It’s about time somebody got creative with bags. I only wish I had thought of some of these ideas myself. No matter - Rachel Peters and I are going to take the greeting card industry by storm one day. I also have some amazing ideas for fortune cookies.

In the meantime, enjoy these pictures of cool bag designs, and feel free to click on any image to see it larger:

Back in this post, I talked about visiting my friend Julius in Hong Kong in the summer of 2002, and how there was a funny story from that visit that I would mention in another post. Well, this is that post.

Julius, along with his girlfriend and I, were hanging out one night at a cafe-type-place in Hong Kong, and we had all ordered these milk-based drinks, which were not really milkshakes, but more like flavoured milk. Mine tasted like coconut, and I found it quite enjoyable.

As I was drinking my milk, I asked Julius where this drink comes from (and by that I meant, which area of China or Hong Kong did this type of drink originate). His reply to me, as far as I could tell, was “From a cow”.

Now, I know that milk comes from cows, and I suspected that Julius himself knew that I was aware of this fact, so I assumed that he was just toying with me. I said to him “Yeah, but where does it come from?” Then, he and his girlfriend both said in unison “From a cow!”

Sensing that something was being lost in the communication process, I got a little agitated and said “I know that milk comes from a cow, but where does this drink come from?!”

Julius and his girlfriend paused for half a second, and then they both began laughing hysterically. I stared at them, bewildered, wondering when I was going to get the joke. Finally, after he caught his breath, Julius said to me “No, no - there’s a region in China called Macau! That’s where these drinks come from!”

I tell ya, going to Hong Kong is worth it just for the funny stories!

I recently realized that none of my top 3 favourite music performers are making music anymore. It’s a sad, sad day when you reach this point in adulthood. I spent the better part of this morning listening to my favourite artist of all time: Sarah Masen.

Sarah has had very little mainstream success. I think one of her songs was on the soundtrack to Dawson’s Creek. She’s a Christian artist who was booted out of the Gospel Music Association when her 1998 album Carry Us Through wasn’t considered “Christian” enough. I heard it was because the word “Jesus” wasn’t in her lyrics. Freakin’ Christian politics.

What you’ll find in her music is a healthy dose of exactly what the modern church is lacking these days (okay, one of the many things that the modern church is lacking): Deep, rich, poetic art. The music itself is a blend of folk and… I don’t know… laughter-and-sublimity in musical form. That’s the best I can describe it. But her lyrics are what truly set her apart.

I can’t think of anyone else in the Christian music industry, and very few outside of it, who offer such depth of insight and metaphor in their lyrics. I’ve heard most of her songs over a hundred times, and I still find nuances and hidden meanings in her lyrics after almost 10 years. And there must be some sort of magic in the production of her albums, because there are times when it feels like Sarah bypasses my conscious mind, and speaks right into my soul. Like a Bene Gesserit using The Voice. (Dune reference - read the book)

Her first CD was one of those “enhanced” albums, which had media content on it that you could view on your computer. There were a whole wack of interviews with Sarah, as well as family photos that she provided commentary for. I felt like I knew her intimately after exploring these pieces of her life. I also developed the biggest crush on a musical artist that I’ve ever had. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever had a crush on any other musician, before or since.

Right before Sarah’s second album was released, my good friend Tran was hired to provide lighting for a tour featuring Sarah Masen, Sixpence None The Richer (also in my top 3), and The Waiting. The closest show was somewhere in New York state, at a community college. A whole group of us drove down to see it, and Tran put us on “the list”, so that we could get in for free. He also had given me an advanced copy of her new CD, which made me feel like a super-fan. Tran is a good man.

During Sarah’s set, between songs, she mentioned that she had just recently got engaged to a man named David Dark. As soon as she said that, the entire male contingent of the audience let out a groan of disappointment (myself included). It was audible enough to make Sarah say “Hey, c’mon guys!”. I realized at that moment that every single man in that auditorium was in love with Sarah, and, like me, was secretly devising a plan to somehow talk to her after the show, catch her attention, and eventually marry her. Have you heard the sound of a few hundred hearts breaking at the same time? I’ll never forget it.

It’s easy to see how it could have happened, though. Sarah was beautiful, intelligent, deep, talented, interesting, confident, and fully transparent. She had shared her most personal thoughts and experiences through her music and through those extras on her CD. Her music was also recorded with the vocals very “up front” in the mix, yet sung in an extremely intimate manner. Every man who heard her songs and watched those extras thought that Sarah was singing and speaking directly to them.

Now she has two kids, is enjoying a happy marriage to a man who I’m sure is a much better match for her than I would have been, and has put her music on hold in order to focus on being a mother. And while I wish her all the best that motherhood has to offer, I have to admit, it would be nice to hear her sing some new songs to me from time to time.

Sarah Masen links:

The Official Site (no updates in a year, and down as I write this)
An Excellent Fan Site
An Excellent Interview with Sarah
Sarah on Wikipedia

So, my dad turned 60 last weekend. When one of your parents turns 60, you start saying to yourself “Wow, my parents are getting old”. Which inevitably leads to the thought “Wow, I’m getting old”. Which in turn leads to the thought “Why haven’t I started investing in RRSPs?”

As I sign that I am, indeed, getting older, I just took a good 10 seconds trying to remember if you’re supposed to put a space between the end of the last word in a sentence and the punctuation mark. I better get these pictures posted before I completely lose it.

We threw my dad a surprise party (which, incidentally, surprised the 60-year-old crap out of him), and as part of the entertainment, my brother and I scanned a whole smack-load of old photographs and put together an electronic slideshow of sorts. We added some captions to a few of the pictures, and I thought I’d share some of my favourites with you, my loyal readers:
I can’t tell you how much I laughed at my own joke when I made up this caption. From what I understand, this picture was taken at a New Year’s party when my dad was in his early 20s. He’s the one on the right, dressed up as a baby. At first we thought that he mistook this event for a costume party, but my mom informed me that this group of friends just took turns dressing up as the New Year’s baby each year. I can’t say that I’m upset that this tradition has been discontinued.
I think my brother came up with the caption for this picture. I have a great-uncle with a cattle farm in Manitoba, and each of us took turns milking a cow while we were there. Well, everyone but me. Because that’s a little gross, you gotta admit. You can’t name any other animal that you would readily grab and squeeze its teet, can you? Didn’t think so.

In conclusion, let me leave you with one last photo of my father, this time from the late 70s. Although it’s nowhere near as flattering a photo as the one of me and my mother in this post, I think it captures the spirit of that particular day with honesty and, dare I say, a measure of self-confidence. It takes a big man to pose with his baby son (yes, that’ s me) wearing only tight shorts and a belt. And my dad is definitely a big man.

Larissa, my gorgeous, amazing fiancee, is a woman of intrigue and mystery - A multi-faceted woman, who balances the qualities of beauty, intelligence, and charity in sublime equilibrium. She also possesses some of the wackiest quirks I’ve ever come across.

Today I’d like to share one particular quirk with you: Her fear of swarms.

To tell you the truth, I haven’t been able to fully nail down the precise domain of situations that this fear encompasses. It could be a mass of insects. It’s appeared in the form of static on a television screen. She was scared by a scene of writhing, injured bodies, groaning on the floor in one particular shot of a martial-arts movie (like what you see at the end of Kill Bill vol 1, but it wasn’t that exact movie). But the situation that this fear manifests itself in most commonly is when we see swarms of birds.

I’m sure you’ve all seen those swarms of blackbirds that like to hang out in fields, and take off en masse into the sky. I personally find it mesmerizing to watch the whole cluster of them swooping, arcing, and gliding in a single, undulating mass in the air. I could watch and be entertained for hours. For Larissa, having to watch these birds would be considered a form of cruel torture.

My most startling encounter with Larissa’s fear of swarms, and specifically these black birds, came one afternoon as we were driving between Hamilton and St. Catharines. We were approaching one of those signs that spans across the highway, telling you which exits are coming up next. As we got closer to the sign, I saw that it was covered in perched blackbirds. Having never seen these birds sitting on a highway sign like this before, I nudged Larissa and said “Hey, check out that sign!” Larissa’s response was something along the lines of

AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!

You’ve got to imagine a scream of such magnitude and terror that I actually feared for my own safety as I was driving. When I made sure that I had full control of the car, I couldn’t help but start laughing at Larissa’s insane reaction to the birds.

After we had driven under the sign (Larissa had her eyes closed), she was repeating the words “That’s so gross” over and over again, like a mantra. I restrained my laughter, took her hand in mine, and told her that it was all over, and everything was going to be fine. However, to this day, just hearing me re-tell this story to other people makes her jittery.

Larissa, if you’re reading this, don’t worry - I’ll protect you from those mean ole birds! At least you’re not afraid of underground water reservoirs, like Christy.

What do you like to start your day out with? A cup of coffee? Some freshly squeezed orange juice perhaps? Or maybe you’d like to down a hearty cup of your own piss.

This morning, as I was eating my breakfast (which, incidentally, did not include a cup of pee), I came across this article in The Hamilton Spectator discussing the possible health benefits of drinking your own urine. By the end of the article, I found myself experiencing an odd combination of enlightenment and revulsion.

Contrary to popular belief, urine is not bodily waste. It’s a byproduct of your body’s blood-filtration system. It’s made up of 95% water, and 5% various nutrients which your body has no immediate use for at the time of processing. Because of this, it’s sterile, and theoretically, can be consumed without harm.

The article mentions a leading advocate for urine consumption by the name of Martha Christy, who “recommends a regime beginning with five drops of ‘fresh morning urine’ under the tongue before gradually increasing the dosage to as much as a cupful, morning and night”. This woman believes that urine drinking is responsible for curing her of various medical problems, and that everyone should follow her example.

All day I could not get this article out of my head. I found myself trying to imagine what the world would look like if this practice started becoming mainstream.

“You wouldn’t believe how much money we’ve saved on juice-boxes for Danny’s lunch, now that he’s taken up drinking his own pee. We just send him to school with a sandwich and an empty sippy-cup.”

“Actually mom, I usually trade my pee with Bobby’s. His tastes less like sulphur and more like salty-grapefruit juice”.

I imagine the transition to piss-drinking would be easier in the States than in Canada. After all, those who drink Budweiser are already halfway there.

This picture is by far my favourite photo of me and my mother. I have no idea who took it, where we were, or even exactly how old I am. I look to be about a year old, which would date this picture to somewhere in 1976.

The hair, the outfit(s), the lighting, the expressions on our faces - beautiful. I look like the son of a movie star. Who would have guessed that the young child in this photo would one day be a meter-reading linguist who graduated seventh in his class from Bible College.

Dare to dream, my friends.

I ordered a pizza tonight, in the hopes that the arrival of Larissa and my pizza would be synchronous. However, my pizza is now here, and Larissa isn’t. It takes a strong man to resist his hunger until the arrival of his fiancee. Also, the consequences of starting without her wouldn’t outweigh the benefits of immediate pizza-gratification.

As I was waiting for the delivery man, however, I was shaving about 5 days worth of stubble off of my face. If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you might remember the post I made about shaving earlier. What I didn’t include in that post was that I have a pattern that I follow, as far as what parts of my face get shaven first, and which are shaven last. Generally, I start with the neck-area, and finish with the upper-lip.

As I was just nearing the end of my shave, which also happened to be around the time that the pizza guy was due to show up, I realized that I could very well end up answering the door mid-shave. I also realized that, depending on the timing of the delivery man, I could end up answering the door with a “Hitler moustache”.

The last thing you want to do is appear anti-Semitic when ordering a pizza. Not to mention that this pizza had bacon as one of its toppings. Luckily, I finished shaving mere minutes before my pizza arrived. Disaster averted.

I know that usually I try to write something funny and entertaining each day in this blog, but I’ve realized lately that I have a lot of thoughts to share which don’t fit into the “entertaining” category of things. So today, I’d like to share something that’s more personal, and less humourous.

I’m getting married in just over 3 months. That’s a big deal. I’m about to make a commitment that’s going to last a lifetime. There are very few times in your life that you’re faced with decisions of this magnitude, and it should give you reason to pause, take a good look around you, and consider how you’ve ended up here, and where you’re going.

I’m constantly surprised by how the past is being rewritten. What I mean is, as you find out more about yourself (and life in general) in the present, you often see the past more clearly, and sometimes in a completely different light altogether.

I’ve spent most of my life holding on to certain positive presuppositions about myself. I’ve believed that I’m basically good, that people generally like me, that I treat people well, that I can succeed in whatever I set my mind to, that I’m emotionally and physically healthy, and that any problems in my life will more or less work out in the end.

I’ve also held onto some not-so-positive ideas about myself. For instance, I’ve always doubted my abilities to find someone to love, who will reciprocate my feelings. I was too shy to make things work with most of the girls I liked in my pre-teen and teen years, and even though I’ve had some wonderful girlfriends in the past, I’ve generally felt as though most girls have only liked me “as a friend”.

As I entered adulthood, my quest to find a healthy relationship consumed most of my mental energy. All through Bible College, and at every social event, I was either constantly on the lookout to find a girl that I could get involved with, or I was busy feeling self-conscious about a girl I was spending time with already. In fact, my major motivation for going to Bible College was that it would help me to find a potential wife who shared my beliefs and values.

After Bible College, I was in no state to enter into full-time ministry, having been burned-out by the church I was working at part time, so I started an MA in Biblical Studies at Trinity Western University, with the hopes that this school would provide me with the woman I was looking for. While I met many amazing people at that school, including one particular girl who I fell hard for, nothing ever came of my time there. I left that school with no degree, no money, and no wife.

My new church that I started attending when I returned to Hamilton in 1999 offered a few possible relationship options, but once again, they all turned out to be dead-ends. I started feeling bitter towards all of the other couples in my life, especially those who were getting married, and spent my days feeling sorry for myself and my “stupid relationship situation”.

Eventually, I even started feeling bitter towards God, feeling like He “owed me” for not being “one of those jerks” who messes around with girls, and then throws them away. I alternated between pleading with God, and yelling at Him in my prayers. I felt as though He had to sort this relationship situation out soon, or else I would never be able to focus on other important life issues, and also, I felt I would soon be too old for any attractive woman to take an interest in me.

My frustrations culminated in late 2003, when I finally met a girl who I felt I connected with better than any other. However, after putting all of my emotional eggs into her basket (so to speak), I found myself heartbroken when she chose to get back together with her boyfriend, and eventually to marry him.

I felt as if God had finally and utterly betrayed me. I was heartbroken and depressed for months. I thought of nothing but my own pain. I was consumed by it. At the same time, I was repulsed by myself - by the way that I had made this issue out to be the most important aspect of my life, and that I couldn’t push beyond my frustrations.

2004 was a strange year for me. I was dealing with the pain of heartbreak, which stretched me to the absolute limits of my emotional capacities. At the same time, I was talking to God more than I ever had before. I was connecting with parts of the Bible which never had any meaning to me before I scraped the bottom of the emotional barrel. Also, some amazing women appeared in my life, and helped to push me beyond the paralysis of my own pain.

One was a wonderful Christian girl who took a genuine interest in me, and wanted to make a relationship happen. This situation seemed so new to me, that I didn’t know how to handle it. So naturally, I messed things up. To be fair, it would have been hard to make things work anyway (she was leaving the country for at least a year, and long-distance relationships rarely work out). But God used that situation to show me that I wasn’t hopeless, like I had thought.

The other woman was a girl I had met in Italy the year before (no, not Sara who I mentioned in this post), and had had a crush on during the time we were completing our Italian course in Siena. She had recently broke up with her boyfriend, and was now giving me the attention and affection I had been longing for for so long. However, she wasn’t a Christian, and I knew that in the long run, I wouldn’t be able to have the kind of deep relationship with her that I was looking for.

I spent a full day contemplating the possibility of compromising my faith in order to find love in her arms. And I seriously struggled with the possibility. She met my needs in almost every way, except that I would have to sacrifice at least a portion of the beliefs that I held at the core of my being, if I was going to build a life with her. After so much heartbreak and loneliness, it was the greatest temptation I had ever faced.

Eventually I decided that I couldn’t make that kind of sacrifice. It would mean giving up a portion of my soul, and I couldn’t live with that. I gave myself over to the possibility of lifelong solitude, and decided to leave the country myself.

As I spent Christmas and New Year’s in Japan, I did a lot of soul-searching, and praying. I stopped whining to God. I asked for some real direction. And I decided that I was supposed to come back home. I didn’t know what I was coming home to, but I felt that it was the right decision.

Within a month of returning to Canada, I was together with Larissa, the woman whom I’m now marrying. And suddenly everything that happened in the past - all of the worrying and loneliness and heartbreak - seems like it happened to a completely different person, in another lifetime.

The story was all set to work out after all - I just couldn’t see beyond the chapter I was reading (writing?) at the time. That perfect match was waiting for me all along, but it didn’t happen according to my timeline - there were other situations that had to fall into place first.

I wonder now how much better my past could have been if I had spent less time stressing myself out about relationships, and just enjoyed the time I spent with people along the way. Maybe I could have retained some amazing friendships with those girls in my past whom I thought I had to pursue romantically. And maybe I could have been a better friend to the guys in my life, instead of wasting all my thought and energy on worrying about women.

I don’t believe that Larissa is perfect, anymore than I believe that I am perfect. But I do believe that God wanted us together. I also believe that 2004 was the year that God chose to completely break me, test me, heal me, and finally, to bless me with what I had been asking for for so long - an amazing woman to commit myself to for the rest of my life.

I don’t expect the future to be any easier than the past, but I can say this: It feels great to leave the stress of those past worries behind me. Larissa and I have a lot to share with each other, and a lot to learn from each other, and I look forward to exploring all of the joys and struggles that marriage has to offer.

This is a future that I can finally embrace with open arms, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Here are two things to consider if you’re hoping to someday fly under your own power. By this I mean growing wings, using a rocket-pack, using telekinesis, or developing Superman-type flying powers:

1. It’s much colder at high altitudes, so make sure that you dress warmly if you’re hoping to fly any higher than a few meters off the ground. Even if you’re not especially high, the “wind chill” would probably be enough to make you fairly nipply after a few minutes of flight. I’m sure Superman could slice steel with his breasts alone after an evening of cruising at 2000 feet.

2. It’s very hard to breathe and see, once you pass a certain velocity (think about those times when you opened the window on the highway, and felt like you couldn’t properly inhale). You should therefore wear some sort of headgear which covers your entire mouth, but still offers adequate ventilation. This headgear would also serve to protect your eyes from the wind. A motorcycle helmet would probably be best.

I thought of this list while watching the first Superman movie, during the scene when he’s flying with the girl. She should have been blinded, suffocated, and really, really cold.