.plan

Madden: Acquired

Poop: Brown

All in all, a fairly good weekend.

I’ve been feeling like crap since about Sunday afternoon. My stomach and mouth can’t seem to agree on what constitutes a healthy meal. My ass keeps interrupting to weigh in with its own opinion.

My illness this week has led to some interesting challenges. I’ve been spending time on both sides of the sickness fence. On Monday, I stayed home and slept. The hour or so I spent in a status meeting that day were painful, as sitting upright made my nauseous meter go to full.

Since then, I’ve been heading to work with mixed success. I feel good. I feel bad. I feel in between. Yesterday, I made it down to a customer site only to spend half my time in the bathroom issuing lighting strikes that crackled through the nearby halls. Watch out.

Believe it or not, I have other things to discuss outside of a good, solid grip on the toilet seat.

Madden

Madden 2005 was released late last week and I haven’t bought it. This would be considered news, as it may mark the first time in about 10 years I have not purchased the game immediately after it was released. I’d say the issue was money but it’s also this. I’ve joined an online football league and I’m winning. Madden will have to wait.

While I’m on the subject …

Here’s another, more conservative, article about stem cell research and Kerry’s disingenuous use of it as an issue. He wants to lift the stem cell ban. That should be easy. No such ban exists.

DOOM!

I picked up a copy of Doom 3 the day it was released and I have to say I’m pretty happy with it. Most reviews have been pretty positive. Some haven’t been that enthusiastic.

I’m just pleased that they included an actual game along with some of the most impressive technology I’ve seen in a videogame. They took a couple parts Half-Life, a couple parts System Shock 2, and turned off the lights. I’ll have something to show off my PC while I wait for all the (sure to be) amazing user modifications to be released.

The Metro

I rode the DC metro to work yesterday and couldn’t help but think a bit about Spain and their absolutely awful reaction to terrorism. Of course, I did all that thinking before I got to the train. It didn’t really cross my mind once I was there. Good thing. There’s something about the metro and its underground tunnels that I enjoy. I’m sure that has something to do with the fact that I don’t have to ride it every day.

Baby Room, part 2

My wife keeps mentioning something about a baby that’s expected at our doorstep in the near future. I’m unsure of what she’s talking about but I’m feeling the pressure (and the knocks on the inside of her belly). Somehow she expects me to give up my computer room for our oldest child. That won’t be a problem. However, getting me off my ass to do so will.

And isn’t about time I stop talking about my ass?

The Slate has an article up about stem cell research, an issue the democrats hope will drive a wedge between the Republican party and its voters. I find the whole issue of stem cell research pretty interesting for two reasons. One, the issue itself is full of unknowns and promises. Two, I’m with the Democrats on this one.

On the surface — and, I should note, we are often encouraged to look at only the surface — it sounds like a simple issue. Barriers exist, in the form of a lack of Federal funding for human embryonic research. These barriers hamper scientific progress, science that has the potential to save lives. In the name of Parkinson’s disease, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, and more all efforts must be made. Those barriers must be removed.

This one is personal. My father and father-in-law have diabetes. My grandfather died of Parkinson’s, a disease I couldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Trapped in your body, unable to function is not the way to go. Parkinson’s is another checkmark in my family medical history, that list where an empty checkbox signals strength and a pencil mark echoes with fears of the future.

This fear drives my interest. Stem cell research feels urgent, something that can’t come fast enough. I’ve seen a battle lost to a disease that stem cell research seeks to cure. I witness battles still in progress.

I worry about the role of the religious right, a group I often feel a part of, in the President’s decision to limit federal research. Ron Reagan, at the Democratic National Convention expressed similar worries:

Compared to Reagan’s grandiose remarks, the actual policy of the President seems muted. It seems reasoned and well thought out. It appears sensitive to the issue of life.

Unlike Reagan, I can appreciate the concept of an embryonic life. I don’t necessarily agree — much like my thoughts on abortion don’t coincide with the Republican party — but I can appreciate the debate. What is and isn’t life is a sticky argument. It’s a fight I don’t feel particularly qualified to weigh in on, even if a position in this argument appears essential to taking a strong position with the entire issue of stem cell research.

Also unlike Reagan, I recognize that no funding of certain types of embryonic stem cell research is not the equivalent to no funding at all. It might not be obvious, particularly if you spent the last week looking through the windows of the DNC, but quite the opposite is true. This issue isn’t the Democrats’ issue alone. The issue isn’t about the pie. It’s about a piece of the pie and how big that piece really is.

Politicians — and, in some respects, researchers alike — want us to believe that stem cell research is a cure all. That’s unlikely to be the case. It does, however, provide a great source of hope, both nationwide and within my home. That hope feeds my fervor. On this one issue, I waver, surprised to find myself leaning towards the other side of the political fence and concerned about political plays on my hope. A wedge issue has been found, even if the Democrats go out of their way to overstate their case. I hope they are careful with it.

I noticed something about Canada during my recent visit. It’s a whole
different country. Some things are the same. The people look and
talk much the same (eh?), assuming your aren’t running off to Quebec. Cars
still drive on the right. Cows still moo and ducks still quack. But there
are all sorts of little things that throw you off.

First, there’s the whole metric system. I never really understood why
us Americans could never get jiggy with a world full of multiples of ten
but it’s interesting to hang out someplace that does. I used 3 kg bags of
ice to keep my beer cold. I had to keep a close eye on the inner circle of my
speedometer. We have 100 to go. Wow. That’s really far. Perhaps it’s in
kilometers? Did that feel like 100 km? How far is 100 km? Where is my
slide rule? Slow down. You are going 120!

Then there’s the money. American dollars and Canadian dollars have almost
nothing in common outside of the fact that they are currency.
It wasn’t the odd colors or exchange rates that tripped me up, however.
It was the use of coins for dollars. On my first full day in Canada, I
picked up beer for $35. I handed the cashier $30 in cash and got my $4
change in coins. Odd, I thought, as my head worked out both the monetary conversion and the worth of these loonies now lining my pockets.
My pockets jingled nearly the entire trip. Too bad I never found one of
these
quarters. They are too cool.

Lastly, we have the beer, which was different in more ways than one.
While shopping, we couldn’t help but notice the huge amount of recycling
going on. Two guys pulled up in a truck bed filled three deep with cases
of bottles. I remarked to my brother-in-law, “They must own a restaurant.”
The woman pulling three cases of bottles from her trunk made me reconsider
that comment.

The store we entered didn’t have any beer on the shelves proper. Instead,
the walls were lined with empty bottles. Choose your poison, order from
the cashier, and watch the beer come flying out a conveyor belt. It seems
that there are some things we could learn from our Canadian neighbors.

And we quickly learned that the beer on those conveyor belts packed a much
greater punch than their American counterparts. Budweiser came in at 5%
alcohol and without its American aftertaste. Yum. I need to start importing
the stuff. Coors light, much to the chagrin of my brother-in-law, sported
a similar boost (up to 4% alcohol). I’d say it was fact I was on vacation
but that wasn’t it. Beer really did taste better around the campfire.

Still, things were much more the same than different. The subtle twists
gave the trip its own special flavor. We did travel to another country
even if, for the most part, America was just 3 miles and a barrel ride away.