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.

gee your hair smells terrific

so i'm seated on the bathurst 7 northbound this afternoon, and i've got my two-year-old asleep in (on?) my lap, and i can't move an inch because as i've just stated, i've got my two-year-old, my 36-pound two-year-old, asleep in (on?) my lap. and i'm hunkered down in a chair with my back to the window, near the rear of the bus. and at that very moment, a woman sits down in the chair in front of me and to my right. her seat is facing the front of the bus. while my seat is perpendicular to her seat. which means that her back is facing my side. my right side.

and so, at this stage, you might be asking yourself, uh, so, what's the point? well, the point is this: the woman who took that seat to my right just happened to be endowed with perhaps the most voluminous head of hair this reporter has ever seen. and when i say voluminous, i mean voluminous, baby. talk about your wall of hair. this woman had hair to spare. it was long, it was frizzy, it was jagged. it was also obvious that it had been dyed recently, as the hue was certainly something unknown to mankind. but most importantly, it was touching my right shoulder. yes, that's right. you heard me correctly. her hair was touching my right shoulder.

now make no mistake... i am no germaphobe. i don't wear rubber gloves in the kitchen. i don't scrub my hands 82 times a day. i don't own shares in purell's parent company. why, i still enjoy the occasional sneeze into my cupped hands every now and again. but at the same time, her hair was touching my shoulder. my shoulder. her hair. on my shoulder. shoulder.

and so, at this stage, you might still be asking yourself, uh, so, what's the point? well, the point is this: i had a 36-pound baby in (on?) my lap. a sleeping 36-pound baby. i couldn't move an inch. hell, i could barely feel my legs. and all the while, the woman to my right had unintentionally draped her hair over my right shoulder.

it's a miracle i lived to talk about it.

"why'd i cut my hair? well, it is easier to wash now." - anonymous

hair bands once ruled the earth... like the dinosaur

what's a girl to believe

if you think about, it's a miracle that anyone can make it through a lifetime with even a hint of sanity left inside. 'cause if you think about it, as i often do, the amount of advice and guidance unloaded on vulnerable minds, like my daughter's, is probably more than most can bear. and so, i am left to wonder, how can anyone sort through all of that information and come to a sensible conclusion as to who to believe and who to dismiss?

in my daughter's case, i know that i have probably spent the better part of the last four years, from the time she could speak, providing her with some of the hard lessons that life has taught me. sometimes i am blunt, sometimes i am guarded in my delivery. the problem, of course, is that her mother has also spent the last four years doing the same, as have her grandparents, her teachers, her friends, and many others. and so, once again, i am left to wonder, how can anyone sort through all of that information and come to a sensible conclusion as to who to believe and who to dismiss?

in the end, i suppose it will be my daughter's decision as to the direction she takes over the course of her lifetime. but i still struggle with the approach i have taken thus far in terms of her upbringing. sometimes i wish i could jump ahead fifteen years into her future and view the fruits of my labour. then i could take what i have learned, crawl back into my time machine, and mend my ways for the benefit of her development. but even then, i would still represent only one solitary voice in the overall promotion of her character. and so, once again, i am left to wonder, how can anyone sort through all of that information and come to a sensible conclusion as to who to believe and who to dismiss? i know i can't.

"hey, i did my best, kid." - anonymous

ladies and gentlemen, pearl jam

definition of happiness

finding the one song that brings back the sweetest memories

sometimes the truth is so obvious

"be an opener of doors for such as come after thee.” - ralph waldo emerson

i'd rather have too much on my plate than too much time on my hands. 'cause when i'm busy, and i'm doing something i love, i don't really feel busy at all. i feel productive. and as the days grow shorter with each passing day, i feel like i'm slowly getting back into the swing of things. this past summer was a long one for me. so much happened. yet i accomplished so little. of use, that is.

but today, for the first time in a long time, i could sense progress. like the effort was finally starting to pay off. like the effort was finally starting to lead to good results. i may not have said this before, but these days i measure my progress by the progress of others. and today i sensed real progress in others. again and again and again.

"don't wait until everything is just right. it will never be perfect. there will always be challenges, obstacles and less than perfect conditions. so what. get started now. with each step you take, you will grow stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self-confident and more and more successful.” - mark victor hansen

exhale

here fishy fishy

sardines in a can. mmmm. tastes good. smells bad.

of course, you can't really argue with the health benefits of sardines. especially when they're bathed in spring water, like the ones i normally purchase. they are, after all, a good source of iron, calcium and omega-3 polyunsaturates. not to mention an excellent source of protein, vitamin d and selenium. yes, selenium. whatever the hell that is.

but did i mention the smell? for it has been duly noted that the smell of sardines can be a tad off-putting to some. well, to all, to be more precise. even to those who actually enjoy the occasional container of oily, headless fish.

so here's the thing. when you finally muster up the courage to dig into a can of sardines, you have to keep one thing in mind. the moment one of those bite-sized aquatic vertebrates makes contact with the outside world, be it your counter top or your kitchen table or even the plate on which you serve them, you're in for a rough ride. how come? because once the distinctive odour of a sardine attaches itself to an item in your home, there ain't nothing, and i mean nothing, that is going to obliterate that odour. not windex, not ajax, not even the most powerful scouring pad on the planet is going to make a difference at that point. uh-uh. cause once it's on, oh it's on, baby.

and i should know. because about three weeks ago, i made the grievous error of spilling a little sardine juice onto my living room carpet. the upshot? three weeks and twelve s.o.s. pads later, i can still detect the nerve gas-like stench of sardines the moment i step off the elevator on my floor. that, my dear, is one powerful fish in a can.

so what's a single-minded sardine aficionado to do? simple? you just have to play by the rules if you want to win this war.

rule one, avoid the good silverware when handling sardines. i find that plastic cutlery works just as well and because it's also disposable, you can remove any evidence of the salty pilchard with one simple trip to the garbage chute. ignore this rule and your dinner guests will be commenting on the mysterious odour emanating from their fork or knife for years to come.

rule two, better to place the can on several layers of tissues or napkins while snacking on the silvery side dish. that way, in the event of spillage, you've already created a buffer zone between the wayward gill-breather and your eating surface.

and finally, rule three, whenever possible, endeavour to ingest your cold-blooded neighbours in the absence of your fellow warm-blooded compatriots. that is to say, make every effort to dine alone. focus is key when attempting to devour the slippery sardine species so do your best to keep any distractions to a minimum. after all, the last thing you need is a chunk of dead aqua life surreptitiously sneaking its way onto your floor. personally i prefer retiring to my bedroom with canned fish in hand so that i can enjoy a little peace and quiet while i concentrate on my dining technique. but that's just me.

that's not an extended 12" mix, that's a broken record

maybe

as some of you already know, i've tried to encourage my eldest to participate in a variety of sports since she was barely a tadpole. so far i've tried baseball and basketball and soccer and tennis. hell, i've even tried golf once. but she just never seemed to take to any of those sports. those sports closest to my heart. she just never seemed to take any joy from them. and so, despite my best efforts, my sincerest efforts, she would always find one reason or another to beg out of practice early. to take a breather. to take a short rest. a short rest that would inevitably extend into hours. yet being the eternal optimist that i am, i never lost hope.

and then, earlier today, something magical unfolded at the park around the corner from my place. but first, a little background information. this morning at the breakfast table, my daughter informed me that she was interested in joining her school's cross country team. they have a cross country team for seven-year-olds at your school?, i asked. yes, she responded, and for eight-year-olds and nine-year-olds and ten-year-olds, too. she then inquired as to whether i could help her train for the try-outs scheduled for tomorrow at 8 a.m. uh, yeah, i blurted out, barely able to contain my enthusiasm.

and so, when i arrived home from work today, i told the kid to grab her sweats and sneakers and follow me to the aforementioned park around the block. to help you visualize the setting, you must imagine a tiny soccer pitch located on the property surrounded by a swath of small maple trees. once our stretching and warm-up exercises were completed, i went over the basics of running with her. you know, how to hold your head, how to position your arms, how to breathe, all that jazz. and then it was time to see her stuff.

i drew an invisible starting line in the dirt, told her to take her mark, and she was off. and you know what? with g-d as my witness, the kid can run. why, following her first circuit around the makeshift track, she was barely winded. i, on the other hand, was practically hyperventilating with excitement. and what's more, she even seemed to be enjoying herself, going so far as to suggest that she was actually having fun. do you wanna go for another spin?, i proposed. and before i knew it, she had already begun galloping around the ad hoc course for another go.

and here's the thing. normally when i try to introduce a new sport to my daughter, she responds with moderate to severe hesitation and stubbornness. but today, every time i attempted to show my daughter how to increase her stride or prolong her endurance, she seemed genuinely interested in what i was offering.

and as we finally left for home late this afternoon, i tried to explain to my child that a try-out meant some of the kids who wanted to join the team might not actually be selected to the squad. but quite frankly, the kid didn't seem too fazed by that caveat either. she even requested that i help her train again, tomorrow after school. but what if you don't make the team?, i posed to her delicately. so what?, she replied.

"any kid will run any errand for you if you ask at bedtime." - red skelton

somebody once asked, "could i spare some change for gas? i need to get myself away from this place."



p.s. she did play ball, and she was good, but she didn't love it. i did.

p.p.s. and by the way, she made the team.

the shakes

oh, schnizzle. i knew this would happen eventually. my first craving. for salt, that is. it's been five weeks now. without salt, that is. i mean, i'm sure i've ingested a pinch or two of sodium here and there over the past five weeks. but nothing of any significance. and certainly nothing with any flavour. the flavour of salt. like the flavour of potato chips. and french fries. and chunky chicken soup. and frozen mushroom pizza. i'm talking 300% of one's recommended daily intake of sodium here. the salt that satisfies. the salt one can taste. it started about thirty minutes ago. first i could see the salt. then i could smell the salt. and finally i could taste the salt. yes, right now, as i am typing, i can actually taste the salt. mostly i am envisioning potato chips. tiny bite-sized potato chips dancing about my brain. it's been five weeks after all. and i certainly miss my old friends. like any loyal friend would. but for the most part, i haven't really thought about them too much. until now, that is. i'm reminded of my pregnant wife. and the ice cream. the midnight ice cream run during her first pregnancy. she said it was beyond her control. and i'm reminded of our childhood cat. hollywood. because my brother had a thing for the west coast. and hollywood had a thing for our hands. the salt of our hands. quick. i need a distraction. how about the blog? yes, the blog may just suffice. breathe. breathe. type. type. what about the window? what about the stars? the stars in the night sky. pretty, yes. but do they possess the necessary pull? and do i possess the necessary degree of self-control? time will tell.

thank g-d for f5

analogy

about six years ago this week, i suffered a serious back injury that caused me to miss the first eight weeks of school. those of you who know me understand that i tend not to take too many days off due to illness, so obviously this was no ordinary back injury.

what happened? while moving a window air conditioning unit, i somehow managed to herniate four discs in my lower spine. as a result, i was unable to straighten my back for the better part of two months.

i'm sure you've seen those unfortunate, mostly elderly persons bent over at an almost 90 degree angle as they struggle to make their way down the street. well, six years ago, that unfortunate elderly person was me.

accordingly, i was left a near invalid as i could not stand upright for more than a second or two without experiencing excruciating pain. it was almost comical, to be frank. a grown man forced to lie on his back while the sand slipped through the hourglass day after day after day. in fact, the only time i had occasion to rise to my feet during that dark stretch was to frequent the facilities or to take an occasional bath, with a visit or two to my doctor's office thrown in for good measure. but mostly i just sat on my couch with my feet up and grimaced.

similarly, today i spent the entire day cooped up indoors tending to my sick child. she has a mild temperature and so i decided to keep her inside until her fever runs its course. and because my wife spent the day volunteering at the local film festival, i have yet to taste the fresh air as of 8:39 this evening. i'm not complaining, mind you, but rather just pointing out what i've been up to for the past 12 hours or so.

and so, as i sat on my couch watching my sixth episode of "the backyardigans" this afternoon, i couldn't help but recall that eight-week blue period back in the day. that eight-week spell when i remained shuttered within my home practically every moment of the day due to my injury.

but more importantly, i recall that saturday morning in late october nearly six years ago when i stepped outside on a cool, breezy day and took my first tentative steps towards my rehabilitation. that was the first time i had enjoyed a leisurely stroll since my accident, and i distinctly recall the feeling of complete and utter satisfaction that washed over me as i shuffled my way up and down my street. and the feeling of complete and utter exuberance that enveloped me as i took in all the sights and sounds of my neighbourhood once again.

the point to all this? the other day i met with some truly extraordinary individuals and tried to explain why it is so important to accomplish as many things as possible within our limited run here on earth. i should have simply told them this story.

so trite that it hardly bears repeating



p.s. i did try acupuncture. and physiotherapy. and a chiropractor. and meditation. nothing worked. except time.

best line of the day

teacher: where were you yesterday?

student: at a laws conference.

teacher: did they feed you, at least?

student: yes, as a matter of fact, they did.

teacher: really? hot or cold?

student: both.

teacher: oh, yeah? what was the hot dish?

student: uh, toast.


memories of summers past at jackson's point

we to me

the other day i came home only to find that my daughters were at each other's throats once again. i say "once again" because this has become a fairly regular occurrence around these parts in recent months. what were they fighting about? um, does it really matter? they're sisters. they fight about anything and everything. big stuff and little stuff. important stuff and trivial stuff. you name it, they fight over it.

truth be told though, i was beginning to get a little worried about all of the squabbling of late. after all, the two treated each other with utmost respect and admiration (sort of) up until about six months ago or so. then everything started to change. and fast. i think it may have had something to do with two's sudden ability to verbalize her feelings. and especially her sudden ability to verbalize the word "mine." i mean, what is it about siblings and possessiveness? when did everything suddenly go from a "we" to a "me"?

(editor's note: what the hell is happening on "the vampire diaries" right now? i hear some pretty disturbing sounds going down just behind me.)

now you may have noticed that i said "i was beginning to get a little worried" in the preceding paragraph. the reason i used the past tense is due to the fact that on monday night, i caught the debut episode of the classic family sitcom "the cosby show" on cts. in the premiere episode, mother huxtable laments the fact that her children always seem to be at each other's throats. sounds familiar? hmmm.

and so, thanks to one of the most popular television comedies of all time, my mind was put at ease, at least somewhat. at least temporarily. funny how seeing one's problems reflected in the lives of others puts it all in perspective, huh?

"sisters are different flowers from the same garden." - author unknown

on and on and on and on

this, too, shall pass

something i read yesterday left me a little upset. it was written by one of my former students and it seemed to indicate that he was having a difficult time adjusting to life at his new university. i was a little disturbed by the news because over the course of the past year i was certainly guilty of encouraging this former student to attend that particular institution.

on my first day of law school, i couldn't have felt more out of place. i was surrounded by what i assumed were some of the brightest minds in the country. after all, more than a quarter of the first-years seated about me were from out-of-province. and based on my research, the law school i was attending had attracted some of the highest gpa and lsat scores in the land. on top of that, i was one of the youngest kids in my class as i had entered law school after only three years of undergraduate studies. in fact, many of my fellow classmates were in their thirties and forties, the result of a decision to return to school after years spent in other careers like accounting and engineering. quite frankly, i was out of my element. i just didn't belong in that crowd.

i remember walking out in the middle of a contracts class during my first week of school. i proceeded to wander throughout the larger campus for the next hour or so. my mind was racing. i distinctly recall crouching down at one point like a back catcher and rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. i think i may have been suffering a panic attack. i was sweating profusely even though it was a cool september day. eventually i decided to take the rest of the day off.

over the next few months, there were several recurrences of these episodes. each one ended with me hopping into my vehicle and heading back to the relative comfort and security of my home.

but then one morning, i believe it was sometime in november or december, i was sitting in class when one of my more ostentatious classmates raised his hand in order to respond to a question from the professor. now this fellow had already established quite the reputation for delivering highly articulate and enlightened responses. but when he'd finally finished delivering his lengthy oratory, the professor furrowed her brow before remarking rather pointedly: "will fifty words ever satisfy when a mere five will typically suffice? anyone else care to comment?"

the room remained silent for several seconds. no one uttered so much as a whisper. looking around the windowless classroom, it suddenly occurred to me that the professor's harsh rebuke had actually had the effect of intimidating the formerly outspoken and intrepid members of my first-year cohort. feeling emboldened by this inaugural sign of weakness on the part of my classmates, i elected to raise my hand. after all, what could i possibly lose at that point? nothing could be worse than the public shaming suffered only moments earlier by my learned friend in the front row. i limited my response to five or six words, as per the instructor's request. my reply was hardly spectacular. but it impressed the instructor enough for her to comment that i had aptly demonstrated the point she had been trying to make. and more importantly, it gave me the confidence to stick it out for another day.

eventually, another day turned into another week. and another week turned into another month. and by the end of my first year, i felt very much at home in my new law school.

so you see, while i cannot provide any absolute assurances to you, i can say that at least in the case of my own post-secondary experience, time was ultimately the most significant factor.

"time heals griefs and quarrels, for we change and are no longer the same persons.” - blaise pascal

plum-bing the depths of my soul

during an early episode of seinfeld, cosmo kramer purchases a peach from a local grocer only to discover that his fuzzy little snack has somehow gone bad. but when the goofy sidekick tries to return the fruit for a full refund, he is advised by the unimpressed produce vendor that only g-d should be held accountable for the not-so-tasty treat.

i was reminded of that classic sitcom staple late this afternoon when i bit into one of six red and black plums that i had picked up earlier in the week from a nearby metro. what is this? i don't taste a thing. could i be coming down with a cold? funny, i don't feel ill. maybe i should take another bite. yup. i was right. this is one bad plum.

at that point, i decided to grab another plum from the plastic baggie in my refrigerator. this time i elected to go with a black plum, unlike the first plum which had been of the red variety. once again, i bit in. oh, no. not again. two in a row? what are the odds? lemme make sure. yup. i was right. this is also one bad plum.

so i returned to my kitchen and retrieved the third plum from the aforementioned plastic baggie. the result? one more bite. one more bad plum. then i grabbed the fourth plum and took a nibble. the verdict? four for four, if you can believe it.

at that moment, i noticed my seven-year-old meandering aimlessly through our adjoining living room, so i grabbed the kid and begged her to take a bite of the fifth plum in order to confirm my suspicions.

kid: no!

adult: c'mon! take a bite!

kid: no! i don't like peaches!

adult: they're not peaches! they're plums!

kid: i don't care! i don't like plums either!

adult: c'mon! take a bite!

kid: no!

adult: i said take a bite!

kid: i said no!

adult: c'mon! they're good for you!

kid: no!

adult: please.

kid: no.

adult: c'mon! just one bite!

kid: mom! daddy's forcing me to eat fruit!

with only one remaining unscathed plum in my possession, i debated whether i should return to metro with evidence in hand and request a refund or chow down in a last, desperate attempt at redemption. my decision? bon appetit. and the final score? take a guess.

that is one fresh old school jam

five years of your life

i remember the first day of high school and thinking to myself that i wanted to go home. and i remember the day i got into a scuffle with some punk who was blocking the front doors. and i remember the day a simple burst of laughter from a.s. spared me what could have been the most embarrassing day of my life. and i remember the day some non-french kid named guy introduced me to the music of duran duran. and i remember the day r.p. broke my finger with a single kick while playing foot hockey in the courtyard. and i remember the day i worked security detail at the school fashion show. and i remember the day i drove my mother's car to school for the first (and last) time. and i remember the day mr. e told the story of how he flunked out of college because he fell in love with a girl. and i remember the day i mastered the art of the hacky-sack in the back field. and i remember the day everyone in school was informed that one of our classmates had died of cancer. and i remember the day i wore my first ocean pacific t-shirt to class and how cool i felt. and i remember the day d.b. threatened to kill my friends and me if we ever bothered him again. and i remember the day my father and i drove through a raging snowstorm to attend my brother's basketball game in barrie. and i remember the day l.b. spent the better part of an hour trying to convince me that pink floyd was musically superior to duran duran. and i remember the day some punk in phys ed class deliberately tossed a basketball at my head. and i remember the day local band the spoons put on a concert for the ages in our school gymnasium. and i remember the day i spotted my girlfriend walking home with another guy. and i remember the day i learned that i had been accepted at western.

but i don't remember much else.

"so what do you want to do with the rest of your life?" - high school guidance counsellor

look who's talking

am i the only person in the world that has trouble carrying on a conversation using facebook chat?

now let me be clear before i begin. i have probably engaged in fewer than a dozen fb chats in my lifetime. the first time, something popped up on my screen and literally scared the crap out of me. then i noticed a familiar name at the top of the window and i realized that someone was inviting me into a conversation.

so here's the problem. i simply cannot type fast enough to engage in a real-time i.m. exchange with another human being. let's say i just received an invitation to chat via one of those pop-up notifications on facebook. hey, what's up? so i respond with a clever retort. uh, not much. and you? next comes the actual conversation. so how's your summer been so far? now typically i will spend thirty seconds or so typing my response, even a brief one. but while i'm putting the finishing touches on my reply, my fb friend has likely come to the conclusion that i have nothing more to say and takes the opportunity to deliver a follow-up message. but, of course, i was still typing my response to his/her original query. so now i have to delete the initial response i was working on and begin anew. eventually i press "enter" and send my communique. but while i was pressing "enter", my friend has already fired off a further dispatch. so now our conversational pattern is entirely out of whack. it's as if i am consistently one step behind my chat partner in terms of this ugly dance. and those tiny icons to the right of my friend's name in the conversation window are of no help either. i mean, doesn't the caption icon mean that my fb pal is busy keying in a message? but when the caption icon disappears from his/her name and i begin typing my comment, another line of dialogue will suddenly appear and it's back to the drawing board for me. ugh.

oh, how i miss the telephone.

"to effectively communicate, we must realize that we are all different in the way we perceive the world and use this understanding as a guide to our communication with others.” - anthony robbins

my favorite band for about five seconds in the mid-eighties:


p.s. glad to be back. i missed all the noise.

woe is the unemployed philosopher resigned to contemplate the existential nature of mankind

oh, i almost forgot. on my way back to toronto last tuesday, riding the go train from burlington, i found myself surrounded by several dozen fellow travellers. the kid, meanwhile, was under the spell of the brothers mario on her dsi. and so i did what any slightly bored and mildly curious commuter would do in my position - i eavesdropped. here's what i learned:

the father and son duo seated in front of me were heading to the cne from oakville. they spoke about hockey mostly. the boy was an avid follower of the tampa bay lightning. he went on at length about vincent lecavalier's recent surgery. the father, on the other hand, was a lifelong montreal canadiens' supporter. there seemed to be a hint of unease between the two. now i wasn't sure of the reason for this tension, but at one point, the boy said something about his mother to which his father replied rather angrily.

to my right sat four teenagers, also from oakville. they were on their way to the big city for a house party hosted by someone's cousin. moreover, each was getting ready to begin university the following week. one of the teens was heading off to queen's. (hey, that rhymed.) she spoke about her old man helping to move furniture into her new apartment on campus. the others seemed jealous. i think it was because she had her own room, if that's possible.

and seated behind me was a woman in her late twenties or early thirties. she never identified her hometown. for almost the entire duration of the train ride, she spoke on her cell to a woman named sharon. or was it susan? (it's been almost a week since my trip.) in any event, the one thing that stood out in her conversation was the number of times she said "really." i mean, she really, really, really liked to use the word "really." the only other detail i can recall at this late hour is the prevailing subject matter of her chat - namely, her boyfriend. apparently she doesn't think their relationship will survive the summer. oh well, summer's almost up, so here's hoping.

the point to all this? simple. midway through my train ride from burlington to toronto last tuesday, i had another one of those odd existential moments. you know, when you suddenly begin to question your reason for being.

as you may recall, the last time i slipped into a cauldron of middle-aged angst, i was enjoying a scrumptious plate of chicken tenders and potato wedges at my local fortino's (not anymore, kids). but last tuesday on the go train, i failed to actually exit my physical form as i had done several months earlier during my out-of-body supermarket experience.

no, on tuesday, i merely suffered a "moment of realization" whereby i began to question why it is that i am me and not the person sitting next to me on the train. and why am i here now as opposed to one hundred years ago or one hundred years in the future?

so to summarize then: why me and not him or her? and why now as opposed to earlier or later?

and then my seven-year-old snapped another "mario moustache" photo of me and suddenly i was snapped back into reality.

"if not me, then who? if not now, then when?" - author unknown

listen to this while you read and you'll understand

theatre of the absurd

while i was waiting to see my ultrasound technician the other day (no, this is not another post about my health woes) i noticed a pair of letter-sized poster signs attached to the front of the receptionist's desk. the first featured a downloaded photograph of a cell phone inside a bordered oval with a diagonal red line running through the device. fair enough. obviously mobile use is highly discouraged in the office. kinda makes sense. something to do with all that sensitive medical imaging equipment lying about.

it was the second poster that left me a little perplexed, though. it, too, featured a downloaded photo of a popular cultural icon. the image: a snapshot of a well-balanced meal featuring a hamburger, french fries and coca-cola, once again framed within a bordered oval. but conspicuously absent from this second image was the familiar diagonal red line cutting a swath through the cardiac arrest combo platter. (i will presume that the diagonal red line was unintentionally omitted from the final draft of the posted signage.)

so here's the thing. let's suppose that one day you find yourself seated in the anteroom of a medical imaging office anxiously awaiting your mri or ct scan or ultrasound. as your eyes dart about the office, you happen to catch sight of the pair of signs previously alluded to. the first sign leaves little doubt as to its intended message. a cell phone traversed by a diagonal red line. easy enough. cell phone use is prohibited within the office.

then you spot the second sign. an image of a hamburger, french fries and soda. but wait. no red line this time. the cell phone poster featured a red line. but not so for the burger, fries and soda. hmmm. and so at that moment you begin a feverish mental effort to accurately recall your doctor's instructions. the instructions delivered to you by your health care provider only a few weeks earlier when your present appointment was first set up. you were likely advised at the time to either refrain from, or partake in, certain food and drink on the day before the x-ray in order to prepare for your test.

but now you suddenly find yourself seated in the clinic waiting room and what do you see before you but a sign that actually seems to encourage the copious consumption of fatty foods. after all, you don't see a red line slicing through the supersized meal. and so for a moment you catch yourself wondering aloud, "was i supposed to load up on carbs before my mri today?"

ok, not really. but still...

"doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd." - voltaire

listening to vinyl 95.3 classic hits fm radio this afternoon with seven in the back seat, i learned that, to my surprise, the kid had yet to come across this pop music standard until today. imagine that.

wise old sage (or why sometimes it's hard to see the forest through the trees)

his name is roland. he is an ultrasound technician. today he performed a doppler test on my lower legs to determine the source of my pain and swelling. a doppler test relies on ultrasonic waves to measure the flow of blood through the blood vessels.

roland looked like he was in his fifties. he was educated in a foreign country many moons ago. when he came to canada, those in his profession required little in terms of educational qualifications. today, he told me, most of those in his chosen field will obtain a bachelor of science degree in radiological technology. he mentioned the existence of a joint program between the university of toronto and the nearby michener institute that offers just such a degree.

why am i telling you this? because today, saturday, roland was far and away the most interesting person i met. how come?

today we talked about his life back in china. today we talked about how his profession has changed over the years. today we talked about the lack of interest in his profession shown by high school career counsellors. today we talked about how medical science is more accurately described as "medical art." today we talked about how so few life science majors will ever be accepted into medical school. today we talked about the limited number of medical schools in the province. today we talked about the cost of a medical education in this country versus that of an american college.

but most importantly, today we talked about the meaning of life. today we talked about how fleeting life can be. today we talked about enjoying the moment while the moment is still here.

at one point i mentioned that i hoped to remain just as healthy in the "second half" of my life as i managed to be in the first. to which roland replied as follows:

"this is how i see the life of a man. (holding hands apart) this is where he begins. this is where he ends. the one thing he does not know is the precise distance between these two points."

i can honestly say that i have met three brilliant people in my lifetime. roland may be the fourth.

"may the force be with you." - star wars (1977)

the kid stays in the picture

so i was looking at some photos of my youngest daughter this afternoon. at least i thought they were of my youngest daughter. it turns out they were actually of my eldest daughter when she was about the same age as her younger sibling. it was my wife who pointed out this misunderstanding.

but with this information, for some inexplicable reason, came a swell of emotion. and i wasn't really sure at first why i suddenly felt the way i did.

as a regular reader of this blog you are already aware of my general attitude towards family snapshots. but this was different. because the emotion i was experiencing was not merely the mushy sentimentality that comes from reliving a poignant memory via the medium of photography. no, this afternoon i was swelling with emotion owing to an entirely unprecedented factor.

you see, for quite some time now i have been of the opinion that my children herald from opposite ends of the familial spectrum. simply put, the two are nothing alike. in terms of appearance, attitude and personality, my girls couldn't be further apart. but today, for the first time ever, i stumbled upon unmistakable evidence of their common ancestry. today, in my seven-year-old daughter, i finally sensed manifest traces of her two-year-old sister.

and make no mistake, i am in no way attempting to deny my childrens' individuality by acknowledging this revelation. nor have i fallen into the trap of seeking out similarities amongst my offspring where none may exist in the first place. but i do take some comfort in the fact that today i ultimately came to recognize the shared bond between sisters, between my girls.

"to the outside world we all grow old. but not to brothers and sisters. we know each other as we always were. we know each other's hearts. we share private family jokes. we remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. we live outside the touch of time." - clara ortega

hard to get out of my head:

essentially it's about nothing

so the metro across the road recently installed a bulk food section featuring several dozen bins of unwrapped chocolates, candies and nuts. whenever i take my two-year-old daughter shopping with me, as i did today, i always find a way to sneak the kid a few treats on the house as she sits patiently in the cart. hey, i know what you're thinking. but from my perspective, i'm merely sampling the wares before deciding on the confection i intend to purchase. (wink)

now the key to the whole operation, you see, the key is to figure out how to pinch a couple of gummi worms or a pretzel or two without tipping off metro's crack security detail. ok, so maybe there is no crack security detail at metro to speak of, but when "borrowing" from the bulk food bins, you are best advised to keep a low profile. after all, you don't want one of the stock clerks or meat cutters or deli counter boys to blow the whistle on your little caper before you've brought in a good haul.

and so, without further ado, here are some timely tips on how to successfully misappropriate bulk snack foods from your friendly, neighbourhood supermarket.

first of all, it helps to have a cute two-year-old daughter by your side as you seek to pull off your mini-heist. a typical store employee would never dream of interrupting the joyous rhapsody exhibited by the average child immersed in a full-blown sugar fit. besides, how could you deny that adorable little face one tiny chocolate covered almond?

secondly, timing is everything. when in doubt, several trips to the bulk food bins spread out over the entirety of the shopping day are preferable to one single smash-and-grab job. and try to keep things on the down low as you saunter by the broken kit kats for the second, third or fourth time that afternoon. it helps to imagine that you're out for a nice leisurely stroll on the boardwalk with your loved ones, i might add.

and finally, whenever possible always attempt to enlist the assistance of friends and family in the pursuit of your bulk barn freebie. after all, two heads are better than one. if i have my wife with me, for example, i can always ask her to grab a few m&m's for our youngest. and hey, there's my neighbour from the building. say joe, can you do me a favour? do you know what a banana chip looks like? you do? perfect.

"it's a show about nothing." - seinfeld



p.s. how's queen's, a-z?

call me when you get there

when they were born, the first thing i did was check to see if they had all of their fingers and toes. when they are sick in the doctor's office, i close my eyes and pray for good news. when they play on the climbing apparatus at the park, i hold my breath every time they dangle precariously from the monkey bars. the worrying begins on day one. and the worrying never ends. i try my best not to let my anxiety consume me. i try my best to hide my anxiety from my children.

when you care about someone, you worry about that person. maybe there is a biological explanation for all this. maybe there is a sociological theory that puts it all into perspective. maybe there is a psychological concept that sums it all up in a few succinct words. whatever the case, for anyone who has ever lived it, there is no denying it. when you care about someone, you worry about that person.

the other day, my seven-year-old daughter and i embarked on a brief vacation. it was only two days. before we left, my mother said to me: "if anything happens to my granddaughter, don't bother coming home." my mother trusts me instinctively. but that's not the point. my mother absolutely adores her eldest granddaughter. she fawns over her incessantly. she buys her expensive clothing and jewelry. she loves her and her two-year-old sister more than anything in this world. (including me, i think.) and because my mother loves my daughter so much, she worries about her. i don't complain. i accept it. i even admire it.

i live a very dichotomous, almost surreal, existence. in the morning, i go to work and find myself surrounded by young people. at night, i come home to a condominium overflowing with the elderly. accordingly, every morning i am constantly reminded of days gone by. and every night, i am constantly reminded of what awaits me in the years to come. somewhere in the middle lies me. i sometimes wonder what my youthful students and my elderly neighbours worry about. do they worry about the same things? and do they understand what the other is worrying about?

when all is said and done, there are few, if any, guarantees in life. that much is true. but whether you believe in fate or the ability to shape one's own destiny, one thing is certain. those who care will continually fret over those they care about. and maybe that's a good thing.

"just call me when you get there, ok? and if you're worried about the cost, just reverse the charges, ok? but call me." - anonymous