A second visit with Videotron

This story is a continuation of a saga that began with the installation of our internet.

In January, Mitali announced that with the upcoming winter olympics followed by a new season of American Idol, it was time for us to get cable.  And so, with some trepidation, I picked up the phone, made a call, and we braced ourselves for a second visit by Videotron.

Given my past experience with Videotron, calling to schedule a second installation had the feel of arranging to have someone stop by, vandalize the apartment, and punch me in the face on their way out.  Of course, living in Montreal, we'd resigned ourselves to the fact that this is simply how telecommunication business is done.  Furthermore, with television being one of the our only remaining connections back to our beloved, hedonistic American culture, this seemed a small price to pay.

In the interest of minimizing destruction to home and personal property, Mitali and I decided it would be best if both of us were present for the installation: one of us to tend to Sonya, the other to watch Mr. Videotron.

And so, on the morning of the installation, I stayed home from work and readied myself for the visit.  When the technician arrived, he offered a gruff "Hello".  I resisted the urge to pat him down at the door for any drills, opting instead to return his greeting and invite him in.  Kicking his shoes off, he walked directly past me and proceeded to take a brisk self-guided tour of our apartment, surveying the location of cable outlets and, no doubt, identifying any bare stretches of wall where he could punch some holes.  After finishing his circuit of the rooms, he returned to the study to admire the handy-work of the drill-crazed technician who installed our internet in the fall.  He paused for a moment to reconnect with that spirit of genius from the past: placing a finger in the gaping hole that had been meticulously drilled in the middle of the wall and then tracing the cable that sprouted from the window frame.

Sucking in a breath, he stood and informed me that to deliver cable to the television in the adjoining room, he would need to snake the cable emanating from the study windowsill across the study room floor, through the opposing wall, and then around the living room.  I quickly agreed that this was, indeed, an excellent option, relieved that his plan did not involve knocking out a wall, drilling through a radiator, or dismantling our toilet - I had expected the worst.

As he headed out to his van to get some tools, I went to find Mitali in the bedroom to deliver the good news that this installation would only involve drilling a hole clean through one of our internal walls.  I stayed in the bedroom for a moment playing with Sonya as Mitali stepped out to grab a drink from the kitchen.  She re-entered the room with a restrained, but panicked sound in her voice: "Have you seen the size of the drill that guy is using?"  Immediately recognizing my momentary lapse in Videotron vigilance, I raced out of the room to find the technician.

I turned the corner into the study just in time to see him pull the trigger on a drill that was attached to a bit the length of my arm.  He looked like he was using the apparatus to pack dynamite into our wall: positioned with the drill against his gut so he could lean all his weight against the bit, which was rapidly disappearing into the study wall.  It took only a moment for him to rip a hole straight through to the other side.  He pulled the drill out, set it on the floor, and we both proceeded to the living room to investigate his work.

The hole into the living room was nearly perfect, with one cosmetic flaw: the drill bit had exploded through the moulding along the floor boards, leaving me wondering what kind of repair bill I should be expecting from our landlord when we moved out.  That small detail aside, it had missed our bookcase by about an inch and our, now saw-dust-covered, poker set by less than that.  I breathed a sigh of relief.  Content with his work, the technician returned to the study, produced a staple gun out of his pocket, and proceeded to staple the cable along the study wall, thread it through the freshly drilled hole, and then staple it along the living room wall to the television.  It was a fine piece of work ... which actually did work.  He hooked the cable up to our television and, within minutes, had the entire setup working.  Leaning his monstrous drill against his shoulder like a rifle, he marched out the front door.

Cable installation, however, was not yet complete.  We realized that the media computer which ran our TV was missing a crucial component required to control the cable set-top box.  Several minutes of internet research revealed that the component we lacked was effectively a speaker wire attached to an infrared diode, allowing the computer to pretend to be a remote.  Online the wire-diode component cost $20.  Convinced I could make something just as good for free, I warmed up my soldering gun and proceeded to rip apart an unused remote control in order to salvage the necessary pieces I would need.  Thirty minutes later, I had the gizmo in hand.  Affixing it to the set-top box, however, turned out to be quite tricky.  No discrete solution worked, leaving me no choice but to secure the diode to the front of the cable box using about two feet of electrical tape.  The end result was thrilling.  I proudly paraded Mitali into the room to display my work.  She surveyed the damage: one ragged hole in the wall next to the book case, a cable wire stapled around the perimeter of the room, and a new centerpiece for the TV stand, a sad-looking set-top box that appeared to be held together entirely by electrical tape.  She sat down with the TV remote, clicked the television on, and determined that the cable was very, very good.

It's now been nearly three months since Sonya was born. In that short time I have learned extensive amounts about patience, priorities, and time-management. Sonya is no longer a new little baby; she is my daughter.

Through this journey, Mitali has been a tireless, supportive, and loving Adventure Buddy. She made this video-picture montage to commemorate my two months of fatherhood. I am so blessed to be part of this little family.

It's Raining Shit!

One of the unforeseen consequences of moving into an apartment in the middle of an environmentally-conscious city was the rapid accumulation of garbage that we had no way of getting rid of. Our problem started right after we moved in. The landlord told us that garbage pickup happened twice a week: Tuesday and Friday. No problem, we said. However, by the time the first Friday rolled around, getting to the front door involved literally clawing our way through a corridor of packing paper, boxes, hangers, old clothes, discarded stationary, and milk bottles.

Needless to say, it felt good carting all of it out to the curb Friday morning. However as I was wrestling my fourth wardrobe box of shit down the stairs, one of our neighbors informed me that there was no way the garbage men would take any more than I had already deposited on the street. I looked at the three refrigerator-sized boxes I had managed to heave onto the sidewalk and then thought of the trash jungle lurking behind our front door. What were we going to do?

For a while Mitali had the bright idea of sneaking across the street and leaving bags of trash in the garbage cans in the park. This worked for a couple days until she managed to fill up all the cans within walking distance of our apartment. It was at that point that I think the neighborhood realized that they had Americans living in their midst. Unfortunately, Mitali's brave escapades hadn't made a dent in our ocean of garbage. We were still tunneling our way from room to room.

Fortunately on Monday night Mitali had another great idea which involved the use of our rental car. "Load all this stuff up and find a dumpster," she told me from the sofa, making room to breastfeed Sonya by pushing aside the head rest to a baby carseat, three dirty burp-cloths, an empty bag of toddler wipes, and the plastic bag our mattress had come in.

At first I was a little hesitant about the prospect of throwing garbage into city dumpsters. What if I got caught? However, thirty minutes later I was gleefully shoveling my second load of bursting cardboard boxes, picture frames, and nearly-empty lotion bottles into the back seat of our Nissan sedan. The first run had gone smoothly. After only five minutes of circling St. Laurent Avenue I had located a dumpster behind a pharmacy. Before Captain Planet had any idea what was going on, I ditched a mountain of tshirts, dirty diapers, and paper and was on my way back for another load.

Afraid that the pharmacy had discovered my crap pile and were now on the lookout, I decided to try my luck at another dumpster. The sun was setting as I tossed a few final skeins of cheap yarn into the trunk and slid into the drivers seat.

It was dark by the time I found another dumpster. This one, the size of a small bus, was positioned against what appeared to be a condemned apartment building. A construction site: the perfect place to drop a final load. I pulled up beside the bin and discovered that its sides had to be at least 8 feet tall. This meant that I had to prop large boxes over my head and then jump as I shoved them over the side. This was no small feat given the weight and enormity of the boxes I was heaving over. As my crap disappeared out of sight it made terrific crashing sounds as shelving units, pots, and ratty shoes thundered into the dumpster.

I was really making good time and had just heaved a steel rice cooker into the bin when a rather disheveled guy appeared out of nowhere. I proceeded to launch the rice cooker's heavy glass lid over the side.

"Dude," he said, clearly pissed,"get the fuck away from my dumpster." About to throw an old picture frame over, I froze. Oh god.

"Didn't you here me before?" he demanded. I stammered.

"N...n...no. I didn't hear anything. I swear!" A moment of silence passed between us and in it I heard the crashing sound continue in the dumpster. I had not thrown anything else in.

"Man, there's like 20 people living in there." I immediately thought about the vase, the rice cooker, and the pan I had just tossed over the side.

"Dude, I am so, SO sorry. I didn't realize. I'm leaving right now." Without giving him a chance to respond, let alone throw the rice cooker lid back at me, I jumped back in the car, slammed the door, and raced off.

I parked the car across the street from our apartment thankful that I had not speared a homeless person through the chest with the bathroom organizer in the back seat or clocked some vagrant schizophrenic with the picture frame still left in the trunk. Tomorrow would be Tuesday, I thought to myself. Excellent. I leaned the picture frame and the bathroom organizer against the fence with my neighbors' garbage, proceeded up the steps, and into our quite spacious new home.

The Internet Cometh

The Internet came to our apartment around 4:30 PM this afternoon and, according to Mitali the sole remaining witness of the event, was heralded by the mechanical whine of the Videotron technician wielding a high-power drill in ... my office. Somewhat to our dismay, in Canada, internet access installation can actually involve ... well ... installation. Without asking, without informing anyone, and, frankly, without any clear motivation, the technician ignored the presence of a wonderfully discrete cable outlet located in a sensible location along the back wall of my office, opting instead to drill a hole right in the middle of the wall, directly above the radiator. Apparently dissatisfied with this improvement to the decor, he abandoned this hole and proceeded to perforate the window frame with another. Videotron's strict sense of aesthetic dictated that he then thread a cream-colored cable through the window frame and down my pure white office wall. Judging winter to be at least a month away, the technician felt comfortable nailing the cable against the radiator and winding it, in a final garish display of attention to detail, across my now saw-dust covered guitar cases to attach to the cable modem teetering on the edge of my desk. Mitali entered the room after breast-feeding Sonya to discover what he had done. He turned to her and in broken English said, "The internet. It is good." Then he packed up his power tools and marched out the door. This is all I know. And after many deep breaths I can only agree with him that, despite it all, he was right. The internet - it is good.

30 Ways to Celebrate 30

Well it's now been nearly a month since my birthday. I am officially 30 and my entrance into this new decade has certainly been memorable - the arrival of my first child, my younger brother getting married, becoming a professor, moving to another country. A family friend of ours gave me a birthday card that provides a comical list of thirty rather remarkable, ridiculous activities to celebrate the arrival of one's third decade. I've made great progress. Here's what I've got so far:

1) Shop till you drop - after arriving in Montreal, Mitali and I realized that we had *way* more stuff (stuff = books & clothes) than we had shelf and drawer space in our new apartment. On top of that, I needed a desk. Last Saturday we took a bus to Ikea, dropped a load of cash on unassembled furniture, and considered the problem solved.

2) Eat cookie dough - Martin, one of our neighbors, brought us an extremely delicious apple-cranberry pie to welcome us to Montreal. We attempted to reciprocate by making him some oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. I had a quick sample prior to cooking them. Sadly, they were better before we put them in the oven. Don't worry Martin, we're working on something else...

3) Quit your job - As a graduate student, I moonlighted doing some database programming for Texas Children's Hospital. While I enjoyed working on the project and with the staff there, having a baby, writing grants, advising students, teaching, and conducting research seems like enough to keep me busy for now.

4) Buy some bling - Familiar with the song "Whatever you like" by T.I.? That's pretty much what life has been like since arriving in Montreal. Want an iPhone? Boom - got 'em. Need that tray of strawberries? Done. A cabinet would look good in the corner? Bam - saw it, liked it, bought it. $150 for a work visa? Please! I'll pay you in cash. Baby wants some clothes? Here's a $50 - toss in some diapers while you're at it. Need some wheels for the weekend? Hey Enterprise, give me the biggest you've got, I'm takin' my ladies out on the town. Admittedly, I'm a little scared to see our credit card statement this month. But the ride has been fun.

5) Speed date - Nothing says "sensitive, responsible, considerate male" like strapping a baby to yourself and hitting the town. With Sonya's help I've gotten more glances from the ladies in two weeks than in the thirty years leading up to this transition. A quick note for gentlemen looking to use this technique: despite the furtive glances, I can't guarantee that you'll round the bases any time soon - it's a bit hard to swing for the back fence when you've got a baby on the front of you and her mother holding your hand.

6) Sing karaoke - Every night is Karaoke night at our house. Sonya starts screaming and Mitali and I start singing ... anything. We hit her up with everything from "Old MacDonald" to singles from the Eagle's to Beyonce's latest, "Halo". Sometimes I leave the bedroom window open to let the neighbors in on the fun.

7) Do the birthday dance - I'm not really clear on what the "birthday dance" is, but if it involves bouncing, rocking, or swinging a baby or cleaning up regurgitated milk, then I've done it ... many times.

8) Streak - This has now become part of the daily shower routine in our apartment. To get to our clothes, we scamper freshly washed from the bathroom, through the kitchen, past two large windows overlooking our neighbor's porch about 10 feet away, and into the bedroom which provides viewing to two other neighbors. Blinds installation might be in our future.

9) Wish for something outrageous - a full night's sleep? That didn't seem too outrageous at the beginning of the summer, but it certainly don't seem too realistic any more.

10) Party! Party! Party! - Let's see ... hanging out with someone who loves to make noise, stay up late, and drink a lot. I'd say our life has been one big party for the past two months!

11) Eat cake - I received and helped to consume two really delicious cakes for my birthday. My mom made a family favorite - peanut butter chocolate. Mitali's mom (who I call "Ma") brought home a three layer ice cream cake. We miss you guys! (And not just because of your cooking)

12) Play spin the bottle - on the to-do list.

13) Take a hot air balloon ride - also on the to-do list.

14) Bungee jump from a bridge - Will have to wait until Sonya has better head-control.

15) Date online - Haven't had a chance! We're still waiting for internet at the apartment. What really astonished me here in Canada, though, is that all internet plans give you an amount of data you can transfer per month. They may as well charge me per liter of air I breathe.

16) Moon somebody - see #8.

17) Pimp your ride - we don't have a car yet, but did rent one last week to drive to the US border to get Sonya's visa (long story). We figured that, while we had it, we may as well move our mountain of suitcases from the hotel to the apartment and go get some essentials at Walmart. In order to accommodate all our stuff, I upgraded our rental car to the largest sedan size they had - but declined the spinner rims option.

18) Get shot out of a cannon - I'm guessing that, if all goes well, the experience leaves a person disoriented, deaf, and with a pounding headache. Up until about five days ago, Sonya would regularly scream inconsolably for about two hours every night. I think the only difference between these two activities is that, in the aftermath, we didn't smell like gunsmoke.

19) Kiss a stranger - Here in Montreal they observe many French customs, one of them being the two-cheek smooch greeting/farewell. Since arriving I've had an opportunity to peck a fair number of unfamiliar faces.

20) Splurge on something frivolous - Messenger bags are the *thing* here in Montreal. Everybody wears them! I went out and purchased a bag made by ManhattanPortage. A frivolous purchase? Certainly not - the bag is just the right size for my laptop! On the other hand, Mitali observed that I already own two backpacks and three laptop messenger bags - all in perfect condition. She might have a point there, but I'm considering the question still open for debate.

21) Go skinny dipping - The one way we've found Sonya likes taking a bath is if I hold her through it. As she's now outgrown the sink, there's really no way for me to do this except by getting into the bathtub as well.

22) Runaway and join the circus - I think the circus might seem just a bit too tame after the past two months of our life.

23) Go crazy - Done. See #1 - #30.

24) Drop it like it's hot - If by "it", you mean Sonya just after she's had a huge, diaper-busting, leaking-out-the-back, looks-like-mustard poops, then I can check this one off. Mitali and I often jockey to be the one *not* to change these, which often turns into something that probably looks a bit like hot potato (played with a baby) to the casual observer.

25) Play strip poker - What's strip poker but gambling while taking off clothes? This is basically the definition of changing Sonya's diaper. The Play: remove her first diaper. The Wager: she's going to pee all over. If she does, you start peeling off her urine-soaked clothes (the Strip). If your luck has really run out, she manages to get you too and you start taking off some of your clothes as well.

26) Write your memoir - Started this blog! I hope that counts...

27) Go skydiving - Still on the to-do list.

28) Call a party line - Not really necessary since Montreal is pretty much the strip/topless bar capitol of North America (according to GQ, what lacks in quantity, they have in quality). What's really handy is that downtown they put these animated neon signs in their windows which leave little to the imagination. This way you get to be part of the action for no charge at all.

29) Cry over lost youth - Sonya is getting older! About a week ago she started smiling. She's now starting to get interactive. Every day she seems to develop some new aspect of her personality. And while it's so exciting to see her growing up, I can't help but feel a welling nostalgia when I realize that she'll never be the way she was yesterday again.

30) Live it up! - These past few weeks, Mitali and I often look at each other and agree that we are happier now than we have ever been. I don't think it is despite all the changes and demands being placed on us. I'm certain that it's *because* of the long nights, the screaming, the dirty diapers, the quiet moments of holding a cooing Sonya, the random shopping trips, discovering Montreal, assembling furniture, unpacking, and setting up my office. I truly feel alive every moment of every day. I'm not under any delusions that I'm enjoying every moment, in the sense of non-stop fun. Nonetheless, it is a great blessing to live so that every moment is building on the last and that not a single second slips by unnoticed and untouched.

Newly weds!

This past week my younger brother, Troy, married his high-school sweetheart, Ivy Ikpeme. I was very honored to be his best man and reflected on what Troy, Ivy, and their marriage meant to me in my toast at the reception. It's hard to recognize and give names to the many emotions and feelings I had as Troy and Ivy exchanged rings, and what I wrote falls far short of capturing them all. But I hope by sharing it here, I can offer a sense of how wonderful Troy and Ivy both are and how blessed I feel to have her as my sister:

Hello everyone. I’d like to share a few words about our bride and groom. I’m Derek, and I have the great privilege of being Troy’s oldest, disputably wiser brother and his best man. First I’d like to thank Ivy’s parents, Janet and Etty Ikpeme for making this celebration possible. I know that Troy, my parents and all the Ruths and Woods here share in my gratitude for having such a wonderful venue in which to honor Troy and Ivy and the union of our families.

Someone once said of his brother,”it was nice growing up with someone like you - someone to lean on, someone to count on, someone to tell on!” I think they got the spirit of brotherhood right, but the progression, at least for Troy and me, is a bit out of order. As children, I think the only times I “leaned” on Troy was when we were fighting and I was attempting to smother him into submission - which usually worked with my being bigger and stronger. And the only thing I could count on him to do was dutifully tattle on me whenever I managed to avoid eating my portion of lunchtime omega-3-flax-seed-soy lentil soup - a real favorite among us boys as you can imagine.

However, the passage of time helped me realize that my youthful policy of “might makes right” was hardly the foundation for a lasting relationship ... well, the passage of time and and the fact that Troy is now strong enough to snap me in half like a potato chip.

But in addition to gaining Herculean strength, Troy has developed into a truly remarkable person who has made me push myself when I didn’t think I had more to give, reminded me of the goals I had set when they seemed too far off, and challenged ideas and beliefs that I had never thought to question.

What I’ve realized is that Troy makes you feel like you can do anything. This is, in part because I think that, when you’re with Troy, you’re in the presence of someone who can do anything. Besides talent, he has an infectious and enduring sense of enthusiasm and energy that he brings to every conversation, every project, and every decision he makes.

It’s this joy, optimism, and excitement that I know he feels for Ivy - for her as a person, for her aspirations and dreams, and for the time he spends with her. And I know that Ivy feels the same pure, unbridled joy for Troy. I know this because, besides knowing her, I read her blog which apparently serves the principle purpose of telling the world what it is like to love Troy on an hourly basis. Well, telling the world about cupcakes and what it is like to love Troy on an hourly basis

This love has seen them through six years of dating - four of which were spent apart attending universities in different states. It is this same love that, I have no doubt, will see them through many, many more happy years.

And so, please join me in raising a glass to this love and to the two people who share it: Ivy, a woman whom I am proud to take and care for as my sister, and Troy, a brother one can lean on, a friend one can count on, and a gentleman who makes the world and people around him better for having been in his presence. I pray that your journey together will be long, tender, and filled with good memories.

The Adventure Seat

My PhD advisor and his wife generously gave us a nifty car seat that can detach from its base in the car and reconnect to a metal frame with wheels in order to become a stroller. Because of its versatility, we call it the "Adventure Seat". In general, Sonya loves this new seat, sitting quite contentedly in it for over an hour at a stretch. However, it's come to my attention that Mitali and I as early parents may be creating some rather unintended associations with the term "adventure".

"Oh boy, Sonya! It's time to get in the adventure seat!" we said several days ago as we strapped her in. What we didn't realize at the time was that she had just taken a colossal dump. Thus, as we placed her in the adventure seat and clicked the over-shoulder harnesses into the buckle at her crotch, we inadvertently strapped her butt cheeks into whatever she had just deposited in her diaper. We then proceeded to drive downtown, wondering why she was crying. "We know you want to get out, Sonya," we cooed over and over, chalking up her complaints to a general dislike for being confined. Finally, after what must have seemed like eons in baby time, we reached our destination, got her out, and discovered that we had been marinating her butt in her own excrement for the duration of the ride.

Other times we have hopped into the car just as she decides she is hungry. Howling with fists clenched and face beet red, she assaults our ears with pleas for milk. Being exclusively breast-fed, there is nothing we can do until we stop the car. We try to explain this to her as lovingly as possible. "Dearest Sonya, we know you are hungry! But you need to remain safe in your seat until we stop the car! Thank you for understanding, our dearest one," we say, though I doubt she can hear us over her own pitiful, gasping wails. And even if she could, I wouldn't blame her for remaining inconsolably angry. To her, withholding milk probably seems as unreasonable as strapping her into her own poo.

"We're so excited about the many adventures we're going to have with you!" we've told her time and time again. The truth is that adventures are fun, but can be rife with discomforts that simply need to be enjoyed for what they are. I want Sonya to be patient when things get tough or painful, to know that we aren't putting her through unnecessary crap. But, as far as that goes, we have some work to do.