The 2011 Archives
Just look at all of the great stuff that I wrote in 2011
(or move onto the literary gold from 2012 or the gems from 2010)
Do Not Buy Dodge
I own (vicariously through my wife, Patti) a Dodge Caravan SE. The "SE" stands for "Sports Edition" which supposedly means a transmission cooler, a trailer hitch and beefed up springs and suspension, but what it really means is "just a trailer hitch." It's got a 3-speed, 3 litre, 6-cylinder engine with "random engine noise" technology - you just never know what the next sound will be coming from under the hood. Could be a whistle. Could be a fart. My children love it. Me? Not so much.
Now, as someone who rarely resorts to hyperbole and who eschews exaggeration in favour of calm and reasoned analysis, I can report that my Dodge Caravan is the biggest piece of shit to ever struggle across North American highways and byways. Everything on this van is either broken or has been broken (and repaired by me.) Literally. Stuff has broken that has had me shaking my head in wonder. Once, the horn broke. It didn't short out. It didn't rust on it's mount and lose its ground. It audibly snapped. I know this because I was standing in front of the van when it happened. There was nobody in the van. I think the horn just realized it was part of a Chrysler and committed suicide. And actually, the phenomenon of "parts suicide" explains many of Chrylser's historic and as-of-yet-undiagnosed ailments.
I have a fantasy. In it, it is a sunny and warm, beautiful summer day and Cindy Crawford and I are lying naked in the lush field of perfectly mowed grass that is the front lawn of Chrysler Canada's Mississauga Head Office. From a distance, Patti and the Chrysler Canada staff are watching with envy as me and Cindy writhe around on the grass. After an (embarrassingly) short time, Cindy and I get up; I start my Caravan and put it in gear and Cindy places a heavy toolbox on the accelerator. I jump out of the van and we watch, rapt, as the Chrysler does it's smoke-belching and pathetic version of hurtling towards the fronts doors of the Head Office. Just before impact though, my dream turns into a nightmare. Huge hinged steel walls swing up from the ground as the van approaches, protecting the front doors from the oncoming van. Only then do I see the wreckage of hundreds of other vans - evidently I'm not the first person to have had this dream. Cindy walks away from me disgustedly. My nakedness is now a silent obscenity. Patti's vituperative curses wash over me - again.
(written: 04/09/09)
Camping Alone
Last weekend - late September - I went camping alone at Rondeau Provincial Park. I wrote this on Sunday:
This morning, only because I forgot to bring my bathing suit this trip, I went skinny dipping in Lake Erie. Yesterday I swam in my underwear and ended up feeling stupid for doing that since I didn't see a soul for the entire time I was on the beach and I soaked a relatively clean pair of underwear that was only about half way through its 24-hour shift.
So for today, I was already committed to skinny dipping when I arrived at the beach. Of course the beach had to be populated like Club Med during the high season. I thought: "Fuck it." I stripped down to nothing and ran into the water. The nearest person was more than 100 meters away anyway...
First off, Lake Erie at 9AM in late September is cold. Who'd a thought? Erie is one of those lakes where there are like - dunes in the water. One second you in up to your knees, then your chest, then your knees again. I ran that entire expanse (at least a hundred meters) like Ben Johnson. Then I dove headfirst through a wave and when I came up I was warm. This is really one of the most glorious things about swimming in cold lakes. If you can just get in, then you can get more than comfortable, no matter what the temperature.
Once I was in I had another "moment." By myself in the water (nobody else is stupid enough to swim) naked as the day I was born, and crashing through some really incredible waves for an Ontario lake.
After about 15 minutes, I was done. Those waves were really powerful and I'm not such a young whippersnapper anymore (as is evidenced my use of the word "whippersnapper.") People were still around when I was ready to get out so in the interests of decency I decided to cup my precious gifts with my hands when I came out of the water. Actually there wasn't much left to cup. I was able to cover up with just one hand - using only two fingers actually - just the little finger and the ring finger I'm ashamed to say.
I walked back to my gear, wrapped my trusty beach towel around me, a towel by the way, I've had for at least 10 years - the perfect size for me, and then sat on a comfortable provincial park bench and let the sun dry me off without a thing to do, or think, about or worry about - at least for the moment.
That was a sweet experience, and one I wouldn't have shared with anyone on earth, except for maybe Cindy Crawford.
After a delicious crudite lunch (not really) I decided to try out "Rondeau's Favourite Trail" - the Spice bush trail. I hoped to get some good pics of the local flora. At only 1.5km, it's a pretty short hike but I knew within the first hundred meters, that it was going to feel much longer, for it was at that point that a great cry rose from all of the bugs in all of the forest..."Lunchtime!" and they descended on me in droves to feast. At times like this I always think briefly about those Manitoba moose, so driven to insanity in the Spring by the mosquitoes, that they throw themselves off cliffs. Animal suicide! Luckily for me the terrain was relatively flat.
And I must have been the only person foolish enough to hike the trail that day, judging by the number of spider webs I walked through face first. The Spice trail is supposed to be a prime example of a Carolinian Forest - Carolinian I believe - is Latin for "swamp." Still, there was lots to photograph, and for my part, I became a paragon of efficient shooting. The bugs were so many and so merciless that I would identify a photo op a few meters up, I would turn on my camera and alter my settings, - like color saturation, f-stop, shutter speed - then I would put the tripod down, hit the shutter (I had a two second delay programmed in so there would be no camera shake at lower speeds) and then would spin on my heel and back again, picking up the camera and check the shot - all without breaking stride. You see, in order to survive in a Carolinian forest, you must be like a shark in the ocean - never at rest or you will die.
You know sometimes when you get bit by a mosquito and when you finally swat it, it leaves behind a smear of blood because it turns out that it had been gorging on you for some time without you realizing it? Well, thanks to that little fact of life, I walked out of the Spice bush trail Carolinian forest, got in my car, and checked myself in the rear mirror and realized I looked like I had just massacred my family with an axe. Still, I got some good shots of a fungus.
I did not sleep well last night. My mattress was a one inch thick one of the self-inflating sort. On top of that I had a zipped up sleeping bag turned inside out (for traction) and on top of that, I was inside my main sleeping bag. It's the very same bedding equipment that has served me well in the past and has been responsible for many a blissful slumber, for some reason didn't do the trick this time. I reasoned that it had to be my choice of site for my tent. For the entire night, I felt like I was sliding down and to the right. Down alone would have been fine, but that to the right thing...I woke up constantly, my arms fell asleep (with me awake no less) and I got the king of all sleep induced disorders - the sore back. It's amazing how much pain my back can signal given the opportunity. I don't even have a bad back, yet if my pillow doesn't support my head at the perfect angle...well obviously I haven't figured this out because I still have sleeps like this.
Really, I live in fear of inadvertently sleeping with my head lower than my feet. The one I did that, I woke up with the hangover to end all hangovers. How did I let myself fall asleep like that? Well, reread the last sentence. (hint: I'd been drinking.) When camping, I do my due diligence, I set up my bed sober and then come bedtime, I drunkenly hope that my calculations pay off.
But today I feel amazingly energetic considering I really got a shitty sleep.
Don't buy from Robotshop.ca in Montreal
Robotshop.ca is a disreputable online retailer.
TLDR; Robotshop.ca will not accept returns on their merchandise beyond a set point for any reason, including if the item is defective. If you're buying from them, then be damn sure that what you're buying is something that won't break, like a brick or a diamond.
Hello MBNA,
On August 31st, I ordered a Spykee robot to be shipped directly to Peterborough, Ontario for my son for his 8th birthday on September 14th. (I live 5 hours away in Chatham, Ontario) Shipping was lightning fast - the item arrived in Peterborough on September 3rd and there it sat in the box until my son's birthday.
After September 14th, after a lengthy assembly process, my son and his mother were unable to get it working properly so when I visited him on October 8th, I examined and tested the product carefully and determined that the battery must be defective.
It is at this point that I contacted Robotshop.ca and was repeatedly told that I need to deal directly with the manufacturer. I have emails showing this. The thing is, no matter how much I insisted, Robotshop would not give me any address or phone number for Spykee robots, only an email address: contact@spykeeworld.com. They would not refund my money since their policy for refunds is 10-days and they would not give me any other information other than the previously noted email address. Also, they could not replace the item as it had been conveniently discontinued between Aug 31 and October 8th.
I complained often and mightily over the next few days and succeeded in getting two actions performed: 1. Robotshop would send me another "base unit" (impressive since they had no stock on this item when I called) and 2. contact@spykeeworld.com replied to my 10 or so emails. Spykeeworld informed me that they don't deal with battery issues; I had to go to sav@mecanno.com. Unfortunately (I also have emails showing this) the address they supplied was wrong and the emails came back undelivered.
Finally, the replacement base unit arrived around October 24th, however it was shipped to my son in Peterborough instead of to me (I had the robot at this point.) So finally on October 30th, I reassembled this piece of shit, charged it for the requisite 3.5 hours and marveled as it traveled roughly 6 inches before completely dying.
Robotshop is a DISREPUTABLE online company that DOES NOT stand behind what they sell. I have spent countless hours trying to work this thing out and that frankly pisses me off to no end, because I HATE wasting my time on this sort of thing. I would have gladly just let Robotshop rip me off if the amount of money wasn't so great.
So, as of November 1st, I have shipped ALL of this this crap (the entire robot, original packaging, plus extra base unit) back to the company via Canada Post Expedited Parcel using Robotshop's own RMA: 2002883 - CPC Tracking Number: 7146 4105 0756 2596 to Robotshop Inc. 18005 Lapointe. Building 305, Mirabel, QC J7J0GH2.
Please initiate a chargeback on my behalf in the amount of $339 CAD as soon as possible.
MBNA, if you require any supporting documentation, I am happy to provide it. Thank you for your attention with this and I apologize for my frustration. I still have a very disappointed little boy to deal with!