tales from the tunnel

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

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

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

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

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

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

random observations from the living room chair

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

ok, so i wasn't exactly blasting this one

the death of manners

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

it's so elemental

uh, ladies...

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

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

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

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

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

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

the world is an oyster

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

cookie cutter and paste

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

or maybe i just don't get it.