2013 Lake Erie Sailing Trip - Day 5

Day 5 – Put-in-Bay and Middle Bass Island

I woke up with a remarkably clear head, considering the quantities of Buzz Balls and tall boys consumed the previous evening.  Additionally, because of the overnight rains we had sealed up the boat tight, closing all hatches and plugging all holes, which always produces oxygen depleted environment, perfect for turning a six pack stinger into a 26 ounce pounder.  Seems that in life, sometimes you are just not meant to get a hangover, and I thanked the gods for that one.

The mission for the day was to get the ferry schedules figured out so that Chris and Melissa could make it back to Pelee Island in time to catch their Canada bound boat.  But before all that, we need a good solid brekkie so after showers we walked over to the best breakfast place on the strip and enjoyed a great meal and decent coffee.  It’s easy to find, just start walking down the main street and when you get to a place that doesn’t sell beer or knick-knacks you are there.

After breakfast, Melissa checked the ferries and bought the required tickets, leaving at 12:15, then we walked over to Perry’s Monument, which is a 350 foot tower built to commemorate the American’s defeat of the British in the Battle of Lake Erie in the year 1813.  The view from the top was okay, but you couldn’t see too far because of the haze hanging in the air, but we were at least able to see the whole of South Bass Island and at least part of the nearby islands.  As we walked around the observation deck, I couldn’t help thinking about some lunatic jumping up and over the concrete rail and plunging to his gory death.  Then I started thinking about us walking around at the bottom and one of us getting flattened by just such a suicidal maniac.  Then I started thinking that would be an excellent beginning for a horror novel.  Then I wondered why I hadn’t written a horror novel yet.  Funny how the mind makes these strange leaps.  I was soon distracted by a thread in my shirt tickling my neck, which got me back on track and away from that macabre train of thought.

We trotted over to the visitor’s centre, a place we’d somehow missed on the previous four visits here, and discovered an excellent exhibit on the Battle of Lake Erie, as well as a 15 minute movie on the battle, which was surprisingly well done.  By the end I was imagining myself as a low ranked sailor on the US Niagara, loading up a 30 pound cannon ball, suddenly and violently ripped to shreds by a deadly shower of wooden timber shards as an enemy projectile rips through the hull of my ship.  Man, what the hell did they put in those Buzz Balls to produce such gruesome thoughts?  Mental note – pick up a case before we leave.

Soon, we are waving goodbye to our friends and are sad to see them leave.  They were great guests to have aboard, not just because they brought a great deal of alcohol, but because they were carefree, eager to help, excited to learn and so great with the kids.  I sure hope they get married some day and have kids of their own, sometimes you just meet couples who you know would be the best parents in the world.

Shortly after they left on the ferry, we threw off the lines, went for a quick pump out, filled the tanks up with $90 worth of diesel and headed over to Middle Bass Island, a short 2 mile trip north of our current location.   We had visited there last year but really hadn’t explored much, so  we wanted to spend a day and have a better look around.

We went to the Middle Bass Yacht Club, got a slip, had some lunch, then rented a golf cart and began our whirlwind cruise around the island.  If Put-In-Bay and South Bass Island is Disneyland, and Pelee Island is like a beaten up teeter-totter in a forgotten playground, then Middle Bass Island would be something akin to the local shopping mall parking lot carnival.  Yes, there a few interesting things to see, such as “JR Walleyes”, “Hazard’s” and the giant lily pad swamp near the airport, but by far the highlight of the visit was the walk around Lonz Winery.  As dusk approached, we went for a walk over to the abandoned winery, counting a dozen bunnies along the way.  We explored the area for a while then headed west along the shoreline in search of some diving cliffs that the dockhand at the marina had told us about, which we never did find, but did discover a large population of fireflies, which kept the kids busy scurrying around in the long grass, catching dozens of them.  This particular species were large and very easy to catch.  As we rounded the corner of the island, mosquito hour had arrived and they began their attack, so we picked up the pace and headed down a heavily wooded path, which seemed to lead back to the marina.  Halfway through, I looked to my left to be rendered speechless by a vision of the enchanted forest.  Before me were thousands of fireflies, from the forest floor to the treetops, flashing their fires at random, creating a mystical, magical scene.  The rest of the family soon reached this spot and we all stood there for a few brief moments, entranced by the picture before us.   But soon the mozzie bites were too much to bear so we continued on and were soon back in the marina and in the boat.  We finished off the night by watching Cloud Atlas, whose storyline defies description, but suffice to say that, though it was watchable, it confirmed my belief that Tom Hanks and Halle Berry should probably move onto other careers.

2013 Lake Erie Sailing Trip - Day 4

Day 4 – Pelee Island to Put-in-Bay

We woke up to a stunningly beautiful morning, not a cloud in the sky to be found, a nice steady wind, and an eager crew.  Before leaving the marina, we do a bit more snake hunting and fishing, while Ana and Melissa walk over to the Pelee Island Co-operative, located directly behind the marina, to try and find some more bandages for her hand.  I felt compelled to tell the group about my grandpa’s thoughts on the concept of the Co-op.  You see, Saskatchewan is the home of the Co-op and every small community in the province has one.  The typical Co-op is a general store that sells everything from hardware to groceries and my grandpa always says, “If the Co-op doesn’t sell it, you don’t need it.”  Turns out, she didn’t really need those bandages.

As we were preparing a bacon and egger breakfast on cafe Bella Blue, Magnus and Stella managed to catch a turtle, so we were summoned over to inspect the prisoner.  I took a couple pictures then put him back down on the dock, where he scurried away and plopped back into the water.  These marina waters were alive with creatures, from the plentiful snakes to turtles, giant carp, cranes, bass and sunfish.

After cleaning up, we threw off the lines and set sail for Put-in-Bay, with Captain Chris at the helm.  I was more than willing to hand the boat over to him and take on a passenger role for a change.  After giving Chris an overview of the boat and its controls, he took over and was a natural helmsman.  He and Melissa are keen to buy a sailboat so have been researching them and learning as much as possible.  As our course was directly upwind, he had to tack back and forth to make headway, but with a steady ten knot breeze, he kept up a great pace and provided a lovely sail, by far the best of the trip.  Ana and I sat together at the bow of the boat, with our feet dangling over, getting treated to a frequent, refreshing splash of cool water.  I’m pretty sure that’s the first time we’ve sat together on our boat while somebody else piloted and it was relaxing indeed.  Every time I looked back at Chris, he had a big smile on his face and was doing the thumbs up, definitely a natural sailor.  Melissa was stretched out on the deck, soaking up the vitamin D and bobbing her head to the great tunes playing over the stereo.  As we were slicing through the waves, feeling the sunshine, it occurred to me that it was Monday and the rest of the world was at work.  This broadened my smile.

After 15 miles of sailing we arrived at Put-in-Bay, located on South Bass island, which is the busiest of the Lake Erie islands and a little slice of the Caribbean right on our doorstop.  We walked over to the US Customs video phone and were cleared through after providing our passport information.  Chris and Melissa were astounded at the simplicity of the process, after being verbally accosted many times at the highway border crossings between Ontario and New York.

Our fine guests disappeared then returned with a six seater golf cart and we took off to explore the island.  The island is not very big so it takes less than an hour to explore most of the roads.  We made stops at the Perry Caves, Sand Bar, grocery store and the liquor store, where Chris procured us four Buzz Balls, which he grabbed from a big tank of ice cold water.  The guy working the cash register said, “You guys ever had these before?”

We replied, “No”.

“Well,” he said, “be careful.  The first one will go down okay, but after that watch out.  These four are enough to keep you going all night.”

Sounds like a party.  Chris distributed a Buzz Ball to each of us.  On closer inspection of the package I found they were 20% alcohol, which would explain the “Buzz” part of the name.  Ana nearly spit her first mouthful out so she handed hers over to me which I dutifully drank, then finished off my own and was well on my way to a state of intoxication.  We drove the cart back and Chris and I got settled in the gazebo, which was on the dock beside the boat, while the kids and ladies walked back to town to do some retailing.  Before long, the skies darkened and it turned from a sunny, beautiful day into a fierce downpour, so we hustled back into the boat, grabbed some talls boys from the cooler and continued our conversation.  The rest of the gang soon arrived, soaked from head to toe, but looking quite happy with their purchases.

We cooked up a great chicken dinner and spent the rest of the evening in crazy conversation, Pictionary and making all sorts of obscene references to Buzz Balls.  We tried talking Chris and Melissa into going out to experience the Put-In-Bay nightlife, but they were content hanging out with the family.  Or they may have climbed out the front hatch after we went to sleep and did some family-free clubbing.  If so, they hid it well the next day!

2013 Lake Erie Sailing Trip - Day 3

Day 3 – Erieau to Pelee Island

Shortly after 4 am we left the dock and were on the lake, headed for Pelee Island, roughly 55 miles south west of us with a strong south west wind directly in our face.  It was a very rough ride but Bella Blue did well slicing through the wind and crashing over the steep waves.  Sadly, the crew didn’t do quite as well as both Ana and Magnus were immediately sea sick and spent the entire ride laying down, trying to keep their insides inside.  Magnus did have a brief vomiting episode but did feel much better afterwards and went back to eating his toasted bagel as if nothing had happened.  Stella was fine the whole way through, just a little bored with the long ride.

Around 12:30 or 1:00 we arrived at Scudder Marina, located on the north end of Pelee Island.  This island is home to Canada’s southernmost point.....and not much else.  As we would soon discover, compared to the US islands only a few miles to the south, Pelee Island leaves much to be desired.

We had been in touch with Melissa and Chris via text messages along the way and they arrived by ferry to the west side of the island around noon and planned to hike the six miles up to the marina where we would meet.  So after our arrival we went for a short walk around the docks and found an impressive population of Lake Erie water snakes living on and amongst the rocks.  Some were as large as six feet long, while others were less than a foot, so not sure if they were different species or just a momma and baby thing.  Magnus has always been terrified of snakes, so I was surprised when he was keen to get a closer look at them.  Stella, him and I crawled around on the rocks to have a good look and snapped a few photos.  As we were poking around, Melissa and Chris appeared on the horizon, lugging backpacks and sweat stained from pits to ankles as the day had become very warm indeed.  We guided them over to the boat where they got their stuff unpacked into the v-berth which would be their home for the next couple nights.  I was overjoyed to see Chris whip out a couple dozen tall boys of various varieties and we found a suitable place for them in the cooler.  I had kept my beer supply to the absolute minimum in anticipation of picking up some cheap US suds, and there was barely any left so this was a welcome addition to the supply.

After a couple drinks we went for a walk to find the bakery which, we were told, was a mile down the road.  Along the way we encountered some beautiful little lakeside cottages, some of which had their own secluded beach areas and decks overlooking the bay.  We found the bakery, ordered up some fresh bread and snacks, and our guests bought the kids two bags of those little flavour-packed jelly beans, which became the fuel for an extended game of “close your eyes, open your mouth, chew the jelly bean I toss in there and guess what colour it is.”  Nobody was particularly good at it, though I think Ana got the most right.  They all tasted like lime to me.

We slowly wandered back to the boat, along the way passing a school, in front of which was a big sign saying, “Warning - No Hunting - School Zone ”, making us wonder why you would need to remind people it’s not a good idea to sqeeze  off rounds in a schoolyard.  As we returned to the dock, we found it so hot and muggy that we took the boat out to the  middle of the bay, cut the engines, and jumped in for a cool, refreshing swim that actually turned into more of a community bath after Ana brought the bath gel up.  Sadly, Melissa wasn’t able to partake, as the day before leaving on their trip she had broken a coffee carafe while washing it and sustained nasty and deep cuts on three of her fingers.

After returning to the dock I got the grill fired up and barbequed steaks and Portuguese chorizo for dinner.  Despite the full bellies, we manage to stay up for a while chatting but eventually we pack it in and hit the beds, all of us exhausted after a very full day.

2013 Lake Erie Sailing Trip - Day 2

Day 2 – Erieau

The rest of the sail went by without problems and by midday we were closing in on Erieau.  After the single floating sailboat we did not see another vessel during the passage, but now the lake was alive with action as there were fishing boats everywhere, in fact Stella and I counted 23 of them.  We also spotted some fishing net markers directly in our path, and attempted to go around there, but after a mile and a half, with no end of the markers in sight, we decided to cut across them and fortunately did not get anything tangled in our keel or rudder.

We arrived to a clean, well organized, well marked marina and within minutes we were in our slip, registered and being taken on a guided tour of the marina by Cathy the manager.  Erieau is one of these special places that nobody knows about.  The town itself is small and located on a peninsula between Rondeau Bay and the lake, and the nearest city of any size is Chatham, another place that few people know much about.

The kids and Ana immediately put on their suits and were in the swimming pool, while I decided to go for a walk and enjoy a nice Cuban cigar.  After a long, successful sail it is good to treat yourself, no?  I wandered around, found the beach, which was gigantic, nearly void of people and very inviting.  I went for a nice walk along the shoreline then cut back into town and snapped a photo of what I can only describe as the perfect marine trifecta - welcome to the Erieau Marine store/Liquor store/Beer store, one stop shopping for boaters.  And less than a block away was a convenience store where you could pick up a pack of hot dogs and buns, so there truly was everything a boater could possibly need for supplies.

After that lovely cigar, I went for a dip with the kids, then did some dock walking and saw hundreds of fish and some big turtles, as well as a few baby turtles which Stella was absolutely smitten with.  Ana soon joined us and we did another tour of the town, stopping for ice creams at the convenience store, then the curio shop, which I refused to enter as those places tend to trigger a knick-knack attack for me.  That’s the feeling that your house or boat is about to be buried in a nonsensical heap of crystal figurines, ceramic elephants, aprons embroidered with “Please kiss the cook”, collapsible back scratchers, carved Indian heads, Sea Monkeys and, if things go really bad, a Slap Chop that will forever take up valuable, limited cupboard space and never get used.

We decided to go for an early dinner so settled in at a newly opened brew pub/restaurant, called the Bayside Brewing Company.  After admiring the gleaming new bronze beer vats, we were led to an enormous fifteen person table on the deck overlooking the bay.  The beer came in two varieties, regular and light, and in cups, pints, mini pitchers and full pitchers.  I floated the idea of splitting a pitcher, which Ana declined, so I ordered a pint.  That pint tasted so good I ordered another one, which we shared since Ana liked it too.  For dinner, I had a gourmet perch sandwich, strangely served in two toasted hot dog buns, but was delicious.  The owner came by at the end of our meal to ask how everything was and told us that they have been very busy thus far this season, with people traveling from a wide area to visit the restaurant, which did not surprise me much at all.

After our meal, we walked over to experience the marina/liquor/beer store (man, I love typing that!).  The marine store was extremely well stocked so I picked up a few spare boat parts, but was stopped in my tracks by Ana when I started eyeing up the equally well stocked beer fridges.  Yes, I knew cheap US brews were only a couple days away, but still....

Outside the store there were a few fishermen cleaning their catch, which consisted of a dozen huge walleyes and rainbow trout, obviously all those boats were out there for good reason.  The well built clean station was right alongside the lake, and in the lake sat a dozen hungry turtles, snapping up the fish bits that were thrown out to them.  What the turtles didn’t grab, the hundreds of fish beneath them did, providing for a very well fed population of creatures.

We returned to the boat and somehow managed to get through half a movie before passing out. 

2013 Lake Erie Sailing Trip - Day 1

Day 1 – Port Dover to Middle of Lake Erie

The annual Lake Erie boat trip is finally here, but this year will be different as our ever present companion Andrew Holmes has moved to Kingston and will not be joining us.  Our plans for this trip have changed several times, at one point we were planning on exploring the east side of the lake and a portion of the Erie Canal but we decided to once again hit the west side of the lake and venture into some areas we have not yet seen, but also return to a few of our favourite places.  Our friends Cesar and Kathleen were planning to sail with us in their boat for the first couple legs of the journey, but at the last minute decided to hold off and leave a bit later than us.

Our “final” plan was to leave Port Dover Friday evening, do a 110 mile overnight run to the town of Erieau, then the following day make a 55 mile run to Pelee Island, where our friends Chris and Melissa (the daughter of Cesar) would be joining us to spend a couple days on the boat exploring the islands.

By 7 pm the boat was loaded, diesel tank was filled, holding tank emptied and Port Dover was in our rear view mirror.  It is always exciting leaving harbour on a big trip as you really do not know what awaits you out there in that big lake.  And yes, Lake Erie is a very big lake, approximately 250 miles long by 40 to 60 miles wide, and known for its violent and rapidly changing sea conditions when storms blow in.  So we do not take this trip lightly, we pay close attention to the weather forecast and avoid sailing when bad weather is eminent.  Though it was a wet and windy day, the evening and overnight forecast looked pretty good with favourable winds.

By dusk we had made it out to Long Point, at which point we turned west and pointed the boat into the blackness in the direction of Erieau.  Night sailing is an amazing experience and is much different than sailing during the day, and things often are not what they appear to be, as we would learn once again.  Shortly after rounding the point, we could see what appeared to be a lighthouse ahead, very far off in the distance.  I checked the chart and Erieau did indeed have a lighthouse with a flashing light that matched what we were seeing, except that it was 75 miles away.  We looked back at the lighthouse on Long Point, which was five miles back, and blindingly bright, and decided that the light we were seeing must be from Erieau.  So we sailed on, headed toward the lighthouse, which would make our navigation dead simple.

I went down below to grab a couple hours sleep and gave Ana the helm.  As I was getting ready for bed, Ana called me up and said the light was moving, so I quickly returned to the cockpit in time to see a sailboat ahead of us and maybe 50 metres off our starboard side.  The boat was bobbing around in the middle of the lake with a single anchor light on, close to nothing and right in our path.  We listened to the radio for any calls from the boat but there was nothing, so we don’t know if they were perhaps asleep at anchor, or had boat trouble or perhaps something else.  But yet again, we were fooled by the lights on the lake and completely misinterpreted what was actually there.  We were very lucky to avoid a collision and can add this to the “lessons learned” section on our sailing resume.

As midnight arrived, we continued our course westward, sliding through the blackness and paying close attention to the lights.

The Battle of Humour

As a parent you are always watching your kids, trying to recognize where their talents lie so that you can encourage them to develop their natural strengths.  A few weeks ago I found myself in awe as my young son Magnus demonstrated a talent which I had not known he possessed.  It wasn't a photographic memory, nor was it mathematical prowess.  It wasn't the ability to play chess masterfully nor a natural talent for a particular sport.  What he demonstrated was an uncanny knack for remembering jokes.  I've known for some time that he is very interested in jokes, as his favorite book is "1001 Jokes For Kids" and both Ana and I are subjected daily to his test jokes.  The routine is like this - he makes up a joke, delivers it, then asks us if it's funny.  They started out being completely unrecognizable as humour, but over the months and years he has started to figure out what makes a joke funny.  Humour isn't exactly something you can teach, it seems to be more of a trial and error skill.  As I sit here typing in our sailboat on a fine Saturday morning, Magnus just this second popped out of the kids' cabin and said, "Daddy, do you want to hear a joke I've been working on?"

"Of course," I said.

"What never gets a sunburn and loves Justin Bieber?"

"Tell me," I replied.

"A fan."

Pause for evaluation.. After a few seconds I got it.  It's the double meaning on the word "fan".  But Magnus was thinking that if you are fanning your face in the sun it makes you feel cooler but also prevents sunburns.  See what I mean about learning humour - it takes lots of practice.

Back to the story.  My uncle Michael and aunt Anna spent a weekend at our place recently as Anna was involved in a food and wine show in Brantford.  On the Saturday, Stella, Magnus and I took uncle Michael out to Port Dover to give us a hand launching our sailboat.  Because we only had one vehicle, after we sailed the boat from the dry dock location over to our slip at the marina we had to walk a mile or so back to where we left the vehicle.  This is where the now legendary Battle of Humour transpired.

But first, who is this uncle Michael?  Well, he is about the grandest and goofiest fellow you could imagine.  He is my father's brother and from a young age he was the family clown.  He is gifted with a powerful memory for jokes and can usually spin one off for any situation, with the jokes being primarily of the double x, and often triple x categories.  His rapid fire joking had never been challenged...until this day.

As the four of us began our long walk, Michael thought he would entertain the kids with a joke.  He said, "Knock, Knock."

Magnus' ears perked up immediately as he replied, "Who's there?"

"Hoo."

"Hoo who?"

"You talk like an owl!"

Magnus shot back, "What do you call a guy with a car on his head?"

Michael asked, "What?"

"Jack, " he said, watching Michael's reaction.  Michael grinned.  Magnus showed him some teeth. The battle was on.

Michael volleyed with, "What is green and red and goes 200 miles per hour?"

Magnus said, "What?"

"A frog in a blender."

He thought about it for a minute, then laughed when he got it, then rallied back with, "So what's black and white and red all over."

Michael triumphantly retorted, "A book!"

"Crap," Magnus said.  Then he proceeded with, "Who won the monsters beauty contest?"

"Tell me," Michael demanded.

"Nobody."

"OK, Magnus," he challenged, "where do snowmen keep their money?"

"I don't know," the young jokester conceded.

"In snow banks."

Magnus went back on the attack, "What do you call a fish with no eye?"

Michael waited, unsure of what to expect.

"FSH," Magnus said, watching to see if he got it.  He got it.

"Nice one," Michael conceded, "but how does a pig get to the hospital?

"I don't know," giggled Magnus.

"In a hambulance," Michael laughed.

Stella and I continued our march up the hill, as silent spectators of the two clowns trying to outdo each other with their witticisms.   The jokes continued, with each fellow matching the other in turn, some funny, some mildly entertaining, and some, in Magnus' case, difficult to figure out, but at no point in the 30 minute walk was there more than a few seconds of silence between volleys.  I knew Michael had a killer memory for jokes, but had no idea of my son's hidden talent.  As we neared the end of our walk, it was becoming clear that the two combatants were starting to run thin on rib ticklers - they had probably told 25 jokes apiece.  Aside, Michael admitted to me that he had plenty more material, but none suitable for the present crowd, and was indeed running out of jokes.

With a sparkle in his eye Magnus asked, "What did the grape do when it got stepped on?"  He immediately continued, no longer interested in waiting for the response, "It just let out a little wine."

Michael, inspired with a final effort said "Two peanuts were walking down the street, one was a salted."

Magnus, digging deep, rallied back with a joke that I'm quite sure he made up on the spot.  He stared Michael in the eye and said, "What does a cow say when he's eating popcorn?"

We all looked at him.....waiting.

"Enjoy the mooooooooovie!"

With that, Michael conceded the battle to the young jester, making Magnus the winner and the proudest little boy in Canada!

Being 40

I'm approaching the end of my 40th year of life and let me tell you, there have been some changes.

Shortly before my birthday I received a card from a man I know named Tom Boleantu who runs www.expat.ca.  It was a simple card congratulating me on reaching that weighty milestone in life and offered some thoughts.  The main message was that 40 is the year in which you have earned the right to no longer worry about what others think about you - if you've made it this far without spending time in jail, the loony bin or politics, you must be doing something right.  I hadn't really thought much about that before, but it's absolutely true - chances are I am now closer to the end of my life than the beginning so I can't afford to waste any time on self doubt, maintaining an image, being what I am not or trying overly hard to keep others happy (besides my family, of course, after all that is this man's prime directive).  Not to say that I don't care about the world, I most certainly do, but I've realized the world can't be expected to care that much about me, and that's okay.

The first change was a bit weird.  Since reaching 40, I've begun drying my hands on my hair.  I don't know if this started right on my birthday, or perhaps shortly after, but any time I wash my hands now I simply glide them through the sides and top of my head a few times and voila - they are dry!  No towel required, just a final swipe on my pants to make sure I get any remaining droplets.  I really have no idea why I started doing this but I have a couple theories.  As of yet I have not suffered any major hair loss so it may be my body's way of enjoying these precious tuffs before they eventually do fall out and I see my dad (or grandpa) looking back at me every time I peek into the mirror.  Secondly, the humidity levels this year have been lower than average so it's possible my hands crave more moisture and, since I don't wash my hair too often, they definitely pick up some essential oils with every pass.  Lastly, I've always taken offence with those public bathroom hand dryers so it's possible that I came up with this ingenious method of hand drying with help of neither mechanical means or those equally horrible brown disposable towels which end up littered all over the floor.  In any case, I'm quite satisfied with this innovation, and if you refer back to paragraph one, you'll see that I don't care that other pre-forty dudes in the john look at me funny when I'm doing this.

One day right around my 40th birthday, I had a stunning revelation as I was laying on my bed, exhausted after a busy day, hearing the faint spraying sounds of my wife sitting on the toilet in the en suite.  I shot up in bed, flabbergasted by my discovery and did a few mental calculations to confirm my findings.  A man has to urinate approximately 6 times per day.  Each episode of urination takes approximately one minute, which includes the shaking.  If you multiply this by the number of days per year that gives you 2190 minutes of standing pee time, which is 36.5 hours, equal to a full work week for a public sector labourer such as myself.  I compared this to my wife's urination ritual.  She also pees about 6 times per day, but she SITS DOWN on the toilet, as most women do, and takes at least 3 minutes which, after the one minute of peeing, allows 2 full minutes of rest time to be used reading women's magazines, pondering, daydreaming or singing to oneself.  So in this moment of inspiration I raised the Men's Liberation flag and proudly pledged that from that moment forward, I would never, ever stand to pee again, unless on a camping trip or yellowing my initials in the snow after a night of heavy winter drinking.  This simple decision has given me an additional 4380 minutes or 73 hours per year of glorious rest time and had made a huge impact on my life.  I find I generally feel much more rested and am now able to stay up past 10 pm, my ideas are better and more numerous and, thanks to the wonderful selection of magazines in the home loo, I am up to date on the goings-on with all the Hollywood celebrities, this year's fashion trends and have become intimately familiar with all the fine writers at Better Homes & Gardens.

Another change I've noticed has been my taste in music.  Up until my 40th, my ipod playlist was a bizarre, eclectic mix of music from around the globe including Spanish rock, Salsa, Bachata, Tango, Folk, Britpop, Country, Electropop, Dubstep, Dance, 80's, Mozambican choral, Gypsy, Spoken Word, Rockabilly, Ska, Swing, Trance, Soul, Prog Rock, New Age, Blues, Samba, Lounge, Jazz, Indie, Reggae and Primus.  I was quite proud of my weird and wonderful setlist, but not anymore.  You see, since hitting 40 my musical appetite has become directly focused on Metal and all its dark subgenres.  Out with the Police, in with Pantera.  Up yers Gorillaz, welcome Gojira.  See you later Prince, welcome Priestess.  Bite me Miles Davis, melt my brain Meshuggah.  Bye bye Stevie Ray Vaughan, hello Slipknot.  I have realized that there are many different types of metal including, but not limited to, Thrash, Death Metal, Doom Metal, Speed Metal, Gothic Metal, Symphonic Metal, Norwegian Black Metal, Sludge, Math Rock, Crust Punk, Grindcore, Metalcore, Crossover Thrash and, my personal favourite, Stoner Rock.  Friends used to love coming over for dinner and a glass of wine on Friday night enjoying the sweet sounds of David Gray, Daryl Hall and Danny Michel, but they have stopped coming since I started melting their brains and shattering their glasses with Mastodon, EyeHateGod, Throwdown and Bury Your Dead.   Seems that other folks my age don't have much appreciation for the art of death growls, guttural vocals and deadly howls, not to mention double kick drums and tuned down guitars.  And I haven't had much luck convincing anybody to join me in the Friday evening goat sacrifice on the back deck.  I really can't explain this musical infatuation, but I think it may have been encouraged by my younger brother Marty, who is approaching 40 himself, but has been a closet metal head since grade 9.  Maybe he'll do the reverse at 40 and start listening to Ricky Martin.

The last change I've noticed since hitting 40 is the daily sprouting of grey chest hairs.  I don't know if they are new hairs growing out grey, or existing black hairs changing colour, but I do know they are longer, coarser and infinitely more sophisticated than the regular young man black ones.  I first realized this was happening as I was shaving one morning, wearing nothing more than a towel, when I was attacked by my wife, who had two sets of tweezers, one in each hand, looking like a lunatic, intent on robbing me of these manly, refined, grey curls.  After beating her off with a roll of toilet paper, I sat her down and explained to her that she would have to get used to these physical changes in her man and learn to accept that the pre-40's boy she used to know was gone and replaced by a superior, more mature, and certainly much more charming older gentleman.  I think she has accepted the new me, but I do think she might be plucking the odd one in the middle of the night when I'm sleeping, as there seems to be a constant layer of grey hairs on the carpet below my side of the bed.

I wonder what happens at 50?