the song remains the same

so i was listening to an extended chat by a noted american neurologist a few weeks back. during a pa session at my school. and for the better half of the afternoon, the good doctor was busy expounding upon the neurological differences between the typical adolescent brain and that of my peers - that is to say, that of the older generation. and while many novel and compelling factoids were dispensed with over the course of the afternoon, i must say that the lone tidbit of information that stood out from the rest that day was the one pertaining to the degenerative human brain. or more precisely, my own degenerative, simian-like brain. because according to the good doctor, the analytical component of the higher order cerebrum begins to gradually decompose around the age of 32. but somewhat fortuitously for the thirtysomething crowd, several alternate components of the homosapien encephalon appear ready, willing and able to compensate for this creeping breakdown of rational function so as to stave off hyper-senility until well into one's forties. but that, according to the good doctor, is where the miracle of nature inevitably begins to loosen its grip. for around the age of 42 or 43, the progressive rot and decay of grey matter north of one's hairline can no longer be denied... or ignored. and that, my friend, is where it all begins to make sense. for i cannot remember the last time i... i... i... well, i just can't remember.

name and address withheld

funny who you'll run into at the mall these days. a long-lost pal from high school. a dear ol' friend from summer camp. or maybe even your old man. just perched there on a bench, biding his time while his lady friend sweats out a mani-pedi in a nearby nail salon. so there we were. two strangers with so much in common. exchanging pleasantries. catching up on old times. sizing one another up. so casual that it was almost surreal. as if it was all just water under the bridge. and yet, as the script gradually unfolded, an almost mirror-like effect began to take hold. for this was me. or this would soon be me. the eyes. the nose. the disappearing hairline. the shifty glances to and fro. would the progeny spot the resemblance? would the progeny wonder aloud the identity of this long lost soul? no, the children barely recognized the old man. and the old man barely recognized the children. one of the tots made a beeline for the toy department, whirling and twirling along the way, oblivious to the history she had left behind. the other stood by loyally, intrigued by the familial connection to this ghost-like figure. and then, just as suddenly as the rapprochement had begun, it was over. the sun was about to set. the pleasantries had been exchanged. the time had come to move on.

you'll just know, that's all

sometimes everything just clicks. sometimes the water feels just right. sometimes the stars just align themselves. sometimes fate just smiles on you. sometimes the moment just presents itself. and sometimes no matter how hard you try, you just can't improve on the sublime imprecision of everyday life. cuz sometimes it is what it is.

but i can't live without my iphone, dude

yeah, i was there. and while i saw a lot of signage about the usual suspects -- conservatives, israel, the police, the g20, capitalism, america et al. -- the banners that stood out the most were those targeting so-called "corporate greed", whatever that means. after all, as one who once toiled in the corporate world -- indeed, as one who once toiled in the creation of the corporate world -- i am always struck by the sheer ignorance of those who profess to hold court on such bottom-line issues. for the uninitiated, the corporate hierarchy reads much like a traditional pyramid, with shareholders on top, followed by directors, officers, managers and then employees, in that order. or as they are sometimes referred to: human beings. each and every one of them. from the top on down. or from the bottom on up. yup, it's a virtual hierarchy of humanity. hey, you got a problem with corporate greed? don't blame the structure, my man. blame the homo sapiens running the show.

oh, and by the way, about the only item that was even more in evidence today than all those "down with corporations" placards were all those shiny new iphone 4s thingamajiggies. uh, who makes those again?

Apple (NSDQ: AAPL) reported a very good year for 2010... the company said in an SEC filing. In the year Apple unveiled its iPad and had some embarrassing struggles related to the performance of the iPhone 4, the company’s revenue grew to $65.2 billion, representing a 52 percent gain over 2009. Net income meanwhile grew to $14 billion in 2010, an increase of 70 percent from the year before. Apple also ended the year with a cash and “marketable securities” balance of $51 billion for a 50 percent rise year-over-year.

it's absurd really

from the overseas telephone spammer who nearly convinced me that i had an operating system defect which only he could cure to the veteran library lady who stubbornly refuses to speak in hushed tones to the elderly coffee shop patrons who perch themselves in their pre-assigned seats from dawn to dusk to the even more elderly morning mallwalker crew decked out in their oversized velvet tracksuits who can still outsaunter most folks half their age to the dutiful sandwich shop servers who insist on greeting each and every g-ddamn customer with an almost painfully cheery "good afternoon, welcome to subway" to my three-year-old daughter who has somehow managed to tie the 8 a.m. ritual of brushing her teeth to the promise of candy treats to follow to the 35 grams of sugar that my already overhyped eight-year-old consumes each and every time she downs a juice box and granola bar following a soccer match to the three standup comics who between them must have dropped the f-bomb a good dozen times a minute over the course of saturday night's two-hour cussfest to all the audible gumchewers who invariably park themselves behind me in the supermarket queue while a trainee cashier attempts to break the world record for the most register overrides in a single shift to all the senseless and irrelevant trifles that folks like me spend the better part of our lives pissing and moaning about.

it's absurd really.

apples to oranges

so i stumbled upon a rather interesting phenomenon in the produce section of my local grocery today. you see, i had been furiously scouring the fruit and vegetable stands in search of a decent granny smith apple - you know, one absent any manifest scrapes or bruises or soft spots or elongated stems or whatnot. but as i repeatedly relocated one malformed fleshy fruit after another from the pyramid-shaped pile before me, i gradually began to recognize a pattern unfolding: it seemed as if all of the aesthetically-pleasing apples just happened to be grouped together in a single, isolated location upon the display table. now at first i thought nothing of the odd little occurrence. but then it slowly began to dawn on me that perhaps this was no mere coincidence. no, perhaps this was evidence of an even larger pattern of curious sociological construct that silently epitomizes our modern communities. one that extends beyond the facile insignificance of the apple kingdom. one that instead characterizes the blithe and almost blinding harshness and cruelty of everyday homosapien interaction. and one that is seemingly most evident within the realm of that highly-concentrated microcosm of societal relationships... yes, i am referring to none other than that petri dish of the human condition, the schoolyard. for wasn't it in the schoolyard where most of us first came to recognize the sheer brutality and the utter callousness of what we now understand to be the class system, the pecking order, the fraternity of fellowship, the sorority of sisterhood, the cult of popularity? wasn't it in the schoolyard where most of us first came to recognize that birds of a feather do, indeed, flock together? wasn't it in the schoolyard where most of us first came to recognize how the pretty people of the world are almost magnetically drawn to one another within their chosen peer groups? and so perhaps i had indeed stumbled upon the proverbial missing link, as it were. the linchpin that finally connected all of those hazy dots between ourselves and our agricultural cousins. for perhaps we are not alone in this universe after all. perhaps we share more in common with our farm-raised friends than we are willing to concede. perhaps apples and oranges and avocados and even papayas share a desire to be part of the in crowd as well. to be part of the a-list. to be hip and happening and all that and a bag of chips. yes, perhaps apples and oranges and avocados and even papayas share a desire to be cool.

open letter

i know that you are curious. i know that you are searching. i know that you will read this one day. and i know that when you do read this you will probably try to locate some hint, some evidence that i loved you. that i cared about you. that you were special to me. and i know that you will probably be disappointed. disappointed because you will not find what you are looking for. but not because i did not love you. and not because i did not care about you. and not because you were not special to me. because you were. but unfortunately, the words that you search for will never appear in the pages of this forum. because the truth is that try as i might, i could never accurately convey those words in a way that would make sense to you. or in a way that would make sense to me. because i never really learned how to express those words. those words that you quite rightly deserve to hear from me. and i just hope that with time you gradually learn to accept why those feelings were so difficult for me to express. because you already know a little something about my past. and because you are a bright child. and because you are an understanding child. and because you are my child.

and a spring in your step

so the other day i found myself sprawled out on the sofa beside my eight- and three-year-old, the three of us kicking back to an early episode of spongebob squarepants. just then patrick, spongebob's trusty sidekick, uttered a line that gradually brought a smile to my face. now typically, i am hardly one for animated hijinks. but the more i thought about the line, the more i began to beam. fast forward fifteen seconds and i could barely contain my mirth. in fact, before long i had become so manifestly bemused by the starfish crack that eventually even eight and three had caught on to my general sense of merriment.

"what you laughing at, dad?"

"ah, nothing. it was just something that patrick said."

"patrick said something funny?"

"yeah. patrick said something funny."

"uh, ok dad."

so, too, the sight of that buxom old lady in our building who insists on squeezing my daughters' faces into her bosom every time she greets them. or the sight of my youngest selecting the same hiding spot time after time after time in her invariably futile attempts to thwart her elder sister's hide-and-seek ambitions. or the sight of middle-aged disco queens and their greying dancehall kings revelling in the music of their youth.

mirror man

so i stumbled upon a rather illuminating tete-a-tete featuring dr. drew on celebrity rehab last night. he was speaking with a former child star who had somehow gone astray despite all of the luxuries previously afforded him in his long-forgotten role of hollywood glamboy. not surprisingly then, the middle-aged cautionary tale now points the finger at his old man for many of the difficulties he must tackle in his present incarnation. but dr. drew was quick to point out that while everyday mannerisms of all shapes and sizes can most certainly be traced back to our earliest childhood role models, i.e., our parents, that inaugural education cannot possibly explain why some individuals persist along their self-destructive paths well into their adult years. it was as if dr. drew was drawing a line in the sand for the erstwhile celeb by challenging him to confront his demons and embrace the familiar mantra of "the past belongs to the past, but the future belongs to you." now it was not the first time i had overheard the good doctor utter the pithy refrain but i must say that it was especially poignant this time around given the dire circumstances facing the fallen star and the utter desperation of his current plight. and it reminded me of the entirely apt characterization i stumbled upon many moons ago which attempted to highlight the power of the spoken word amongst the readership of said prose. the power of the spoken word, the saying goes, lies in its almost uncanny ability to reflect the innermost attitudes and experiences of the audience members themselves, as opposed to, say, those of the piece's composer.

animals

they used to call it a repair shop. but today they refer to it as a service centre. not that it matters, really. not that it matters at all, in fact. for at the heart of this tale lies a human foot. a human foot and a container of pringles. for what would possess a young man to kick off his perfectly comfortable, faux-leather sandal in order to rest his sweat-soaked and callus-ridden right foot on the faux-leather chair perched right by my side inside the waiting area of the honda service centre at eglinton and caledonia? seriously. what would possess someone to do such a horrible and disgusting thing? and why would that horrible and disgusting someone elect to add insult to injury by stuffing his face full with one sour cream 'n onion pringles potato chip after another? and another. and another. animal.

"this is only a moment in your life... this is not your life"

what is it about those damn americans? what is it about those gun-toting, fist-pounding, bloodthirsty americans? and what is it about their near pathological obsession with violence and anger and aggression? why just the other day i watched as thousands upon thousands of them rode roughshod through the streets of a major urban centre tearing up sidewalks and smashing storefront windows and torching abandoned vehicles while others stood idly by snapping photos or cheering them on. and just a few months ago i watched as thousands more squeezed themselves into a sweltering domed coliseum after doling out hundreds of dollars each so as to bear witness to the sight of grown men in tights pounding one another into submission. and just this morning i watched as even thousands more slowed their vehicles to a near standstill in order to catch a glimpse of the potential carnage that may have resulted from an unfortunate roadside automobile accident.

oh. oh, wait a minute. those weren't americans. those were canadians.

never mind.

man overboard

so early this morning whilst standing before my bathroom mirror, i groggily popped the childproof cap on my latest bottle of overpriced antibiotics. suddenly and without warning then, several of the multi-hued capsules decided to made a break for it. unfortunately though, at least as far as my sinus symptoms were concerned, the aforementioned pill holder just happened to be positioned directly above the loo at that fateful moment. the end result? three of my valuable bacteria warriors were tragically lost at sea. and what's more, this ain't the first time i have seen items of precious lavatory cargo inadvertently go the way of the ss minnow. toilet paper rolls? yup. toothbrushes? you bet. wedding rings? yessir. and yet, each and every time i lose my grip and watch as my powder room wares plunge to their watery graves, i vow that will be the last time i make such a grievous error in digital adroitness. but alas, such is never the case. for just as i am certain that the sun will once again ascend come tomorrow morn, so, too, am i at peace in the understanding that accidents do indeed happen. and mistakes are never too far down the road. 'cause as long as there remains at least one oddly-shaped personal grooming and/or pharmaceutical product that defies proper handling skills, there will always be an energy efficient american standard toilet bowl eagerly anticipating its arrival.

i felt a redux was in order

when did it all get so complicated

i remember a time when thirty-two television channels and a single remote control were enough to keep us occupied. when pop music came in only two formats -- 33's and 45's. when the latest smith corona typewriter was deemed the height of technological ingenuity. when everyone got their news from the same 11 o'clock newscast. when hangin' out at the pool hall was just the thing we all did on a saturday night. when the only choice in grade school we got was the choice between shop and home ec. when it would take several weeks for the local gossip to wind its way 'round the neighbourhood. when the playground bully could be neutralized with a single phone call to his mother. when riding the subway to the eaton centre was considered the highlight of one's week. when landing a ticket to the simple minds concert meant standing in line all day outside maple leaf gardens. when front yards and rear porches were open for one and all to enjoy. when the difference between the coolest kid in class and the geekiest kid in class was hardly any difference at all. when books looked like books. and felt like books. and smelled like books. and when your best friend was your one true friend.

so close your eyes and listen then

tattoo you

so there's a lady in my 'hood who i see out and about every now and again. a middle-aged lady. with a kid to boot. a young daughter round about five or six. sometimes i see the two of them at the park in the back of my condo. other times i see the pair at the metro or the shoe store across the way. and once i even remember spotting the duo patiently awaiting their turn in the queue at the bank. and the thing is, the lady i'm describing always seems to have a smile on her face. and a spring in her step. and there's absolutely no reason for me to suspect that she's hiding any skeletons in the closet either. and yet... there is that one odd little piece of business about her. that odd little business about the tattoo. that's right... the tattoo. the tattoo that sits prominently upon her right ankle. or just a smidgen above her right ankle, to be precise. 'cause you see, it certainly ain't no ordinary, run-of-the-mill ankle tattoo. no, as a matter of fact, it's just about the most disturbing-looking thingamajig i have ever laid eyes upon. now how can i describe it exactly? how exactly can i do it justice? well, for one thing, it sure as heck features a lot of blood. that's right. blood. dollops and dollops of the crimson stuff. and then there's the dagger. that's right. the dagger. all shiny and pointy and dagger-like and all. so what's the problem then, you ask? well, the problem you see, the problem is that this sweet-looking, middle-aged lady with the angelic-looking cherub for a daughter just doesn't seem to fit the part. or should i say, just doesn't seem to fit the tattoo. i mean, maybe if it were a tattoo of her daughter's name. or the face of a former paramour. or even a pair of wings, gilded, and surrounded by a trio of fluffy clouds. but a dagger? and all that blood? i don't know... i guess it just makes you stop and think. i guess it just makes you think about where we all come from. about where we've all been. and ultimately, about where we're all heading.

the forehead people

and yet, if you look really closely, you can actually see the pride written all over their faces. there, beneath the glossy veneer of self-importance and self-distraction. there, beneath the pent-up frustration of dreams dared and dreams dashed. there, beneath the weary automatism of the daily grind and the days that follow. there, in the minty glare of highly treasured smartphones and e-readers. there, in the soothing mist of lattes and lemon tea. there, in the midst of all those iconic and iconoclastic attachments. there, in the corner of the viewing area. there, in the corner of their eyes. there, in the blink of an eye. there, for all to see. and there, for one fleeting moment, for junior to see. for he can see it all. he can see their pride. he can see their distractions. he can see their frustrations. he can see their weariness. but more than anything, he can see their foreheads.

my mother always said to dress for the season

the thing about living in a neighbourhood with a significant component of elderly persons is that you can never really get a decent read on the weather. well, at least not by glancing out the window anyway. because the elderly seem to have this very odd, this very skewed sense of temperature. skewed in the sense that no matter what the temperature outside, the elderly will invariably elect to dress themselves as if a snowstorm is threatening to touch down. even in the middle of may. and the thing is that no matter how high the mercury rises, the elderly will inevitably approach the weather in the same way that a minesweeper approaches a combat area. with extreme caution. because i suppose that it could begin to snow. in the middle of may. and if by chance it does begin to snow, in the middle of may, it is likely the elderly who will be the most prepared. in fact, it is likely the elderly who will be the only ones prepared. for a snowstorm. in the middle of may. and even if that may snowstorm never actually touches down, just the sight of my bare arms and bare legs alongside all those woolen hats and fluffy mittens and down-filled parkas is enough to make me think twice. think twice about my choice of apparel. even though it is the elderly, and not i, that need to take a long, hard look in the mirror. because surely there can be no impending snowstorm. in the middle of may.

so the lead singer kinda reminds me of a fellow i know

not a creature was stirring

shopper: hello, i'd like to return this miniature pool table.

cashier: um, do you have the bill, sir?

shopper: well, no. no, i don't. but i am absolutely certainly that i purchased this item here.

cashier: yes, i understand that, sir. but in order to return an item, you must produce proof of purchase. you must also produce the bill. you must return the item within thirty days of purchase and you must produce the bill.

shopper: well unfortunately, i don't have the bill anymore. but like i said, i am absolutely certain that i bought this item here. i remember buying it the night before christmas. i bought it for my daughter.

cashier: christmas? you bought this item for christmas? sir, it's april. christmas was four months ago.

shopper: so... what are you saying?

cashier: sir, you can't return an item that you purchased four months ago. even if you still had the bill.

shopper: and why not? where does it say that i can't return an item i purchased four months ago? where does it say that?

cashier: uh, on the bill.

shopper: well, i don't have the bill.

cashier: and besides sir, christmas gifts are clearly marked "no return."

shopper: and why is that?

cashier: well, for one thing, because it is very difficult for the store to sell christmas gifts once christmas has come and gone.

shopper: but this isn't really a christmas gift. i mean, it's a pool table. a miniature pool table. how does that qualify as a christmas gift?

cashier: um, did you purchase it around christmas time?

shopper: yes.

cashier: as a gift for your daughter?

shopper: yes.

cashier: well then, it's a christmas gift.

shopper: but it's not a santa claus pool table. or a rudolph the red-nosed reindeer pool table. it's just a plain ol' pool table. a plain ol' miniature pool table.

(long pause)

cashier: well, is there anything wrong with it?

shopper: no.

cashier: is it defective? is it damaged?

shopper: no.

cashier: well, why do you want to return it then?

shopper: because my daughter doesn't want a pool table.

cashier: how come?

shopper: because she's an eight-year-old kid, that's how come! what the hell would an eight-year-old kid want with a crappy minitature pool table?

cashier: well, why'd you buy it for her then?

shopper: how the hell do i know! it was the night before christmas. i needed a gift. you were the only store open in the neighbourhood.

cashier: well, why didn't you attempt to return it sooner?

shopper: because she didn't even open the damn thing until last night.

cashier: your daughter waited until last night before opening it? how come?

shopper: i don't know. i guess she forgot about it, that's how come.

cashier: she forgot to open a christmas present? until april?

shopper: no, no, no. look, you don't understand. she opened the present on christmas morning, of course. but just the wrapping, that's all. she didn't actually open the box... she didn't actually open the box though until last night.

cashier: she didn't open the box until last night? why last night?

shopper: i don't know! i don't know why she waited until last night to open the box. look, she's eight, ok? eight-year-olds do some pretty strange things, ok?

cashier: and she doesn't like it? your child? she doesn't like the pool table?

shopper: no, of course she doesn't like the pool table.

cashier: and why is that?

shopper: like i said, she's an eight-year-old girl. what would an eight-year-old girl want with a miniature pool table?

cashier: so, uh, why'd you buy it for her in the first place then?

(long pause)

cashier: sir?

the first thing i noticed were all those lights in the mountains

the things we think and do not say

it occurred to me today that many of us spend more time thinking about the things we ultimately do not say than just about anything we think about in the first place. and it also occurred to me how uniquely different this life would be if we all just said everything we think rather than think about everything we say. and i wonder if anyone else has noticed how, in this society, we tend to hold those who pull very few punches, who put everything on the table, in a very odd light. because one would presume that in a society beholden to values of liberty and freedom -- one like ours -- one would presume that such libertarians would generally be viewed in a mostly favourable light. and yet that isn't always the case, is it? for far too often i have seen such individuals subjected to ridicule and scorn and contempt. and for what? for their honesty? for their frankness? for their courage to speak the truth as they see it? for aren't the lessons of our youth -- the lessons of our parents and our teachers and our mentors that encourage us to say what we mean and mean what we say -- aren't those messages just as valid in our later years? or have we become so concerned over how we may be perceived if our words are somehow misconstrued that instead we resort to the relative safety of that most famous of maxims, "silence is golden." because it isn't.

the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever will be

a funny thing happened on the way to the dojo

i must admit that it took me by surprise. the speed, that is. the speed with which she has mastered the moves, that is. the kicks and the punches and the katas. and even those ear-splitting primal screams. but what surprises me the most is how seemingly effortless it all appears. for just six months ago she had never even set foot inside a martial arts studio. and now, just six months later, here she was trading blows with kids twice her size who've been plugging away for years. and what's more, she did it all without even the slightest hint of assistance from her parental units, as quite frankly, we don't know the first thing there is to know about the martial arts. but perhaps it is precisely that collective ignorance on our part that lies at the root of our daughter's rapid progression within the sport. for it never ceases to amaze me how i am able to repeatedly trip up my daughter with my own selfish and unrealistic expectations of her. and yet i persist in my insolent demands, oblivious to the harm and the negativity that it generates. no, it never ceases to amaze me.

do the math

thirty-one years ago? it's been thirty-one years since the release of this song? impossible. no, it can't be. i demand a recount. because i remember this song like it was yesterday. and yet the math is inescapable.

"I Got You" is a 1980 song by New England rock group Split Enz from their studio album True Colors. Split Enz's most successful single, "I Got You" was written by Neil Finn and released in January 1980. It topped the charts in New Zealand, Australia, and Canada [citation needed], reached #12 in the United Kingdom, [1] and #53 in the United States. [2]

song released in 1980. calendar on my fridge reads 2011. 2011 minus 1980 is... thirty-one years ago. unbelievable. thirty-one years is enough time to sail around the universe. thirty-one years is enough time to apologize to every one you've ever offended over the course of your lifetime. thirty-one years is enough time to shake the hand of every mammal on the planet. thirty-one years is enough time to sample every single item on the pickle barrel menu. thirty-one years ago? impossible.

swollen bunions, fallen arches and the infinite wisdom of the correspondence webdoc

it happened without warning. without even a hint of foreshadowing really. and as far as i can tell, an event entirely lacking in precedent within the annals of modern medical phenomena. spontaneous human combustion has nothing on this little nugget. so where are the editors of the new england journal of medicine when you really need them? got your attention yet? piqued your curiosity by now? alright then... try this one on for size: when i awoke this morning, i discovered that the cuticle at the base of my left thumbnail had somehow managed to retreat all by itself overnight. yes, that's correct: retreat. as in retract. as in recede. like the tide at sunrise. or sunset. or whenever. bad analogy. um... like the hairline of an aging rock star hidden beneath a crimson bandana. anyhow, the point is that i was taken aback. way aback. and so where does a slightly befuddled middle-aged gent turn when left scratching his head as to the biological wonderment that is his own retreating cuticles? why the internet, of course. or more specifically, to the pages and pages of highly dubious quasi-medical sites that currently clutter the world wide web. and yet, after spending the better part of a soon-to-be spring morning testing the local bandwidth, i am no further along then i was when i first entered my present state of digital disorientation. for there was nary a mention of my present predicament. apparently spontaneous cuticle retraction is treated with an almost blithe disregard amongst the online hypochondriacal community. go figure.

"they look like little moons"

wouldn't it be nice

you know what would be nice? it would be nice to ride the train alongside my seven-year-old daughter from the chaos of union station to the fumes of lawrence station without hearing the "s" word a half-dozen times. or the "f" word a half-dozen times. or even the "a" word a half-dozen times. 'cause i'm pretty sure my kid has already overheard those choice designations at least a half-dozen times before. and she doesn't exactly need any reinforcements, thank you very much. for i've heretofore put in a considerable amount of time and energy preaching the evils of the expletive. the villainy of the vulgar. the perils of the profane. why, i've even been known to nod approvingly at the familiar caveat warning of impending "coarse language" heard at the outset of select prime-time programming. yeah, you know the one... just before the admonishment that "viewer discretion is advised." and so my eldest hardly requires a refresher coarse [sic] on the cursing and cussing that seems to dominate the modern vernacular of this generation's ill-timed and illiterate. for what it's worth.

probably a little before your time

same as it ever was

"guess what? you won't believe this! are you ready for this? we made it to internationals! (pause) yeah, that's right. internationals! in florida! we finished top five. top five in our category. we're going in april. or maybe it's may. i dunno. sometime in april or may. can you believe it? we actually made it. (pause) i guess. (pause) i guess. i guess we'll just take some time off school then. why? is that gonna be a problem? (pause) how much? i dunno. about a thousand, i think. maybe a little more. why? (pause) is it? i dunno. i just figured that you and dad would pay for it. cuz we made it to internationals. i mean, cuz this is, like, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, right? i mean, you and dad will pay for it, won't you? (pause) i mean, i just figured that it wouldn't be a problem. i dunno. (pause) i mean, maybe i can get a job this summer then. you know, to help pay for some of the trip. (pause) i dunno. i can find a job somewhere. (pause) no, in the summer. umm... why are you being like this anyway? i thought you would be happy for me. (pause) i know that. i know that. it's just that i thought you would be happy for me, that's all. (pause) look, can we talk about this when i get home? i'm running out of minutes. can we talk about this when i get home, please? (pause) i know, mom. i know. (pause) i love you too, mom. i gotta go, ok. i'm running out of minutes. (pause) ok, mom. i love you too. goodbye."

wmg giveth, wmg taketh away

in the first place

"and, uh, i would appreciate it if you would stop talking about me behind my back."

"oh yeah? and why's that?"

"uh... because it's wrong, that's why."

"oh yeah? and why's it wrong?"

"uh... i dunno. look, it's just wrong, ok? it's just wrong, that's all. so, uh... stop it, would ya?"

i mean, it's not as if we aren't already talking about folks behind their backs every single day of our lives. i mean, we are human, after all. and as humans, i've kinda noticed that we like to talk about things. about lots of things, as a matter of fact. about the weather. about the lottery. about the game last night. but most of all, about each other. and come to think of it, why must we continually refer to the practice as "talking behind someone's back" in the first place? such a negative connotation indeed. no, if i had my druthers, i would simply characterize it as "talking about someone" period. not behind their backs, mind you. just talking about someone. and surely you "someones" don't expect us to ring you up each and every time we wish to discuss your various feats and foibles just so as not to be accused of talking behind your back, do you? do you? seriously? i mean, i always figured that if we were, in fact, saying something truly critical of you, you would probably prefer that we avoid speaking those words directly to you anyway. i mean, wouldn't you rather that we simply engage in our myriad of ad hominem attacks upon your character outside of your presence? you know, so as not to offend your delicate sensibilities. in fact, the way i see it, we are actually doing you a favour by repeatedly speaking about you behind your back. 'cause g-d knows that we rarely if ever have anything good to say about you in the first place. and so, in the end, isn't it better that we refrain from confronting you face-to-face in order to share our scathing critiques of your hypocrisy and insincerity? isn't it preferable that you never actually learn of our unbridled condemnations of your shallowness and superficiality? isn't it?

round and round we go

i think i've finally figured out what the problem is. what it is that has been keeping me from my appointed rounds in the blogosphere of late. my nightly date with my dell. why, it's my insomnia, i reckon. or more to the point, my complete lack of insomnia. yeah, that's it. that's the ticket. that's what's been ailing me. sleep. good ol' sleep. or too much sleep, as it were. a good night's rest, if you will.

you see, back in the day, back in the heady days of blogging glory, back in july of 2010 for instance, i could always count on my sleep disorder providing me that extra jolt so as to ensure at least one eye remained open well into the wee hours. well into the witching hour. and well past my bedtime so that i could complete my mission. my missive. my one-man journey of keyboard-induced catharsis and self-therapy.

but these days, these days the g-ds of sleep deprivation are no longer so obliging. no longer so accommodating. and so, as the days grow longer, so too do my shuteye cycles. and with it, my penchant for burning the midnight oil basking in the warm glow of my flat screen. for it now appears that my circadian rhythm has once again found its groove. and much to my chagrin, i might add.

alas, in the end one must always be careful what one wishes for.

en espanol por favor