Earth Power-Hour

As much as I appreciate the concept of today’s Earth Hour, it’s not really going to do alot for conservation. The whole goal is to raise awareness, and that has definitely been done. Over the past few weeks, it has been difficult to flip through a newspaper or read anything online without stumbling across at least a paragraph promoting this event. People are starting groups for it, giving each other technological-high fives for their goal of turning killing the power to the very piece of equipment they’re using to communicate.

Most notably through the Toronto Star, I’ve read about people being encouraged to turn off the lights, and use candles instead. Is it actually more energy-efficient to burn candles – which have probably been transported via a gas-powered truck – than to keep the lights on? Even the push for compact fluorescent light bulbs has its share of problems, considering that they’re difficult to dispose of due to their small amount of mercury content, which can potentially leak into the disposal site.

I’m not a true cynic. I’m excited to see the power killed on the hideous new CN Tower lights. I’ll do my part. I’m working during Earth Hour, and though I suggested I could kill the power to the server racks (which would be fine, other than taking down 6 television stations), I’ll turn off all the lights in the office, and go outside to take photos of the dark.

It makes me angry.

I cannot believe the number of typographical errors I come across. People these days don’t care about spelling, and they don’t care if what they’re writing is understandable. Earlier today I refused to broadcast a 60-second news hit because it was missing an apostrophe. That, in itself, is not worth writing about, but anyone who went to grade four should really know basic grammar.

I used to think that people who didn’t know the difference between they’re, their, and there were idiots. Part of the reason I left university was the fact that I couldn’t justify the cost of the tuition when most of my (first year) classes were spent compiling grocery lists in my head while listening to a T.A. explain basic punctuation. I’ve come to realize that MOST people don’t have a firm grasp of English, and that many people don’t even know how to string a sentence together properly.

Even walking through Bloor West Village, I cringe at several (permanent) signs above the local, high-end businesses. There’s “Her’s Lingerie” and “Remedy’s RX Pharmacy”, just to name the 2 I can think of without much effort.

30 years ago, this kind of shit didn’t exist. No one had email, and no one had an instantaneous way of sending the entire office a nonsensical memo. I’m going to start posting EVERY stupid error I see, starting with Renée Zellweger:

Urban Ink Part 1 and 2!

Pilot episodes…

Hawaii Chair 2.0!!

The Hawaii Chair is back. If you’ve ever thought an infomercial product was too good to be true, you’re probably right.

Here’s a test run

Band Camp?

I only pulled out the old sheet music after watching the below video. I’m sure I was supposed to give this back, but I’ve held onto a lot of music over the years. I’m not sure why at the top corner of the page is scrawled “Peter’s NOT NATASHA”, but I guess the majority of our music sheets were re-used and handed out again, much like the Canon itself.

He’s quite right. The 3rd clarinet part was just as terrible as the cello piece. Bars 9 through 12 were a bore. This arrangement only has 45 bars though.

But it wasn’t made of Cardboard!

Apparently the front…. fell off.

Works Like A Charm

I seldom have the opportunity to bring my dinner with me to work. It’s a combination of two reasons, really. One, I don’t usually go to the grocery store. The idea that I’d have food at home to BRING along to work is far-fetched. Two, I’m usually in such a rush to get out of my house that arriving at work fully clothed is a feat in itself, nevermind having to put little bits of food into a container and haul it along with me. I typically buy something at either the bakery across the street, or subsist entirely on coffee.

Today, my dinner came along with me. It’s leftovers from yesterday, because, for a change, yesterday’s dinner didn’t come from the Ethiopian restaurant down the street.

Needless to say, I was sitting at my desk, pleased as all hell that I had a little dinner with me. With my fork in the air, about to take a bite, the cleaning woman came into master control with a roll of toilet paper, and announced to me that “this paper, is DANGEROUS TO TOILET”.

I took the fork out of my mouth. “What?”

“The CHARM. It’s CLOGGING THE PIPES. NO BREAK UP NICE WITH WATER.” She really does talk like that. Her name is Dora, and she’s a walking, talking version of every stereotype you’ve ever heard about old European women. “ONLY USE 2 PIECES.”

“But it feels nice on your bum. I think they buy us 2-ply to be nice to us.”

She blinked at me. I think she thought I’d sworn at her. “Oh! Well!”

At that point, I took the roll from her and wound a whole bunch around my hand to demonstrate how much I use. “It’s a mitt.”

Now I have about three feet of toilet paper on my desk, and poor Dora has huffed back off to the kitchen.