Sunday, April 22, 2012

Ping Pong and Manhood Redux

Top of the evening everyone.

How do you know if you are male? Hypothetical situation: an alien planet sends a delegation to Earth. The delegation brings a gift. The gift is the cure for all of humanity's ills. Do you:

A. Take it to the UN
B. Take it to the Prime Minister
C. Take it apart

If you chose 'C', then you are likely male.

After Jesse and I put the ping pong table together, we noticed that the two halves were off from each other approximately two centimetres. It finally got to us. We figured that if we disconnected four braces underneath and moved the top over, the table would be even.

Oddly enough, we were right.

We spent about an hour doing this tonight. Again, Jesse took lead and really put in most of the elbow grease. He even put the two screwdrivers we used back in the toolbox.

On another note, one of my loyal followers has commented that I have become comfortable using the Canadian spelling of many words. Learning to use it has been easy. Learning to turn it off when I am on duty has been remarkably difficult.

Have a good night everyone.


Saturday, April 21, 2012

Ping Pong and Manhood

Top of the evening everyone.

As you walk in the front door at my son's school, about 15 metres ahead of you, the hallway turns 90 degrees. At that turn, the school has placed a ping pong table. That table gets a great deal of use. Jesse loves the game. I never knew.

About six weeks ago, we had friends at the house over Shabbat. They have kids, one of whom is in Jesse's grade at school. All of the kids were downstairs. We were in the living room. Suddenly, we hear laughter and the sounds of ping pong. This is odd.

The teenagers had set up the folding table. They had taken spatulas from the kitchen and found a small plastic ball. As best they could, they were playing ping pong. It was quite funny.

Anyway, Jennifer and I decided to purchase a table. It fits our general idea of having fun activities that do not violate any laws of Shabbat. Jesse went with me to the store. We bought a table. We bought a set of balls. He purchased a paddle for himself. We brought it home.

We got it downstairs. Jesse and I set to putting it together. This was a great deal of work. All of the web information on the table said that this particular model would require a minimum of two hours.

About 15 minutes into the process, I realized that Jesse was reading the directions and telling me what to do next. I said very little thereafter. Following his instructions, we put the table together. It did not happen all in one day.

The next day, he coaxed two of his friends to come home with him and help him finish the job. I came home to find three teenagers building a ping pong table in my basement. The only problem with this is that he promised them dinner. It was the week before Pesach, and we had no food in the house. Anyway, they put it together. They got it turned over.

We now have a ping pong table. It gets a great deal of use. I like ping pong. I have also discovered that it is remarkably aerobic. It is thus good exercise.

It appears that my son is able to get out the right tools and take on a major project on his own. He did good, and did perhaps just a little more than put together a ping pong table.

Good night all.


Life's Simple Pleasures

Over at least the last seven years, my ice cream consumption has been greatly limited. This is not by choice. I am lactose-intolerant. I am unable to digest the ice cream.

Jennifer was up at one of the higher-end ice cream places a few weeks back. I think she was getting a birthday cake for Jesse. Anyway, the ice cream parlour has a lactose-free ice cream. They only have one flavour at a time. I went in to order a pint. They package it by weight. It was strawberry-banana ice cream. The lady mixed in pistachios for me. She could not fit all of the ice cream into the container.

For the first time in close to a decade, I was able to have an ice cream cone from an ice cream parlour. I felt like I was eight years old. I will do that again. I will not do it often. Feeling like I am eight years old is entirely psychological. Being 42 is real.

I felt like I was eight years old. R/SCG

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


After several weeks of saying "you-phone-'im", I finally called the piano man today. He is coming tomorrow to tune the piano. I hope he will mow the lawn also, but I do not expect that.

The piano is out of tune, badly. It has not been tuned in about five years. In that time, we have moved. Jennifer was keyed up about the whole thing. It was not quite so black and white for me. On a scale of 1-8, it was relatively minor. She thought it was major, even dominant, and refused to backpedal on getting it dealt with. Needless to say, this upped the tension an octave or two. Luckily, we are fairly in tune with each other, and we both know that violins never solved anything. Anyway, she was convincing. Her pitch did not fall flat. Since it is not always about mi, I called. I did not want her to be too strung out. That would be a bass thing to allow to happen.

Note to self: take the treble to keep the piano tuned. Otherwise, problems could come out of clef field. It is always better to settle the family fugue before it reaches a crescendo.

I have to get Bach to work...