OK, I know most people aren’t into sci-fi like Nic and I are… but I’m telling you, there has never, in the history of television, been anything like this show!
We just watched an episode, midway through season 3, that was seeded by an episode near the middle of season 1. All the pieces for this season-defining two-parter that we’re watching now, were put into place in a cute, but somewhat ambiguous, little episode written two years previous.
J. Michael Straczynski‘s writing makes George Lucas look like a remedial English student. Babylon 5 makes Star Wars look like a children’s story. This is the most intricate and ingenious TV series — possibly even story — ever weaved…

I woke up this morning, near my usual time, slightly before 7. Benjamin was crying, so I gave him his 7:00 bottle a few minutes early, then went to take my shower. Usually he drinks that and then goes back to sleep until 8 or so, while Nic gets some beauty rest. This morning, though, by the time I got out of the shower he was fussing again, and by the time I got my pants on, he was crying loudly. Frustrated, and mad that he was waking Nicole up, I went back in and changed his diaper, calmed him down, and put him back in his crib with his unfinished bottle. The second I walked away, he started screaming again. It crossed my mind that if I opened the window and set him outside, it would be a lot quieter and I could finish getting ready for work… but I picked him back up, sat down in the rocking chair, and tried again to get him back to sleep.
Nothing worked, and finally I just brought him in to lay beside Nic so I could do my stretches and get out the door. A few minutes later, Nic had given up on sleep and let him down to play. As I was putting my shoes on, I heard a little giggle, followed by the clumping of not-quite-coordinated feet, as Benjamin ran out to find me. I gave him a hug, and put him down to leave, and he started crying again. Nic picked him up and we held him between us until he clambered back into my arms, whining to be held by daddy.
I was in such a hurry to leave for work — which isn’t even that great a destination — that I didn’t understand what his problem was this morning. It turns out, my son just wanted to be held by his dad.
—
As I drove to the office, I passed a little girl standing in front of her house, waiting for her bus. The weather was an ugly hybrid of various kinds of precipitation. The ground was covered in a thin layer of white, as if it were snow, but when it hit your windshield it clicked sharply like hail, then melted instantly and soaked everything like rain. I couldn’t imagine how it must have felt for her, a hood barely covering her head, a grimace on her face as she bravely stared into it, looking through the mist for her school bus.
I had to wonder where her daddy was. This was someone’s little princess, someone’s precious daughter. She was in front of a nice house, in a nice neighbourhood. But she was alone. With no one to defend her against the elements, and no one to stand with her as she waited for life to sweep her away.
—
A few weeks ago I was in a Dunkin Donuts, getting my caffeine fix. As I waited in line, I noticed a very large man, squeezed into a chair in front of a table. He was one of those body-builder types, and he was so large that he made the furniture look like toys. He wasn’t fat, or sloppy. Rather, he was well dressed, handsome, and obviously in great shape. And he was listening with rapt attention to the blond beauty across the table from him.
She was maybe 6 or 7, clearly his daughter, and they were out on a date. She was talking animatedly about her day at school, her feet swinging back and forth under the chair. And he sipped the little coffee clutched in his giant hand, and hung on her every word.
I wanted to go up and pat him on the back, or thank him, or shake his hand — I might have, except I was scared he might break me in half. I wanted him to know what I’ve seen, in the kids we’ve met in our years in ministry. I wanted him to know that his love for her would make all the difference as she became a teenager and then a young lady. I wanted him to know that there was one little kid who would grow up knowing that she was special; that she had value, and a purpose in life.
—
Yesterday an old friend from elementary school IMed me to let me know that one of our classmates was back in the hospital — her second bout with cancer. She won the first battle, but this time its not looking that good.
She and I aren’t close, but we shared similar childhoods, even went to the same church. She went to high school with Nic, and actually had a little part in setting Nicole and I up, a decade ago.
We’re 27. We’re just now coming into our own: getting married, starting families, taking leadership in our careers and churches. What if she doesn’t get any of those things? She started in the same place as we did, with the same foundation and the same value. But her story contains chapters no one can control, and that she could never have planned for or strategized around.
—
Life isn’t fair. Sometimes we stand in cruel weather, waiting for a future that we can’t ever really be ready for. But if you have a family, or some good friends, or a partner who will stand in the rain with you, or hold you, or listen to you, then you have something to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
And if you don’t, I hope you know your Father in heaven won’t ever let you go.

To our American friends: please, please watch SiCKO. I know its by Michael Moore, and if you can’t put up with the anti-Republican rhetoric, you can skip the section from 33:00 minutes in until 42:00 minutes in, and still get the point of the movie.
Someone recently suggested that the fact that Canadian health care was controlled by the government seemed “scary” to them. What’s scary is the true stories you see told in this movie. Stories about American citizens dumped on the street, still sick or wounded, because they didn’t have health insurance and couldn’t afford to pay their medical bills. Stories about 9/11 heroes who can’t afford to pay for the medication they now need, and can’t get help from their government.
We’ve seen things, during our stay here, from the bright side. We have the best health care available in the region — but even that is starting to show its problems. Our HMO recently refused to pay for my last Urgent Care visit because I’ve made too many trips there this year. I can’t imagine what its like for people who don’t have insurance as good as we do.
I know for sure that if either of us developed a serious medical problem, we’d immediately move back home to Canada. There’s nothing scary about the government providing our health care — just like there’s nothing scary about the government running our fire departments or post office. The health of a country’s citizens should be the bare minimum that a government provides for.
For those of you who think you have it good in the States, or that capitalism is always the best way to go, you have to see how other countries work. Not just Canada, either. SiCKO also examines England, France and even Cuba, and puts the HMO system to shame.
I know that many conservatives dislike Michael Moore (I happen to be a fan of a good, rational dissenting voice — I think its part of what makes a free country free) but you have to see this film. Skip the political stuff if you need to, but don’t skip the meat of whats in there — you owe it to yourselves as human beings to understand how this works in other parts of the world. They say that a society can be judged by how it treats its weakest members. Watch this movie and judge for yourself…

We’re all sick. Well actually, Nic is a lot better, but Benjamin and I are still being big babies.
Yesterday Nic called me, pretty upset, because he had a wicked cough and was breathing weird. She took him into the doctor — after his nap she checked and he had a temperature of 102.5. Surprisingly the diagnosis was “ear infection.” Everything else is just the common cold… and the appearance of tooth #3 — this one coming in on the bottom. By Christmas he’ll be eating steak.
We’re all pretty miserable right now. No one’s been sleeping well, Benjamin sounds like Darth Vader when he breathes, my back is acting up again (and yes, I’m doing my stretches, dad) and I’m a wimp when I’m sick.
On top of that, our neighbours got a new dog. Maybe you’re thinking “oh, how nice for them!” But if you are, you just don’t understand.
They didn’t get a guard dog, or a companion dog, or an otherwise useful dog. They got a decorative dog — one of those little fart dogs. The one’s that resemble a fur-covered turd. The kind people like Paris Hilton carry around in their handbags. The kind who’s owners talk to like a baby, but that has all the intelligence of a rock. Before this week I hated this kind of dog. Now I loathe them.
Yesterday morning I woke up to the sound of it yipping — I suppose it thought it was barking. This went on for the better part of 2 hours, during which it woke up Benjamin as well. I guess this particular breed doesn’t need to breathe, because it didn’t pause for even a second during that whole time. Apparently the soulless little demon had been left alone, and was determined that by barking, it would be able to get some attention.
All in all, its been a pretty wretched week. But I suppose we had one of these coming because last week was a surprisingly great one…

I just finished watching Season 2 of a 13 year-old sci-fi series called Babylon 5. I don’t think I’d be exaggerating if I called it the best sci-fi ever shown on TV.

It doesn’t look that great, at first blush. The acting is pretty cheesy, and the actors all C or D-list people you’ve never heard of. They made the interesting decision in 1994 to go completely CG for the special effects. I imagine they were one of the first television shows to do so, and unfortunately it shows. I remember, even when it first came out, that the graphics weren’t stellar. I’m sure they were rendered on an Amiga or something from its era.
Even some of the alien costumes weren’t that great. There were a few good ones, which even one some awards, like the Narn. But the Centauri were just a species that combed their hair up into a fan, and had slightly elongated incisors. Really, the whole thing looks kind of farcical when you first sit down to watch it.
By the end of the second season, though, you have a better appreciation for just how brilliant the show really is. Like Star Trek, or Stargate, or other sci-fi shows we all know, each episode is a story unto itself. Sometimes its a more character-based drama, sometimes a mystery, sometimes a pure action episode. But the real brilliance is what’s happening in and around the stand-alone story. Throughout season one and two, the writer was slowly putting characters, species, ideas and plot devices into place. None of the seemingly inconsequential minutia in an episode is meaningless — all of it is done for a reason. Hinting at, and teasing you with a grander story line that you only catch glimpses of.
And then season 2 closes with a bang, and pieces start falling together. Its overwhelming the scope of what has been sprung on you, slowly over two years worth of television. Its unlike any over-arching story line in Star Trek — bigger than the Borg, bigger even than the Star Trek movies. Even things you dismiss as accidents, like a character suddenly disappearing from the cast, are not write-outs. The character left because the author had other plans for them…
For example, between the last episode of Season 1 and the first episode of Season 2, the captain gets replaced. Your first conclusion is that they pulled the actor because he was one of the worst on the show (the latter part of that statement being true). But then the new captain arrives and you realise his character had already been set-up — since almost the beginning of season 1. If they had planned on axing an actor, they had been planning it for the entire life of the series, up to this point. Then you find out, halfway through season 2, where the original captain ended up — and you realise his new role had been set-up almost as long as that of the new captain. Nothing is a mistake. Every detail had been thought out and planned-for.
Its like they sat down, before writing a single episode, and planned out 5 years of TV, then weaved it together patiently and carefully. Something that happened last year, suddenly makes total sense this year. And the characters you might have derided as cheesy, or poorly acted, suddenly have significance, because you understand where they were 2 years ago, and they’ve actually grown since then. It makes you wonder if they choose unknown actors, just so they could guarantee they wouldn’t leave for a better offer half-way through the series and mess with the master plot.
And that story-line is not short on ambition, either. That they could take what was obviously a low-budget sci-fi, and build an epic 5-year story — that 9 years after its conclusion still leaves fans begging for more — is what makes Babylon 5 excellent TV. Nothing I have seen before, or since, in any genre, compares with the breadth of what they accomplished with this cheesy little show. If you haven’t seen Babylon 5, and you enjoy Sci-Fi at all, you owe it to yourself to watch this show in its entirety.

So I saw this on dooce once, quite awhile ago, and I’ve been meaning to plagiarize the idea. It seemed like a great way to stretch the memory, and keep the creative writing juices flowing. How it works is, you put your iPod (or iTunes, or whatever) on shuffle, and start blogging about whatever the first 5 songs are that come up — no matter how embarrassing or silly. Whatever memories, or thoughts or images come to mind when you hear the song, you write down. When the song’s over, you stop writing.
Its interesting how certain memories about times in your life can become associated with lyrics or a melody. I should interject, before I begin, that we’ve been collecting MP3s since college, so who knows how bad this could get. But I’ll roll the dice, and see if I don’t dig up something interesting…

~~~

So first up is Machinehead, by Bush. This was, I think, the second big song on their first album Sixteen Stone. I’ve actually blogged about this song before, randomly, because the words are utter nonsense. None of the lyrics make any sense, but we sure thought they were deep at the time. This song distinctly reminds me of 11th grade. The album is full of memories, but this one reminds me of one of Laura Bolt‘s famous parties, at which I often insisted on playing DJ.
Laura had this unique way of transcending high school cliques, and collected friends from all statuses. As a result, her parties were usually an odd grouping of mismatched people — some with only Laura in common. Actually, the annual Christmas party still happens, 10 years later, and Nic and I still go when we’re in the area.

~~~

OK, so our first slightly embarrassing song has arrived. You Found Me, by FFH. Nic asked me to download this song, after hearing it at work. I’ve never liked it (it sounds too much like country). Despite what the RIAA would have you believe, after illegally downloading the track, we were inspired to go out and buy the album. I actually ended up picking up WOW 2004 — making one of my first Christian music purchases in easily 5 years — which contained this song, among others. Soon afterward, we discovered TFK, and that Christian rock hadn’t died when Petra broke up…

~~~

Um, so toward like the end of college I sort of got into trance music. I blame it on a few things.
A friend from school (who later dropped out) was big into E and trance and jungle music. He had his own reasons for liking it, most involved staring into a fish tank while high, with the music playing in the background. I can say proudly that I was never interested in the drug-use part of that culture, but I did find a use for the driving beats. It turned out that it was very helpful during late-night programming sessions, getting my work done, for both school and my employer. The rythm set a tempo, kind of like a metrinome for my key strokes, and the creativeness of the music kept me awake.
My number 3 song is Trancemission by Paul Oakenfold, appropriately from the Swordfish soundtrack (an awful John Travolta movie about a computer hacker). I don’t listen to trance much these days, but I still pull it out occasionally, for the more intese coding sessions.

~~~

Lying from You, Linking Park. Its hard to place Linkin Park with any one memory, or time period in my life, because I’ve been listening to them continuously since their first album dropped. Very few of the individual songs have any specific meaning left to me, so I guess I’ll just blog about when I first discovered the band.
Nicole and I were living in our first apartment, newly married. I was in school in one town, while developing my career working part time in another (about an hour away). My computer desk was the kitchen table, and had, at any one time, 3-5 computers on it. Some my own, some belonging to my employer.
When I wasn’t furiously writing code, or alternating between being incredibly happy and incredibly terrified to be married, I could often be found listening to Linkin Park and playing Unreal Tournament online…

~~~

I cheated and skipped a song. It was a Beach Boys song, many of which have memories associated with them, but this was one I didn’t know. The next song is better anyway.

~~~

Song #5 is I’ll Lead You Home, by Michael W. Smith.
A few weeks before I turned 17, at the end of what will likely remain the most difficult year of my life, me and two of my friends since kindergarten got on a plane and flew to Germany. We arrived in a tiny village called Kandern, where I’d spent my ninth grade year, and after a short visit with friends there, headed to France to meet up with the One Accord choir. (Yes, I was in a choir. I have a good singing voice, deal with it.)
We toured for the better part of a month, and while there I met, and became close friends with a girl named Jennifer. She was 4 years older than me, so it wasn’t “that” kind of relationship. But it was special. She was from Winnipeg, and in coming to France, was leaving behind her mother, who was terminally ill with cancer.
Jenny and I looked out for each other, helped each other heal, and kept each other facing forward. On the bus between churches where our choir sang, we sat next to each other, wrote notes, quoted Shakespeare, and listened to Michael W. Smith.

~~~

Alright, one more, since I shafted the Beach Boys. I skipped ahead a bit (cheating again) until I hit You’re So Good to Me.
I don’t remember this song as being particularly catchy, but I do remember the cassette tape this song was on. I have no clue how old I was — I’m sure my parents could fill in the hazy details — but I remember being in the car a lot, which likely means it was during a time when my family was raising support for a missions trip. I’m thinking I must have been about 11.
At any rate, I have very clear memories of being in the backseat of the brown, 1979 Buick LeSabre (which would have been about 12 years old at the time), singing along to Beach Boys at the top of our lungs. We knew practically every word of every song, and used to give “concerts” to my parents in the basement, with guitars made of Construx, and drums made of buckets…
What do you think Dave and Liz? Should we get the band back together this Christmas?

~~~

Well those are my memories. There’s still about 2500 songs in the library, so maybe I’ll do this again some time. Anyone else have any songs that bring back memories?

Benjamin is 10 months old, and still growing like a weed. He is quite comfortable walking now, in most situations — wearing socks on a slippery floor is still challenging for him. He toddles around the house, crawling only to get into more tricky spots. Turning is by far the most amusing.
Next time you turn while you’re walking, think about how complex an operation it is. You probably turn your eyes, then your head, slightly in the direction you want to go, then with each step, you change angle toward your goal. For Benjamin, its not quite that easy.
Walking is something he does in more-or-less a straight line. If he wants to change direction, he has to come to a complete stop — which he does with his hands out in front of him, in case the stop fails and he ends up on the floor. Then, once he’s steadied out, he see-saws his feet, rotating his entire body, until he ends up roughly in the direction he wants to go. Once thats accomplished, and again, after he’s steady, he heads off in the new direction.
The whole operation would look kind of robot-like, if it weren’t so adorable.

This month also brought teeth — finally! While his younger friends have been sporting chompers for months now, Benjamin has been patiently gumming away at his food. Finally, while he was home in Canada, his two top teeth (usually the later ones to arrive) started to break through. This, combined with the upset to his routine due to travel, has led to a few rough nights lately, but the worst seems to have passed. Nic thinks the bottom ones aren’t far behind.
On top of his physical development, I’d be remiss if I didn’t record his emotional growth. I’ve been reading about Attachment Theory over my lunch hours lately, and have found it particularly fascinating as I’ve been able to observe my own baby boy against the theories of Bowlby, Ainsworth and their contemporaries.
Benjamin is quantifiably “Secure Attached” — meaning that, while he gets upset when mom (and/or dad) leave him in scary or new environments, he readily and happily greets us on our our return, and quickly finds the confidence again to begin exploring.

Although obviously I don’t have the resources, or the objectiveness, to study my child through an entire “Strange Situation” experiment, we’ve had plenty of opportunity to see how he handles going to the nursery at church, staying with a new babysitter, or even playing by himself in the living room, and I think its pretty easy to see that our little guy is emotionally secure and healthy.
In short, we are incredibly blessed to have such a happy and active baby boy. Its a tribute, of course, to his mom, who’s seized the role with a natural instinct that still amazes me, and frankly, to the sheer normalcy and well-adjustedness of both of his parents, and the quality of our relationship. These things themselves being a tribute to our own parents.
There has never, in my mind, been a better case for the traditional — and Biblical — design of a family, then what I’ve observed in Benjamin.
Anyone who would argue different, about the shape or value of family, or about the character of Benjamin’s parents, doesn’t have a clue what they’re talking about.