Despite repeated emails and Christmas cards that continually expound the details, I can’t seem to regurgitate my parents’ plans for Christmas except in the most general terms. I’m expected in Medicine Hat on Sunday? Food will be eaten? Religious differences will be tolerated? The important details just don’t stick in my mind.

However, ask me which questions I couldn’t answer on my 4th grade aptitude test to see if I qualified for AIM, and boy, do I have a list for you!

For the record, I didn’t answer “Christopher Columbus” because my fellow test taker, Christine, who finished it the day previous, told me, “contrary to popular belief it was Captain James Cook that discovered America.”

Why WOULDN’T I believe her? And to be honest, I don’t even know if Columbus is the answer they were looking for—what about the Vikings? And while we’re at it, do the “natives” count for anything?

Don’t lose any sleep over it. I got into AIM anyway.

In case you’re curious, AIM was this once-a-week afternoon program they had for students who were high achievers. While my peers at George Davidson were learning about the Native American Indians and the settlement of Western Canada, I was busy across town learning advanced science, math, and computer skills.

In AIM they taught us about negative numbers, statistics, and among other things how to use a word processor—this was a pretty big deal considering that in 1988 most people hadn’t even heard of word processors. I still remember typing away in front of those state of the art monochrome green monitors. Our teacher Mr. Freeman insisted typing would be a useful skill later in life. Who knew he’s be so right?

And even though this might sound pretty cool, I hated AIM.

One of my complaints was that I wasn’t interested in learning how to type. Computers were for games! and as any 9 year old of that time will testify, learning about home row is significantly less entertaining than Lode Runner.

They also demanded too much homework. Any “extra” homework, is too much. The weekly afternoon assignments at AIM more than doubled my load for the entire week. And to make matters worse, I was completely stressed out that I wouldn’t do a good job.

Homework wasn’t the worst part though.

The worst part was that none of my regular teachers had ever gotten around to teaching cursive handwriting. Mr. Freeman, liked to mix his chicken scratching with cursive shortcuts. Basically I was in a class of “geniuses” and I when it came time to read our homework off the board, for all intents and purposes, I was illiterate. Talk about HUMILIATING.

Mr. Freeman wasn’t exactly understanding either. There were a few of us in the same boat and he lipped us off saying that if we couldn’t read his writing, that was our problem. It was the next week that I began skipping. (How did you think I found out what everyone in my regular class was up to on Wednesday afternoons). Shortly after that I ended up dropping the program—but I’ve kept the guilt.

And in so many ways, I can’t help but feel like my performance in AIM has been a reflection of my life in general. If only my circumstances had been different… if only I had a half decent teacher, or someone to inspire me… and besides whatever it is I should be doing, it’s significantly less entertaining than any number of my daily distractions.

At least I can take a break from my worries with some holiday cheer. So, last time—I promise—what time is Christmas dinner, Mom?

I’m a fan of scrubs, and if you are too, you might like this version of Charlie Brown’s Christmas performed by the Scrubs cast.

Hit play or view on Youtube.

Here is some backstory.

One great thing about coming home for the holidays is meeting up with many of my old friends. Since I had been making a habit out of not coming to Medicine Hat for Christmas the last few years I’ve really lost touch with many of them. It has been great to catch-up and discover how people have changed and what has happened to them since high school.

This afternoon I went out with my friend Linnsie, and tonight I went out with Janie and her friends. I’ve had a great day—I ran into four different guys that I used to play basketball with in high school, one of them even treated us to lunch! What a great surprise. Happy Holidays indeed.

Wishing you all the best! I hope you have a Merry Christmas—or whatever holiday you celebrate in your part of the world.

Here is a photo of the “not-so-white” Christmas that we’re having in Southern Alberta.

I’m off to Medicine Hat for the next week enjoying time with my family over the Christmas holidays. Please feel free to share what you’re doing to celebrate the holidays in the comments. You don’t even need a Blogger account!

A comedy short detailing where they get their most rare export. Not rated but would probably garner a pg-13 rating for blood and brief nudity.

Rare Exports Inc. (Has a link to 66 MB mov)

Smaller Version: Rare Exports Inc. (36 mb mov)

Browsing the wikipedia I came across this little tidbit about Hotmail:

On 24 December 1999, MSN Hotmail, the free web based email service owned by Microsoft, became inaccessible for a couple of days when the domain name registration lapsed for passport.com - which Hotmail uses for user authentication.

The registration fee for the expired domain was paid by Hotmail user Michael Chaney on December 25 as a Christmas present to Microsoft and the 20 million users that were unable to access their mail.

Microsoft confirmed to Chaney a couple of days later that his $35 payment to Network Solutions did in fact solve the Hotmail outage problem. As a reward for Chaney’s quick thinking and generous move, Microsoft sent him a check for $500 and a copy of Visual Studio 6.0.

An Open Letter
By John Moe

TO: THE GRINCH
FROM: MAX YOUR FORMER FRIEND AND DOG

Dear Steven,
It’s been several months now since you left and I remained here on Mt. Crumpet in the home we built together. I think it’s important that I share my feelings. I hate you Steven. Hate; hate; hate you.

For years we stood for something. We hated the Whos. Like we always said if it weren’t for Christmas and the Who’s infernal screeching of “carols” we would have had absolute quiet all year long and isn’t that why we moved to Mt. Crumpet in the first place, Steven? Every December our meditation, gardening and literary work were shattered with “Wahoo-Boraice” or whatever that stupid song was. Have you learned it yet? Well have you? The Whos ruined our lives. Annually. And then you joined them. And why? WHY?! Because you heard them sing. Who was I living with all those years? Honestly, if you know, tell me Steven.

And, by the way, there was nothing wrong with your heart. I have, in our big file cabinet, a report from the Dr. that says while your heart was abnormally small (5th percentile), it was completely functional and unless you attempt to run a triathlon, you’re fine. And all that aside, your heart has nothing to do with your emotions. You left your Zoloft here, by the way. If you haven’t picked up a new prescription, I will send it down to you but you
should really renew it.

Alone up here on Mt. Crumpet my thoughts have turned to that night. In retrospect, there were many mistakes. You shouldn’t have worn a Santa suit. Also you should not have engaged Cindy Lou Who – at all. I’m not sure what inverted Stockholm syndrome took place while I waited on the roof, but I do know that it all could have been solved with a hard shove and a quick exit. Additionally we should have stashed the Christmas crap and then left town right away – the shore, Cozumel, my parents’ place even.

But really the problem was the Whos. They’re stupid, Steven. People who get robbed and then sing with joy are stupid people. And now you’ve gone to live with them, in a … what? Hut? – I can’t blame them anymore for being who they are. Perhaps I can’t even blame you for being who you evidently were all along. Perhaps I can only blame myself for seeing you as the one I spent all those years with. The one I thought shared my yearning for solitude and my deep and justified hatred for everyone else. But that was not you. You are a Who. Enjoy the roast beast. Whatever. Jerk.
Max

It’s almost Christmas. I’ve been having a great time down in Utah with Anna and her family. Apparently due to the fact that Holmans are so excited to open presents, we are going to do that tonight instead of waiting for Christmas morning. It will probably make for more photogenic subjects so I won’t complain. On the one hand I wish I was at home with the family, but on the other hand I’m EXTREMELY happy I won’t have to go through that stupid Christmas program at my Aunt and Uncle’s. Every year they make us all sit around reading the Nativity Story and singing Christmas songs. I’m seriously glad to get away from it.

I just finished writing up my last paper of the semester. Now the only thing in my way to the greatest Christmas vacation ever is the 12 to 14 hour drive to Utah. It’s 3:30AM and I am considering just leaving right now. Anna sure would be surprised if I got there a few hours in advance, and it would be nice to not just have to go straight to bed when I get there. That’s it, I’m packing right now and I’m on my way. Utah and California—here I come!

You know, this phone is what I really want for Christmas, but a new DVD burner would also be cool and probably a lot less money. Just posting this in case anybody that cares wants to know what I would like for Christmas.

Quite possibly the coolest cell phone yet. Actually I don’t know how it compares to other phones but it looks pretty cool to me.