This blog is closed.
I am still sporadically writing at a few places:
Twitter (which is by far the most common place to find me): http://twitter.com/offby1
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A wordpress blog I’m setting up at Wordpress.com: http://offby1.wordpress.com/
Please, redirect your attention there.
Taken with the implict permission of the subject. Not that I asked.\n
Char and I just spent the weekend in Jasper, one of the few vacations we’ve taken both in north america and on short notice.
It was really, really nice.
We didn’t really do a lot; lounged around the hotel, lazed in the pool, walked a bit. Maligne Canyon is freakin’ gorgeous when frozen, and the road to Maligne lake is something special in itself.
Here’s something that I will do my damnedest to teach my child: Just because you worked hard doesn’t mean you worked well.
In line with Dean Hogge’s observation are Professor Greenberger’s test results. Nearly two-thirds of the students surveyed said that if they explained to a professor that they were trying hard, that should be taken into account in their grade.[cite] emphasis mineJason Greenwood, a senior kinesiology major at the University of Maryland echoed that view.
“I think putting in a lot of effort should merit a high grade,” Mr. Greenwood said. “What else is there really than the effort that you put in?”
“If you put in all the effort you have and get a C, what is the point?” he added. “If someone goes to every class and reads every chapter in the book and does everything the teacher asks of them and more, then they should be getting an A like their effort deserves. If your maximum effort can only be average in a teacher’s mind, then something is wrong.”
Mr. Greenwood, you are correct in one thing: Something is wrong. It’s not what you think it is, but you got at least part of that right. I’d grade that thought a D.
And we’re in.
It’s a pretty flash place.
So, thanks to a great many friends — of whom only two have a web presence, and therefore get a web shoutouts — the move went off as close as can be to the ideal “without a hitch” experience.
I would like to formally thank:
Simon Brady Mel Vicki Dad Beau Jerry The D&D Conglomerate Ryan
To the rest of you, thanks for the many offers, some of which had to be turned down due to logistics. Nonetheless, you are welcome in our home any time 
We hope to have things squared away by the time I get back from Brazil yet again, and after that we’ll talk housewarming.
It’s quite a sight, the spew of boxes collected into three large stacks and two small ones. An entire life… scratch that, two entire lives piled up and ready to uproot.
Char and I are entering into the second most significant collective choice we’ll ever make; it comes a reasonably distant second to having a child, but it’s still a link between us that we are never likely to sever. It commits us to the financial side of the relationship in a way that — in the all-too-human myopia that comes with large changes — seems to overshadow the real basis for the relationship for a time.
A short time, mind you.
I’m really looking forward to this. It’s been stressful, it’s been draining, but we get our keys today (I just talked to the lawyer, the money’s on it’s way to Bob now) and tonight, we move the first of the bits of our lives into the house.
All I can say is, “poor cats!” They’re terrified.
Anyone that partakes in a sport that is outside the norm will have some reason or other for doing what they do. Mostly, their reasons boil down to vague notions of thrill or of challenge; they want to do something that scares them, or that is so insanely difficult that doing it at all elevates you to an elite crowd.
These are, in my opinion, pretty good reasons to do crazy things. They’re not, however, my reasons.
I choose to fly because I get to feel the freedom of letting go of conventional stability — the plane — and having a very personal, nearly spiritual connection to my world. When I am in the air alone, I owe nothing to anybody but myself, and I owe very little even there. All I have to do is pull, and I have satisfied every obligation.
Today, and I write this reluctantly, I jumped for the last time.
The skies were blue, patched with clouds at 7,000’.
The air was fresh, the wind calm.
The temperature was high, but for Brazil, not too bad.
I jumped from a Caravan at 12,000’, making a smooth exit and a laughing, joyous flight through a cloud in the aforementioned cloud layer.
I pulled.
The chute opened.
And I felt something in my shoulder give.
It wasn’t a complete dislocation, but even now when I put on a T-shirt, I feel it nearly slip out when I slide my arm into the sleeve.
I cannot jump if I cannot comfortably and fearlessly carry out the single most important task in the skydive, and I cannot safely pull anymore.
So, jump #38, at 25 minutes and 15 seconds of freefall, my first jump in a country other than Canada, my first jump from a Caravan, and also my last.
Delta(n): A change, eg the difference from one period to the next.
Time: As far as we measure it, five hours different.
Place: Approximately 11,000 km away from where I was 32 hours ago. Specifically, -46.6167, -23.5333
Language: Most people I’ll deal with this week won’t speak English. The people with whom I’ll deal most do. I speak maybe five words of the local language.
Weather: It’s currently 28º, about 35º warmer than it was 32 hours ago
Culture: The hotel powers down all of its outlets when I’m not in the room. Houses in this neighborhood all have wrought-iron fences to protect their parking spaces. The hotel is still all beige, just like hotels in Canada.
I don’t know how significant this is, really. I’ve covered it on my traveling weblog before, but there is something fundamentally dislocating about this kind of distance. I’m at best an indifferent traveler, preferring to be at home where all of my comforts are. It’s made more interesting by the fact that I’m in the middle of no small amount of upheaval on the home front.
For the last few who haven’t heard, we got the house, and will be moving into our very own home on January 23rd. We have, then, four months to prepare it for the arrival of theour baby. Luckily, there’s not a lot that needs doing in a hurry, it’s pretty much ready.
Those of you who read this are probably already aware of my feelings on the subject, but they bear repeating: We don’t plan to become one of those couples with no life other than our child. Our friends are infinitely precious to us, and we’ll be doing our damnedest to ensure that we remember that in the years to come. We’re moving, which makes it harder (as I said in a comment on the last post) but that just means that when I meet Mel for coffee in the morning it’s a bit more of a detour for me 
So, Char and I are — by virtue of the conditions of our current residence — about to embark on a second… adventure. We’re buying a house. Together. Like real adults, with real responsibilities. This falls firmly into the scary end of the spectrum.
I wrote the first part of this post with something firmly in mind, but for the life of me I can’t recall what that was. It’s worth noting, though, that blogging on an iPhone is not as effective as on a computer. It’s slower, by far, for one, and it’s a pain in the ass to do italics or bold text.
Anyway, house shopping.
Char and I are looking at some places tonight, some of which are just freaking gorgeous. We’ve got some nice neighborhoods picked out, and in general I’m pretty happy with the state of the housing market in Edmonton right now, which I suppose indicates that I’ve got radically lowered standards than I used to have. It’s grotesque, the prices I now consider to be ‘good’ prices for a house.
I hope that we’ll have more good news on this sort of subject soon, because we’d both like to get as little stress as we can out of this.
I’ll try to be more consistent, by the way; I’ve gotten right out of the habit of blogging (like some I could mention) and as a consequence I need to whip myself into posting. Rest assured, I’ve got a lot on my mind.
Wow. What a pain in the ass.
So, I wrote this a week ago, and hit ‘publish’… or thought I did. Nope.
So, in the meantime, we bought a house. Nothing major, there