So, I've been very busy, working on things like house renovations, keeping the laundry at bay, and of course, solving the world's energy problems.

For the latter, I believe I've hit upon a solution. All we need to do is come up with a device that can tap into hobbyist power.

I say this because I was recently taken (read: dragged) to the National Train Show. An event put on by the US National Model Railroad Association, it was a huge display of model trains, Lego, layouts, accessories and more. And because I'm married to, and have apparently given birth to, train enthusiasts (darn defective genes!), we visited all 188,000 square feet. Twice. Slowly.

It's not that I didn't enjoy myself. Indeed, I learned rather a lot about what is modestly dubbed "the world's greatest hobby." For example, I learned that a proper train "layout" (read: play area), includes not just a track and a train, but model buildings and houses, model people, simulated topography, signals, switches, software, sounds and controllers. Given the amount of excited gawking and pointing my eldest did, I also learned that anything I would consider "disposable income" has already been disposed of, well in advance.

I discovered that model trains come in different scales. "N" scale, for example, looks just as painful to step on and as easy to lose as Lego bricks. "G" scale trains are for the backyard, just in case your resident enthusiast(s) feel the need to take over both the entire house and the whole garden.

It also turns out that when train model manufacturers say they build authentic pieces, they really mean it. I am still trying to wash the smell of oil and smoke out of our clothes.

Finally, I realized that I have a new business and marketing god: whoever the genius was at Lego who decided to launch both train and Star Wars-related product lines. Lego already had a cult-like following, so putting it together with other cultish pursuits was like creating a license to print money. Indeed, in the display at the show, just one skyscraper had more pieces in it than I've owned in my entire life (although I sense that's about to change).

This brings me to my point. The entire building was practically crackling with enthusiasm and creative energy. As I listened to two men talking very earnestly about the best methods for creating a realistic granite cliff, I realized that train layouts involved a lot of thought, effort and care. Each one of them must have 1000s of micro-inventions and clever ideas to solve problems. The same can be said about many hobbies, crafts and pursuits.

I don't know what compels us to devote this much of our time to such things, but I think if we could manage to siphon off even one percent of that personal energy from hobbyists, we'd have enough to power the entire eastern seaboard in North America.

Or at the very least, enough power to keep all those model trains running on time.

It's amazing what you can find on the Internet. I just discovered, thanks to a casual reference on a website, a startling film that may well change the way you look at certain things, as well as change how you live.

No, I'm not talking about the global warming movie, "An Inconvenient Truth." I'm talking about Jonathan King's debut feature, "Black Sheep," wherein a flock of innocent sheep is transformed into a pack of blood-thirsty killers.

Yes, that's right. It's a movie about killer sheep. Murdering mutton, if you will.

Reviews suggest that it is "as comical as it is terrifying" and further that "it is an outstanding contribution to the livestock gone amuck horror genre."

Let me start by saying I didn't know there even *was* a "livestock gone amuck" horror genre. Admittedly, it's been a long time since I visited a video store, but I'm sure I'd remember a whole section of films like "When Good Ducks Go Bad" and "Goat Gore III -- This Time The Humans Get Sacrificed."

I haven't seen the film yet, so I can only speculate as to the content. Do the sheep dress up in wolf's clothing to fool unsuspecting farmers? Or do they simply pull the wool over the eyes of the local villagers? Or do they -- yes, you've guessed it -- show up as mutton dressed up like lamb, pretending innocence until they can do their worst?

And exactly how do sheep become killers, anyway? Your average sheep, even if full of murderous intent, is hardly well-equipped in the fang and claw department. Do the victims get flocked 'til they drop? Will we be introduced to a hitherto unknown martial art called "Nok Ewe Doun" (feature move: the mutton chop)? Perhaps the sheep gang up on their prey, taking them one at a time, and stretch them out on some torture device - for instance a rack... of lamb.

Presumably at some point in the movie, the humans stop being woolly-headed about their predicament. At that point they'll be able to fight back, and the show will end with our heroes (probably a hunky young farmer and his trusty border collie) contemplating a six-month supply of shepherd's pie. The peace will last until the movie producers read a follow-up story about Dolly the sheep and come up with: "Black Sheep: Episode II -- Attack of the Clones."

So how will this movie change your life? Well for one thing, if you go see this flick, you won't ever be able to count sheep to fall asleep again. You may wake up in the middle of the night to find your toddler having nightmares too. "But everywhere that Mary went, the lamb was sure to follow, mommy!"

If the movie becomes a hit, the tabloids will never be the same; we'll be awash in sheep celeb stories. There will be a headline about a sheep who goes bankrupt, but who is discovered to have a closet full of Ray Baaan sunglasses. The Internet will be flooded with bootleg copies of a video of a private shearing session between the movie's star sheep and several, ahem, "sheep of the night."

And inevitably, there will be at least one of the flock who hits the sheep dip a little too hard. He'll wrap his Lamborghini around a telephone pole one night, get arrested and make headlines for mouthing off about how the cows are responsible for all the wars of the world. Or worse, he'll lead the police on a high speed chase across town, trying to take it on the lamb.

Right, I know, I'm sorry - this whole column has been full of sheep shots. I guess I just don't want you to come away from this piece the way I'm sure you'll come away from the movie.

Feeling fleeced.

I just finished reading, through bleary eyes in between the 2 a.m. and 3 a.m. teething child fusses, a book called The Quality of Life Report by Meghan Daum. It's a story about a 30ish New York TV journalist who falls in love with "the simple life" in a small city in the American Midwest while on assignment. Thinking that she'll become a better person, she follows a crazy impulse and moves there. Naturally she soon discovers that life is no simpler in the "country" than it is in the big city.

It was an interesting read, but it got me thinking: why is it we keep believing that somewhere out there is a 'simple life' or even that there once was a 'good old days?' This seems to be a persistent theme in our history, going right back to the cave days:

ARGH: Dis life in cave thing not easy. You gots to clean it regular and check it for bears.
MUGG: You said it brudder.
ARGH: Plus you gots to tend the fire or it go out. Then the bears check the cave for yous.
MUGG: Which is no fun.
ARGH: And da risk of getting runned over by mammoths!
MUGG: Don't even get me started. Life was better in da trees.
ARGH: I hear ya. I hear ya.

The Greeks didn't have it much better:

ACASTUS: By Zeus, there just aren't enough hours in the day!
ENDRE: Slave management got you down?
ACASTUS: Yes! If it isn't one of them needing a flogging it's the other.
ENDRE: Don't look at me for sympathy. I'm up to my gyros in this election. Democracy is one heck of a lot of work.
ACASTUS: And then there's this whole Trojan War thing.
ENDRE: Yeah, that Helen. What a WMD!
ACASTUS: Pardon?
ENDRE: Woman of Mass Distraction.
ACASTUS: Ah.

Or consider revolutionary France:

PIERRE: Did you see the paper today?
ROBES: Now what?
PIERRE: Marie said that if we don't have any bread, we should eat cake!
ROBES: And which side is she on again?
PIERRE: Sacre bleu! Not ours, you nummy!
ROBES: Sorry. It's just that it's all so complicated now, this revolution and all. How I wish for the simpler days when kings were kings, and we peasants knew our place.
PIERRE: Serf's up, Robes. Get with le program.

The truth is, there never really has been a simpler time. It only seems simpler because it's all just so much history now, and we know how the story ends. This is like saying "I knew that!" when the identity of the murderer is revealed, and you've already had a sneak peek at the end of the mystery novel.

So what about a good ol' days? Was there ever a golden time, when things were better, easier, more carefree? Of course there was: it's called your childhood. Life seemed much nicer back then because while you were off playing toy trains with your cousin Eddie, your parents were sweating the details of putting dinner on the table (meatloaf or mac and cheese?), arranging for a mortgage (variable or fixed?) and dealing with office politics (do I call Bob a weenie now or wait 'til the office party?).

Plus, we tend to have selective memories of our childhoods. We remember the cool train set, but not the time cousin Eddie whacked us on the head with the caboose. Or maybe we do and that's why we're contemplating calling Bob a weenie, because he reminds us too much of cousin Eddie.

Whatever. The point is that, like the movie said, the grass is usually only greener... over the septic tank.

For the past couple of years now, I've been saving two-dollar coins, carefully tucking them away in a wee piggy bank instead of using them to buy my weekly cafe mocha at Tim Horton's. Those of you familiar with Tim Horton's coffee know the extent of my sacrifice. For those of you who aren't, think of your favourite caffeinated beverage and imagine what it would be like if it were ten times tastier. Think whipped cream. Think chocolate sprinkles. Right, now you all understand my pain.

I was saving for something that I figured I couldn't justify as a household budget expense, but that I really wanted. And last week, I finally had enough to buy it.

A robot.

Not one of those Robosapiens, or the cute little Aibo, and sadly, not the big Asimo of the Honda commercials. Nevertheless, something very cool: A robot vacuum.

There, I've admitted it. I am a geek. Other people save up for new bikes, or big screen TVs. For me, this was like having a Ferrari show up at my door. Better, actually, because a Ferrari would have screamed "mid-life crisis!" to the neighbours. The only statement my robotic vacuum makes to the neighbours is that I have a cleaning crisis. Okay, it says that I'm a geek with a cleaning crisis.

You see, nature may abhor a vacuum, but I'm rather partial to clean floors. I also have toddlers. This means that A) It's impossible to keep the floor clean - the Cheerios dispersion rate alone defies measurement; and B) The floor must be kept clean, because toddlers don't differentiate between dropped Cheerios, marbles, onion skins, grocery lists, or dirt tracked in from the garden. Combine this with the fact that children have this rather inconsiderate habit of requiring food, diaper changes, and lots of playtime while you're trying to do frivolous things like run a business ... well, you've all been there. Or you are there, and really want to leave.

Dreaming of my robotic vacuum cleaner has kept me going through many a midnight tidy-up session. Much like my washing machine means I don't have to take the clothes down to the river and pound them with a rock, I looked forward to a time when the vacuum canister wasn't getting caught in door jambs, smashing into the back of my ankles, or falling down the stairs. Right, so maybe what I should have purchased was the book Vacuuming for Dummies.

Never mind. What's important is that it arrived last week. A circular machine about the size of a large pizza, it's not a very bright little 'bot. It starts in the centre of the room and works its way out, gently bumping into things and turning away - just like me first thing in the morning before I've had my coffee. If it strays too close to the stairs, little sensors warn it of impending danger and it backs away - sadly, not just like me in the morning. Prior to my coffee, all *my* sensors do is throw an "ILLEGAL OPERATION: WINDOWS WILL REBOOT NOW" error and down the stairs I go.

When it comes to dirt though, this little robot is an Einstein. Around and around it goes, sucking up crushed Doritos, crayon crumbs, and the large handful of pine needles my smallest son thought was fascinating until they poked his palm. It hoovers up the dog hair left by our last canine visitor, and it attacks our doormat again and again. Did you know our mat actually says WELCOME and not WE C M ?

I must confess my productivity hasn't increased yet - I'm too busy following the thing around the house, cheering it on as it successfully clambers over the extension cord strip and scoots under my bed to suck up things that neither broom nor regular vacuum have been able to touch. I'm so enthused, I have seriously considered making it a bumper sticker that says: DUSTBUNNIES FEAR ME.

Once the novelty wears off though, I'll be able to do any number of things while it cleans the floors. I can spend more time with my sons. I might have a shot at finding my kitchen sink under all those dishes. I might even be able to file my column more than a few hours before deadline.

Well, maybe not. It's not a miracle technology, after all.

Many a sci-fi author has made money writing a book -- which later becomes a movie -- that scares people with the proposition that machines will some day take over the world.

Given that most machines, like your dryer, can't do simple jobs (like drying clothes) without problems (eating your socks, tying your sweater in knots, shredding tissue paper into three million bits), I really don't understand this fear. Even the most intelligent computers need to be booted (both in the computer sense and in the physical sense) several times a week to make them work properly.

My incomprehension aside, I just read something that should allay those fears. Machines will not take over the world. We will not be replaced by machines. We're taking over *their* turf.

NTT, a Japanese communications company, has developed a technology they call RedTacton which allows the human body to transmit data. Relax - this does not involve Matrix style jacks in the back of the head. You won't even have to learn the secret of navigating voice mail systems without going insane.

The technology makes use of your skin's naturally occurring minute electrical field, modulates it very slightly and voila! You become your own broadband network, transmitting at speeds of up to 2Mbps.

This means you could have a RedTacton enabled digital camera in your pocket, and you could upload the photos just by touching a spot on a similarly enabled computer. You could trade music files with someone just by shaking their hand. You could swap phone numbers with some hottie you meet in a bar with a quick smooch. Or if you're Paris Hilton, you could swap all your friends phone numbers and raunchy videos as well.

The possibilities this technology would allow are endless. I'm ecstatic. For one thing it means that never again will my computer be able to tell me it can't print because it can't find the printer. I can just march over to the printer and fwap the data directly into it.

It will give students a whole new way to pass notes in class. It will also give them a whole new way to cheat on exams, but it will also give teachers a method for fighting back. Just walk up and lay a casual hand on the student's shoulder, smile, and upload the DELETE CHEAT SHEET program.

It will drive music industry executives mad, because they'll now have to sue grandmothers, young children, *and* anyone they see holding hands in a suspicious way, on the grounds they might have been file swapping.

Meanwhile, teenagers will have a new reason to roll their eyes at their parents. I can just see my sons now. "Jeeze, Mum, you actually used *wires* to send data? Or *radio waves?* Didn't the dinosaurs get in the way of the signal?"

On the downside, approximately two minutes after the technology hits the mass market, spammers will find a way to use it. This will probably involve paying people to ride the subway and jostle other riders, thereby transmitting several thousand adverts for cheap Rolexes, sex drugs, and banned CDs into their iPods.

Virus writers will also surely try to use the technology as well, writing programs especially designed to spread quickly via human to human contact. This will lead to confusion and embarrassment at your yearly physical. "Yes doc, everything is fine. Well, apart from that worm I had last month. No wait! I mean computer worm! What are you doing prepping for surgery?!"

However even human transmitted computer viruses have their upside. Research scientists could program a 'fake' virus designed to spread from person to person and report back to a main computer as to where it is, allowing us to better understand how real viruses spread.

Finally, it will totally revolutionize Hollywood. In future spy movies, I can just see James Bond visiting Q now, asking for the technology. "Strictly for Queen and country of course, old chap. Must personally check out all of Goldfinger's henchwomen, to make sure, they're not, you know, carrying secret hench codes and so forth."

And in vampire movies, the villains won't be out for blood, they'll be out for data.

"Come on darlink! Just vun... byte!"