Word.

57 points

In Scrabble, a simple word, carefully placed, at just the right time, can win the game.

Scrabble and life are not that different really. Sometimes the simplest, clearest words are worth the most. They can mean everything. Margaret Atwood said, "a word after a word after a word is power."

True.

Things one should never outgrow:

Shouldn't there be an explosion every time one bowls a strike?

Yes. And a happy dance too.

Tic-Noughts-Ozees!

Image from here.
P.S. These are not shooter glasses.
But they could be I guess.

Does anyone play Xs & Os anymore? I realized recently that I never taught my kids how to play tic-tac-toe. Whoa. They're teens now. That's pretty neglectful isn't it? I guess stuff was on TV all those years. Oh well. Yet another coffin in my hit the parenting nail on the hole in my head or whatever cliche works here.

Are you thinking, what's the big deal? I know. I know. It's an easy game. Maybe even a tad boring? It might build a few more synapses to play Battleship or even dress-up. (I did play those with my kids.) But considering that kids tend to default to games such as flinging sand at each other when they're unoccupied, it's a safe game and a simple game that can even be played IN the sandbox. I say teach it to your kids.

Why? Well. I wasted an hour researching it and now I'm wasting your time too...Did you know that there are 255,168 tic-tac-toe game combinations? (Please pause here for a moment and wonder about the dude who added this information to Wikipedia; I can so relate to him). It's existed since the first century BC. And it obviously teaches strategy. And social skills. And stuff. But more than any of this, if only I had known what it's called in other countries. Love these:

Asia: Wick Wack Woe!
UK: Noughts and Crosses!
Ireland: Xees and Ozees!

Words always spike my pilot light but yeah, I know I keep having this nagging thought...it's still just too easy. So why do I continue to blather on about this? Recently I was asked to recommend my favourite game. Here's the thought process that ensued:

Is it when my teens tell me half-truths? No.

Is it the passive-aggressive games I am forced to play with people at work sometimes? No.

Is it the way I avoid talking to my wife about my feelings and then grow bitter that she can't read my mind? No.

My favourite, favourite game is actually based on Xs & Os. It's Gobblet! YES.

Sadly though, my teens won't play it with me anymore. Why? Because I MUST WIN!

Sorry but I'm not one of those types of parents who let their kids win. However, please don't assume I am the overly competitive type... *tries to prevent the following conversation from happening in my head: "Yes you are." "No I'm not." "Are so." "Are not."*

Oh peeps, I josh. I'm truly not very competitive. Well maybe with some things. Competitive sports? Meh. Competitive cooking? Maybe. Competitive art show? BRING IT ON! Competitive Gobblet? BARE TEETH & MAKE PRO-WRESTLER FACES AND STRUT AROUND.

See. Like for all of us it just depends. As for the game of GOBBLET? I'm COMPETITIVE squared, multiplied by pi. (I don't really know what that means but I'm trying to say that with this game, I whoop yo ass.)

And finally, this brings me to my point. (Whoa. Must work on summarization skills eh?) Go get Gobblet.

Things that deserve the stink-eye:

This sort of thing happens to me a lot. Sigh.

when the new google doodle diverts one's attention so thoroughly that one forgets what one planned to search for.



P.S. Hey Google? Why is there no Canadian/international version of this terrific contest (which has some pretty sweet prizes and does something I love: fosters arts education).

And another thing: what was I about to search for 25 minutes ago?

Wordfuse (Saturday Night Edition)

It's Saturday night.
Be careful out there peeps.

bona pie-eyed (adj): bona fide + pie-eyed = that moment sometime after several beers and before the leg-wrestling (typical Canadian drinking game) when one realizes he or she is officially drunk. 

The Time I Made Bread, aka Aliens

Step #1: Easy part, sorta. I mixed stuff
 together and added green & yellow
food- colouring to make it ugly.

There's absolutely no one like Chelle and there's absolutely nothing like her hilarious contests and handmade (!) prizes. Last year, I missed the deadline but I entered anyway just 'cause she inspires me. Anyway, this year, I am determined to win Rhoda the Sock Zombie for my daughter's birthday. That's why I'm going for three entries plus (unlike some of you lazies who are just photo-shopping bread pictures). How so? I MADE bread today, my inaugural attempt. (Mrs. Tuna no doubt you are impressed. Recipe to follow.)

BUT OH THE CARNAGE! I will NEVER do this again.

My wife makes great bread but she was away for the weekend, so I just googled how to make bread and watched a few videos. (This is the same way I fixed my roof.) I chose somewhat-pixelated-Fuji-Mama's video because she looked like a real reliable Mom instead of the video by uh, the buxom hippie-lady in the tube-top, although that was indeed entertaining. (Insert Ricky-Bobby catch phrase here.)

Firstly, I thought I would make Oprah ugly-cry bread. As usual, I have no pea-brained idea what that even means but after I mixed the ingredients and added green & yellow food-colouring, I decided it would be Mountain Dew bread: DO THE DOUGH! Again I have no idea what I'm talking about. Anyway, after Step #1 my dough looked more like a hat created by Lagy Gaga in her I'm-easy-bake-oven. But whatever, I thought, I'll just let it rise. *deep breath* And then the CARNAGE began....

Step #2: During the pupae stage,
bread dough secretes the dreaded
clingy-girlfriend hormone.
(I think this caption deserves a
 fourth entry, don't you Chelle?)

It rose. And I coaxed it out of the bowl but well, no one told me bread has a pupae stage! It was like a scene from Aliens and I'm not brave like Sigourney Weaver. I started to sweat as I desperately attempted to flick off the larvae-globs of dough attempting to breed with my hands!

I intended to form the bread into bun shapes or maybe two pumpernickel-type loaves but I panicked because it would not stop trying to crawl inside me and so I attempted to cut it but then it tried to absorb the knife and it all became too David Cronenberg for me and I started to have that falling-down feeling inside and Ripley where are you?! but then the oven beeped me out of my reverie and I took a few deep breaths and resolved to continue furiously hacking the larvae into shapes and just ignored all the hissing and twisting and somehow that brought me to Step #3.

Step #3: The bread larvae stare at me.
(I think this caption deserves a
fifth entry, don't you Chelle?)

None too soon, I pushed those evil clumps in the oven, pulled out the hazmat gloves and did my very best kitchen/trauma-scene clean-up but then I pulled the plug and that's when I realized JUST HOW HEINOUS and tricky these bread-larvae really are!

Step #4: LOOK what the hell those
dough-larvae transformed into
at the bottom of the sink!
Dough worms?! Dough leeches?!
(I think this carnage photo-evidence
deserves a sixth entry, don't you Chelle?)

Meanwhile, those little bastards baked to death at 350. And well, twenty-five minutes later, out came bread, kinda ugly but real bread. Metamorphosis complete, I mixed up some tuna with pickles and miracle whip and ate one. But now I can't help thinking that maybe something is growing inside me like what happened to Ripley. Something, I don't know, like a sock-zombie. Right Chelle? Am I right? Right? Pretty please?

Step #5: Actual bread.
How the hell did this happen?

Metamorphosis Bread, A Recipe
~5 1/4 cups flour (I think I just used 5)
~1/4 cup sugar
~1/2 tablespoon salt
~1.5 tablespoons yeast I found in our fridge
~1.5 tablespoons oil (I used canola oil.)
~2 cups hot tap water
~food-colouring (optional)

Mix for 5 minutes. Let rise for in a warm, moist, dare-I-say breeding area for 25 minutes, then fashion the pupae into bun shapes or whatever; this requires lots of time if you're going to freak out like I did. If you panic just push it all together in some sort of smush-loaf. Bake for 25 minutes at 350 degrees. (I'm guessing Celsius because I live in Canada but we are a culture that recklessly mixes imperial and metric all the time so good luck with this part.) Anyway, after all this, the pupae are baked and can no longer attack you unless you forget to let them cool.

Eep.

     I have a thing about shaking hands. Another pea-brain thing but nevertheless....
     I still recall the first time I shook someone's hand: Grade 2.
     I had just won a poster contest, sort of a big deal I guess because there was an assembly and a man in a suit presented me with a book and about $25, give or take $25 (that part is not so clear). I could not recall the drawing. I drew so frequently it could have been anything. Nor did I recall entering a contest. Yup peeps. More evidence that I have a history of being clueless.
     Anyway, the suit reached out to shake my hand. I had no idea what he was doing. None. Total discombobulation. It's that innocent kid stage, eh? Reminds me of my cousin Rory who, on the first day of school, knew enough to go stand at the urinals to pee but was still clueless enough to pull his pants down to his ankles before he did.
     Anyway...the suit nodded at me. I looked at the principal and his perplexed face combined with his furious pantomiming indicated I needed to lift the paralyzed stump that was once my arm and somehow interact with the stranger's extended hand. So I reached out with my left hand for his already extended right hand. And for a moment, we stood there, holding hands. FAIL! Despite my blunder, everyone clapped. And the applause felt great. Still though, I wondered, what the heck is going on? (Apparently my drawing skills were significantly more advanced than my social skills. Hmm. Has anything really changed?)
     This was not a negative experience. As an adult, I don't fear shaking people's hands. I did not become Howie Mandel. However, it might explain why I am sensitive to the whole shaking hands experience. To me, it's important. I want to show respect. But the margin for error makes me even more neurotic, if that's possible.
     Example. Think of the last time you shook someone's hand. Whether comfortable or awkward, how would you describe it?

1. The Dead Fish Shake
2. The Crusher
3. The Two-handed Shake
4. The Finger Shake
5. The Sweaty Slide-out
6. The Linger-too-long Shake
7. The Too Feminine or Too Masculine Shake
8. The No-eye-contact Shake
9. The Wipe-on-the-pants-before-I-shake Shake
10. The Dreaded There-is-something-about-this-person-that-makes-me-not-want-to-make-physical-contact-but-I'm-going-to-anyway-and-even-shake-hands-more-assuredly-now-to-overcompensate-for-that-thought Shake  

     Just this morning I had to shake a stranger's hand.  Here's the breakdown, in slo mo. I came around the corner and encountered a stranger at work. I smiled and said, "Good morning." A third party entered. Introductions ensued. No, no, no, I shouldn't shake this person's hand, not right now. Did she see me hesitate? Oh yeah, here comes the hand. What can I do? How can I refuse? I extended my hand. Further, further. Our hands met. It's a good shake, a firm shake, we make eye contact....
     Unfortunately this occured mere seconds after I came out of the bathroom at work. My hand? Still wet. Seriously wet. Just soap and water peeps. Honest. For some reason, I was on air dry. But she didn't know that!
     Eep.
     Now that is a lasting first impression. FAIL!

Chelle's Contest

I missed Chelle's contest deadline. Bummer. There must be some other way I can win one of her amazing sock creations for my daughter! Anyway, for the backstory on that click here: http://domestica79.blogspot.com/. 

Featured below is one of my favourite ugliest objects. It was a gift and it's deceiving because at first it just seems odd. I mean what does a dog hope to see in a crystal ball? Missing homework perhaps?

But then, when you turn it around...

There's some sort of solar lighting panel "surgically" placed in its back. Egads. It's like an homage to animal experimentation, which is wrong and which is also sure to bite us all in the collective ass someday (no pun intended).