. Woo.
The real test will come when I am once again gainfully employed and have to sacrifice “fun time” to maintain my routine. I think I’ll be okay there, since I usually work out in the evening.