WOULD SOMEONE SHOW ME HOW TO WORK THIS $#@!@#$ TV!

Last night I was curled up watching TV when the movie The Interpreter came on. Nicole Kidman I can live without, but I love Sean Penn, so I was happy. I microwaved TWO bags of those mini FAT FREE Reddebakker's, melted TWO (maybe 3, but who's counting) heaping tablespoons of butter and settled in. Life was good. Until I started to nod off. It was 10:15 and waaaay past my bedtime.

The movie was good, so I thought, "I'll record it!" How hard could that be? I see Jack doing it all the time and he can't even remember to wear socks. I also see him FREEZE live TV, and that really freaks me out.

Anyway, I started to search though the cracks of the couch to find the remote. I found lots of change, Murphy's sock, a bowl or two of mushed up chips, pens, colouring pencils, half a grilled cheese, the phone, the dog's leash and several remotes. So which remote is the one you use to record something? The buttons were all blurry so I had to go find my glasses. The new dog I occasionally call "Free to a Good Home" has eaten a pair of Ray Bans and 3 pairs of prescription glasses (kudos to Insight Optometry Group as they felt my pain and comped me the last pair) so at least I didn't have to give Fitzy a prostate exam to find my eyeglasses. This time.

Anyway, I found my glasses, but I may as well have been blind, or blind drunk because launching a NASA rocket would be easier than trying to record a movie. It took me 17 years to figure out my old VCR that still blinks, 12, 12, 12. On that machine, I slid the VCR thingie, into the thingie and pushed RECORD. Easy. Now I have 42" of flat screen that went to grey alien fuzzy after one button push. Link? Guide? Play? It took less than 30 seconds for me to not only lose the movie, but I lost any attempt at getting off of Future Shop island. I was marooned, covered with butter, and very, very annoyed.

So if anyone out there wants to give this grayish blonde a lesson in TV land, it would be appreciated. And if anyone knows if Nicole was a good guy or a bad guy, and if Sean sleeps with her, please let me know.

halifaxbroad@gmail.com

When my ship comes in, please, please let it be this one.

I haven't won yet, but soon after you see me doing the lottery happy dance, I am buying a Canadian flag to stick on the back of this beautiful thing. Let's call her Pearl. Built in LL Bean country, Pearl is a Back Cove 37. A lobster boat that took a side trip down Rodeo Drive. A motor yacht. I won't bore you with all the engine details, but she sleeps 5, has a fridge and some attractive blue-and-white striped cushions, so what more could a girl ask for?

Imagine how sweet life could be if we all had our health, and a picnic boat like Pearl parked down in the Arm. We could load it with kids and cheap bubbly and Pringles and ride out waaaaaay past Peter Kelly's poop for an evening swim. The kids could fish. The adults could do whatever it is adults do. Even the dogs could come.

I like sailing, kind of. I like the idea of sailing better though. It's like horseback riding... the wind in your hair, the ultimate freedom – but the reality is the horse is a high-maintenance money pit that poops. Kind of like a sailboat. Plus I want to go where I want to go, NOT where the wind or Mr. Ed tells me I can go. I want to be in control. I want to be Skipper. I want a Back Cove 37.

Years ago, I attempted to buy a lovely, old yellow and white picnic boat, but the bank didn't think she was as "yar" as I did. I had visions of Jack and I all curled up under the stars in some cove, somewhere. It would be like owning a floating trailer. A portable cottage. A Moveable Feast. But back to reality, and Pearl.

In the winter, Pearl and I will head south, like any sensible Maritimer should. I'll visit her between hockey games and we'll be courteous and fly the American flag now that Mr. Bush is longer steering that ship. In the spring, Pearl will return to the Arm where she will become once again, our floating family room.

So if you have any RRSPs left, or if you've been saving and scraping for years and have a sizeable nest egg, I say, life is short! In the spirit of those who live for the moment, I say, call Jimmy Snair at Sunnybook Yachts (Toll-free 1-866-590-9210) and order up your own personal Pearl, or something that floats and sleeps 5.

Life is full of regrets. Buying your boy a boat shouldn't be one of them.

halifaxbroad@gmail.com