Let’s face facts: I’m two things, concretely. Frugal, and pushing 30. These two things may not seem connected, but I’ll get there. Some months ago after using up a month’s free pass at the Steve Nash Sports Club in downtown Vancouver which was given to me, I decided I was so in love with the place that I had to buy a membership. Enter: frugality. At more than a $100 / month for membership, however, this was not a bullet I was willing to bite. But, I’d been tired of my old gym membership at a local ‘Fitness World’ for ages. And after the multi-floored, fabulously equipped, sauna and steam roomed opulence of the Steve Nash club, I could not go back to my regular gym. I just couldn’t. But I couldn’t bring myself to pay that money, either. So began an internal dialogue and debate that ran on for a few weeks.
--------------------
“You’re almost 30, Stu. Your knees are a mess and you know it. You gotta keep up the leg strength to keep those knees in functional order. You’re not even at the trey-decade mark and already you can’t jog anymore!”
“Yeah, but, $100 a month at a minimum? You gotta be kidding me”
“You wanna go back to the fitness world? With their one bench press station, one rowing machine, just to name a few...”
“Yeah but...”
“Yeahbutnothing. The overcrowding, the complete lack of machines to or weights to work your legs? You NEED Steve and his club, Stu. You NEED it...”
“Oh, well if it’s a need, then maybe...”
“C’mooooon, think about it. The two levels of premium equipment, the complimentary towel service, electronic lockers and toiletries, AND all the fitness, spin and yoga classes are included in the price! If you use those service as well , this membership practically pays YOU!”
“Hmmm... Yoga, hey? Namaste...”
“That’s the spirit!”
“But a hundred dollars a month?”
“THAT’s IT! I quit! You do what you want, but I’m outta here!”
----------------------
And so, with that, I knew that I had to find a way to pay less. And, I’m happy to say that where there’s a tight wad, there’s a way. I got a membership at the club for $60 bucks a month, which on the surface still seems a bit steep for a gym, but hey, as my brain told me, if you actually attend some of the classes, it totally makes it cheaper than having a gym membership, having to pay extra to attend fitness classes, and having to go to a yoga studio somewhere else anyway.
And so, I drank the punch, and as of last night, I attended my first ever yoga class. I arrived ten minutes early; there was another class in the studio before my sessions for beginners. Looking through the glass into the calm, exotic space on the other side, it looked like a cross between a very concentrated workout and nap time. Me like.
Soon enough it was my turn, along with eight others looking to get their downward dogs on as well. Over the next hour, my body reminded me that I’m almost 30 at least a dozen times as I tried to gumbify myself into Ardha-matsyendra-asana-like pretzels, or maintain my cool through an Utkatasana stance.
But seriously folks, after the hour, I was hooked. I want some more. From controlled breathing through each new pose, to the dark stained bamboo floors and space awash in soft light, I was right into this stuff. Can’t wait until I can do it again!
---------------
“See, what did I tell you. The membership is totally worth it, right?”
Yeah yeah yeah, you’re the best, I’m the worst.”
“Dude, you just came from a yoga class. Don’t think like that.”
“Oh right. I mean ‘Namaste, Namaskar’”.
“That’s better. Now hit the showers. And maybe the steam room, too. Hey, how are those knees, by the way?”
“don’t harsh my mellow, brain.”
“oh. Okay. Well, we’ll keep working on that. Don’t worry, you’re not 30 for another three months.”
June 22, 2009
Happy Birthday Sacha James!
Dear Sacha,
Today, you turn one year old! In short, I am in awe of the 12 months that has just gone by...but there is more to say than just that!
I can count on one hand the number of times your mum and I have been out of the house, at the same time, without you in the last 12 months. I can count on just over one hand how many nights I have slept away from you, on business or whatever. Unfortunately, I cannot include those same nights as counting the number of times I’ve slept through the night in the last year, as I’m so conditioned to wake up at random intervals expecting to hear you crying out in the dark. And then there's your mum who noted just the other day that she's not slept away from you for even one night in a whole year. That's something she can't say about anybody else in her whole life.
I can’t begin to count the number of diaper changes, crying fits, ear splitting screams, lost hours of sleep and free time, and loads of laundry that have flashed before my eyes in the last 365 days.
Then:
Now:
This doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of parenthood, nor of your existence.
Contrary to all the negative images just noted, immeasurable is the joy in my life that you alone have brought me. Life was great before you, make no mistake, but it’s definitely been taken to a whole ‘nother level.
What is so remarkable about the last year is that with each passing week and month, you produce another surprise for us, another marker or milestone that seems to us a miracle, but the likes of which you will never be able to recall. Opening your eyes and seeing the world, your first smiles, the first hints of an ability for interaction, and the first gurgles of language, and laughter, eating solid foods, and then sitting up on your own, and the flapping of your arms and legs in excitement, and the appearance of perfect little teeth, and crawling, and waving, and clapping, and so much more.
When you first arrived, when all I could do to help you was change you, pick you up and put you down, you felt like a bit of a house pet to me, as I then liked to say. But you’re my Pinocchio, and to be sure… you are a real boy now and I thrill at being able to watch you grow.
Also at the front of my mind in past weeks is how incredibly fast this year has gone! How can it be, that despite being awake (I say jokingly) for 50 per cent more hours every day, thanks to your sleep patterns, that life could still seem to fly by? Shouldn’t longer days make for slower days? Well, it is not the case, and the first year of your life is already in the books.
Happy birthday my little buddy. We are so fortunate that on your first birthday, we feel like the ones with all the gifts.
Love,
Your mum and dad
Not sure about this whole birthday cake thing...
Today, you turn one year old! In short, I am in awe of the 12 months that has just gone by...but there is more to say than just that!
I can count on one hand the number of times your mum and I have been out of the house, at the same time, without you in the last 12 months. I can count on just over one hand how many nights I have slept away from you, on business or whatever. Unfortunately, I cannot include those same nights as counting the number of times I’ve slept through the night in the last year, as I’m so conditioned to wake up at random intervals expecting to hear you crying out in the dark. And then there's your mum who noted just the other day that she's not slept away from you for even one night in a whole year. That's something she can't say about anybody else in her whole life.
I can’t begin to count the number of diaper changes, crying fits, ear splitting screams, lost hours of sleep and free time, and loads of laundry that have flashed before my eyes in the last 365 days.
Then:
Now:This doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement of parenthood, nor of your existence.
Contrary to all the negative images just noted, immeasurable is the joy in my life that you alone have brought me. Life was great before you, make no mistake, but it’s definitely been taken to a whole ‘nother level.
What is so remarkable about the last year is that with each passing week and month, you produce another surprise for us, another marker or milestone that seems to us a miracle, but the likes of which you will never be able to recall. Opening your eyes and seeing the world, your first smiles, the first hints of an ability for interaction, and the first gurgles of language, and laughter, eating solid foods, and then sitting up on your own, and the flapping of your arms and legs in excitement, and the appearance of perfect little teeth, and crawling, and waving, and clapping, and so much more.
When you first arrived, when all I could do to help you was change you, pick you up and put you down, you felt like a bit of a house pet to me, as I then liked to say. But you’re my Pinocchio, and to be sure… you are a real boy now and I thrill at being able to watch you grow.
Also at the front of my mind in past weeks is how incredibly fast this year has gone! How can it be, that despite being awake (I say jokingly) for 50 per cent more hours every day, thanks to your sleep patterns, that life could still seem to fly by? Shouldn’t longer days make for slower days? Well, it is not the case, and the first year of your life is already in the books.
Happy birthday my little buddy. We are so fortunate that on your first birthday, we feel like the ones with all the gifts.
Love,
Your mum and dad
Not sure about this whole birthday cake thing...
No wait! I like it!
May 15, 2009
Walk a mile in my shoes
I don’t have a fetish, and I’m no measure of fashionista. But it has come time to say goodbye to a pair of shoes with which I have had a tormented love-hate relationship as I have had with no other piece of footwear.
My eccos: fine, Danish-crafted Italian-toe style shoes. Black, shiny, and sexy like a sports car. They belong on display as much as on your feet. The kind of shoe that you almost think you ought to wear shorter pants just to show off, or at the very least, put a little strut in your step. Beauties. Real beauties. I’ll not go into specifics about cost, but the price point was pretty high…
But this is no love letter. No, these shoes are going out with a bang. The reason? well, lets just say the shoes have let me down more than once.
Strike one was against the shoes and the retail outlet, to whom I took the shoes about a repair where the toe had opened up. I was quickly turned out the door with a business card for a cobbler. I went to the store in search of a refund, or free repairs, and I walked out with a business card.
Strike two was the email: I sent a curmudgeonly letter of complaint to which I received a dismissively stock answer. Strike three has now come, and I'll get to that. But first, a little more history of these fine shoes...
...They made their way into my wardrobe in December of 2005, after much searching for a great looking pair of men’s size 15 dress shoes to go with my suit on my wedding day. Because as much as I might be okay with standing at the altar barefoot, no one else seemed to be. I digress... so anyway, one’s wedding only comes around once (ideally), and if the day wasn't reason enough, I would still be needing a good pair of shoes once the student life turned into the working life. Well, the wedding came and went as they tend to do, my feet looked fabulous, and then I went back to school for many more months before hitting the job circuit. During this time, the shoes lay in wait.
Imagine my dismay when I found out how the beauty of the shoes was merely skin deep. By the next December after some limited use, they were totally falling apart at the toe. By then, I’d treated them well, and only worn them on a less-than-regular basis for six months. Enter the process of complaints noted previously. With no answer to my liking, I weighed my options and begrudgingly had the shoes resoled at a cost. I should note that in the email stock answer, the company did say that I had the option to return the shoes to them via mail, and they'd "consider" repairs on a case by case basis, so lon as it was still within the year of purchase... which it wasn't, sadly. I figured that once I'd couriered the shoes at my own expense, with no guarantee that they'd accept my claim, I may as well go ahead and get the re-sole done.
I sat on the issue for a long time, but eventually I took the shoes to a repair store, the same one recommended to me by the retail outlet.
“Thing about ecco shoes is,” said the cobbler in a reflective tone, “we see ‘em all the time. They make good leather uppers, but the sole is useless.”
This was information that could’ve been useful a lot of money ago. by now, it was the Fall of 2007.
Fast forward to 2009, four wedding receptions later, a few funerals, a smattering of black tie and dressy receptions and dinners, at least thrice weekly wear for work days… and the shoes have fallen apart again, the soles tattering even worse than before, and this time, my foot has worn through the leather upper and the inner sole as well. The sexy black sports car has crashed into the telephone pole, and his time, I'm not prying it off. It’s time to swear off this relationship for good. I guess I'd have a hard time blaming the soles on ecco again since the shoes were cobbled, but the wearing through the quality leather upper? Strike three.
Now, in short but sweet style, let’s compare these write-offs to my Doc Martens.
I bought ‘em in 2001. Daily wear right off the bat for new job out of round one of college… fast forward through eight years of more weddings, more daily work wear, formal affairs, Sunday church services, etc: I’ve replaced the laces twice, and granted, they were shelved a little bit while the eccos were in service, but that aside, other than a few creases in the leather at the bend of my toes, these babies are in near showroom condition. Purchase price: $120.00. At a cost of $13.00/year and still going strong, they may be less stylish than the ecco shoes, but the good doctor has the last laugh, I think. I mean, I thought the Danish were great shoe makers? I’ll stick to your pastry and Tuborg beer from now on, thanks. At least gut rot is a problem I can fix myself.
Maybe ecco will pay attention to my use of social media to complain about their shoes. I cc'ed them on an email notifying my regular readers of a new blog post, and I've provided a link to this rant on my facebook page. If anyone at ecco has any thing more-than-stock-answer to say to me, you know how to get a hold of me. cheers :)
The offending ecco shoes:
The old faithful Docs:
My eccos: fine, Danish-crafted Italian-toe style shoes. Black, shiny, and sexy like a sports car. They belong on display as much as on your feet. The kind of shoe that you almost think you ought to wear shorter pants just to show off, or at the very least, put a little strut in your step. Beauties. Real beauties. I’ll not go into specifics about cost, but the price point was pretty high…
But this is no love letter. No, these shoes are going out with a bang. The reason? well, lets just say the shoes have let me down more than once.
Strike one was against the shoes and the retail outlet, to whom I took the shoes about a repair where the toe had opened up. I was quickly turned out the door with a business card for a cobbler. I went to the store in search of a refund, or free repairs, and I walked out with a business card.
Strike two was the email: I sent a curmudgeonly letter of complaint to which I received a dismissively stock answer. Strike three has now come, and I'll get to that. But first, a little more history of these fine shoes...
...They made their way into my wardrobe in December of 2005, after much searching for a great looking pair of men’s size 15 dress shoes to go with my suit on my wedding day. Because as much as I might be okay with standing at the altar barefoot, no one else seemed to be. I digress... so anyway, one’s wedding only comes around once (ideally), and if the day wasn't reason enough, I would still be needing a good pair of shoes once the student life turned into the working life. Well, the wedding came and went as they tend to do, my feet looked fabulous, and then I went back to school for many more months before hitting the job circuit. During this time, the shoes lay in wait.
Imagine my dismay when I found out how the beauty of the shoes was merely skin deep. By the next December after some limited use, they were totally falling apart at the toe. By then, I’d treated them well, and only worn them on a less-than-regular basis for six months. Enter the process of complaints noted previously. With no answer to my liking, I weighed my options and begrudgingly had the shoes resoled at a cost. I should note that in the email stock answer, the company did say that I had the option to return the shoes to them via mail, and they'd "consider" repairs on a case by case basis, so lon as it was still within the year of purchase... which it wasn't, sadly. I figured that once I'd couriered the shoes at my own expense, with no guarantee that they'd accept my claim, I may as well go ahead and get the re-sole done.
I sat on the issue for a long time, but eventually I took the shoes to a repair store, the same one recommended to me by the retail outlet.
“Thing about ecco shoes is,” said the cobbler in a reflective tone, “we see ‘em all the time. They make good leather uppers, but the sole is useless.”
This was information that could’ve been useful a lot of money ago. by now, it was the Fall of 2007.
Fast forward to 2009, four wedding receptions later, a few funerals, a smattering of black tie and dressy receptions and dinners, at least thrice weekly wear for work days… and the shoes have fallen apart again, the soles tattering even worse than before, and this time, my foot has worn through the leather upper and the inner sole as well. The sexy black sports car has crashed into the telephone pole, and his time, I'm not prying it off. It’s time to swear off this relationship for good. I guess I'd have a hard time blaming the soles on ecco again since the shoes were cobbled, but the wearing through the quality leather upper? Strike three.
Now, in short but sweet style, let’s compare these write-offs to my Doc Martens.
I bought ‘em in 2001. Daily wear right off the bat for new job out of round one of college… fast forward through eight years of more weddings, more daily work wear, formal affairs, Sunday church services, etc: I’ve replaced the laces twice, and granted, they were shelved a little bit while the eccos were in service, but that aside, other than a few creases in the leather at the bend of my toes, these babies are in near showroom condition. Purchase price: $120.00. At a cost of $13.00/year and still going strong, they may be less stylish than the ecco shoes, but the good doctor has the last laugh, I think. I mean, I thought the Danish were great shoe makers? I’ll stick to your pastry and Tuborg beer from now on, thanks. At least gut rot is a problem I can fix myself.
Maybe ecco will pay attention to my use of social media to complain about their shoes. I cc'ed them on an email notifying my regular readers of a new blog post, and I've provided a link to this rant on my facebook page. If anyone at ecco has any thing more-than-stock-answer to say to me, you know how to get a hold of me. cheers :)
The offending ecco shoes:
The old faithful Docs:
April 14, 2009
Two Years and Counting...
Dear Dad,
Two years ago on this day, I went to bed at 6:00 in the morning after we as a family let you go in the dark of the middle of the night, April 14th 2007. Driving home that early morning, the sun rose into a clear blue sky and the colours of dawn didn’t well reflect the sadness we all felt that day.
This morning, rather than going to bed at six, I got up.
I was awakened today by several things. For one, the sounds of your grandson, happily gurgling away as he lay between Kate and I. For another, Nellie, chomping at the bit to get outside for her morning walk. And last but not least, a dawn no less picturesque than the one 24 months ago, streaming its light through the blinds we forgot to close before bed.
The dog, the baby, and I all went outside together to greet the morning. Sacha in his stroller gurgling happily as we rumbled along, Nellie off her leash, nose hovering just over the grass in search of dew-covered treats as we made our way over to the park.
Sacha doesn’t normally rise in time to come on the morning walks, but I was glad for his presence today. Perhaps he knew I would be thinking of you as I walked today, and wanted to share in that communion?
We know you’re out there watching it all go on, dad, but I just have to say out loud how great it would be for you to see what your family has become since you left. Your first Granddaughter, Aria, was so little then when you were able to hold her. And now, she’s a bright, healthy bubbling two year old. Then came Sacha James last June, and soon after came little Gabby.
Life goes on without you, dad, and though we all suffer a bit at the memory of you, we’re happy, all of us. Jamie, Kari and I, and mum, and all the rest. As I threw balls for Nellie at the park today—another dog owner on the field with me, oblivious to the true nature of my thoughts as we chatted—and as the sun rose over my sweeping viewpoint, light reflecting off the glass towers of downtown Vancouver and the snow on the north shore mountains taking on a pink and crimson glow, and Sacha, my happy, healthy little son who giggled as he watched the dogs run around, the little boy who you’ll never get to hold… well… All of it in the same breath, it’s the joy and tragedy of it all, isn’t it dad? Life goes on without you. You will not be here again tomorrow, and yet, the sun will come up again at about the same time, hopefully just as brilliantly as it did today.
Long story short, dad: we miss you. I miss you. But I’m okay. We are okay. I’ve lost friends and family before, we all have, and everybody does. In any of those circumstances but especially in this one, it is hard to put my finger on it and say definitively “this is okay, we are okay”, but at the same time, it is okay, and we are okay. I guess that’s what I want to say to you today dad, ultimately. We love you, we miss you, and we will be okay, if we are not already.
And so, I will wake up tomorrow with the sun—two years plus a day by then—and I’ll run the dog, and Sacha may or may not decide to be awake and come with us, and after that I will go to work and join the world and be the person you helped me to be.
Really, today is no different than any other day, as I think of you often and in different ways.
But today, in particular, I just wanted to take pause, to stop, and say that I love you, and I miss you.
Love,
Stu
Two years ago on this day, I went to bed at 6:00 in the morning after we as a family let you go in the dark of the middle of the night, April 14th 2007. Driving home that early morning, the sun rose into a clear blue sky and the colours of dawn didn’t well reflect the sadness we all felt that day.
This morning, rather than going to bed at six, I got up.
I was awakened today by several things. For one, the sounds of your grandson, happily gurgling away as he lay between Kate and I. For another, Nellie, chomping at the bit to get outside for her morning walk. And last but not least, a dawn no less picturesque than the one 24 months ago, streaming its light through the blinds we forgot to close before bed.
The dog, the baby, and I all went outside together to greet the morning. Sacha in his stroller gurgling happily as we rumbled along, Nellie off her leash, nose hovering just over the grass in search of dew-covered treats as we made our way over to the park.
Sacha doesn’t normally rise in time to come on the morning walks, but I was glad for his presence today. Perhaps he knew I would be thinking of you as I walked today, and wanted to share in that communion?
We know you’re out there watching it all go on, dad, but I just have to say out loud how great it would be for you to see what your family has become since you left. Your first Granddaughter, Aria, was so little then when you were able to hold her. And now, she’s a bright, healthy bubbling two year old. Then came Sacha James last June, and soon after came little Gabby.
Life goes on without you, dad, and though we all suffer a bit at the memory of you, we’re happy, all of us. Jamie, Kari and I, and mum, and all the rest. As I threw balls for Nellie at the park today—another dog owner on the field with me, oblivious to the true nature of my thoughts as we chatted—and as the sun rose over my sweeping viewpoint, light reflecting off the glass towers of downtown Vancouver and the snow on the north shore mountains taking on a pink and crimson glow, and Sacha, my happy, healthy little son who giggled as he watched the dogs run around, the little boy who you’ll never get to hold… well… All of it in the same breath, it’s the joy and tragedy of it all, isn’t it dad? Life goes on without you. You will not be here again tomorrow, and yet, the sun will come up again at about the same time, hopefully just as brilliantly as it did today.
Long story short, dad: we miss you. I miss you. But I’m okay. We are okay. I’ve lost friends and family before, we all have, and everybody does. In any of those circumstances but especially in this one, it is hard to put my finger on it and say definitively “this is okay, we are okay”, but at the same time, it is okay, and we are okay. I guess that’s what I want to say to you today dad, ultimately. We love you, we miss you, and we will be okay, if we are not already.
And so, I will wake up tomorrow with the sun—two years plus a day by then—and I’ll run the dog, and Sacha may or may not decide to be awake and come with us, and after that I will go to work and join the world and be the person you helped me to be.
Really, today is no different than any other day, as I think of you often and in different ways.
But today, in particular, I just wanted to take pause, to stop, and say that I love you, and I miss you.
Love,
Stu
January 29, 2009
What the heck is a 'meme' anyway?!
One of the things I love about facebook is that there aren't many real ways to let forwards clog up my account, unless I choose to accept some useless application request that has people sending me things.
Sadly, someone utilized the power of the 'notes' section to create a home for unsolicited forwarding, and as such the 'meme' has begun tearing through the facebook world.
I confess I am not immune, but the hear this:
A)the post below represents the first and last facebook-borne forward that I will partake in, and
B)in my head at least, removing it from facebook to post it in my blog deconstructs the forward, and denies it the opportunity to actually be a forward, since I've removed it from the context of it's normal environment, and I'm not asking anyone else to do it after me...so there.
That precursor aside, the 'forward' in question asks you to list 25 things about you that people likely do not or may not know. I've been chipping away at this for a while, and frankly, I hope you enjoy, because I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself. Perhaps I should have left this on facebook; I wouldn't have treated it with such depth :)
So, without further adieu, 25 things you likely didn't know - or care to know - about Stuart Alexander Chase...
1. Despite a passionate dislike of mathematics and numbers in general, I run the office lotto pool (with an iron fist, no less), and I can recite Pi to the 12th digit, even though I’m not smart enough to remember what the Hell Pi even is: 3.141592653589. See, I did that without hesitation. I won’t look it up, but I know it’s right.
2. I cannot stand the thought of someone using my toothbrush and if I know my brush has breached someone else’s oral cavity, I will not brush my teeth until a new brush has been acquired.
3. Perhaps along the same lines, the thought of eating food off of my baby’s spoon after it’s been in his mouth grosses me out. Despite this, I will happily and unabashedly ask others for their leftovers.
4. In keeping with the baby theme, I can’t stand to hear Sacha cry. Not because it breaks my heart that he is sad about something, but literally because I cannot stand his crying. It hurts my huge ears, and I wear construction headphones around him when he is bawling ad nauseam. Hey, it sounds ridiculous, but it works. Don't judge me--I love my baby, damn you.
5. I'm pretty sure I will write a book someday. It may be a children’s book, it may be a full-length novel, but I will have something published in my name and I won’t even care if no one ever reads it. I just need to get it out of my system. In part it will be dedicated to my high school writing teacher who made me promise that it will be dedicated to her. For the moment, I get to write for a living anyway, and I couldn’t ask for more.
6. I lost my fingers on my left hand in a sawmill accident in 1999. Despite having a moment most every day since then where I end up wishing I had them back again, if I had the chance, I would never, ever go back in time to call in sick that day or warn myself about it.
7. Unless I am skiing on it, I hate… HATE snow. If I could somehow convince everyone I love to move with me, I would probably go to Mexico, and only come back to Canada between the months of May and August.
8. I have a ridiculously good musical memory. To wit, I sing primarily in front of the radio when it is on, despite being told by many that I have an exceptional singing voice that should be used elsewhere.
9. I miss my dad every day, and his loss makes me wonder if I will die young.
10. I swear I will never move back to Kamloops, B.C. where I grew up, citing the usual ‘that town was way too small by the time I was 16 years old’ reasons. I need a city; I love living in Vancouver, and I love working downtown among the hustle and bustle even more than that. Despite this, I could not have imagined growing up anywhere else, and I remain an avid fan of country music. Go figure.
11. The only volleyball tournament I have EVER won was in grade 12, and I was named tournament MVP. I’ve never won a recreational league championship, a college tournament, or a competitive league championship before that, or since.
12. I opted not to play basketball in grade 12 so that I could dedicate more training to my kayaking for which I went to the Canada games in ’97. The Canada games were bar none, across the board, the worst sporting experience of my life. I have always regretted having quit basketball, even though I probably would have
only made the B team. In the grand scheme of life, this may seem insignificant,but at least I wouldn’t have wasted my time training for paddling quite as much that year, only to be permanently scarred by a kayaking competition.
13. When my best friend Doug and I stopped competing together as sprint race kayaking team boat duo, we split a (roughly) 20 lb. ball of used duct tape—which we had been adding used duct tape to over the course of five years—in half (it's a long story). It took two hack saws to get through. To this day, we both still have our respective halves of the ball.
14. I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat freak. It's a tough existence. Luckily, Kate is more...judicious...about what things are kept and what is disposed of, and I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two from her.
15. I have had the opportunity to do a bit of global travel both as a solo backpacker, and with a significant other. Both were wonderful experiences, but given the option to travel the world alone vs. with a best friend or even my wife, I would choose the former.
16. I have been the subject of debate for an entire question period in the parliament of British Columbia…and not in a good way.
17. I do almost no reading for leisure, despite having a desire to write a book someday. I consume news like it's going out of style, I read work-related documents, but novels? one a year, if you're lucky.
18. I believe in One Destination, but I believe that many paths can get you there.
19. Most people that don’t exercise or go to the gym end up gaining weight. I am the opposite. I shed pounds when I sit around on my ass. I have only ever successfully managed to gain weight as part of a conscientiously applied gym program.
20. I love public speaking, and I usually get good reviews when I do so. The only time I have been nervous about it was giving a toast as best man at my brother’s wedding, and I’ve always kinda felt like a I blew it.
21. I was bullied in elementary school (tall, skinny, big ears, braces, glasses, slow-witted… can’t imagine why I got picked on…), and as a result I suspect that as a parent, I will have a really hard time being tolerant of anyone I catch pushing my kid around.
22. I believe that global warming is real, and I actively harass friends and colleagues that drive to and from work and school for no good reason, and who can’t be bothered to recycle.
23. The nearly-30 year old me wonders what the 40-year old me will remember or care about what the 20-year old me was like, like the nearly 30-year-old me right now does on occasion.
24. Right now, life is just like I like it, though we’d all like a little more sleep around our house... oh, and I wish I still wrote poetry.
25. Right now, I'm feeling a lot of shame for having been sucked into this forwarding business, and I'm glad it's over and done with.
Sadly, someone utilized the power of the 'notes' section to create a home for unsolicited forwarding, and as such the 'meme' has begun tearing through the facebook world.
I confess I am not immune, but the hear this:
A)the post below represents the first and last facebook-borne forward that I will partake in, and
B)in my head at least, removing it from facebook to post it in my blog deconstructs the forward, and denies it the opportunity to actually be a forward, since I've removed it from the context of it's normal environment, and I'm not asking anyone else to do it after me...so there.
That precursor aside, the 'forward' in question asks you to list 25 things about you that people likely do not or may not know. I've been chipping away at this for a while, and frankly, I hope you enjoy, because I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself. Perhaps I should have left this on facebook; I wouldn't have treated it with such depth :)
So, without further adieu, 25 things you likely didn't know - or care to know - about Stuart Alexander Chase...
1. Despite a passionate dislike of mathematics and numbers in general, I run the office lotto pool (with an iron fist, no less), and I can recite Pi to the 12th digit, even though I’m not smart enough to remember what the Hell Pi even is: 3.141592653589. See, I did that without hesitation. I won’t look it up, but I know it’s right.
2. I cannot stand the thought of someone using my toothbrush and if I know my brush has breached someone else’s oral cavity, I will not brush my teeth until a new brush has been acquired.
3. Perhaps along the same lines, the thought of eating food off of my baby’s spoon after it’s been in his mouth grosses me out. Despite this, I will happily and unabashedly ask others for their leftovers.
4. In keeping with the baby theme, I can’t stand to hear Sacha cry. Not because it breaks my heart that he is sad about something, but literally because I cannot stand his crying. It hurts my huge ears, and I wear construction headphones around him when he is bawling ad nauseam. Hey, it sounds ridiculous, but it works. Don't judge me--I love my baby, damn you.
5. I'm pretty sure I will write a book someday. It may be a children’s book, it may be a full-length novel, but I will have something published in my name and I won’t even care if no one ever reads it. I just need to get it out of my system. In part it will be dedicated to my high school writing teacher who made me promise that it will be dedicated to her. For the moment, I get to write for a living anyway, and I couldn’t ask for more.
6. I lost my fingers on my left hand in a sawmill accident in 1999. Despite having a moment most every day since then where I end up wishing I had them back again, if I had the chance, I would never, ever go back in time to call in sick that day or warn myself about it.
7. Unless I am skiing on it, I hate… HATE snow. If I could somehow convince everyone I love to move with me, I would probably go to Mexico, and only come back to Canada between the months of May and August.
8. I have a ridiculously good musical memory. To wit, I sing primarily in front of the radio when it is on, despite being told by many that I have an exceptional singing voice that should be used elsewhere.
9. I miss my dad every day, and his loss makes me wonder if I will die young.
10. I swear I will never move back to Kamloops, B.C. where I grew up, citing the usual ‘that town was way too small by the time I was 16 years old’ reasons. I need a city; I love living in Vancouver, and I love working downtown among the hustle and bustle even more than that. Despite this, I could not have imagined growing up anywhere else, and I remain an avid fan of country music. Go figure.
11. The only volleyball tournament I have EVER won was in grade 12, and I was named tournament MVP. I’ve never won a recreational league championship, a college tournament, or a competitive league championship before that, or since.
12. I opted not to play basketball in grade 12 so that I could dedicate more training to my kayaking for which I went to the Canada games in ’97. The Canada games were bar none, across the board, the worst sporting experience of my life. I have always regretted having quit basketball, even though I probably would have
only made the B team. In the grand scheme of life, this may seem insignificant,but at least I wouldn’t have wasted my time training for paddling quite as much that year, only to be permanently scarred by a kayaking competition.
13. When my best friend Doug and I stopped competing together as sprint race kayaking team boat duo, we split a (roughly) 20 lb. ball of used duct tape—which we had been adding used duct tape to over the course of five years—in half (it's a long story). It took two hack saws to get through. To this day, we both still have our respective halves of the ball.
14. I'm a pack rat, but I'm also a neat freak. It's a tough existence. Luckily, Kate is more...judicious...about what things are kept and what is disposed of, and I'd like to think I've learned a thing or two from her.
15. I have had the opportunity to do a bit of global travel both as a solo backpacker, and with a significant other. Both were wonderful experiences, but given the option to travel the world alone vs. with a best friend or even my wife, I would choose the former.
16. I have been the subject of debate for an entire question period in the parliament of British Columbia…and not in a good way.
17. I do almost no reading for leisure, despite having a desire to write a book someday. I consume news like it's going out of style, I read work-related documents, but novels? one a year, if you're lucky.
18. I believe in One Destination, but I believe that many paths can get you there.
19. Most people that don’t exercise or go to the gym end up gaining weight. I am the opposite. I shed pounds when I sit around on my ass. I have only ever successfully managed to gain weight as part of a conscientiously applied gym program.
20. I love public speaking, and I usually get good reviews when I do so. The only time I have been nervous about it was giving a toast as best man at my brother’s wedding, and I’ve always kinda felt like a I blew it.
21. I was bullied in elementary school (tall, skinny, big ears, braces, glasses, slow-witted… can’t imagine why I got picked on…), and as a result I suspect that as a parent, I will have a really hard time being tolerant of anyone I catch pushing my kid around.
22. I believe that global warming is real, and I actively harass friends and colleagues that drive to and from work and school for no good reason, and who can’t be bothered to recycle.
23. The nearly-30 year old me wonders what the 40-year old me will remember or care about what the 20-year old me was like, like the nearly 30-year-old me right now does on occasion.
24. Right now, life is just like I like it, though we’d all like a little more sleep around our house... oh, and I wish I still wrote poetry.
25. Right now, I'm feeling a lot of shame for having been sucked into this forwarding business, and I'm glad it's over and done with.
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