theMediaman.com

Life is full of little changes, and I’ve always been able to handle them with time. My move to Toronto without a secured job was a bit of a big step, but I had the resources - friends and family - to handle it. Change helps keep life new and exciting.  My engagement to Simone is an excellent example of throwing caution and logic to the wind for the sake of something I’m confident is a good idea. Planning a wedding is, at the least, interesting. Lots to do, and lots of bashing heads with those you’re related to (or soon to be).

There are still parts of my life that feel stagnant, like I’ve peaked in what I can do and learn. That’s what I’d like to work on next.

In the meantime, I want to catch up on a few meandering thoughts I’ve had. Many of my lunches have been non-existent in the face of work. Others I’ve taken advantage of the fresh, spring weather and gone on walks to start reducing my pudge before I have to fit into a tux in September.

This weekend is Passover with Simone’s parents. Last month we had Easter. Before going out to see my family, I looked around for the nearest Anglican church to attend on Sunday morning. The one I went to last year was St. Chad’s, and I was planning to go again this year. However, when I Googled them to see when the services would be, I found an article about how it is one of the churches whose congregations are split over a whole host of issues, including gay marriage.

The church locked the doors to the congregation once, and I didn’t want to risk being locked out of a place of worship on Easter morning. It’s too bad. As a smaller church in a lower-income area, it was very open and friendly, and I would have liked to go back again.

The next closest Anglican church was Grace Church on the Hill in Forest Hill. Just driving up to this place, I could tell I wasn’t in Little Portugal anymore.  Very WASPy and huge homes with German cars in every driveway. Inside was certainly different from St. Chad’s as well.

Almost cathedral-like, it’s an elaborate church. Beautifully decorated and huge. Before the service started, I noticed that every man, every single man was wearing a black suit. I was worried that I was dressing down too much for an Easter service by wearing a white with tan and blue shirt, and brown cotton pants. As it turns out, I was one of the brightest-dressed in the congregation!  I estimated that about 1-in-10 were wearing a bright, Easter-like coloured outfit.

A non-specific comment about stuffy Anglicans entered my head in my Baptist mother’s voice.

When the service started, a very large choir entered. The procession circled a few times up and down the aisles as the first hymn was sung. I was new at this, but everyone else around me (aka. ‘the Regulars’) didn’t react as much as I did.  I quite enjoyed it and watched with interest.

Some of my favourite hymns are sung on Easter.  Lord of the Dance (not Michael Flatly) wasn’t played. That’s not a common one, especially for more traditional churches like this one so I wasn’t surprised. Christ the Lord Is Risen Today was also played, but to a tune I had never heard before.  It certainly wasn’t as celebratory as the version I’m used to, and sounded very “Anglican”, to use my mother’s voice again. There were some other hymns I recognized, but they were also played very down-tempo. Also, it may have been my imagination (or opinion), but it also didn’t seem like the congregation were singing with the enthusiasm or volume that would befit Easter morning.

The most enlightening moment happened during the sermon. Not so much spiritually enlightening as much as gaining insight to the congregation. The minister was discussing bullies, and proceeded to illustrate the example in a way that would appeal to the congregation.

“The bullies in the schoolyard. The bullies at the law firm. The bullies at the ad agency. The bullies on the hospital floor…”

So, clearly the majority of the congregation, as with the neighbourhood, is populated by lawyers, ad execs and doctors.  Not a surprise or anything, but it was the clearest difference yet between my Easter service this year and the one from last year.

The biggest concern I had was when the kids came back from Sunday school, many of them were (excuse the pun) holy horrors! Running around, yelling, and generally being disruptive. Nearly every parent responded with a finger-in-front-of-lips “shh”.  No “SHUSH!”, no yanking them out and giving them a lecture at the back of the church, not even a stern look.

If I or my brothers pulled even half of what these kids were getting away with, we’d be taken home and not allowed out of our rooms until school on Monday. There was no discipline for these kids, and when I told this story to both John and Paul (my brother and friend, respectively, not the guys mentioned during the sermon), as teachers they independently told me, “you see what we have to put up with, teaching these kids?”

Overall, it was a good service, and I’m glad I went. I never perceived even an unwelcome glance, but I did feel a little out of place with a five-digit income. Many young urban professional families at this Grace Church on the Hill, and it might be a nice place to go back to from time-to-time. But I don’t think I’ll make it a regular place of worship.

Not that I technically have one.

Last night Simone and Mini-Ben pulled me out to play dodgeball.  It’s a Toronto Parks & Rec thing, so it takes place in a public school gymnasium.  The freshly mopped bathroom reaked of urine and there was discarded food containers in the corners of the hallway. Basically, it looked how you’d expect a Toronto public school to look if CityTV’s exposés are to be believed.

After only a few matches, those parts of my lungs that haven’t seen much use since I cancelled my gym membership started loosening up and reminded me that I treat my body with the same care as a smoker. By the end of the night, my legs were moving a little slow (sort of like when you click on a link and two seconds later the page actually responds).

My lungs are heathy and pink enough that they were able to handle the workout, but my thighs took the worst of it.  They’re muscles that I never use unless climbing stairs or, apparently, dodging balls. So I’ve been feeling fine most of today until I start climbing stairs and the underworked muscles come back to haunt me.

Sadly, even being lazy hurts. Rather than playing tennis, baseball, boxing or even a light game of bowling, Simone and I have bought a Wii (and justified the purchase as an engagement gift to ourselves). The first night we had it, Simone brought some work home with her and did that while I hit home runs and bowled turkeys. It was a full two hours before she took over the controller.  During that time I didn’t necessarily play vigourously, but I did have my right arm up and swinging for the entire stretch.

The next two days were full of stress and pain in every muscle in my arm. From the bicep to the balancing muscles and my fingers holding the controller, everything was sore. It seems that the “Revolution” of new controllers simply exchange the malady of Nintendo Thumb with Wii Arm.

The whole thing was agrivated by whipping around dodgeballs last night.  However, I’m worried my right arm is going to become much stronger than the left. Thinking of ways to overcome this, I’m considering playing Super Mario Galaxy with my right hand, but committing to Wii Sports as a southpaw.

Another alternative is to play a lot of Wii Boxing (the only game I have so far that give equal time to the right-hand controller and the left-hand ‘nunchuck’). While this alone doesn’t burn a lot of calories, I figure a couple wrist-weights might increase the effort, and the challenge of the game.

Also coming soon is a game called WiiFit.  It looks like most of the ’games’ are Yoga or fitness style, but there looks to be at least a few high-intensity activities like pushups. A study (admittingly funded by Nintendo UK’s own marketing team) found a difference in calories burned between a session of gaming on the Wii and a sit-down racing game on an Xbox360. But “156% more energy burned” than sitting on your ass and watching TV is like multiplying 156 x 0.

And any game that Miyamoto is excited about, I’m excited about.  For those who don’t know video games, it’s like hearing that Spielberg is particularly excited about a movie, or Barry Bonds is excited about a new brand of steroid.

I wonder what the Wii equivalent of steroids is.  Ideas?

A weird thing happens when you get engaged in a Web 2.0 world.  Since the word “wedding” has appeared in my Gmail, and I’ve updated my Facebook status, the intelligent AdWords on pretty much every page I visit have something to do with weddings.

I was already aware of how big an industry the “Wedding Biz” is, but it’s really carnivorous. Pretty much every weekend from now until late-Spring will have a wedding convention.  Some weekends have two or more to attend. Every business I guess has to get in on the ground-floor after the proposal, so they’ll have more say as to who supplies what, and gets paid for it.

The only person I know who’s officially in the Wedding Biz works out of Guelph/Kitchener and recommends finding someone who knows the local businesses.  It makes perfect sense, but I’m still nervous having everyone (including people I don’t know) in control of my wedding but me.

For example, I’ve once been to a wedding with a band, and even that was only recently. Before that, I’ve seen everything from a laptop running Win-Amp on randomize, up to a professional DJ with stage lighting.  Now that I know someone who’s a DJ (and pretty good too), I was hoping to hire her.  A Jewish friend of mine who’s also getting married this year told me with absolute certainty, “give that one up. Jews don’t have DJs”.

After some research, it seems that Jewish weddings can’t happen on Saturday, and there’s no particular (pre-18th century) rule against having Christian weddings on Sunday. While logistically the best thing to do is have it on Sunday, most people won’t want to stay late as they’ll need to work the next day. Also, having it on Saturday shouldn’t be too much of an issue for anyone who’s attending an interfaith marriage anyway.

I’ve already agreed to a civil ceremony - something I swore I would never do - in order to settle a few arguments before they started.  Since Simone is Jewish (as is her family), and I am Christian (as is my family), a civil ceremony without any representation of religion is the most politically correct way to handle the issue.  However, I’m not quite ready to eliminate spirituality from The Most Important Day Of My Life. I have felt God’s presence in every part of my life and I just can’t eliminate Him from a ceremony revolving around the importance of “Love”. I think that if I find some sort of compromise for this, then I’ll be okay with having a band instead of a DJ, or having the ceremony on a Sunday instead of a Saturday.  It just seems like a long way that we all have to go before that happens.

Until then, I’m just going to enjoy the attention. Even if it is by a database of online advertisements.

Not that things have slowed down at work any, but the two major “must-finish-before-the-break” projects I’m working on can literally go no further until I get more content. So, I’m going to enjoy the first, leisurely, one-hour lunch I’ve had in many weeks. In this entry, I’ll finally document the big news.

“Big News”… this is one of those points you look back on for the rest of your life. This isn’t like “Hey! I’m going to New York”, or “Hey! I’ve got new pants”. This is one of those pivotal times in your life that you want to make sure you got right, because there’s really no dress-rehearsal or second takes.

After a weekend stressing about her review on Monday morning, Simone was surprised to come into work to a promotion in job title and perks. In order to celebrate, I suggested we find a really nice restaurant. Actually, I bet her on Sunday night that if she didn’t meet her target raise, that I’d pay for dinner. If she met or exceeded it, she’d pay. Either way, we both win.

Thursday, December 6th comes, and I had somehow convinced her to let me take her ice skating at Nathan Phillips Square before dinner. She was hesitant, but knew how much I was excited about an early start to my favourite (and her least favourite) season.

The first challenge that day was getting out of work. I had originally slated the day off as lieu time, but a handful of videos had to be finished, put to tape, and sent out the door and on the road to Toledo, Ohio. Once I finally got them out, I drove home.

Once home, I had a call from work asking me to come back in because of additional, after-11th-hour changes to the video. Luckily, Lindsay covered for me. I didn’t want to tell anyone what I was thinking before I told Simone.

I made it downtown in time to pick up Simone and head up to Nathan Phillips Square. Since the Saturday before, I’ve kept one hand on my right, zippered jacket pocket. More than ever, as we walked north through the just-barely sub zero night my hand was held away so as not to attract attention. 

We crossed Queen St. during rush hour, and walked towards the rink. I rented skates, and Simone found the locker-room and tucked our stuff in a couple of lockers. With great concentration, we walked on blades to the rink. I might add here that the last time I was on ice skates was in grade 8. Luckily, many of the techniques in skiing are transposed including the appropriately named “skating”.

Starting just before 6:00, we had just gotten our ice-legs before we had to hop back off while the Zamboni cleaned the rink. We chatted and made small talk, and I tried to think of the best way to broach the topic.

We made many laps around the rink. It was busy, but by no means crowded. I was not thinking about keeping my balance as much as I was about the box in my coat pocket. I also tried to lead the conversation several times into an “isn’t it romantic” theme, but I would quickly stop talking when I couldn’t think of the perfect thing to say next.

I didn’t rehearse anything beforehand.  I tried a couple of times, and I thought that with two screenwriting courses under my belt I could come up with something. In the end I figured that the “stumbling, stuttering, cute thing” was my Ace, so I should stick with it.

At this moment I was regretting such a decision.

6:30 chimed at the Old City Hall and we had to start on our way to the restaurant. Simone had been aware that I had been unusually quiet and concatonated in my speech for the last few laps. I mentioned yet again how I thought it was romantic to skate with her, she commented that I’m the romantic one.

“Can I ask you something romantic?” I simply asked. Following her approval, I continued with, “Simone, will you marry me?”

I thought the preceding question would have prepared her even a little for the possibility of what the next question would be, but she seemed quite stunned. I couldn’t tell if she was taking a mental picture of the moment to savour until her golden years, or she was trying to figure out how to run away when she’s stuck in my arms and balanced precariously on skates. Even looking back now, I’m not sure.

We had talked about our feelings on marriage many times before, and we both felt that we were in a place where taking vows would be a real positive in our relationship. The details are complicated, for lack of a better word. She’s Jewish, I’m Christian. She’s a City Girl, I’m a Barrie Boy. She likes Summer and hates Winter, and I’m her opposite there too.

Where we’re the same is our love for one another. There have been a few times in our six years together when it really didn’t seem like we could work out these differences, but we did. And the only thing that is important to me is that we both want to continue being together.

…mind you, the conversation we had there, on the ice, was far less composed. But believe me when I say that my stuttering and her blubbering was just as convincing.

And so she said ‘yes’.

I don’t think she ever imagined that she would be given a ring, but that she’d be allowed to pick it out. On every other gift in life I’d agree, but this one I wanted to be part of that snapshot memory we both carry into our golden years. While I didn’t “get down on one knee” (I could barely stand), I did put the ring on her finger right there on the ice.

It was a bit big, and is currently out for resizing, but I figured that would be better than being a bit too small.

We celebrated at Donatello’s, where a very excited waitress gave us a couple glasses of bubbly as a toast. Perhaps it was the exceptionally good food and wine, or maybe the circumstances surrounding the evening, but I can say without exaggeration that the dinner was one of the finest I’ve ever had.