it's gold, jerry... gold

there are good days. there are great days. and then there are days like today. and to think that it had all started out so horribly wrong. this morning i awoke to the sounds of my own groaning. my back had stiffened up overnight and it looked as though the day would entail an endless series of sharp pains and mind-numbing aches. but then, following second period, i staggered downstairs and to my amazement, everything was absolutely perfect. the layout was perfect. the food was perfect. the music was perfect. the ambiance was perfect. perfect. and as the event progressed, i kept thinking to myself, "this just keeps getting more and more perfect." the hosts were perfect. the helpers were perfect. the demonstrations were perfect. the ceremonies were perfect. perfect. and when it was all over, i sighed a sigh of relief and climbed upstairs again. and the best part... the best part is that the kids didn't really need me at all. they pulled it off all on their own.

but that's not all. today was also our first game of the season. and i have to admit that i was a little bit nervous about facing a squad that as recently as last year was competing in tier 1. when the game began, our team seemed a tad shaky and we fell behind by two runs. but then, to my amazement, something remarkable happened. suddenly the girls began to hit the ball like they had never hit the ball before. one after another, they just kept knocking the crap out of that red dot, 12 inch, asa-approved softball. and when it was all over, we had tallied an amazing 14 runs in a row to steal the game by a convincing 17-5 score. our team played with pride. our team played with spirit. our team played with, dare i say it, fight. even the opposition noticed our scrappiness. indeed, at one point i overheard one of our opponents say about our crew, "those girls don't like to lose." no, we don't. and why should we? after all, this team does have my imprimatur written all over it. and the best part... the best part is that the kids didn't really need me at all. they pulled it off all on their own. absolutely perfect.

and so, as the sun sets on this, a most extraordinary friday, it occurs to me that i haven't really noticed my back pain all day. until now, that is. but i did manage to work on my tan this afternoon with a few hours in the sun. which is good. 'cause i think i look better with a tan. just saying.

"you can be flawed, insecure, vulnerable... and yet you can still be perfect." - unknown

it's the band, man, not the singer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yIjxGKLTADE

not really a post

i meant to post a post tonight on those mostly sweet old ladies who serve free appetizers at metro every weekend. seven calls them the "free food ladies." alternatively, i wanted to post a post on the galling hypocrisy of city cyclists who forever whine and whinny about those dastardly and despicable motorists. but after reading a particular comment from a particular kid just a few minutes ago, now i really want to post a post about the genius that is phil collins, tony banks and mike rutherford, aka genesis. that said, i'm a mess at the moment. my back is on the fritz and i ain't exactly feeling too rosy. looking in the mirror, i can't help but notice that i'm bent at about a 20 degree angle. i would make a terrific math question for a grade 6 class. so the angry rant will have to wait until another day... or night.

"so, like, is that all? 'cause, like, i got, like, an ortho appointment at, like, five." - anonymous

it is, after all, the first book of the good book: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DisZ6qmNdbo&feature=related

even more random thoughts 'round midnight

some more random thoughts:

• most would agree that genesis ultimately abandoned their musical integrity beginning with the 1986 release of "invisible touch"
• call it insecurity but i don't really like sharing the sarcasm stage with bill maher
• my "nothing's on" quote is wonderfully poignant and quite frankly, i'm just a little disappointed that it didn't receive more feedback
• "artistes" are impossible to work with - first they demand free admission, then a free lunch...
• 7:30 in the a.m. is awfully early for a land practice

the beginning of the end: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cK3N2DC3Fds

love is

it's amazing that two people ever manage to fall in love in the first place. just think about all of the things that can go wrong leading up to the moment where two people are finally ready to declare their love for one another. there can be immaturity. there can be confusion. there can be pride. there can be fear. there can be boredom. there can be jealousy. there can be ambition. there can be sensitivity. there can be betrayal. there can be priorities. there can be differences. there can be expectations. there can be skeletons. there can be drift. there can be growth. and of course, there can always be another. and yet, every day millions of north americans manage to fall in love. or so they believe.

"trying to make someone fall in love with you is about as pointless as trying to control who you fall in love with." - unknown

the best love song ever, in my not-so-humble opinion, that hasn't been removed from youtube due to copyright violations: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShN8UIk5-mw

nothing's on

i used to love tv. i once looked forward to thursday nights and friends. sunday nights and the sopranos. tuesday nights and happy days. but today, very little on the box excites me anymore. i became lost over lost after season one. i became desperate over desperate housewives after season two. i hate cop shows so csi and ncis never quite arrested my imagination. i hate vampire thrillers so buffy and angel never quite grabbed me by the throat. i hate legal dramas so law and order and boston legal never quite courted my attention. these days, there are only a few programs on the tele that i can tolerate for more than a few minutes at a time. first and foremost among them is monday night's intervention. the people are real. the stories are real. the blood and the sweat and the tears are real. and to their credit, there is very little in the way of media manipulation. what you get is the real face of addiction... and it ain't pretty. and as the credits roll each week while the mellow and mournful "five steps" plays itself out yet again, you come to realize just how difficult it is for most addicts to ultimately say goodbye to their demons. yet despite the undeniably gloomy and fatalistic nature of intervention, the show remains surprisingly upbeat and uplifting at times. there is light at the end of the tunnel for some. there is slow and gradual progress for some. there is measured success against overwhelming odds for some. and i guess that's enough to keep me coming back for more.

"to the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world." - brandi snyder

written for his pop: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CuDqHtAR6L8

bang your head

somebody mentioned to me the other day that most of my "family" posts seem to focus on my seven-year-old daughter. fair enough. so what can i say then about my devilishly-cute two-year-old munchkin? well, let's see. she eats alot. she cries alot. she laughs alot. she's very possessive. she's very outgoing. she's very sneaky. oh, and she bumps her head alot. yes, that's right. she bumps her head alot. "how so?" you may be asking. well, there's really no other way of putting it. my two-year-old daughter accidentally knocks her head against mostly immovable objects on a fairly consistent basis. "how often?" you may be asking. uh... pretty much every few days or so. "and why is this?" you may be asking. uh... i'm not really sure. after all, it's not as though i encourage this sort of behaviour amongst my children. "and where does this occur?" you may be asking. well, let's investigate, shall we? today, in our underground parking garage, she banged her head on my car door after i had popped it open to let her in. she was staring at her miniature dora doll as she ambled towards my vehicle and before i knew it, her head had made contact with the hard, shiny side of my rear door. no harm done, but still. a few days ago, she was strolling through our condo lobby when suddenly, and for no apparent reason, she decided to close her eyes in a futile attempt to simulate blindness. within a few seconds, her head had made contact with the fibreglass palm tree adorning our entrance. and a few days before that, she was practising her backward saunter (foreshadowing) in the frozen food section at metro when, without warning, a clueless shopper decided to pry open one of those full-length freezer doors just as she was making a fly-by. predictably, her head made contact with the frosty glass pane, the section of the door, somewhat ironically, that she usually scribbles her happy faces on once the frost has had a chance to accumulate. and what is a doting father to make of all this highly imprudent and largely avoidable head trauma? uh...

in case you haven't noticed, i love a good pun: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJChh7ghGnE

so whatcha want

"don't you wanna do something else with your life, sir?" - anonymous

the nature of my job can be somewhat frustrating at times: i stand still while the rest of the world passes me by. by that i mean that the kids who come through the school are expected to put in their four years before presumably moving on to bigger and better things. i, however, am not afforded that opportunity... unless, of course, i ask for a transfer. but even if i ask for and receive a transfer, the nature of my job will simply follow me to my new assignment. that said, i rather enjoy my job. in fact, i can honestly say that i look forward to my gig just about each and every day of the week. and it is for the same reason that at times makes my job somewhat frustrating. you see, i take great satisfaction in watching the kids who come through the school move on to bigger and better things. to my mind at least, it almost seems to be the natural order of things. besides, i already had my kick at the can. now it's time to give somebody else a shot. and looking forward, i may have already met the next great fortune 500 ceo. i may have already met the next great canadian politician. i may have already met the next great human rights defender. i may have already met them all.

can't really complain: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JhQx7K2XZWc&feature=related

put me in, coach

my seven-year-old made her little league debut the other day, and i must say that her emotions leading up to the big game were rather surprising to me. normally seven does not express very much in the way of fear or apprehension, even when it is clear that she is fearful or apprehensive of impending circumstances. but in the hours before her t-ball season opener, seven openly admitted that she was nervous about playing in her first-ever organized sporting contest. "is there going to be another team there, dad?" she inquired. yes, of course, i replied. "but i don't think i'm ready to play against another team, dad." why not, i asked. "because we haven't practised enough. you were supposed to teach me how to catch a ball. you were supposed to teach me how to throw a ball. i don't think i wanna play." uh... i've tried to show you how to catch and throw many times. you've never shown much interest, i remarked. "but what if the other kids make fun of me?" you'll be fine, i assured her. of course, i wasn't really sure of that at all.

a few hours later, seven had taken up her perch in right field. it was the top of the first inning and she had yet to see any action up to that point in the match. suddenly a ball hit from an opposition bat was making its way towards her. seven steadied herself before bending over, snatching the ball, and then tossing a dart towards first base. the runner was safe by a foot or two but i and most of the other parents in attendance were absolutely shocked that someone had actually stopped a ball and thrown it to the proper base. good play, i shouted. seven started to beam. "good play, kid!" one of the other parents shouted. seven started to dance on the spot. a few batters later, another ball was hit in her direction and the results were the same. bend, catch, throw. this time one of the boys on seven's team tossed her a compliment. seven was really beaming now. ear to ear beaming. maybe she liked the boy. she likes just about every boy in her grade, but that's another post.

in the bottom half of the inning, seven had her first chance to show me if she had learned anything from our numerous batting lessons. she sheepishly stepped up to the tee and took her stance. as coach of the team, i stood behind her and gave her a few pointers as to where to position her hands and feet. ok, i said, now go ahead and hit. her first swing was strong and powerful, but unfortunately, the bat crashed against the rubber tee causing the ball to fall to the ground. her face dropped. i could see that seven was embarrassed. she looked at me with fear and apprehension. i didn't know what to say. a few seconds passed. i still didn't know what to say. "don't worry, baby. you can do it!' it was her mother, standing behind the backstop with our two-year-old in her arms. seven smiled. i lowered the tee slightly. yeah, you can do it, i whispered to her. this time, seven let loose with a mighty swing. and thankfully, i recognized the familiar crack of the bat making contact with the ball. the ball rolled firmly into left field. seven made her way to first base. my kid had just collected the first single of her t-ball career.

on the way home in the car, i asked my daughter if she had enjoyed herself that evening. "yeah, sure," she replied. "are the same boys gonna be there next week?"

"making the decision to have a child is momentous. it is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." - elizabeth stone

'nuff said: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbZDjnWtK1A

little spiteful balls of fur

ok, i must admit that "little spiteful balls of fur" is funny. in fact, i'm willing to publicly concede that rs is probably the funniest vegetarian i know. that said, his comments are still laced with countless factual errors requiring a hasty rebuttal. to wit:

one, i have owned both cats and dogs in my lifetime. and the cats i have owned were most certainly capable of reciprocating my love (although i'm not really sure why i want to confess to that in the first place.) it did take months, however, before i was finally able to persuade ms kitty that i was worthy of her loyalty and respect. kinda like a human being, rs. on the other hand, the dogs i have kept typically expressed their unconditional allegiance to me within fifteen minutes or so of returning home from the pet store. and right about the time that i grabbed a can opener and shouted "lunch." if that's what you call love, rover, then you can keep your hollow devotion.

two, as far as oddball pet owners are concerned, yes, i admit that over the years i have undoubtedly heard my fair share of "crazy cat lady" stories. but from a purely anecdotal point of view, i can certainly attest to the fact that my condo is absolutely crawling with shining examples of "crazy dog lady" stories, as well. take the wingnut on the 11th floor who talks to her bichon frise more than she talks to her neighbours. and when i say talk, i mean talk, baby. politics... current events... mortgage rates... you name it, she's chatted up fido about it. then there's the nutbar in the penthouse who likes to dress her pomeranian in the latest fashions before taking her out for a walk. i'm talking cardigan sweater, spotted short shorts and leather booties. if this lady is playing with a full deck, then deal me out.

three, i'm not really interested in the mutually symbiotic nature of man's ties to domesticated wolves, rs. 'cause the last time i checked, one of these species was still pack hunting for venison in the wild while the other was shopping solo for t-bones at metro.

and finally, when future generations of anthropologists look back on north american domestic life in the 21st century, they will undoubtedly be puzzled by the peculiar relationship between man and his so-called best friend. after all, my bff doesn't follow me around with a plastic bag on the off chance that i may have to perform nature's duties. who's crazy now, rs?

p.p.s. your defiance is just as pronounced en francais... kid.

it's raining cats and dogs

so are you a dog person or a cat person? because your answer says more about the type of person that you are than it does about the type of pet that you prefer. here's the 411 on canines. simply put, dogs are the slaves of the animal kingdom. and if you prefer dogs to cats, then you, my dear, are a slave master. how so? it's like this. dogs are ridiculously obedient. you tell them to roll over, they roll over. you tell them to fetch a stick, they fetch a stick. sit up. sit up. bark. bark. and why are dogs so accommodating? well, it's not because they actually like you. that's hardly the reason. no, instead, it's because you've got the one thing they're desperately looking for: lunch. promise a dog a juicy bone and he'll climb the himalayas for you. promise a dog a plateful of kibble and she'll cross the sahara for you. no food, no love. it's that simple. now cats, on the other hand, cats are a different breed altogether. cats are more like... more like... more like people. you have to earn their respect. you have to work for the admiration of our feline friends. tell a cat to roll over, and he'll tell you to take a hike. tell a cat to fetch a stick, and she'll tell you where you can put that stick. sit up. why? meow. you meow, asshole. cats have their own lives, and they're not easily distracted from their busy schedules. 9 am: late wake up. 10 am: morning nap. 12 noon: contemplate the existential nature of mankind. 1 pm: late lunch. 3 pm: stretch and exercise. 3:05 pm: afternoon nap. 5 pm: stare at owner. 7 pm: late supper. 8 pm: lie on warm tv and stare at owner some more. 10 pm: call it a day. so there you have it... a day in the life of a kitty cat. which means if you're looking to fill the void in their lives, you'd better have something special planned and it'd better be fun. otherwise, mr jinx may be "busy" that afternoon.

"eventually we all get our wings" - anonymous

once he was addicted to jane: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpkmtweNQ-U

long time, no see

if i run into more than one old friend a month, it's been an unusually busy month for me. so imagine my surprise when i managed to bump into not one but three old school chums this past sunday alone. one from high school. one from my undergrad days. and one from law school. now perhaps i'm over analyzing matters, but i've always been of the mindset that every word uttered by my former comrades during these little run-ins must necessarily come under intense scrutiny. you see, sometimes you gotta read between the lines a little if you wanna know what's what. to begin with, the initial greeting is typically the source of a great deal of vital information, and not all of it enunciated. for instance, over the years i've come to learn that "hey, i didn't recognize you" is a not-so-thinly-veiled euphemism for "you lost all your hair" or "you got fat" or "i never really knew you that well in the first place." meanwhile, pleasantries exchanged later on in the conversation can likewise yield just as much critical (albeit subliminal) data. "i heard you got married" is actually code for "i can't believe that someone agreed to spend the rest of her life with you." "so where are you living now?" really means "so how much dough are you earning these days?" "do you have any kids?" roughly translates as "you had sex?" and finally, "hey, we should really get together some time" is better understood as "i have no intention of ever speaking to you again following this conversation." ah, the good ol' days.

"we do not remember days; we remember moments." - cesare pavese

if only it were that simple: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-n1W6_L1ZOg

hangin' tough

wandering aimlessly through yorkdale mall the other day, i couldn't help but notice the multitudes of young males hangin' out by the food court trying on their best james dean impressions. they all seemed so fierce, so angry, so dissatisfied. they all seemed so tough. or so they wanted me to believe anyway. these suburban, cookie-cutter, wannabe punks are a dime-a-dozen in my 'hood these days, as more and more adolescent boys adopt the image of the mtv-inspired inner city thug. but how exactly does one acquire the requisite degree of street cred today when one hails from the mean streets of, say, forest hill village or lawrence park south? here then, as a public service to aspiring misanthropes and juvenile delinquents everywhere, is my primer on what not to do in pursuit of the eternal thug life. and so, without further ado, i now present the first annual "it's hard to look tough when..." series of recommendations for young men:

• it's hard to look tough when you're munching on a black diamond cheestring... especially one that's been peeled open in the shape of a palm tree
• it's hard to look tough when you're spotted napping on a sunday afternoon... in a hammock
• it's hard to look tough when you're riding shotgun in your mother's volvo hatchback... especially a volvo hatchback that's actually being driven by your mother at the time
• it's hard to look tough when you've chosen justin bieber's "baby" as your mobile ringtone
• it's hard to look tough when you're caught twirling one of those footlong strips of red licorice between bites
• it's hard to look tough when you're wearing your future shop name tag and the tag reads "sheldon"
• it's hard to look tough when you've got the hiccups
• and finally, it's hard to look tough once you've publicly admitted via the world wide web that you still have trouble with the doggy paddle after two years of phys ed classes... ahem

"those trying their best to look tough on the outside are the same ones trying their best not to feel frightened on the inside" - bffl circa 1984 (haven't heard from him in twenty years)

we should all try a little: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04il74pijpY

deep end

the smell of chlorine always takes me back to my memories of the public swimming pool at a.y. jackson s.s. in north york. it was there that i first encountered the now-familiar scent of chemically-treated water. my old man used to drag me to that pool every saturday morning for swim lessons just as i was entering elementary school. i never quite took to swimming though, or swim lessons, or my old man, for that matter. as pavlov would have predicted then, i slowly learned to associate the smell of chlorine with the rather unpleasant experience of being forced to participate in something against one's will. which makes it all the more ironic as this morning i found myself seated on a plastic chair at the local swimming pool breathing in chlorine while viewing my seven-year-old daughter begin her third round of formal swim lessons with the city. seven has "struggled" to find her comfort zone in the water thus far, and so i have found it increasingly difficult to attend her lessons as a spectator. maybe i passed on my "water-averse" gene to my eldest. maybe my eldest isn't crazy about swimming. or maybe my eldest just needed her twenty-first 30-minute lesson to finally believe in herself. because today something wonderful happened. today something miraculous took place. i had left the pool area for a few moments to get some fresh air. when i returned, i noticed a young girl on her back in the pool... stationary... and floating. as i slowly began to focus on the identity of the girl i noticed that she was wearing the same type of bathing suit that my daughter wore. the girl continued floating on her back for what seemed like an eternity... or at least ten seconds. and then it hit me. that was my kid. that was my kid floating on her back. somewhere between the starfish and the water tag and the marco polo, seven had learned how to float.

and suddenly the smell of chlorine doesn't seem all that bad anymore.

"success without happiness is not success." - anonymous

wherever i lay my hat: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cqg_ZGcuybs&feature=related

no reply at all

the purpose of communication is to convey information to an audience. in order to transmit information effectively then, the speaker or writer must be familiar with the specific nature of the audience to whom information is being conveyed. in that sense, information can be tailored to fit the distinctive whims or traits of the assembled onlookers. for example, when i speak to an audience of fifteen-year-old business students, i must shape my vocabulary and mannerisms in such a way so as to appeal to the particular mindset of that segment of the adolescent subculture. but when i speak to an audience of middle-aged soccer dads, my choice of language and gesticulation must necessarily take on an entirely different form. truth be told, in terms of these posts it's not so much that i know (or think i know) what my audience wants to read, but rather what they do not want to read. i am quick to admit then that my selection of subject matter and vernacular are purposefully directed towards a predetermined congregation.

and so, in response to your query, yes i do write my blog with an audience in mind (all 12 of them.) to suggest otherwise would be entirely disingenuous of me. if i weren't interested in appealing to an audience, i wouldn't click "publish post" at the conclusion of each of my entries. if i weren't interested in appealing to an audience, i could just as easily pick up a leather journal from chapters and jot down my thoughts anonymously inside the pages of a daily diary. a musician only becomes a recording artist when she chooses to be heard by the masses. an actress only becomes a performer when she chooses to be viewed by the masses. and a writer only becomes a blogger when she chooses to be read by the masses.

"it's not where you start that matters but rather where you finish that counts." - anonymous

not exactly the genesis classic but still: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hSH_f8gtrqw&feature=related

knees up

so i wore my favourite walking shorts to the job the other day for the first time this season. as i stood in front of the hallway mirror before heading off to work, i couldn't help but notice that something just didn't seem right. did i forget to iron my shorts? no. i'm too lazy to iron my shorts. did i forget to match my shorts to my polo top? no. i'm too stupid to match my shorts to my polo top. wait a minute. i know what's wrong. it's... it's my knees. my knees don't seem right. they seem... they seem funny. not funny ha-ha. funny... peculiar. funny... odd. oh my g-d! i know what's wrong now. living in a condo where the typical resident is somewhere around 102 years old means that i have learned a thing or two about the aging process. first and foremost among those lessons is that the skin around the knees of the elderly begins to droop and sag and wrinkle (and noticeably) as aging sets in. and now it appeared that my knees were finally starting to show their age. but what could i do? i already apply a generous portion of keri lotion to my knees every morning following a refreshing shower. and whenever necessary, i apply liberal doses of hydrocortisone cream to my knees to help fight the ravages of mild to moderate eczema. but this was serious. this was troubling. this was chronic. gulp. perhaps i would now be forced to resort to more extreme measures. hmmm. wait a minute. my mother recently visited her "physician" in order to discuss the possibility of "elective" surgery. apparently her "physician" comes highly recommended. not cheap, but highly recommended. maybe i should give him a ring. i'm already familiar with the ins and outs of the modern face lift. and the eye lift. and the forehead lift. but is there even a procedure available such as a knee lift? if not, i could make medical history. they could write about me in textbooks. i could become a folk hero to millions of highly disturbed seniors facing a lifetime of saggy knee issues. in the meantime, maybe there's a support group i could join. i know the ladies play bridge every thursday night in the building. i could ask them. miami beach, here i come.

"if only i knew then what i know now." - unknown

behold the eye of beauty: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YgsJQu1Gs0

win rocky, win

there is a truly inspiring moment in the first installment of the rocky franchise during the climactic fight scene when heavyweight champion apollo creed has just knocked out pugnacious challenger rocky balboa with what seems to be the deciding blow of the match. the camera lingers on the champ for a few seconds as a smile gradually forms on the face of the exhausted yet seemingly victorious title holder. suddenly the camera cuts to an image of the scrappy contender slowly pulling himself up off the canvas just as the referee reaches a count of ten. the fight will continue for another round. at that moment, the camera jumps back to the champion, but this time an expression of utter resignation begins to consume the nearly-spent incumbent. it's as if the champ has just concluded that no matter how much damage he inflicts upon the underdog balboa, he will never be able to put away the tenacious challenger.

i was reminded of that classic cinematic moment this afternoon when one of my charges asked me, somewhat pointedly, if i thought he would be able to compete against the others when he begins classes this fall at a rather prestigious canadian university. of course, you'll be able to compete. what a silly question. why wouldn't you be able to compete? i inquired. "well, i am the first person in my family to attend university," he responded. yeah, that's true, i suppose. but somebody in your family has to be the first to attend. so why not you? "yeah, i guess. but so many of them come from money. and so many of them have the connections that i will never have."

so what was i supposed to say? the truth is that money and connections do provide an unfair advantage in this society. but there was a factor that could still provide some balance in the equation. a factor that could help to tip the scales back in favour of my young charge. the factor? plain, old-fashioned determination. let me explain.

apollo creed eventually came to recognize that rocky balboa would never accept defeat as an option. and so, by the time rocky 3 had finally rolled around, apollo had learned to embrace the role of friend and mentor to the new champion. similarly, when you show them that you will never accept a role as a subordinate, they will eventually learn to embrace you as their equal. what choice do they have? they tried to vanquish you and they failed. like everyone else then, they still wish to maintain some measure of dignity and honour. in the face of your relentless perseverance, they will inevitably surrender to your firmness of conviction.

"knock me down and i'll get back up again. battered and bruised i may be, but never beaten. hit me with your best shot and i'll come back for more." - anonymous

whatever happened to ms. b?: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A4xBp2rizQ

my last top ten

top ten reasons why taking the bathurst bus may not always be the better way:

10. no prizes awarded for being the 873rd person to make contact with the handrail on any given day
9. because the height of the head of the average seated adult is identical to the height of the backpack on the average standing adolescent
8. penalty to number 17... complete and utter stranger... two minutes for elbowing... time of the penalty... 8:24 a.m.
7. for the record, no one likes getting drooled on by a strange dog or a strange baby
6. awkward run-ins with current students struggling with issues of "personal space"
5. because 23% of canadians are heavily overweight, and 42% of them use public transit, and 86% of them prefer sitting next to tall, lanky teachers
4. hey, if i can't enjoy a no. 3 combo plate with extra sweet and sour sauce from manchu wok anymore, then neither should the guy sitting across from me
3. because tag body spray for men smells so much better on someone who hasn't showered since saturday
2. three words: the throat clearer
1. staredowns with the criminally insane are better left for wide open spaces with plenty of escape options

"do everything in life once... and the fun things twice." - unknown

wouldn't it be nice: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SvsAqkOhI48

i'm scratchin' so much it's makin' me itch

how can we be out of q-tips? the last time i checked the bathroom cabinet, there were at least four boxes of 400 each down there. is this a prank? a sick joke? and now we were down to the last lonely few. i haven't purchased a new box of q-tips in more than two years. in fact, i distinctly recall the last time i scored a brand new box of brand name cotton swabs. there was a huge sale going down at the shoppers across the road. it was a saturday - the first day of the sale. it seemed like everything in the store was up for grabs. patrons were kicking and screaming just to get their hands on the few remaining discounted items in the joint. chaos and pandemonium reigned that day. shelves were laid bare that day. egos and elbows alike were bruised that day. but the q-tips display near the front entrance was hard to miss. and those little blue rectangular cardboard boxes were virtually calling out to me. one ninety-nine a pop! do my eyes (and ears) deceive me? one ninety-nine? quick. grab a dozen or so. how many little blue rectangular cardboard boxes can my 6' 6" wingspan carry? whatever i managed to get my arms around, the killjoy cashier working the register that weekend put me in my place when she smugly pointed out that the flyer distinctly referred to a four-box maximum. ok, so four boxes it was. i could live with that. let's do the math. four boxes at 400 ear scratchers apiece totalled... 1600 episodes of unbridled glee and merriment. of course, i failed to factor in my wife's penchant for using those tiny cotton gemstones in the application, blending, touch-up and removal of certain cosmetic wares. i, on the other hand, had my own selfish uses in store for my loyal cotton friends. do not insert swab into ear canal. entering the ear canal could cause injury. if used to clean ears, stroke swab gently around outer surface of the ear only. so folks were actually using those little guys to clean their ears? how could a q be used to clean an ear? as heretofore mentioned, i use them for one reason and one reason only: 'cause they feel so damn good! oh yeah. feel so good. thanks to the mighty q, the impossible-to-reach itch is no longer beyond the realm of scratching. avoid the ear canal? the impossible-to-reach itch is practically native to the human ear canal. and as long as i have ear canals, i am sending my little cotton buddies in there to work their magic. one of my doctors (and i've seen, maybe, forty or so in my lifetime, but i digress) once told me that i should never put anything smaller than a tree stump into my ear. i guess that was his not-so-humorous way of cautioning me to avoid the use of q-tips or products of that nature. bah, humbug. probably another medic who failed to finish at the top of his class.

"sometimes it is better to ask for forgiveness than for permission" - oise mentor

now that's fresh: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9SgvJY9xxcA

java nation

the logo resembles a crowned mermaid trapped inside a boston celtics cameo. 'cause whenever i think about overpriced coffee beans, the image of a mythical, legless sea creature/monarch immediately comes to mind. the mission statement reads: "to inspire and nurture the human spirit— one person, one cup, and one neighbourhood at a time." no, really. c'est vrai. i'm talking about starbucks, in case you were still wondering. starbucks: that staple of trendy suburban neighbourhoods everywhere. seductive blends. herbal infusions. full-bodied flavours. no, really. es verdad. javaheads always seem to wear their cardboard coffee cups like a badge. and their thermal coffee mugs like an olympic medal. in my neck of the woods, the ladies that do lunch are rarely seen without a caffe latte in one hand, a blackberry bold in the other, with two ugg-adorned kids and one overseas nanny in tow. words like pretentious and ostentatious come to mind. so you really prefer the taste of a roasted seed over, say, an ice-cold bottle of diet nestea? the taste of a brewed fruit pit over, say, a tall glass of low pulp oj? yeah, whatever.

"suum cuique" - cicero

you mean it isn't about me?: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQZmCJUSC6g


p.s. and then there were 17

"hey, you just dropped an easy pop up. you have no credibility, man." - unforgiving high school ballplayer

if we could be heroes just for one day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xdo5f_ozf6E

my first top ten

top ten signs it's too cold for after-school softball at bickford park:

10. wayward softball used by local children as undersized head in construction of impromptu snowman
9. shortstop's spittle curiously turns to ice before hitting the ground
8. lone homeless spectator decides to call it a day at 3:45
7. chattering teeth of middle-aged head coach suddenly begin breaking apart without warning
6. normally weather-conscious outfielding trio seen praying for rain in "lesser of two evils" scenario
5. trendy infielders forced to choose between cooper pro series full grain leather baseball mitt from sportchek or tna lamb's wool knit mittens from aritzia
4. practice momentarily interrupted as puzzled team members observe disoriented canada geese migrating southward overhead
3. pitchers offered gatorade-sweetened hot cocoa between innings
2. right fielder temporarily frozen in her cleats due to prolonged inactivity
1. even the softballs are shivering

shades of grey

the thief may grant thousands of dollars to the needy. the liar may utter words of encouragement to the perplexed. the abuser may afford comfort and empathy to the ill-treated. the point is that no one can be defined by a single word or phrase. people are complicated. people are layered. people are fluid. what is the true nature of an individual? do we judge another by his actions? and which actions? his most recent actions? his most consistent actions? or by his words? and which words? words spoken in jest? words spoken in anger? good people do bad things. and vice-versa. this life is a long road with many bumps and turns. circumstances present challenges. lessons are learned. consequences are varied. fairness is relative. clearly there are more questions than answers. somewhere it is written: judge not lest ye be judged. and yet we do. some are hypocritical. others are virtuous. all are sincere. or so i believe. but the question remains.

"oh, and always remember junior. do the right thing." - do the right thing (1989)

the final word goes to the boys from the queen city: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6F_A1Sr5584&feature=related

kid

smile. laugh. listen. hope. shout. cry. try. ask. answer. walk. run. plead. forgive. dance. sing. play. want. need. lose. win. care. smile.

"learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow." - albert einstein

write what you know: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAH-d4ULLaw

blow it out your ear

so my kid told me that i stunk of cigarette smoke when i walked through the door this evening. "you stink." uh... we were playing baseball in the rain. "no, you stink of cigarette smoke." cigarette smoke? are you sure? "yeah, i'm sure. you don't smoke now, do you, dad?" no, i don't smoke now, for christ's sake. do you really think i would start smoking at 41? on a wednesday? in the middle of the afternoon? "then why do you stink of cigarette smoke?" uh... i dunno. unless... unless it was the cigarette smoke coming from the car in front of me on spadina. i was waiting for the light at spadina and eglinton again. i could smell the smoke coming through the vents. it was really strong. i certainly noticed it at the time. i was stuck behind that car for what seemed like an eternity. the driver was hanging her still-smouldering ciggy out the window. i remember swearing at her to put her g-ddam hand back inside her g-ddam window. but she didn't hear me. i think my windows were up. truth be told, i cannot stand smokers. seriously, they really, really annoy me. for one, smokers are stupid. damn stupid. if i asked you to set alight more than 4000 chemicals and then proceed to ingest the residue into your lungs, you would probably tell me to take a hike. but smokers do this every day of their lives. and they even pay for the privilege of doing so. for another, smokers are rude. damn rude. smokers knowingly and willingly foul the air that the rest of us are forced to breathe in. second-hand smoke is known to cause cancer. second-hand smoke is known to contain carbon monoxide and other poisons. second-hand smoke causes irritation of the eyes, nose and throat. second-hand smoke causes headaches, coughing and dizziness. second-hand smoke is especially dangerous to children, pregnant women and the elderly. and yet, smokers continue to puff away without even a hint of concern for the health or safety of their fellow man. that is just plain rude. and for another, smokers are liars. damn liars. take the mean old lady across the hallway who's been bothering my family with her cigarette smoke for almost two years now. in the beginning, she denied that she was a smoker. then she told us that she had quit. then she claimed that she only smoked on her balcony. then she said that she was on the "patch." lies, lies, lies. grandma smokes just as much today as she did when she first arrived on the floor. hey, as a libertarian i don't really mind if someone engages in self-destructive behaviour, just as long as they do so within the closed confines of their own personal space. but when someone's self-destructive behaviour begins to interfere with the satisfaction and enjoyment of my life, that's where i draw the line. look, you wanna kill yourself with nasty carcinogens and toxic chemicals, be my guest. just don't blow your filthy poison into my face, capiche? haven't you looked in the mirror lately, smoker? you stink. your clothes stink. your teeth are yellow. your fingers are yellow. you don't look cool. you don't look mature. you don't impress anyone with your technique. you're weak. you're pathetic. you are a nuisance.

now that is judgmental.

"one thousand americans stop smoking every day... by dying." - unknown

step off, man... just step off: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F-CDzDpSdzY

the big picture

i watched a debate on "the hour" last night concerning the existence of g-d and the need amongst humans to believe in something. and it reminded me of that year-long stretch around my seventeenth birthday, affectionately referred to as my "blue period," when i spent a considerable amount of time contemplating my place in the universe and similar questions of an existential nature. and where exactly did my blue period lead to, you may ask? why, nowhere, of course. because that's ultimately where all questions of an existential nature must lead. for the answer, my friends, is not meant to be discovered. not in our lifetimes, anyway. why are we here? what is the meaning of life? is there something waiting for us on the other side? ah, who the hell knows. and more importantly, who the hell cares. here's what i do know. some of us will win. some of us will lose. some of us will prosper. some of us will suffer. most of us will experience joy and sorrow and satisfaction and frustration at various intervals throughout our lifetimes. but in the end, this game we all play is just one big crap shoot. one giant roulette wheel. and where she stops, nobody knows. so i gave up on thinking, thinking about the bigger picture that is, right around the time of my eighteenth birthday. and i was never happier than on the day i realized that the answer i was looking for lies far beyond the realm of human comprehension. tomorrow will come. and i should be thankful for one more sunrise. and what i make of tomorrow is up to me. is there a hand up there stirring the pot and keeping on eye on things down here? maybe. but that hand will have no say in what i choose to wear for the day. or how i prepare for my first period class. or any of the other myriad decisions i'm forced to make over the next twenty-four hours. and if tomorrow turns out to be my last kick at the can, i would rather not know of that fact in advance. besides, what would i gain with that foresight in hand? would i really live my life any differently armed with the knowledge of my ultimate expiry date? nah. and until that day comes, i would prefer to see the smaller picture anyway.

"uh, we need someone to come to our school and talk to the kids about how to tie a tie." - anonymous grade 12 student

and yet he named his firstborn after a fleshy fruit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAME8GDRTfI

not the froot loops

so whether it was a violent case of the stomach flu or a violent bout of food poisoning, i get the message. loud and clear. i have to change my diet. and pronto. but am i really prepared to give up the foods i've grown up on? the foods i've grown accustomed to? the foods i've grown attached to? hey man, i love those foods. i mean, i seriously love those foods. but alas, all good things must inevitably come to an end. and so, regretfully, i must bid thee all a fond farewell. (sigh) goodbye pizza pops. goodbye japanese noodles-in-a-cup. (sniff) goodbye boston cream donuts. goodbye no. 3 combo plate with extra sweet and sour sauce from manchu wok. (sniff) goodbye doritos. goodbye hostess ding dongs. goodbye fruitopia strawberry passion. (sniff, sniff) goodbye fries and gravy. goodbye ice cream sandwiches. goodbye froot loops. (sniff) goodbye vietnamese subs. goodbye fudgee-os. goodbye bk onion rings. (sniff) goodbye chunky chicken soup. goodbye twix candy bars. goodbye jamaican beef patties. (sniff) goodbye sausage and egg mcmuffins. goodbye hash browns. goodbye filet-o-fishes. goodbye junior mc... mc... mcchickens. (sniff, sniff, sniff) parting is such sweet sorrow. perhaps one day we shall be together again.

"well, on the bright side, i suppose flintstones vitamins kinda taste a bit like candy." - reassuring soul

requiem for a lost soul: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pBo-GL9SRg

a day in the er

an afternoon in the er allows one an opportunity to reflect on some of the finer points of ontario's health care system:

• as catholicism is to the vatican, "proper hand hygiene" is to the er
• hospital gowns should come with instructions
• just because your doctor graduated from medical school doesn't mean that he graduated at the top of his class
• hospital gurneys were not designed by someone born to a mother and father standing 5'8" and 6'3" respectively
• moaning brings orderlies; crying brings nurses; screaming brings residents; threats of a lawsuit bring attending physicians
• bedpans are colder than they look
• insertion of iv needle... painful; insertion of blood work needle... more painful; removal of medical tape from hairy forearm holding iv needle in place... hell on earth
• hopping on a bus sporting a hospital bracelet and blood-soaked cotton ball typically permits the passenger a wide berth
• and finally... no one likes a smart ass in the er (sorry)

"life expectancy would grow by leaps and bounds if green vegetables smelled as good as bacon." - doug larson

'cause you never know: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qFIaI1M5kU

big leagues

so there i was trying to show my seven-year-old daughter how to throw a baseball for, like, the thousandth time. this has been going on for more than two years now. and this afternoon was no different. as i have done numerous times in the past, today i went over the mechanics of throwing a baseball with her again and again. where to position your feet. how to rotate your arm. when to release the ball. but once again, my efforts met with complete and utter failure. and so, once again, i became frustrated and dismayed. but when i told a certain someone later that afternoon about my ordeal, she replied with a rather interesting remark. "uh, maybe she doesn't like sports." (extended pause) what? my daughter doesn't like sports? how is that possible? she is, after all, at least partly the result of my genetic wonderland. and i love sports. all sports... except maybe soccer. i play sports. i watch sports. i coach sports. i live sports. i breathe sports. i die sports. when the montreal canadiens were winning stanley cup after stanley cup in the late 70's, i was there for the entire ride. it was lafleur and gainey and robinson and shutt and lemaire and dryden and me. and when the toronto blue jays were winning world series after world series in the early 90's, i was there for the entire ride, as well. it was alomar and carter and olerud and hentgen and borders and white and me. doesn't like sports? but sports are enjoyable. and exhilarating. and satisfying. and most importantly, i like sports. so how can she not like them? "well, do you like ballet?" not particularly. "because she does."

"tomorrow i'll be perfect" - anonymous

ok, but you still can't have the keys to the honda: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etundhQa724&feature=related

insomnia

the little clock in the corner of the screen says 3:14 so i know it must be late. or early. and once again i can't sleep. i can hear seven snoring from the other room. not as loudly as my old man used to snore, but pretty impressive for a seven-year-old nonetheless. due to the warm temps, the living room window is slightly ajar so i can hear the noise from street level. a gaggle of hasidim just strolled by on their way home from synagogue. heck, even the hasidim enjoy a better social life that i do. meanwhile, the automatic air freshener that sits on the bookcase to the right of the tv stand keeps blasting a trail of jasmine (or is it hyacinth?) into the ether. is it really necessary that my living space smell like the ladies' room at the four seasons? not that i would know, but i can imagine. just like i can imagine downing another buttered bagel from the tim hortons across the street. that bagel was my first taste of solid food in three days and it was good. damn good. i suppose it's true that you never really learn to appreciate something (or someone) until you're forced to live without it for awhile. elsewhere, i think the family and i will head down to high park once the sun rises. maybe even take in the zoo. ok, so it's the worst zoo known to mankind but at least it's free. and the animals don't seem to mind the company. whenever i visit, the furry things on display always seem so surprised that anyone would actually take the time to come out and tour such a crappy zoo. in fact, the last time i was there i could have sworn that one of the sheep even mouthed the words "thank you and please come again" as i was leaving. funny sheep.

"what the day giveth, the night taketh away." - anonymous

this should do the trick: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oOHQs405XcU