sink

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

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

its got a good beat and you can dance to it

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

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

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

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

now that's more like it

a series of unfortunate events

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

just let them play already

the nerve of some people

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

the birth of new wave

tree huggers

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

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

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

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

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

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

great song. great effects. questionable casting.

all the small things

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

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

the mind is a terrible thing to waste

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

it's all about 2:46

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

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

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

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

step off

ticket please

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

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

knees up, part deux

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

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

slip slidin' away

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

not the official video, but it should be

stupid is as stupid does

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

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

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

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

spring forward fall back

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

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

maybe ignorance truly is bliss.

footsteps

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

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

- rush (1977)