Promises, promises

I'm going to mostly avoid a political diatribe tonight. I should mention that during the second US presidential debate (which at few times seemed very presidential, whatever the hell that means) Georgie Porgie was asked who he thought he would like next appointed to the US Supreme Court. Bush gave a rambling answer that also joked: "I would want all of the judges on the supreme court voting for me." Apparently, he's reached the point where stealing the 2000 election is something that he can now joke about with utter impunity.

Dear America: Wake up.

Thanksgiving was wrought with all sorts of Turkey and then homemade Chinese food mayhem. There is something anti-climactic about spending five hours preparing six or seven individual Chinese dishes for that grand old day, and then needing only thirty minutes to eat one's fill. The saving grace of the whole affair was that it meant cooking with or at least near my beloved, which is always a source of warmth and comfort. Despite this, I'm seriously considering spending next year cooking with an old friend that I like to call "Swanson Hungry-Man".

The work week has begun, and although I enjoy the work that I do, I felt this strange and rare desire to call in sick today. Was I sick? Of course not. I'm almost never sick. I sometimes wish I were sick more often so I could skip work without feeling like a total sinner. Anyone who knows my religious background is likely choking on their ramen noodles, French onion soup, or curried chicken (or whatever else it is my friends and family happen to eat) at that comment. But you get my drift. I just can't play hooky. I couldn't bring myself to do it in high school, and although I ran rampant with that habit during University, when it just didn't matter, I promptly returned to my near anally perfect attendance once I entered the working world. Sure, there were days that I called in sick, but they were few and far between, and most of the times, I showed up at work sick like the class-A idiot that I was, to be then promptly sent home by understandably perplexed managers.

But I digress. I just didn't want to get out of bed today. Maybe it was the fact that I was having nice dreams that I naturally can't remember, or perhaps I had found the perfect sleeping position (you know what I'm talking about). Either way, I came dangerously close to going AWOL. But I didn't. Oh, incidentally, there was no real legitimate point to the last two paragraphs. I'm not even going to say what happened the rest of the day. I just wanted to note this moment of slothfulness for posterity. On to bigger and better things.

I've started into a book that chronicles the unique history of "Front Page Challenge" . It fascinates the hell out of me to read about all of the famous characters that showed up over the course of the 38 YEARS that it ran. From Pierre Trudeau to Timothy Leary, this program covered all of the news makers. Reading material like this renews my woe-begotten interest in Canadian history. An historian in general, I dabble in tales that span the millenia of most regions of the world, focusing on U.S., British, and Ancient, and general European history. Prior to digging myself into studies of these areas, I fancied myself a lover of Canadiana. To my dismay, I look back on four years of undergraduate history studies and see only one real course that I took that dealt exclusively with Canadian history, and even then, it was the history of 19th century Ontario. In the course of my readings, I might even stumble across some of that Can-lit stuff that the lark seems to enjoy so much. I could probably even read some. It should not be too hard, my lovely wife has almost every Timothy Findley book in print, and that's just for starters. I should probably revisit the Deptford Trilogy, or peruse me some Stone Angel, despite the fact that most people who I consult seem to hate that book.

On to the 'challenge'.