rhetorical queries only. please do not reply.

top ten unanswered questions i have about twitter:

10. so if i send a tweet, who exactly sees it?

9. and whose tweets can i see?

8. can i send a private tweet to only one person?

7. and is "sending" a tweet and "posting" a tweet the same thing?

6. meanwhile, how the hell do i retweet another's tweet?

5. and why the hell do i want to retweet another's tweet in the first place?

4. how does the "@" thingy come into play?

3. and the hashtag symbol allows me to do what?

2. and when exactly in my lifetime did the tic tac toe game board become the hashtag symbol anyway?

1. and seriously... how am i supposed to encapsulate the existential musings of the modern man in 140 characters or less? seriously.

first world problems

dad: why are you crying, hanna?

hanna: i dunno.

dad: i said, why are you crying, hanna? nobody cries without a reason.

hanna: i dunno.

dad: hanna, this is your last chance. why are you crying?

hanna: i'm... i'm... i'm hungry.

dad: you're what?

hanna: i'm hungry.

dad: did you say you're hungry?

hanna: i'm hungry.

dad: you're hungry? you're hungry? how can you be hungry, hanna? how in g_d's name can you be hungry?

hanna: i dunno. i'm hungry.

dad: but your bubbie offered you meatballs for dinner. big fat juicy meatballs. dozens and dozens of meatballs. and pasta. bowls and bowls of pasta. and tomato sauce. gallons and gallons of tomato sauce. but you refused, hanna! you refused! your bubbie begged you to eat, hanna. again and again she begged you to eat. over and over she begged you to eat. but you said no! you said no, hanna! in fact, now that i think about it, you said that you were full! you said that you were full, hanna! so how in g_d's name can you be hungry now?!? how in g_d's name can you be hungry now, hanna?!? i mean, it's only been... it's only been... what time is it, sarah?

sarah: seven.

dad: how could you possibly be hungry now when it's only been one hour since you said you were full?!? one hour since your bubbie offered you meatballs. and pasta. and tomato sauce. again and again. over and over. so tell me. how can you be hungry now, hanna? how, hanna? how?

hanna: i dunno. i'm hungry.

...it may just be a literary convention but you actually require a license to own a dog or a cat in this town...

the kid never had a chance. the kid is maybe ten years old but the kid never had a chance. because her old man loves her to death. loves her so much, in fact, that he takes her everywhere he goes. but he takes something else with him everywhere he goes, too: his smokes. with his scrawny build, he often resembles a towering chimney on one of those long-lost stelco plants. well, there they are again. the two of them. father and daughter. on the stoop. in the garage. on the way to the park. and the thing is the kid probably has no idea what's been hitting her all these years. because unlike the youthful victim of physical or sexual abuse at the hands of one's protectors, the child growing up inside an inveterate smoker's home will likely never recognize the insidious harm that comes from ingesting a daily dosage of secondhand smoke. because there are no scars left behind. because there are no nightmares that follow one into adulthood. because there are no progressive information campaigns in schools warning against the dangers of sharing space with the marlboro man. and so the kid is left to fend for herself. even the local do-gooders at child protective services would never dare to intervene. not in response to a complaint concerning a perfectly legal activity like enjoying a cigarette or two in the comfort of one's own home. or on one's stoop. or in one's garage. or on the way to the park. to play.

Since 1964, 34 separate US Surgeon General’s reports have been written to make the public aware of the health issues linked to tobacco and secondhand smoke (SHS). The ongoing research used in these reports still supports the fact that tobacco and SHS are linked to serious health problems that could be prevented. The reports have highlighted many important findings on SHS, such as:

• SHS kills children and adults who don’t smoke.
• SHS causes disease in children and in adults who don’t smoke.
• Exposure to SHS while pregnant increases the chance that a woman will have a spontaneous abortion, stillborn birth, low birth-weight baby, and other pregnancy and delivery problems.
• Babies and children exposed to SHS are at an increased risk of sudden infant death syndrome (SIDS), acute respiratory infections, ear infections, and more severe and frequent asthma attacks.
• Smoking by parents can cause wheezing, coughing, bronchitis, and pneumonia, and slow lung growth in their children.
• SHS immediately affects the heart, blood vessels, and blood circulation in a harmful way. Over time it can cause heart disease, strokes, and heart attacks.
• SHS causes lung cancer in people who have never smoked. Even brief exposure can damage cells in ways that set the cancer process in motion.
• Chemicals in tobacco smoke damage sperm which might reduce fertility and harm fetal development. SHS is known to damage sperm in animals, but more studies are needed to find out its effects in humans.
• There is no safe level of exposure to SHS. Any exposure is harmful.
• Many millions of Americans, both children and adults, are still exposed to SHS in their homes and workplaces despite a great deal of progress in tobacco control.
• On average, children are exposed to more SHS than non-smoking adults.

(http://www.cancer.org/cancer/cancercauses/tobaccocancer/secondhand-smoke)

carpool, anyone?

they cough. they yawn. they sneeze. they wheeze. they eat. they drink. they burp. they fart. they bump you. they elbow you. they rub up against you. they step on your toes. they step on your heels. they step on your brand new vans.

they babble to friends. they babble to strangers. they babble to themselves.

they reek of booze. they reek of cigarettes. they reek of listerine.

but most of all, they play with their phones. constantly. they check their messages. they check their emails. they check their facebook. they check their twitter. they call to say they'll be there in fifteen. in ten. in five. they're arriving at the station now.

and just when you think it can't get any more absurd, they fasten their bloody bicycles to the front of the friggin' bus. so ride your damn bicycle then. idiot.
 

the sky is falling

with all the stuff going on in my life at the moment, i must say that it is somewhat of a relief to learn that the neighbourhood pine cone population knows absolutely no bounds when it comes to empathy. 'cause just the other day i was merrily on my way to the local library when suddenly i found myself on the receiving end of a wayward conifer grenade. perhaps it was a fully-mature pollen cone that had sadly mistaken my ever-expanding bald zone for a willing dance partner. or perhaps it was simply an allegorical manifestation of that time-honoured truism that whenever it rains, it quite literally pours. but whatever the rationale, my noggin took one helluva beating that day which, if nothing else, left me with a profound respect for the resident cedar community.
 

make it six

i once wrote about the five pillars of adulthood. marriage. kids. job. car. mortgage. or something like that.

but now i'm ready to add a sixth item to that list: worry.

i worry all the time these days. i worry about a lot of things these days. hell, i worry about so many things these days that i can't even remember what it is i'm worried about half the time. but of all the things that i worry about, i worry about my kids the most. and money. and whether i'll even have enough money as my kids grow up. i worry about the vacations and the college tuition and the summer camps and the karate lessons and all the other things i want them to experience.

gulliver must travel

on sunday afternoon i was sprawled out in my youngest's brand new cot, alone, browsing the trials and tribulations splashed across the pages of hogtown's finest daily. now maybe it was the antihistamine i had just ingested, or maybe it was the laziness of the hour, but before long i was set adrift in la-la land, my mind resting peacefully as the seconds turned to minutes and the minutes turned to even more minutes. bap. bang. boom. suddenly i was jolted to by the sound of patio chairs crashing against the cement wall of our walkout balcony. the wind must have picked up while i was down for the count. my upper half now upright, i peered out the sliding doors for signs of upturned furniture. confident that all was accounted for, i groggily laid my noggin atop my daughter's unlicensed snow white mini-pillow with visions of sugar plums dancing in my head. ouch. once again i was startled to the point of rousing, but this time by the sting of uniqua's purple antenna poking me square in the eye. unimpressed by my little one's ubiquitous roster of backyardigan action figures, i rotated my frame 180 degrees... only to be met by the unfortunate sight of pablo's propeller-capped beanie. was there no respite from this nightmare of nickelodeon proportions? to the left lay tasha's flowery sundress. to the right austin's impish grin. and where, pray tell, was tyrone in this messy menagerie of beanie baby excess? perhaps the playful moose was not unlike myself, cowering in fear beneath the covers, for fear of stirring the lifelike dora and diego facsimiles resting peacefully at the foot of the bed.

it's all relative

lady one: are those your new hunter's? because they are absolutely to die for!

lady two: aren't they? and do you know what? they weren't even my first choice. but i just had to have a pair before i walked out of the store. so when the saleslady told me they were out of my size in my colour, i figured that i would just have to settle.

lady one: well, "settle" is certainly not the word i would use to describe those amazing boots. they are absolutely delicious.

lady two: they do look good on me, don't they?

lady one: absolutely delicious. speaking of which, have you broken the fast yet?

lady two: as a matter of fact, we have. last night alan and i and the kids dropped by richtree on the way home from my parents.

lady one: at the promenade?

lady two: no, silly. at bayview and york mills, of course. just around the corner from our new place.

lady one: oh, that's right. you moved a few months back, didn't you? so how's that working out for you?

lady two: well, not bad for the most part. i mean, we really did need the extra space. and crescent isn't too far away now.

lady one: oh, so the boys are still at crescent then? do they like it there? i mean, now that they're getting older and all?

lady two: you mean, because of the boys-only environment?

lady one: they aren't longing for the girls just yet?

lady two: well, i suppose they might as they get a little bit older. but they do have white pine in the summer. july and august, anyway. two months up north with the opposite sex is probably enough for them at this age.

lady one: yeah, you're probably right. so, do you have a chance to get up to mayfair anymore.

lady two: you mean, to swim?

lady one: or just to play a few rounds.

lady two: well, i did drop by the spa a few weeks back. after all, i do need something to help me relax.

if you listen really carefully, you can hear mr. sumner in the distance

overexposed

i saw a picture of myself the other day. a picture from a long time ago. i must have been about seven or eight years old. i was on the beach. in florida. with my family.

but the thing is... i have no memory of ever being on the beach. in florida. with my family.

my mom was in the picture. and my brother. and even my dad. but only briefly.

and it reminded me of my own family today. in a way. and how pictures never really tell the entire story. but only glimpses. into the past.

and just then, i was reminded of something my best friend passed on to me recently. about my own family. and about how important it is to build memories today. so that my kids can have something to look back on. tomorrow.

and i must admit that i looked kinda happy in that picture. like i was enjoying myself. like i was enjoying my time with my family. on the beach. in florida.

tv or not tv... that is the question

alright, so my television has been on the fritz going on almost 72 hours now. and i must admit that at first i was kinda enamoured by the unexpected turn of events. i mean hey, i figured that at the very least, i would have a little more time to read now. a little more time to think. more time to breathe. more time to... oh, who the hell am i kidding, man? look, i gotta have my fix, man. i gotta have my storage wars, man. and my weather channel updates. and my tmz weekend recaps. and my dancing with the stars results episodes.

yes, i know. i know. i am weak. i am mortal. i am human.

with an h

the production of sleeping beauty had come to town, or more accurately, to yonge and sheppard. we arrived a little early at the theatre, if you can call it a theatre. once there she took up her usual seat at the front of the room, on a huge white pillow, immediately adjacent to the aisle. i, on the other hand, retreated to my humble viewing post at the rear of the modest hall. and when the houselights were finally dimmed, i once again began to worry that this time she might finally be called up onto the stage, as is the custom at events such as these. only this time my worst fears were actually realized. about midway through the show the young ingenue playing the title character called for a volunteer to join her at the front of the auditorium. "keep your hand down, keep your hand down," i murmured under my breath. but my whispers must have fallen on deaf ears. for the first hand that shot up was the one sticking out from the purple pullover i had placed on the back of my youngest not two hours prior. "what about you, honey?" came the request from the voice under the unconvincing blonde wig. she jumped to her feet and sprinted onto the podium. the princess proceeded to ask for my daughter's name. silence. followed by even more silence. followed by an uncomfortable groan from one of the more tactless members of the assembled masses. within seconds the spotlight began to take its toll. her hands rolled up in front of her eyes. she began to squint. she winced and she shrugged. she didn't want to be on that stage any longer. "just say your name and get off the stage," i murmured under my breath. but this time, thankfully, the g-ds must have been listening. she must have been listening. because just as she was about to be hustled off the stage by the impatient aurora, she picked up her chin and uttered the response to the query she had responded to hundreds of times before. "hannah."

if you don't eat your meat you can't have any pudding

it happened the other day. i was standing at the head of the room. and i was doing what i normally do. i was jotting something down on the board. and then it happened. suddenly i was no longer inside my body. suddenly i found myself outside my body. suddenly i was on the outside looking in. and how bizarre i must have looked. just standing there. just standing there with a piece of chalk in my right hand. attempting to explain some esoteric principle or another. attempting to shed light on that which defies lightness. attempting to justify my presence at the head of the room. yet this was not the first time i had escaped my own body. not the first time i had found myself grappling with my own presence. not the first time i had experienced a momentary bout of other-worldliness. but this was the first time i had ever caught myself with a piece of chalk in my right hand. and so for a brief interlude in time, i was able to glimpse myself in the act. in the act of actually doing something. not something particularly noble necessarily. nor particularly profound for that matter. but something.

so this is what i do.

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.