tales from the tunnel

let's see, now what exactly can i recall from yesterday's brief sojourn into the deepest, darkest recesses of toronto's subterranean transportation labyrinth. (ok, so maybe our city's subway system isn't really all that complicated, but it is underground.)

well, there was the spontaneous nose bleeder, who not only felt it necessary to gush crimson gold from his portside nasal cavity for the better part of my trip but who also seemed intent on broadcasting every minute detail of his ordeal to his nearby paramour and confidante.

and then there was the slightly peculiar beer can collector (an early candidate for hoarder of the century) who proudly displayed his wares stuffed inside the clear plastic garbage sack slung over his shoulder. santa claus he ain't, although the scruffy white beard did leave me scratching my own slightly stubbled chin for a moment or two.

and who could forget the loudtalkers -- mr. and mrs. loudtalker i presume -- who managed to enunciate each and every syllable with such earsplitting intensity that even an army drill sergeant would have blushed.

and finally, no railway journey would be complete without the disquieting unease generated by the unwavering gaze of this city's multitude of tunnel-dwelling creepers and stalkers. if promoting awkward ennui amongst your fellow travellers is indeed your bailiwick, then the toronto transit commission is the place for you. so step right up and take a seat, ladies and gentlemen.

what is it they say about no two snowflakes being alike?

random observations from the living room chair

as much as i would love to blast youtube tunes on my headphones all night (or my earbuds, to be precise), the little one is fast asleep on the couch behind me. hence the need for volume control. the kid has been struggling with a cough and fever for a few days now, so i have to keep at least one ear on her breathing habits. meanwhile i haven't eaten a single thing since sundown in anticipation of my wife's imminent arrival from a family christmas party. she and my eldest left home around six-ish and promised to return with ayaka (a traditional venezuelan dish) firmly in tow. speaking of seven, i just caught a glimpse of the latest version of her "no boys allowed" poster affixed to her bedroom door. this edition features several furious declarations of "girls rule!" as well as multiple images of angelic belles alongside demonic laddies. um, i guess that's a good thing, right? otherwise, the house is so chilly that i can practically see my breath every time i exhale. but i'm afraid that if i turn on the heat, i may inadvertently wake my youngest from her silent slumber. you see, the furnace in our unit isn't exactly a hybrid model -- in other words, it tends to rumble quite a bit upon startup. elsewhere, tonight's leafs game was, remarkably, yet another dud. and if you're old enough to remember the so-called "golden years" of '93 and '94, the team's recent ineptitude is almost impossible to forgive... or forget. all in all though, the kid looks pretty comfortable all rolled up over there on the sofa.

ok, so i wasn't exactly blasting this one

the death of manners

it was a g-d damn holiday assembly after all. a time for festive celebration. a time for community spirit. but most of all, a time for supporting your child's considerable achievements over the past year. it was obvious that the kids in my daughter's elementary school had spent months rehearsing their various solos and duets and harmonies. months spent with an eye to impressing mom and dad who would be sitting only a few feet away come opening night. months spent trying to satisfy the expectations of the only persons who mean anything to them in the world. so put away the blackberry's, for christ's sake. i mean, really, scanning your inbox while some seven-year-old is struggling to hold the high notes on "silent night"? sending a text while a pair of grade three's warble out a wobbly rendition of "hava nagila"? flipping through your vacation pics while a clearly rattled preteen hums along to the forgotten lyrics of "i saw mommy kissing santa claus"? i mean, c'mon pops. c'mon lady. give the kid a break. has anyone ever heard of manners?

it's so elemental

uh, ladies...

when the elevator doors finally opened i was all set to climb out and make my way to the foyer. except that someone was standing in my way. blocking my way, to be more precise. steady. stationary. and in no hurry to step aside so that i could make my getaway. not exactly an imposing figure, mind you. at five feet nothing and maybe 100 pounds after a big meal, my fellow condo dweller was hardly a candidate for cfl lineman of the week. and his rather advanced chronology presented me with yet another dilemma. how might i inform this octogenarian obstacle that his presence in the doorway was keeping me from my appointed rounds?

after all, if there was one thing i had learned over my five plus years living alongside the aged and infirm it was this: they tend not to follow instructions all that well.

perhaps it's their failing hearing. or perhaps it's their general reluctance to take orders from anyone their junior -- which, when you're pushing 90, just happens to describe almost every living soul on the planet other than yourself.

take the underground parking garage, for instance. um, you're blocking the driveway, sir. um, do you mind moving your '87 skylark to the side, sir? um, sir? excuse me, sir? oh, forget it.

or take the communal swimming pool out back. um, you really shouldn't be doing your waterobics in the shallow end, ladies. um, and you're making it kinda difficult on us to do our laps, ladies. um, ladies? excuse me, ladies? oh, forget it.

which brings me back to my mexican standoff from earlier today and my ever-so-intransigent neighbour. and you know, i came about this close to asking the kindly old gent to scoot on over. but then i thought about it. and then i thought about it some more. and when all was said and done, i decided that it just wasn't worth it. and not just from a cost-benefit point of view. no, in the end i figured that it just wasn't worth the headache. 'cause i had been down that road before. and i knew exactly where that road was headed. and so, in keeping with the holiday tradition that it is better to give than to receive, i simply rotated my frame a few degrees before i squeezed on by.

the world is an oyster

i never pretend to know all of the answers. my opinion is just that: my opinion. that said, i certainly don't arrive at my opinions lightly. nor do i necessarily presume my opinions to be false or without merit. but i do recognize that opinion, no matter how forcefully asserted as truthful, should never be viewed as synonymous with fact. to proclaim otherwise would be both dishonest and disingenuous. for it is only the intellectually weak that attempt to disguise opinion as fact. beliefs are just that: beliefs. unique perspectives on reality as seen through the eyes of a lone individual. so how then can my own distinct take on the universe and all of its attendant nuances ever be characterized as the gospel? the short answer: it cannot. and yet the world is hardly lacking in swindlers and shammers and scam artists. and not all of them garbed in cheap three-piece suits and loafers.

cookie cutter and paste

tonight some lady asked me if i had ever been to paris. and so i said no, i haven't. and she was like, oh, that's too bad. and i was, like, why is that too bad? do you really think that my life would somehow take on greater meaning if i just happened to have spent a few days on vacation staring at the arc de triomphe or the eiffel tower or the champs elysees? i mean, seriously, do you really think the baguettes are any tastier on the other side of the atlantic? i mean, seriously, is this what gives people satisfaction these days -- the ability to say that they stood in the city of light at some point in their lifetimes and breathed the rarefied air of european elitism?

or maybe i just don't get it.

sink

i suppose that if only i can make my point again and again and again, eventually my message will begin to sink in. but i must admit that i'm starting to wonder if all of my entreaties and exhortations and admonishments are entirely in vain. for it's been more than a year now since my daughter first embarked upon her current campaign of open defiance towards her flustered parental units. and to be honest, i'm not really sure what exactly got the ball rolling in the first place. nor am i certain just how i can bring that steaming pre-teen locomotive to a halt. but in my defence, i have tried everything. everything. polite requests. reasoned discussions. childish bickering. stern glances. disapproving nods. bribes. blackmail. hand wringing. navel gazing. eye rolling. threats of increased chores. promises of early bedtimes. the silent treatment. the socratic method. being a friend. being a parent. passive-aggressiveness. aggressive-passiveness. picking my battles. throwing my hands up. turning a blind eye. and even an ounce or two of tough love.

and the result? well, i'm afraid to report that in the end, the beat goes on. and on. and on.

its got a good beat and you can dance to it

so there i was, loafing amongst a roomful of senior students the other day after school, when suddenly i found myself under attack from an onslaught of highly unpleasant sounds. odd sounds. unfamiliar sounds. i think they call it... music. yes, that's it. music. modern music.

mostly it was dance music. or dance versions of popular music. whatever. in any case, it was hardly music to these ears. more like an aural assault on the senses. quick, call the cops. have that band arrested.

what i don't get, what i will never understand, is how anyone can possibly call what my ears were exposed to the other day, music. that isn't music. music is rhythmic and melodic and harmonic. music is sweet and soothing and symphonic. music evokes memories of time and place and context within our collective consciousness. memories of people that mattered. of moments that made a difference. music can fill us with hope when our spirits are flagging. music speaks to our doubts and despair. to our dreams and desires. music lulls us to sleep at night. music rouses us from slumber the following morn. music is there by our side in good times and bad.

and i'm sorry, but by those standards, the music of b.o.b. and those of his ilk just don't cut it.

now that's more like it

a series of unfortunate events

look, if you wanna ask me a question, just ask me already. but don't waste my time with mindless preambles and meaningless forwards and meandering overtures. don't waste my time with, do you mind if i ask you a question? or, there's something i want to say to you. or, can you tell me something if you're not too busy? 'cause when you preface a question with another question, i feel even less inclined to respond to your query in the first place. and the centrifugal force of your addle-minded curiosity has become increasingly unbearable. so just get to the point already. just cut to the chase. just say what's on your mind. 'cause i ain't in the mood for your silly brain games. i ain't in the mood for your mental gymnastics. i ain't in the mood for your incessant dilly-dallying. and my patience is wearing thin.

just let them play already

the nerve of some people

it is my parking spot after all. and there is absolutely no reason for you to be there in the first place. 'cause there are dozens of empty spaces in the immediate vicinity. for the underground parking garage is practically deserted even on the busiest of days. and come the winter months, when the snowbirds have already completed their southern migration, the lot is even more barren than usual. and so when i arrived at my designated spot yesterday afternoon, i had every right to be slightly perturbed by the sight of your oversized jalopy in my lane. you have your own parking space. so use it. but what really incensed me was your reaction to my honk. my lone honk. my single honk. my innocuous honk. hardly a raging tirade or a stream of resentful invective. besides, how else did you expect me to indicate that you were blocking my way? did you honestly expect me to get out of my vehicle and gently tap on your window? or send you a text message on your blackberry? or sit idling in the garage until you were finished doing whatever it was that you were doing in the front seat of your love machine? so just get the hell out of my spot. and pronto. look man, i have things to do. do you? i have places to go. do you? based on your reaction time to my exhortations yesterday, i would have to say no. and so the next time i find you in my parking spot and i politely encourage you to relocate, i would suggest that you do so. forthwith. no sour faces. no rolling eyes. no wild gesticulations. just hop in your ride, throw it in reverse, and move.

the birth of new wave

tree huggers

there is something almost surreal about sitting in a room listening to another individual discuss your child's relative strengths and weaknesses. tonight was parent-teacher night at my seven-year-old daughter's school. due to heavy traffic, i inadvertently arrived a few minutes late for the appointment. my wife and child's teacher were busy glancing at some of the students' artwork when i entered the classroom. "we were waiting for you."

now properly rebuked, i pulled up a chair, a miniature chair, and tried my best to find a comfortable position. but within seconds a queasy unease began to settle in the pit of my stomach as the reality of the situation slowly sank in. and for only the third or fourth time since my kid entered kindergarten, i was about to hear the cold, hard facts concerning my daughter's academic abilities and work habits. "so are we ready to begin?"

the teacher's initial comments were certainly pleasant enough. words like diligent, creative, generous and thoughtful were most definitely music to a father's ears. and laudatory descriptions of my daughter's reading, writing and arithmetic acumen further brought a smile to my already-beaming face. "but of course, there are some issues that require our attention."

so... apparently my eldest is a bit touchy. no, not in the sense of being overly sensitive. but rather in the sense of being highly physical towards her classmates. not in an aggressive manner, mind you. no, the way the teacher explained it, my daughter possesses a rather pronounced penchant for hugging her fellow second-graders. some kid in the room wrote a poor quiz. hug it out. some kid in the room fell and scraped his knee. hug it out. some kid in the room exhibited a stubborn cough. hug it out.

oddly enough, my wife and i have been attempting to correct this so-called flaw in our offspring's character for quite some time now. in fact, for as long as our firstborn could walk, she was always looking to wrap her arms around someone or something in a personal show of affection or empathy. and to be honest, i'm not really sure where she picked up on this peculiar little habit as neither my wife nor i are particularly touchy-feely ourselves. personally i blame my mother though, as i have long been aware of the grand ol' dame's predilection for chatting up complete strangers on the elevator while my daughter looked on. it probably started there.

"other than that, i have nothing really negative to say about your daughter."

great song. great effects. questionable casting.

all the small things

so i had to run a couple of errands when i got home from work today, and because my wife needed the house to herself for a few minutes, i decided to take my soon-to-be three-year-old along for the ride. actually, i was simply planning on picking up a few items from the local metro and nearby dollar store. and due to the province's recent return to eastern standard time, the sun had already begun to set by the time i headed out on my little sojourn, daughter in tow. my youngest had even prepared for the nighttime trek by adorning herself with a trio of flashlight rings on each hand. yet as my kid and i made our way across the dimly-lit road towards the neighbourhood shopping centre, i couldn't help but notice the awe and astonishment written across her face as she caught a glimpse of the crescent moon shimmering in the night sky. and within seconds it dawned on me - how wonderful it must be to be three again and to be so completely enraptured by the sight of a crescent moon shining in the night sky. for in the rush to get ahead and stay ahead and stay on top of things, how many of us have actually taken the time of late to reacquaint ourselves with the simple pleasures of the cosmos - a glorious sunset, a brisk autumn breeze, a shooting star, a sudden downpour. and how fortunate my daughter must be to still take some delight in the spectacle of an ancient celestial orb glimmering amongst the distant heavens.

"life moves pretty fast. if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it." - ferris bueller's day off (1986)

the mind is a terrible thing to waste

sunnyside sliversuns. sliversun summertimes. summertime silversides. silversun situps. sammyside summers. g-d damn auto complete. silverside sunups. summertime silvers. sunnyslide slivers. silver summers. summertime slips. silverside sunups. g-d damn auto complete. silver summersets. summertime suppers. suppertime sundowns. sunnyside suppertimes. setup sitdowns. sunnysun sunups. sinister sundowns. g-d damn auto complete.

it's all about 2:46

one plus seven plus fifteen plus twenty-four plus thirty-three

the chilling effect is a well-documented by-product of a politically correct society in which ordinary citizens fear reprisals from state actors - namely, the police and the courts - stemming from words spoken or actions taken that may ultimately offend others. but isn't that exactly what the fundamental freedom known as freedom of expression was designed to protect? the freedom to potentially offend others. for if we are unable to offend others, what could that hard-earned freedom have possibly been intended to buttress? the freedom to utter trite and hackneyed truisms? the freedom to mumble innocuous and time-honoured cliches? not in my liberal democracy. no, the freedom to say or write whatever you like, whenever you like, to whomever you like is just as important as the right to elect one's political representatives, in my humble estimation. ever more so, if you take into account the fact that without an unfettered flow of ideas and arguments, the ability to reach an informed opinion as to the pith and substance of one's democratic leaders is made that much more difficult. and what irks me more than anything in this tiresome debate over the degree of restrictions placed on one's freedom of expression is the self-serving nature of the discussion. for isn't it always the case that limitations on freedom of expression are inevitably called for by those seeking to limit the expressions of others due to some perceived slight or affront. isn't it always the case that in the end, the controversy ultimately comes down to a question of where the lines should be drawn for someone other than ourselves.

now as to the question of whether or not there should be any legal restrictions placed on one's written or spoken conveyances ... well, of course there should be. for example, those guilty of maliciously gutting another's reputation via the dissemination of known fabrications should be subjected to the full extent of the law - both criminal and civil. but where no measurable injury or damage exists - other than hurt feelings or bruised egos, that is - the state has no business intervening in the private exchanges of its adult citizenry. for the intellectual and emotional immaturity of those who cling to the pant leg of existing sanctions against clearly objectionable transmissions is hardly deserving of state support in what amounts to nothing more than a battle of competing ideologies. and for those who routinely attempt to enlist the aid of judicial interventions in the defence of their personal version of the truth, i have but three words for you: grow up already.

"i disapprove of what you say, but i will defend to the death your right to say it." - attributed to voltaire

step off

ticket please

'cause even if you spent the next 100 years perusing every single text on every single floor at every single centre of higher learning within your immediate surroundings, you still would have only acquired one percent of one percent of one percent of the accumulated knowledge heretofore accumulated in the universe. the mathematics. and the sciences. and the arts. and the humanities. and all the other topics and pseudo topics and wannabe topics and near topics and far topics and everything else in between. and they just keep on expanding and multiplying and cannibalizing one another year after year after year. and just when you think you may have finally gotten a handle on a particular subject along comes another edition or addendum or epilogue and suddenly you're back where you started from. and the whole prospect of grasping a specific discipline seems so completely daunting and the chances of becoming a genuine authority seem so bloody overwhelming that it's a wonder anyone ever gives it a go in the first place. and all the while you've got bills to pay and minds to bend and chores to fail and relations to mend. and then there is the issue of whether or not you even care to master whatever it is that you elected to master five months earlier when you hadn't a clue about the nature of the subject matter you ultimately chose to master. and the distractions of everyday life just keep on getting louder and louder and louder. and all the while the questions just keep on getting fainter and fainter and fainter. and before you know it, the ride has come to a stop and it's time to get off.

"look, when i figure it all out, i'll be sure to let you know." - anonymous

knees up, part deux

so i was stopped at a red light on bathurst this afternoon, on my way home from the office so to speak, when i noticed this middle-aged woman jogging on the spot. she was decked out in coal grey lululemon tights, matching windbreaker, matching wool cap, and compulsory ipod. i reckon she was waiting for the light to turn green so that she could scoot off on her merry way. anyhow, as i sat there in my coal grey honda waiting for the light to turn green myself, i couldn't help but think how odd she appeared - just chugging away there on her mark even though there was nowhere she could actually venture at the time. yeah, yeah, spare me your angry missives. i know that somewhere in the urban jogger's manifesto it is written that in order to maintain an elevated heart rate and muscle memory one must do just as the middle-aged marathoner was doing this afternoon. but really... on bathurst street? in the middle of the day? and at a busy intersection no less? really? c'mon. i mean, if you're so intent on maintaining an elevated heart rate and muscle memory that you're willing to subject yourself to multiple thirty-second intervals of running-on-the-spot at local stoplights, then why bother leaving home in the first place? i mean, why not just pick up a second-hand treadmill or stairmaster or elliptical on craigslist and make do in the relative peace and tranquility of your rec room? i mean, hell, why even go so far as to make that home gym purchase to begin with? why not simply throw on some sweat pants and a pair of old sneakers and begin jogging on the spot after you drag your ass out of bed tomorrow morning? just look at the upside. no din. no smog. no mutts. no pedestrians. no sidewalk cracks. and best of all, no traffic lights.

"i don't get it. you exit your front door, you circle the block a few times, and then you end up right back where you started. why bother leaving home in the first place?" - anonymous

slip slidin' away

the marble-shaped cap on my new bottle of garnier fructis 2 in 1 fortifying shampoo and conditioner may have a few design flaws. first and foremost among them is the fact that the cap doesn't necessarily work very well when damp. which can be a problem when you are attempting to access your new bottle of 2 in 1 fortifying shampoo and conditioner inside the shower. which, of course, is where most hygiene-conscious folks, like myself, attempt to pry open their new bottle of 2 in 1 fortifying shampoo and conditioner. the problem, you see, is that the shape of the cap makes it damn near impossible to flip open the little device when moistened by pipe water. and try as i might i just can't seem to get a decent enough grip on the rounded cap so as to allow me to pop open the hood. why, things have become so desperate in shampooland that recently i have taken to bringing a plastic knife into the shower stall with me in order to wedge open the bewildering bottle cap. at other times i have been known to slam my new bottle of 2 in 1 fortifying shampoo and conditioner against the recessed soap dish on the side of the shower wall. that aside, perhaps my first clue that something may not have been right in the garnier canada r & d department should have come from the trademarked fructis label. the label that boasts of "active fruit concentrate" including a significant component of fructose and glucose. fructose and glucose? in my new 2 in 1 fortifying shampoo and conditioner? wth? just throw a little sucrose into the mix and suddenly you're looking at a diabetic's worst nightmare. in a lime green bottle.

not the official video, but it should be

stupid is as stupid does

when i placed my fingers inside the tiny, clear plastic bag holding the deca 2010-11 commemorative pin, i instinctively knew that i was committing a grievous error of judgment. but i just couldn't resist the temptation of clutching the complimentary keepsake emanating from the marketing and entrepreneurship competition bearing the same name. ouch. lesson learned. again. and as the spot of crimson fluid began to appear atop my left index finger, i threw back my head and looked to the heavens with a plaintive sigh: why must i always do that, lord? why am i unable to learn from my own mistakes? why can i not absorb the lessons of my past trangressions and proceed toward the next level of awaiting enlightenment?

the same thing happens to me almost every single time i head out for a walk in november. before i depart, i glance outside and say to myself: "self, surely it can't be too cold out there. after all, i certainly don't see any precipitation on the ground. i certainly don't see anyone's breath hanging in the air. i'm sure a light jacket will suffice therefore." but within minutes of my sojourn taking flight, i inevitably find myself cursing the insipid television weatherman who not ten minutes earlier had warned me of the crispness in the fall air and the need for appropriate seasonal attire. damn meteorologists.

or last month when i attended the 5k cibc run (walk) for the cure... in my leather sandals, as it would turn out. and this despite the fact that i left behind a perfectly good pair of new balance cross-trainers at home. once again i recognized almost immediately that i had underestimated the firmness of my hometown's streets and the resistance they could assert against my flimsy ankles. and just as an exasperated napoleon dynamite uttered to himself so many times over the course of that archetypal teen angst showcase, "idiot" was the only phrase that truly captured the sheer essence of the self-directed resentment and irritation i was experiencing at that moment - and the moments that unfolded over the subsequent two hours with each painful, passing step toward the finish line. take that.

"uh, i know you don't want to hear this now, but uh, it serves you right. idiot." - anonymous

spring forward fall back

the sun went down today just past five today. i was on my way home from the acc with my kid. inside the subway tunnels of my hometown, one would have hardly noticed the early twilight. but once we left behind the city's vast underbelly of winding steel, the reality of the season began to dawn on us. daylight savings was no more. the air was crisp. the leaves were blowing. the faces were drawn.

the previous night, the local mall had been filled with the sounds of breathless revellers. it was barely november and yet the aura of christmas had already begun to permeate the ether. hardly the true spirit of the holiday season but it would no doubt have to suffice given our post-modern commercial world. material goods long ago usurped the authority of spiritual enlightenment. immediate gratification supplanting the comforting ennui of an uncertain future. better, faster, stronger had become the catchphrase of the day.

maybe ignorance truly is bliss.

footsteps

sitting in 304 this afternoon, i happened to stumble upon an old yearbook from thirty-two years ago. and as i thumbed my way through the head shots of the graduating class of 1978, i began to wonder. i began to wonder about the various paths those fresh-faced greenhorns had followed upon their departure from the hallowed halls of good ol' hci. now fifty years of age, some had certainly married. some had certainly brought children into this world. while some may have never quite found that special someone. some had gone on to post-secondary studies. some had probably rushed into the workforce. some may have even taken over the family business. some had surely become successful. some had inevitably fallen behind. some had stayed close to home. some had moved far, far away. some had aimed their sights on the big prize. while some were content with more modest goals. and regrettably, some may have even passed on by this point. they had all shared a moment in time with one another. and then they had all gone their separate ways. yet because they had all grown up in the same neighbourhood, and because they had all entered this world at roughly the same time, they would always be connected in one particular manner. and so, as i thumbed my way through those images of days gone by, i was left to wonder. i was left to wonder whether the members of the graduating class of 1978 had a chance to make their mark before they were forced to pass the baton to the next generation of dreamers and chasers.

"and the men who hold high places
must be the ones who start
to mould a new reality
closer to the heart"

- rush (1977)

dismissed

so there is this lady who lives in our building. she's a bit older than me. she's about 80. and every time i see her in the hallway or the lobby or the elevator, i always say hi to her. 'cause she is a genuinely nice lady. very pleasant and accommodating. and always in the mood to chat. about anything really. and not just topics that are of interest to her. no, she will often ask me what's going on in my life at the moment. and then proceed to carry on a conversation about those subjects for the next several minutes. but here's the thing. the moment one of her "contemporaries" shuffles by, meaning one of her octogenarian pals, she immediately abandons me in favor of her generational peer. and what's more, the old dame doesn't even make an effort at tact or discretion when she makes up her mind to flee. no, basically she just stops speaking to me, sometimes in mid-sentence, before wandering off in search of her mah jong partner. harsh.

"can you feel the burn in your glutes?" - anonymous

there is a little something called decency, you know

in my humble opinion

it's funny how sometimes you can stumble upon great truths just by paying attention to someone. by giving someone a chance. by having faith in someone. and it doesn't really matter who that person is. or how old that person is. or why that person decided to pass along that tiny little nugget of wisdom in the first place. because if it works, if it makes things a little bit better, even if only for a little while, then so be it.

and so i decided to take that person's advice tonight. to see where it would lead me. to see where it would end up. and with g-d as my witness, the results were actually positive for a change. and for the first time in a long time, i felt good about myself. and my relationship with my kid. and i could tell that the feelings were mutual. and that made me feel even better. about myself. and about us.

and so it made me wonder how many other tiny little nuggets of wisdom were still waiting out there to be discovered. if only i could look beyond my stubbornness. and my conceit. and my pride. if only i could admit that i don't really know very much, i could probably know so much more.

and now that i sense i'm just a little bit closer to the truth, i must say that i feel this enormous sense of relief. because i realize that even at my somewhat advanced age, i still have plenty to learn. and in a way, that realization is extremely comforting to me. because it means that i don't have to pretend that i have all the answers anymore. because i don't.

and to think that all of this emanated from just a few random words staring at me on a computer screen.

"the secret to everything is so simple..." - taxi (1978)

maybe the third time i've posted this song to my blog... and still with no regrets

going going gone

it was early this morning. and my first clue should have been the fact that the water pressure in my own shower was almost non-existent. but stubbornly i insisted on giving the shower in the girls' bathroom a try. it was just down the hallway. big mistake.

when i first stepped into the decidedly more sanitary ladies' bathtub and turned the handle, the water pressure certainly seemed decent enough. not strong, not even steady, but adequate for the job at hand. i did notice, however, that the temperature was a little cool for my tastes but hey, i was merely a guest in another's facilities. that and the fact that i never, ever look a gift horse in the mouth.

so in i jumped in order to initiate my daily routine of lather, rinse and repeat. but about three minutes into the procedure, i couldn't help but notice the water pressure beginning to wane. at the same time, the water temperature was moving from cool to icy in a hurry. unfortunately for yours truly, i was right in the middle of a lather cycle. in other words, i was still covered in soapsuds from head to toe just as the well had begun to run dry. in a panic (lather?) i immediately summoned my wife to the bathroom in order to enlist her services as a makeshift personal assistant. naturally i was desperate to rid my frame of irish spring-inspired froth before it was too late. luckily for me, the bathroom sink was still dispensing liquid gold, if only barely. accordingly my spouse, ever the quick thinker, began filling a miniature plastic drinking cup with H2O. then she handed me the half-full container which i hurriedly poured over the still-foamy portions of my anatomy. but the pail was essentially a tiny goblet while the target was a lanky ectomorph. so it was gonna take more than a few rounds of fill up and rinse before this boy was free of aloe vera. it was a classic race against time. but just as the ladies' room sink dripped to a halt, i finally managed to rid myself of the last traces of greenish-blue bubbles coating my exterior. the battle had been waged. victory was mine. it was time to towel off.

"when things go wrong don't go with them.” - elvis presley

ok, so it's not exactly tuesday

look at me

so i'm sitting here at my computer listening to some post-ccr john fogerty and i'm fighting my latest bout of insomnia knowing full well that i genuinely need my beauty sleep but it just ain't gonna happen tonight and now i hear some yelping coming from the street just below my open window but i don't have to look outside to recognize the sounds of the local yahoos causin' a ruckus cuz i'm too tired to care and besides i'm listening to my favourite post-ccr john fogerty number and just now i checked my inbox and realized that i may have to spend the next hour or so composing an appropriate response but meanwhile the yahoos on the street remind me of those idiots in their souped-up civics with their stereos blasting techno at full volume and maybe also those loudmouths on the subway who speak at decibel levels that can only be described as exorbitant when it is so obvious that they merely wish to be overheard by their unsuspecting fellow travellers and in the end i reckon it is indeed true that volume and intelligence tend to be inversely related.

whew.

backhand

it was the day after my introduction of the valedictorian at my school's commencement ceremonies. personally i thought i had done a fairly decent job the night before pointing out some of the chosen one's finer qualities. in my estimation the speech had gone pretty much as well as could have been expected, especially given that it had been delivered in sweltering conditions at the end of a more than two-hour extravaganza of self-congratulatory hysteria. that said, i was still a little dubious when one of my students with whom i ordinarily have very little contact stopped me in the hallway and proceeded to comment on my performance from the previous evening.

she opened the exchange with a perfunctory "good job, last night."

i responded with my patented half-smile, half-smirk. i couldn't think of anything else to say.

"you know what i really liked about your speech though," she continued. "the fact that you sounded so clear and articulate. i mean, to be honest i've never really heard you speak like that before. at one point, i even turned to (another student) and asked her if that was really you up there on stage. quite frankly, i had no idea you could speak so eloquently, sir."

huh?

"i can live for two months on a good compliment." - mark twain

from the five boroughs

funny you should say that

"the right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause.” - mark twain

so a kid i know pointed out an anomaly of the english language to me the other day. how sometimes words placed consecutively one after the other can possess one meaning but often take on an entirely unique meaning when those same words are treated as individual terms. the example she offered up was the phrase "awfully nice" which obviously holds one connotation when the terms are considered in tandem but suggests something much different when the terms are considered separate and apart.

which got me to thinking about all sorts of other odd little idiosyncrasies found within my native tongue. words and expressions and pronunciations that give me pause for thought. that make me wonder how they ever ended up as part of my local dialect in the first place.

like the never-ending debate surrounding the use of the queries "may i" and "can i" which seems to torment school-age children everywhere, especially those seeking the nod from their teachers before paying a visit to the nearest facilities.

or the fact that consonant pairs like "gh" can possess one sound at the beginning of a word ("ghost") but two entirely different sounds at the end of a word ("rough" and "though").

or the utter reliance of some folks on so-called cheat words like "um" and "uh" and "like" and "you know." words that express absolutely no meaning whatsoever and yet seem to persist as an almost indispensable component of our everyday discourse.

why, it's enough to make a linguistics ph.d. candidate cringe.

way to work that jumpsuit, jean-marc

way to roll with the punches, kid

sometimes i wonder if my two-year-old actually understands what she is trying to say some of the time. 'cause for the most part, no one else does. except, of course, for her immediate family - myself and her mother and sister. that became obvious this afternoon at my brother's home as two engaged in one conversation after another with various members of her extended family.

at one point, my sister-in-law asked my youngest if she wanted another bagel and cream cheese (don't ask - thanksgiving tradition). two responded by mentioning that she preferred another handful of smartfood instead. now i understood the kid's reply. my wife understood the kid's reply. even my seven-year-old understood the kid's reply. but to my sister-in-law, i guess her niece seemed to indicate that yes, she wished to have another bagel and cream cheese. 'cause that's exactly what happened next. yup, my brother's better half proceeded to grab another raisin bagel from the brown paper bag on the kitchen counter. then she cut it in two holding the same knife she would use to spread the cream cheese with a few seconds later. and when she eventually handed the roll-with-a-hole to my daughter, i could tell that two was a little perplexed by the sudden turn of events. after all, the kid requested some more cheese-flavoured popcorn, not another bagel and cream cheese.

but to her credit, my daughter responded with tact and graciousness, even thanking her aunt for the unwanted treat despite her obvious disappointment. an yet the unintentional slight highlighted an even more pressing concern. two is almost three now, and i am beginning to wonder if her speech difficulties will ever resolve themselves. indeed, the therapist had all but promised us that we would see noticeable improvements by this stage of her development.

of course, leave it to my mother to shed some valuable perspective on the issue. for when i whispered to her that i was becoming increasingly worried over the state of my daughter's pronunciation troubles, the woman who gave me life reminded me, yet again, that i, myself, had scarcely uttered an intelligible word before my third birthday. besides, my mother added, as long as her family understands her, my daughter has nothing to worry about.

"you know what i'd like to be? a cartoon of some kind. you know, like when they get hit in the head with a frying pan or something, and their head looks like the frying pan, with the handle and everything? then they just go 'booiing' and their head comes back to normal? wouldn't that be great?" - breaking away (1979)

levity, please

so i'm sitting on the subway this afternoon when suddenly this elderly gentleman seated across the aisle pulls out a tiny prescription bottle. but when the old man pops open the container, it turns out there aren't any pills inside but rather a small portion of alabaster cream. medicated cream, i presume. steroid cream. probably hydroval or topicort, used to relieve redness and irritation brought on by certain skin conditions like eczema. and i should know.

anyhow, when the old man began rolling up his right pant leg, thus revealing his pasty, bony appendage, i kinda knew what was about to unfold next. the skin inflammation was centred in his knee area, so naturally that is where gramps would direct his efforts. but what i wasn't prepared for was the sheer length of time my public transit cohort would focus his energies on the process. why, he worked that joint like a professionally-trained masseur for a good twenty minutes or so before the family and i exited at union station.

but more than anything, today's subterranean surrealism reminded me of other similar incidents from my past showcasing the carefree and nonchalant habits of some of my fellow earth dwellers.

like the internationals in my summer esl classes who think nothing of dabbing their oily t-zones with medicated skin pads right in the middle of an intense lecture on the subjunctive mood.

or the overheated, hormonally-addled adolescents at school who insist on using the third floor of the building as their own personal love hotel, never missing a beat to explore one another's teeth and tonsil regions.

or the hard-hatted, construction zone warriors in my hood who seem oblivious to their environs as they repeatedly clear their throats in a sonic show of force before launching their golden loogies a dozen feet or more into the ether.

oh well. i guess i gotta share the air sometimes.

"when you look closely, people are so strange and so complicated that they're actually... beautiful." - my so-called life (1994)

short and sweet and to the point

return to sender

dear son,

i hope you are having a good time at summer camp. i bet you didn't know that it has always been my dream to send one of my children to overnight camp as i never had that opportunity when i was younger. how is the food there? how cold is the lake? have you made any friends yet?

the reason i am writing is to let you know that i have been thinking about how i have been treating you recently. and more specifically, how i have been placing so much pressure on you to do well. now you know that i have always wanted what was best for you and your brother. but sometimes, in my zeal to see you excel, i lose sight of the bigger picture.

above all, i want you to be happy. i want you to do the things that you enjoy doing. and i want you to know that i will always support you in anything you choose to do with the rest of your life.

and finally, you don't have to make me happy in order to make me proud of you.

sincerely,

wait 'til next year

when i was a teenager, i always found it incredibly difficult to achieve success. meanwhile, time and time again my best friend, a.s., seemed to stumble upon success without even breaking a sweat. i recall the time we both applied for a waitering gig at the brand new olive garden near yonge and eg. i spent hours and hours preparing for my interview - my wardrobe, my resume, my answers, the whole works. a.s., on the other hand, was merely tagging along for the ride. he didn't dress up, he didn't bring a cv, and he certainly didn't rehearse his answers for days on end like i had. but in the end, he got the job, while i didn't. and damn if he wasn't the worst bloody waiter i had ever seen. but he still got the call. and i didn't.

now i distinctly recall asking myself at the time, where is the justice in that? after all, i had worked my ass off to ensure that i would place myself near the top of the hiring chain. a.s. hadn't even bothered to put on a tie that morning. in fact, as far as i can recall, he was sporting a beaver canoe cable knit sweater during his interview, the one that everyone in our hood was sporting at the time. who knows? maybe the manager of the olive garden liked his sweater or something. but i digress.

what is it about failure that makes some folks feel like the world has come to an end? maybe they haven't experienced failure often enough to understand how to deal with it. maybe they haven't experienced success often enough to place failure in its proper context.

because after 42 years of winning and losing, the one question i ask about failure is never, why failure? no, for me the question at this stage of my existence is rather, when is failure next?

the other day i received an email from a kid in one of my clubs. she had just suffered through what must have seemed to her one of the most miserable days in her young life. earlier in the day i had not-so-politely dressed her down for falling short on a task i had assigned her. later that same day she failed to win an executive position after several elections in another one of my clubs. in short, the day had not gone very well for her. quite frankly, given how her afternoon had unfolded, she had every reason to simply crawl on home and sulk. to feel sorry for herself. to give up. but instead, later that evening, i received the aforementioned email from her containing a half-dozen solid suggestions as to how best to right the ship that had somehow gone astray. an email in which she proved to both me and herself that she was not a quitter. and i must admit that i was almost moved to tears by the spirit and determination demonstrated in her letter.

not unlike the perseverance and fortitude shown by my ballteam after our heartbreaking loss on the final play of the championship match in 2009. once again, nobody would have batted an eye had we simply gone through the motions the following season. but instead we put together another solid year in 2010, going undefeated until we suffered yet another heartbreaking loss on the final play of the championship match this past season.

and so, as i am writing this, you may be asking yourself, why failure? why me? why now? and i suppose my only response to your query would be the following: because it was your turn to fail. just as it will be my turn to fail again soon. for as long as you continue striving for success, you will inevitably come up short at least some of the time.

why, even the greatest baseball players on the planet fail seven out of every ten times they step up to the plate. and speaking of the great american pastime, today's magnificent weather has reminded me of one more thing: tryouts for my ballteam lie less than six months away. and who knows? this may finally be our year.

"never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat." - f. scott fitzgerald

who the hell is working the soundboard?

passages

the kitten had left behind assorted patches of fur throughout the brand new residence. grey hair was scattered across the carpets and rugs of the majority of rooms within the vast, empty home. the boy had repeatedly asked his father not to bring the animal home, but the old man paid no heed to his son's requests. "i'm allergic. i'm violently allergic to cats. and you know that," the boy pleaded to his father, but to no avail.

the kitten, an american shorthair, was certainly friendly enough. in fact, the feline was very affectionate, at least as far as the species is concerned. but that didn't matter. the boy had always been allergic to the majestic creatures for as far back as he could remember. and even though he still preferred cats to dogs and would never turn away a stray tabby in the streets, the reality was that the symptoms the boy suffered in the presence of the animals were just too pronounced to overlook. red, watery eyes. coughing and wheezing. sore throat. itchy skin. and most significantly, breathing difficulties. severe breathing difficulties. so much so that the boy was often left with no choice but to exit the home for a few hours whenever his symptoms began to flare up as a result of the new house guest.

the boy and his father had obviously been having their difficulties of late. they had not spoken in months, and not enjoyed a close relationship in years. resentment had been building, on both sides of the ledger, for quite some time. the old man, stung by years of silence and rejection, had finally had enough, it appeared. and certainly the boy was not blameless in this ongoing battle of the wills. for he had made little effort to mend the fences that had long been broken between he and his father. but left to his own devices, and feeling abandoned once his brother and mother had departed for greener pastures, the boy now felt defenceless. and so, in his mind, the presence of the cat in the home represented the last straw. the years of conflict and tension were finally coming to a head. and today was the day that both sides had once and for all elected to lay all of their cards on the table.

"why would you bring that animal into this home? you know that i can't be in the same environment as that cat. you, of all people, should understand that."

"you can hide in your room then. like you always do."

"i can't spend the rest of my life in my room."

"the cat is staying. my mind is made up."

"so i guess i'll have to leave home then."

"i would rather you go than the cat."

and with that, the boy had moved on.

"you don't raise heroes, you raise sons. and if you treat them like sons, they'll turn out to be heroes, even if it's just in your own eyes." - walter m. schirra, sr.

next

four days and counting. writer's block. can't seem to shake it. the ideas are there but not the words. fumbling for just the right thing to say. feeble efforts are my only resort at this point. giving it a shot at this late hour. nothing else to lose. hopefully it's like riding a bike. when i was six or so, a cousin tried to teach me to swim. ended up throwing me in the water. didn't have the desired effect though. never quite forgave him for that episode. hopefully this will be different. can't help but feel self-conscious at this stage. writing for the sake of writing. no rhyme, no reason. stream of consciousness ain't my thing. editing comes second nature to me. this runs counter to my instincts. the night's inspiration becomes the morning's regret. better to shield my eyes from the light of day. every so often, something i hear or see reminds me of fifteen. of thornhill. of the mall. the walk home. the tunnel. the graffiti. the echoes.

close your eyes

i can't think of a more amusing sight than the sight of my two-year-old daughter greeting me at the door after a long day, dressed as a ladybug. the black leggings, the spotted shell, the wings, the antennae, the whole nine yards. i assume it's her halloween costume, although i've yet to confirm that hypothesis with my wife. you see, we live in the type of household where a two-year-old child dressed as a flying insect doesn't necessarily raise any eyebrows. truth be told, my kid absolutely loves to dress up in costumes. princess costumes. pumpkin costumes. witch costumes. you name it, she's worn it. why, give that kid a magic wand and even a herd of charging buffalo couldn't pry that stick free from her hands. now to be honest, i'm not really sure why my kids, two today and seven before her, seem so fascinated by the thought of throwing on a strange costume and taking on the identity of someone else. maybe it has something to do with the eternal desire to see the world through another's eyes, if only for a few moments.

"do you remember what you told me once? that every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around." - vanilla sky (2001)

r.i.p.

the chain

maybe he was just raised that way. maybe he was simply a product of his environment. maybe he had no choice but to be that way. but whatever he was, he passed along some of that way to me. and now i am forced to come to terms with the person i have become. was i like him? i try not to be. but it's not easy when you only know one way. and so i remain conscious of my weaknesses because i have seen them before. in him. and i know i do not want to go down that path again. like he probably tried not to go down that path when he was in my shoes. there are other examples, i remind myself. there are better paths to follow. i remember that he once attempted to defend his record. but i was too headstrong to care. and so i dismissed him. like my children may one day dismiss me. for there are days of contentment and there are days of regret. and i have resigned myself to the fact that there will always be both. yet i am aware that my lament is mostly of my own doing. and that there are worse fates to suffer than my own. but the reality of my situation still remains.

"spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart." - author unknown


p.s. um, i think she meant to include my wife. i think.

curb your dog

so there's a middle-aged lady in my building who was recently featured in a headline-grabbing expose published in a local newspaper. apparently she was caught parking her silver mercedes in a handicapped space even though she is neither disabled nor in possession of a handicapped parking permit. when approached by a journalist on behalf of the reporting tabloid, she became extremely flustered. then she spit out some lame excuse about nursing a bad leg.

well, a few days ago i saw the same middle-aged woman taking her bichon frise for a walk in my neighbourhood. the pair were strolling up and down the sidewalk just outside our condo anxiously awaiting nature's call. eventually the miniature mutt came to a halt along a tiny strip of turf before assuming the familiar pose of canines everywhere about to perform their personal business. numero dos, to be precise. within seconds the deed was done. and moments later master and furry servant were once again on the move.

now as fate would have it, i just happened to be passing by the precise position where the pint-sized pooch and his portly protector had only seconds earlier played out their private potty session. but as i approached the actual spot on which spot had just cleared out his system, i couldn't help but spot a little memento of the occasion. evidence, as it were. and to be sure, it wasn't pretty.

but it wasn't long before my feelings of revulsion had transformed into feelings of contempt. contempt for the middle-aged lady who had just demonstrated a complete lack of consideration for her neighbours. and for a brief moment, i even considered chasing after the woman so that i could express my dismay over her thoughtless behaviour. but then i recalled the recent news article in which her utter disregard for the rules of civility was prominently on display. and so i decided to call off the chase, for i knew at that point that it would be of no consequence anyway.

for just as the pretentious pup had left his mark on the sod outside my humble abode that day, so too did his human counterpart demonstrate a similar disdain for her fellow man through her own conduct of late.

well it is dark out there

another library tale

so i'm sitting in the local library this afternoon marking the final thirty or so legal philosophy essays from my junior classes when suddenly i hear a loud voice emanating from just beyond the book stacks to my left. and naturally i am a little put off because this is, after all, a public library and over time one has come to expect a certain level of peace and quiet to prevail in communal spaces of that stripe. and so, being the curious chap that i am, i decide to investigate the source of the din in order to satisfy my inquisitive nature. but as i rise from my chair and begin to make my way to the front of the chamber where the reference desk is located, i am somewhat astonished to learn that the source of the aforementioned racket is not some elderly patron disputing the 15 cent overdue book fine on his library card. nor is it some rowdy teenage type giving lip to some overzealous library cop for enforcing the no food or drink policy in place in all metropolitan libraries. no, the source of the tumult this afternoon was none other than that same matronly librarian from one of my more recent posts - you remember, the lady with the slice of chive wedged between her two front teeth. only today those same choppers were being used to enunciate every single syllable that passed by her lips, and at a decibel level that would make a heavy metal band blush with modesty. apparently she was attempting to point out the whereabouts of the library's newest teen fiction collection to one of her adolescent clients.

and so here's the thing: how can one possibly ask one's friendly, neighbourhood librarian to pipe down when it is she, in fact, that is ultimately responsible for ensuring calm and order in our hallowed halls of literacy?

so let it be written, so let it be done



p.s. what do you mean, not very music box-esque? tiny dancer? a music box featuring a tiny ballerina on top.

a day in the life

funny how that happened. just over an hour ago i was feeling fine. it had been a normal day - i spent the morning with two having breakfast at the deli, hunting for circles at winners, and searching for free food ladies at metro. in the afternoon, i marked about sixty legal philosophy essays at the local library, occasionally breaking the monotony with a trip to the comic book section. archie still makes me laugh. then, just before supper time, i took the kids to the park around the corner. there they enjoyed a game or two of hide and seek, miraculously locating one ingenious hiding spot after another within a playground seemingly lacking in such prime real estate opportunities. at seven, i had dinner with a friend at that crowded japanese/korean eatery near yonge and eg. bento box for one. minus the shrimp tempura, of course. seafood allergy from the time i was 21 or so. at nine, i wrote a reference letter for a kid from school. from scratch, mind you. haven't done that in years. usually i have a template to work from, but i couldn't find any on my hard drive. so i said wth.

and then, around 11 o'clock, i began to feel a little funny. i was just sitting down to begin composing what has since become my 225th post. but midway through my first draft i was forced to abandon ship. for fear of drowning. metaphorically speaking, of course. it's hard to explain but i kinda felt like something was wrong. so i did what i always do when i'm feeling a little blue. i headed on over to youtube. music is good for the soul, after all. but for some reason, i couldn't find anything to lift my spirits. so i decided to switch on the news. the television news, that is. besides, it was 11 o'clock. but that didn't seem to make a difference either. taking pleasure in another's pain just ain't for me.

running out of options, i elected to return to this chair for one last kick at the can. maybe if i just began to write down what was on my mind, i could escape the nameless funk that had suddenly enveloped me. blog as diary. blog as confessional. blog as instrument of catharsis. hell, others have done it. i reckon it was worth a shot. and you know what? i think it may have actually worked. i mean, it was either that or the dozen replays of the cancon classic prominently displayed at the bottom of this post. whatever the case, i was back on track and raring to go. except that by the time i had finally found my sea legs it was already past midnight. so there wasn't really much to do at that hour. except maybe finish this post. which i just did.

yeah, i know it's already appeared in an earlier post

it's raining apples and oranges

so i'm driving home this afternoon along leafy spadina road and the wind is blowing in off the lake at about a thousand knots and the streets are littered with severed branches and garbage bags and the flotsam and jetsam of everyday suburbia. and then, out of nowhere, the skies opened up and down came the... the granny smith apples. yeah, you heard me correctly (assuming you're reading out loud now). granny smith apples. i guess i had just driven under a mature fruit-bearing tree sporting the ripened, sugary snacks. and i suppose the hurricane-strength gusts at play earlier today must have loosened several of the tasty yet tart treats. 'cause before i could say apple pie, tiny green shells were crashing to the earth just inches to the left and right of my speeding silver comet. and not unlike the iconic laser cannon in the classic arcade game space invaders, i was forced to evade wave after wave of alien, er apple, attackers. luckily, in the end i managed to avoid any significant damage to my vehicle (i think one fleshy fruit may have made contact with my hood). but at least i had learned a valuable lesson. for i had learned that sometimes the enemy above comes wrapped in a shiny green skin.

bayview village cinemas on a saturday afternoon

hush

"for the comfort of our guests, we kindly ask that you do not allow your children to create a disturbance in the restaurant. thank you."

or, in other words, tell your damn kids to shut up.

dining out with my two-year-old at our favourite friday night haunt can be a challenge at the best of times. the sign above should give you some idea as to why. here's just a sample of what can go wrong:

one, she absolutely refuses to eat what's on her plate. my plate, yes. but her plate... never.

two, she never seems entirely satisfied with the crayon selection that comes with her colouring sheet.

three, after her two hundredth order of grilled cheese sandwich, you'd think the kid would have figured out by now that it's the grilled cheese that goes in the ketchup and not her shirt sleeve.

four, there aren't enough sugar packets in the world to keep a two-year-old distracted for more than a few seconds at a time.

and five, and most importantly, when the situation calls for silence, silence is not what you should expect. in fact, sometimes i think that on restaurant fridays, my youngest spends the entire day saving up her energy just so she can release it on an unsuspecting public come dinner time. and the more we discreetly tell the little one to keep it down, the more she seems to act up. it's almost as if she knows that there is nothing her parents can do at that moment to effectively reprimand her. i mean, we can't exactly send the kid to her room. and we can't exactly threaten to take away her food. because we just paid an arm and a leg for it. nor can we threaten to take away her sugar packets. because there are another two dozen or so at the next table and the kid is not above asking her neighbours for them when the need arises. and finally, we can't exactly raise our voices at her. because of that sign. that damn sign.

life lines

so i get out of the shower a few minutes ago and i notice these huge, bulging veins on the sides of my forehead. you know, right near the temples. and so naturally the first thing that pops into my head is... stroke. i'm having a stroke. this is it, baby. i'm checking out. so i run to my computer to review the symptoms of a stroke but there's no mention of bulging forehead veins. numbness and headache and vertigo, yes... but nothing on bulging forehead veins. and then i remember watching a special on oprah a few years back on brain aneurysms. so i google brain aneurysms yet once again, there is no mention of bulging forehead veins. but then i stumble across a condition called temporal arteritis which is apparently fatal if not treated immediately. so now i'm really freaking out. but then i realize that i'm looking at one of those online medical sites where you can't really tell if the so-called medical professional offering advice is actually a licensed physician or some nut from omaha, nebraska posing as a licensed physician. so just to make myself feel better, i find another one of those medical advice websites but this time one that is frequented by ordinary joes like you and me. you know, highly unqualified laymen offering medical opinions on topics they know nothing about. and so i read a little bit about dermatological explanations and weather-related explanations and too-much-time-in-a-hot-shower explanations but nothing that really puts my mind at ease. and as i sit here at my computer while the clock approaches midnight, i can't help but wonder if i'm making a mountain out of a molehill or if i'm not taking the warning signs seriously enough. but i do know one thing: i got some ugly forehead veins.

"the fear of death follows from the fear of life. a man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - mark twain

summer of '72 and you can almost taste the innocence

the swing of things

the tiny slice of chive was just sitting there between her two front teeth. she had been slurping on a bowl of take-out won ton not ten minutes earlier. the chive served as a garnish, i suppose. or maybe a form of seasoning. you know, to give it some flavour. an herb, if i'm not mistaken. or is it a spice? in any event, a fairly inconsequential add-on at best. and now, the pint-sized chive was doing its best to stand between me and perhaps my first ever mature conversation with one of the elderly librarians at my local branch. but try as i might, and lord knows i tried, i just couldn't look past the shrunken green sliver resting comfortably atop my bookish friend's central incisors.

and it's not as though i haven't suffered a similar humiliation over the course of my own fairly unsympathetic lifetime. but none of that mattered at that point because i was ensconced in a set of circumstances from which there simply was no escape. and so, i had no choice but to discuss the matters before us. i needed to find that video and that was that. i just had to grin and bear it. i only wish that she didn't have to grin and bear it quite so often.

and as the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned... well, you get the picture, i began to feel more and more overwhelmed by the enormity of my predicament. because as a grade "a" smartass, i often feel the irresistible urge to share my irresistible wit and candour with those around me. and certainly the fate of the bespectacled bibliothec standing before me was practically calling out for a caustic remark. but what could i mutter that wouldn't inevitably bring our stimulating exchange to a grinding halt? and so i was reminded, once again, of that early episode of friends where chandler is forced to bite his tongue after swearing off sarcasm just as ross enters the love shack decked out in a pair of shiny, leather pants.

but discretion is, after all, the better part of valour. and so i behaved like a good little boy this afternoon. and in the end, i was able to walk away from the encounter a stronger man than the one who entered. but i'll tell you this. that was one disconcerting little herb. or is it a spice?

this generation rules the nation

marketing 101

sometimes a brand name will become so synonymous with a particular product, it will actually replace the name of that product in the vernacular of the day. for example:

• q-tip (brand name) cotton swab (product name)
• kleenex (brand name) facial tissue (product name)
• jell-o (brand name) gelatin (product name)
• vaseline (brand name) petroleum jelly (product name)

uh, you get the drift. so here's the thing. i'm gonna be teaching a unit on marketing in the coming weeks and i need a comprehensive list of brand names like the ones that appear above. brand names that have become so established in the minds of the public that they are now associated almost exclusively with the product name they have come to supplant. and the more, the merrier.

oh, and thanks.

"so this is the world, and there are almost six billion people on it. when i was a kid, there were three. it's hard to keep up." - jerry maguire (1996)

heard it on one of those rogers digital music channels and had to have it



p.s. and once again, to richard s., i bow to your superior intellect. btw, where you at, dude? last i heard, someone mentioned you were studying fashion history at some art school in a parisian suburb.

the sum of its parts

the movie is entitled "make believe." a full-length documentary, it tells the tale of six teenage magicians from around the world as they prepare to compete for the prestigious title of teen world champion magician at the renowned world magic seminar in las vegas, nevada. this afternoon i attended a screening of the picture at the local film festival. also in attendance were the movie's two main protagonists and director.

my expectations heading into the theatre were minimal at best. i tend to steer clear of the documentary genre whenever possible. i usually find such films either trite or sanctimonious. but "make believe" was neither. instead i was treated to 90 minutes of unbridled passion for the magic that is magic. but even more so, i was treated to a heartfelt lesson in the pursuit of excellence and the uneven road travelled by some as they attempt to attain that elusive goal.

and just as all truly outstanding baseball films are never truly about the great american past time, "make believe" is a reality film about magicians that is not really about magic at all. rather it represents a slice of cinema verite that reminds us ever so subtly of the power of a support system, be they family, friends, mentors and the like, in our search for distinction.

for as the story slowly unwound early this afternoon, i became more and more conscious of the director's emphasis on the adolescent magicians' inner circle and their influence on the baby faced performers themselves. on the surface, the audience was being treated to one heart-tugging anecdote after another from the mouths of the teenage conjurers detailing their rites of passage into the world of sleight of hand. yet the one common thread running throughout these tales was the unconditional backing provided the youthful illusionists by their earliest supporters. and the love, experience, expertise and empathy doled out on a fairly regular basis by these behind-the-scenes benefactors to their mostly appreciative charges.

it is somewhat ironic then that the young man ultimately crowned teen world champion magician was the lone subject in the film who lacked an ostensible support system, at least partly the result of growing up in a remote, rural village in japan. i say ostensible, though, because at the conclusion of the screening, that individual, hiroki hara, wowed the audience by stepping out of the shadows to take a few questions from the assembled throng. and it only took a few moments before hiroki was asked to explain his recent success despite his relative lack of external encouragement. which prompted hiroki to reply, in broken english, that his mother had always been his greatest influence from the day he first expressed an interest in magic. unfortunately, according to the young whiz kid, the film failed to adequately recognize her significant contributions to his overall development as a performer.

and of course, it was this response from hiroki that left me a little choked up myself as i have often expressed similar sentiments on the subject of comprehensive support systems and the need for such in the pursuit of one's dreams. moreover, there wasn't a dry eye in the house when bill koch, runner up at the featured competition, pointed out his mother and father in the auditorium before referring to them as the finest parents in the world and the sole reason he was standing before the audience that day. nice.