video!

So apparently now one can upload videos to Blogger pretty darn easily. Of course, that requires one to have videos worth uploading. Here's one: Andy and I were in San Francisco recently and saw the Giants play the White Sox.

Honest, there really was a ball hit out of the park there. What, you think we got the entire crowd to stand up and cheer in unison?!

As you can see, our camera doesn't take the highest quality videos. But our new camcorder does! Future videos promise to be much better.

our first look at junior

We had our routine 20-week ultrasound yesterday.

We DON'T know the sex. It was kinda weird. I've heard all sorts of answers to the question, "Will they tell you the sex at the ultrasound?" Some people have said yes, they will at HSC but not at St. B; some have said, no, they won't at either place; some have said no, not at the routine ultrasound but yes at later ultrasounds; so obviously there's a lot of confusion. My best guess is that the hospitals' policies have changed over the years so that some parents have been told one thing and some have been told another. Perhaps it also depends on the tech who's actually doing the scan. Who knows? But some people are very disappointed or even become angry when they are told they might not be able to find out the sex of the baby.

Anyway, the tech did ask if we wanted to know the sex, and we said no. It was tempting though.

Personally I think that doing an ultrasound for the sole purpose of finding out the baby's gender is not a good use of resources. Ultrasound is one of the most useful imaging modalities available for about a zillion different things and demand for ultrasounds already outstrips supply, so I don't think using them simply to satisfy curiosity is appropriate. In addition, there are always risks with any test (admittedly small ones, in the case of ultrasound, but still not zero) so if you're going to do a test, there should be a good reason i.e. you should be getting practical and important information out of it that will help you decide what course of action to take -- and not just help you decide what colour paint to buy.

However, there are good reasons to have an ultrasound done routinely at around 20 weeks or so (a full pregnancy is 40 weeks, though any delivery after 36 weeks is considered full-term); primarily one is looking for placental or anatomical abnormalities, abnormal growth or even multiple babies. The idea is that if there are any surprises, 20 weeks is late enough that one will probably be able to see them on the ultrasound but early enough that (hopefully) one can do something about it, or failing that, at least to prepare for it.

And as long as the ultrasound is being done anyway, why not give parents the option of finding out the sex? In some countries the concern is that boys are preferred to girls and there's a fear that if parents learn that the baby is a girl they will have an abortion and try again for a boy, so they don't tell people the sex for that reason. (I have no idea if studies actually support this hypothesis or not.) And as noted above, an ultrasound for the sole purpose of determining the gender is not a valid use of a limited resource.

But that's not generally a concern in Canada, where in most cases an ultrasound is done (once) routinely. In Canada people mostly want to know (a) to help with preparation and to avoid getting everything in green or yellow and (b) to satisfy their insatiable curiosity. And at the end of the day, what's wrong with that? Why shouldn't parents be entitled to all of the available information about their baby if they want it?

my uncle seems to have worked

Yea! It's by no means warm but at least the deep freeze has lifted. No wind chills of -40 for a good week now!

Things like the end of February make me start to think about spring. Living downtown was great last summer -- we're close to so many things to do that we often could walk or bike. That is, once I got my new dork-cycle.

I realized last year that I hadn't ridden my old bike for a while when I took it out of the garage and realized that it had completely seized up thanks to the thick layer of rust coating the chain, gears and cables. The brakes were brittle and when pulled essentially crumbled, which unfortunately had only minimal impact on my speed. (Fortunately, though, the rust layer had prevented me from getting up much of a head of steam, so I managed to stop before I wore completely through the toes of my shoes.) Fair enough; I'd inherited that bike from my brother Jonny, who got it when he was about eleven. I figure ten years is a reasonable lifespan for a bike, and anything past that is gravy.

So I headed to Canadian Tire looking for a new bike. Nothing fancy; I mainly was looking for cheap as I'm hardly training for the Tour de France. I'm pretty sure what I ended up with is the dorkiest bike ever made. It's got the giant seat, granny-style curved handlebars and a nice shiny fender.

However, there's no doubt that this is the most comfortable bike I've ever ridden. It's got shocks on both the front tire (not sure why; I'm sure not riding on anything bumpier than paved streets... oh wait, I live in The Pothole Capital of the World) and the seat. I hardly have to lean forward at all to reach the handlebars so my back and shoulders never get sore. And the seat is about nine square feet and has an inch of padding -- it's like sitting in a nice cushy chair!

It truly is a Supercycle.

uncle

I give up! I've run up the white flag! Winter, you win! Just warm up a little!

i don't believe roger clemens

I don't believe Roger Clemens one bit when he says he has never used steroids or human growth hormone. I just don't.

- If I was Clemens and MacNamee injected me or my wife with HGH without my knowledge, as Clemens claims, I would be screaming bloody murder about assault, not just calling him a liar. This does not add up if Clemens had truly never used steroids.

- Contrary to what the Clemens camp says in "The Clemens Report", his stats do not exonerate him (ie he got better after the steroid use was supposed to have started, and at a time in his career when virtually all athletes are in decline) -- see the Freakonomics blog here (post #1; a summary) and here (post #2; more math). I'm not a statistician by any stretch of the imagination, but I agree strongly with Wolfers et al. that comparing Clemens to three of baseball's most successful late-career pitchers (and not to the hundreds or thousands of pitchers who were not as successful during the same era) is awfully dodgy, and you don't need to know much about math to understand that. And I think that using a pitcher's ERA as the primary measure of his ability (as the Clemens camp does) is also questionable.

- Andy Pettitte stated in a letter to Congress that Clemens confessed to him, on two occasions, that he had used HGH, and Pettitte, by virtue of the fact that he confessed to HGH use himself, has far more credibility than Clemens (though I still question Pettitte's honesty about the extent of his drug use) and has no obvious reason to say that Clemens told him this if it's not true. Particularly as Pettitte and Clemens were apparently close friends (Clemens indicated that they still are, though that's something else I don't believe).

back in the game... again

So hopefully people are using the RSS feed on this blog rather than checking the page itself, which must be very unrewarding as I am obviously terrible at updating it. An RSS reader will tell you when there's a new post, rather than you having to come to the site to check yourself. I have been using Google Reader for a while now and it works well for me, letting me know when there's something new on frequently-updated sites I like to keep up with, especially blogs like Freakonomics.

Anyway. First things first: I'm going to edit the post about our honeymoon and add some pictures... done. Man, wish I'd done that sooner.

Second things second: an update on Andy's dad. Reg has actually done astonishingly well. Despite all the complications he's had, including a pulmonary embolism, serious bleeding, the discovery of a congenital heart defect and two episodes of near-fatal sepsis requiring a return to the ICU for a few days in the summer, he's somehow managed to hang on. In some ways, things are really good: first of all, he's alive; second, most of his personality is intact -- he remembers us and is able to talk and crack some jokes; and third, he's able to adequately protect his airway and take in enough nutrition that his tracheostomy and feeding tubes have both been removed. It's phenomenal that he's done this well considering how serious his injuries were.

On the other hand, he still has serious limitations. He is unable to use his limbs properly and has developed contractures on his left side (his muscles have tightened such that his wrist and knee are permanently flexed and it's difficult and painful for him to straighten them even a little bit). He can use his right hand a bit for some things like bringing a cup to his mouth, but he doesn't have the strength in his trunk to sit properly or to reposition himself in bed. His cognition is pretty good but his memory has been affected so he sometimes gets confused about people and events. And he is limited to spending most of his time in bed because when he sits up his oxygen levels drop because of the hole in his heart (which has been there since birth but never caused any problems, so nobody was even aware of it until his oxygen levels started dropping when they were getting him into a reclining wheelchair).

However, Reg is out of acute danger and has stabilized enough that, after more than nine months in HSC, he's looking to move out to either Riverview or Deer Lodge. This will be a much more home-like atmosphere, quieter and more comfortable than HSC with activities for Reg to participate in as much as he's able and interested. Hopefully Reg will continue to improve over time.

And third things third: we're having a baby! We're due at the end of July and no, we don't know if it's a boy or a girl. Even if we have the opportunity to find out, I don't think we will. Don't really care, frankly -- just hoping for ten fingers and ten toes.

So here's to yet another go at regular blogging...

honeymoon: rome

So we found out why nobody says, "Ahh, Rome" the way they do about Venice. Romans are jerks! Actually, that's a little harsh, but we sure found them to be at the lower end of the polite and accommodating-of-tourists scale.

Rome itself was pretty amazing though. When we were in France we'd been impressed by how old things were, dating back a few centuries, but in Rome the highlights date back two millenia. The first place we went when we left our stuff in the little s%$hole of a hotel we stayed (the Lonely Planet let us down big time here) was to the Colosseum and the Forum, and we wandered around a bit and had dinner.

The next day we headed for the Vatican, where we wandered around for hours looking at the museums, St. Peter's Square and Basilica, La Pietà by Michelangelo (both the original and the replica) and the Sistine Chapel. I'm not a Catholic, but it was hard to visit the Vatican and not be impressed by the influence this institution has had on the world. The Sistine Chapel in particular was something; it was hard to imagine Michelangelo painting all of these frescoes (okay, he had help) with all of their attention to detail, and being able to get the perspective on the curved ceilings just right; the way the frescoes are done, if they were flattened out they would appear distorted, but from below they look perfect.

After the Vatican, we spent some more time exploring the Forum before sitting down in a café for a pre-dinner beer and to read for a little while. (My feet were getting tired.) We then went to Osteria Dell'Angelo, which is owned by a retired rugby player (he had the cauliflower ears and everything) and had our best meal of the trip while discussing the rugby match between Canada and New Zealand the previous day. (Canada had lost.)

The following day we began to feel a little over-cultured, and also we were hot, so we took a train to the beach. This time we were swimming in the Tyrrhenian Sea. After an unbelievably crowded train ride home, we went to see, ahem, Meet the Robinsons because it was the only English movie in the air-conditioned theatre.

And the next day we went home.

honeymoon: venice

Ahh, Venice. After an overnight train ride (remarkably comfortable, at least for me -- according to Andy, it helps to be short in those bunks) we arrived in Venice in the morning and walked out of the train station into the Mediterranean heat. After finding our hotel, we went straight to the beach (much to the dismay of our snooty hotel owner, who felt we should be seeking out the culture of Venice; I'm not so sure about that -- from what I could tell, the main culture of Venice involves supporting the tourist industry, but maybe I'm being a little harsh). Swimming in the Adriatic Sea was just enough culture for me!

We wandered around Venice once the hottest part of the day had passed, trying the gelati, checking out the Piazza San Marco and looking at the canals before having dinner in a little courtyard. We had fresh antipasto with traditional Italian pasta accompanied by, of course, wine. (England is for beer, France is for wine, and Italy is for wine too.) We finished off the evening with the obligatory gondola ride: wildly overpriced but I think there's a law that says if you go to Venice on your honeymoon and don't go on a gondola ride then they shoot you as you leave the country -- and rightfully so. The gondola was as romantic as can be and one of the most peaceful moments of the entire trip.

The next day we went to Murano, the glass-making district of Venice. There are about a million little glass factories where they herd you in, demonstrate the making of some kind of glass ornament (which is pretty neat) and then usher you into the gift shop where you can buy ornaments just like the ones the fellow just made, going from sand to little glass horse in about three minutes -- for about sixty bucks. I'm not kidding.

We wandered around Murano, looking in all the hundreds of gift shops which all sold essentially the same stuff until we finally found a place which was a lot more reasonably priced and bought a few little items, knowing full well that they might very well not make it all the way back to Canada intact. (They did, thanks to the extremely secure wrapping job by the shop owner.) We headed back to the beach (it was still hot!) and had pizza margheurita, beer and gelati (okay, Italy is for wine in the evenings) for our late lunch before heading back to our hotel where we luxuriated in the A/C for a while before dinner.

The next day we were up early and off to Rome!

honeymoon: paris

So once we arrived in Paris (several hours later than planned) we found our hotel, which was a great little place called the Hotel Eldorado. Then we wandered down the street for dinner at a bistro and had our first glasses of wine of the trip. (England is for beer, France is for wine.) No idea what we ate, but the wine!

Figuring it was early, we found our way to the Eiffel Tower, which we proceeded to climb on foot -- something like 780 steps to the second level, which is as high as you can go on foot. It was ANDY'S idea.

There was a huge party on the Champs du Mars below the tower as all the high school students in France had finished their university entrance exams that day. Fireworks, dancing, booze all over the place -- it was just like Folk Fest!

Feeling the need for some culture the next day, we went to the Louvre and were promptly overwhelmed by its sheer size. As neither Andy nor I are huge art connoisseurs, we focused on the highlights: the Venus de Milo, Michelangelo's sculptures and the Mona Lisa. And despite my knowing about as much about fine art as I do about British post offices in Morocco, even I was moved by some of the pieces, particularly Michelangelo's sculptures.

We then wandered around Paris, visiting Cathédral Notre Dame, eating in bistros and cafés, and ending up in a jazz club called La Caveau de La Huchette, where we met a British couple (who thought we were pretty exotic, being from Canada and all) and danced in a basement which had been used as a courtroom and a torture chamber during the French Revolution in the 1700s. It was a bit spooky -- ghosts were everywhere!

The next day we met Andy's cousin Haley, who was living about an hour outside Paris in Tours. We went to see Les Catacombes, where millions of bodies had been placed after being removed from overflowing cemeteries in the 1700s due to disease. Don't worry though -- after bodies had just been moved into the former quarries beneath Paris, some official thought it was inappropriate and had the bodies (basically just bones by that time) rearranged in an "artistic" manner. Personally I think the "artistry" was still lacking and that the rearrangement was probably not for the better. It brought new meaning to the word creepy. Can you imagine the interview for the job of artistic rearranger of the dead?

Interviewer: So, have you any experience with rearranging bodies in an artistic manner?

Interviewee: Why yes, in fact! As a long-time serial killer I find that ensuring that the bodies are left so that they are pleasing to the eye is the most satisfying part of my day! I'm not one of those hack-and-slash murderers who just leaves a mess behind willy-nilly!

Interviewer: Do you have a portfolio?

Anyway. Needing to think about something a little more uplifting, we headed for the Musée d'Orsay and with limited time, focused on the Impressionists' Gallery. There were works by van Gogh, Monet and Degas, among others, and once again despite my total lack of knowledge about art I was still able to appreciate it to a certain degree. I don't think I really appreciated it as much as Andy (right), but still...

We had dinner in Paris with Haley (had the BEST CHOCOLATE CAKE EVER) before she went back to Tours and we wandered around a bit more.

The next day, we took the train to Tours, where we wandered around and napped in a park and had a poke around Vieux Tours, which dates back to medieval times. Then we hooked up with Haley and J.F. and drove out to Château de Villandry, featuring three separate and spectacular gardens and a castle which dates back to the 1200s (part of it does, anyway). Man, "old" in North America means one hundred years, like our house. In Europe, "old" is old.

We then took the train back to Paris and managed to arrive ON TIME for our train to Venice.