Time flies
A few months ago in this space, I wrote about how I had hit the 25-year mark at the Free Press. (This is actually year 27 of my journalism career, as I started at the Winnipeg Sun in 1995 at the ripe young age of 20, then moved over to the broadsheet in 1997)
Well, I’m happy to report that a time-honoured tradition at my employer continues.
That’s right — I got my watch!
Editor Paul Samyn presented it to me (and colleague Carol Sanders) at our staff holiday party last Friday, and I was thrilled by the gesture.
My wife: “But you don’t wear a watch!”
Me: “I’ll wear this one!”
It isn’t the accessory itself, of course. My iPhone can always tell me the time, and my wrist really has been bare for as long as I can remember.
Rather, it’s about having a tangible reminder of something I’m proud of having accomplished.
Time really does fly when you’re having fun.
This Mikey ain’t no mechanic
I’m picking out bananas in the produce section of my neighbourhood Sobeys last night when a woman I don’t recognize walks my way with a big smile on her face.
“Thank you SO much for helping me with my car today!” she says.
Umm…
“I really appreciated it,” she continued, before clearly seeing the puzzled look on my face.
“Oh my gosh, that wasn’t you, was it?”
No, no it wasn’t. I laughed, telling her that I’d probably be the last guy she’d be thanking for helping her with her car, since I’d likely have only made the situation worse given my complete lack of knowledge in that area.
This only ranks as the second-funniest case of mistaken identity in public. No. 1, without a doubt, happened at the Red River Ex about a decade ago, when I was coming down the big slide with my two children and a woman standing near the bottom excitedly yelled “Mikey, Mikey!”
“Can I have your autograph?” she asked me.
I was ready to oblige — she must be a massive fan of my work, I figured! — only to have my ego crushed when she revealed, upon closer inspection, that I was NOT the Mikey she was looking for.
That would be Michael “Mikey” Teutel, a star at the time on the reality show American Chopper, who I happened to bear a rather striking resemblance to at the time with my long, curly hair.
Come to think of it, maybe that’s the guy that helped the woman with her car yesterday?
You win this round, mother nature
There’s nothing quite as humbling as thinking you’re in relatively decent shape, only to have a big, heavy snowfall suggest otherwise.
Everyone who agrees with this statement, please raise your hand.
I would, but a 45-minute shoveling session last evening has made that a painful exercise. Heck, just the simple task of hitting my computer keyboard is making me wince right now.
It was like trying to move wet concrete.
Fortunately, our two rescue dogs, Bodie and Piper, served up a reminder that winter can be fun, once you get the messy stuff out of the way, as they had a blast playing in Mother Nature’s fresh blanket.
More of the white stuff is on the way. At least the pups will be happy. My noodle-like arms, however, aren’t quite as excited.
I’m actually hitting the road for a few days, heading to Vancouver tomorrow, then off to Seattle on Sunday, as the Jets play back-to-back weekend games.
At least the precipitation out there can usually be handled with an umbrella.
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