"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.