mea culpa

is there any value in an apology? i have often engaged in heated discussions with a certain someone (let's call her v) over the relevance, if any, of an apology. the debate typically centres around when and why an apology should be delivered. the issue as to when refers to the timing of the apology - specifically, how soon after the initial conflict should an apology be offered. the issue as to why refers to the objective of the apology - specifically, which wrong should the apology attempt to right. i have always felt that, in order to be convincing, an apology should be delivered relatively soon after the offending behaviour. otherwise it may appear artful and calculated. but v has argued that an apology granted immediately afterwards must necessarily lack reflection and sincerity. as for the question of why an apology is delivered, i believe that the words "i'm sorry" should be directed solely towards alleviating the hurt feelings of the injured party. accordingly, whether or not the sender of the apology feels genuinely remorseful for his behaviour is largely irrelevant. but v has suggested that the overall goal of any apology should ultimately be the resolution of the difficulties between the warring parties. as a result, in order to be effective an apology must express the heartfelt desire of both parties to reach an amicable settlement of their differences. personally i have never uttered the phrase "i'm sorry" where i lacked either genuine regret or an honest desire to make things right between myself and the other combatant. so the question then becomes: isn't that enough?

"an apology is the superglue of life. it can repair just about anything." - lynn johnston

it sure is windy out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yh9cNYlmXEY

i feel so chillin' that i must be illin'

g don't feel so good.

"sometimes the greatest truths between two people are the truths never spoken" - anonymous

i'm in no mood for tunes

red smarties are my favourite

i visited my old academic stomping ground today. thirteen kids and i made the trek up north to check in with my alma mater. and sitting in on a first-year legal procedure class, i was reminded of some of the same insecurities i faced on my first day of law school twenty years earlier. the most pronounced among them being the feelings of intellectual inferiority. everyone just sounds so damn bright in law school. but then i was reminded of a psychological theory introduced to me for the first time at around the same time i began law school. i'm referring to howard gardner's theory of multiple intelligences. a theory that has become so meaningful to me that it has ultimately come to form the philosophical basis of my present career. ask the kids what i talk about in the first week of accounting class. or business class. or law class. it sure as hell isn't accounting or business or law. instead i show them gardner's list of alternative intelligences. the reason? because i was raised in an era where those who performed poorly in math or science were made to feel inferior... to feel stupid. in fact, in my day, anyone who performed poorly in middle school or beyond was made to feel intellectually inadequate. as if performing well on a math test or a science lab should represent the litmus test for true intelligence. hey, i've done pretty well on those types of assignments throughout my academic career. so what does that say about me? it says that i studied for the damn test. but it sure as heck doesn't qualify me as a genius. and so what can we make of that middle-aged man sitting in front of me at osgoode today who seemed to know the answers to all the questions. what do we know about him now? well, he obviously read the case materials the evening before. and he certainly appeared to have a strong grasp of the english language. but could he play a simple three-chord progression on an acoustic guitar? maybe. could he accurately sketch a waterfall appearing at the break of dawn? maybe. could he ever hope to make contact with a 70 mph curve ball? maybe. could he come to terms with his own motivation to attend law school? maybe. could he communicate effectively with the members of his legal procedure study group? maybe. or maybe not.

"continuous effort - not strength or intelligence - is the key to unlocking our potential." - winston churchill

the kids are alright: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cG_uDDEnzC4

fax me

sometimes people are wrong. plain and simple. so you can't believe everything you hear. in fact, my mother once said, "believe nothing you hear, half of what you read, and all that you see." so why are people wrong occasionally? for a variety of reasons. people may not have all of the facts. people may not know how to interpret the facts they have. people may choose not to believe the facts. people may not remember all of the facts. people may elect to deliberately twist the facts. people may wholly invent the facts. people may ignore the most telling facts. people may miscommunicate the facts. ahem, so what's a poor man to do in light of these unfortunate circumstances? why figure it out for yourself, of course.

"facts are simple and facts are straight. facts are lazy and facts are late. facts all come with points of view. facts don't do what i want them to." - talking heads

the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jOBcwJbKOdY

more random thoughts 'round midnight

some more random thoughts:

• if today is the first day of the rest of your life, then what was yesterday?
• how demoralizing it must be for the beauty queen to stroll through hollister or a&f and not be offered a gig
• in your day there were concealers and cover-ups; in my day there were band-aids and lies
• even the smartest man on earth knows only a tiny fraction of the secrets of the universe
• why must all rhetorical questions be met with a response... richard?

then g-d said "let there be light" and there was phil collins: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-1l2kUeIYvQ

act one, scene one

FADE IN:

EXT. NEIGHBOURHOOD PARK - DAY

A FATHER and DAUGHTER are seated on a bench in a quiet park. The daughter appears about two years old. Elsewhere in the park, a few CHILDREN can be seen climbing on playground equipment. The father is peeling an orange for his daughter.

FATHER

Are you hungry?

DAUGHTER

(unclear)

Wok. Papa. Tiza.

FATHER

What?

DAUGHTER

(unclear)

Wok. Papa. Tiza.

The daughter makes repeated gestures with her closed fist in an up-and-down motion.

FATHER

What are you doing?

DAUGHTER

(unclear)

Wok. Papa. Tiza.

Again, the daughter makes repeated gestures with her closed fist in an up-and-down motion.

DAUGHTER

(louder but still unclear)

Wok! Papa! Tiza!

FATHER

Wok, papa, tiza?

DAUGHTER

(even louder but still unclear)

Wok! Papa! Tiza!

The father mimics the hand gestures of his daughter for a few seconds.

FATHER

(relieved)

Oh! Rock, paper, scissors.

FADE OUT.

"hate put me in prison. love's gonna bust me out." - the hurricane (1999)

tell us how you really feel, dave: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGQAfolOJUI

kung hei fat choi

so this is what it all comes down to. four decades on the planet earth and all i have to show for it is the wisdom and profoundness that follow. alas, behold the learned insights and discerning observations of the incurable chinese buffet enthusiast. step one. plan your visit for the lunch hour between monday and friday exclusively. otherwise, the price tag on your outing grows exponentially higher. pity those poor souls foolish enough to make their reservations for the supper hour or, heaven forbid, the dreaded weekend or holiday season. zac efron may know what time it is, but my gastrointestinal tract sure as hell can't tell the difference. step two. ask to be seated as close to the buffet table as possible. after all, time is money or, in this case, the maximum number of trips to the sushi bar before closing hour. step three. never begin with the soup. it's a ruse! soup fills your belly with liquids sending false signals to your brain insisting that you're full. instead, wait till the end of the meal before pouring a gallon of hot and sour down your throat. that way, the juices will simply snake their way through the mishmash of partially-digested foodstuffs wedged inside your esophagus. step four. avoid the cheap stuff. rice and noodles go for pennies on the open market. broccoli and cauliflower are finger foods for six-year-olds. instead, stuff your face with the really expensive crap. shrimp'll always cost the average man an arm and a leg. beef and chicken can never be had for less than a few dollars a kilo. and they ain't serving spareribs and scallops in the big house these days either. so go ahead. indulge. besides, if you eat too much, you can always metabolize the excess over the next few days like a hibernating bear. step five. protect your knife and fork at all times. they represent your lifeline to the promised land. but be warned that buffet waiters are trained to secretly steal away your silverware the moment you look away. so guard your cutlery with the same ferocity of a pit bull hovering over a bone. and finally, step six. always leave the restaurant satiated... and holding as many dry items from the dessert table as you can muster. so on your way out, grab a few almond cookies, and maybe a mandarin or two, and who can say no to a lemon tart? hey, you paid for an all-you-can-eat experience. so eat all you can. and don't forget to say good-bye to the mint lady. bon appetit.

"do vegetarians eat animal crackers?" - unknown

and i'm not even that religious: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Uxc9eFcZyM

open your eyes

it is my humble opinion that sleep is highly overrated. for one, nothing ever happens when you're asleep. i mean, things certainly happen while you're sleeping, but due to your state of partial unconsciousness, you can't possibly be aware of those occurrences. and for another, nothing ever gets accomplished when you're asleep. nobody has ever solved a global economic crisis while they were asleep. nobody has ever composed a heartwrenching poem while they were asleep. nobody has ever changed another person's life while they were asleep. and what's more, sleep is boring. unless you're fortunate enough to recall your dreams the morning after, that is. but i haven't recalled any of my dreams in years. so i reiterate, sleep is boring. i would yawn but i'm already asleep.

"a brave man dreams with his eyes open." - unknown

rapid eye movement and the neverending search for the quintessential dream: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bmxyj6iInMc

p.s. the sky was grey. the wind was whipping. the temperatures were numbing. and the teeth were chattering. but the team looked good on day one. and dare i say it but there seems to be something special about this motley crew of seasoned veterans and fresh-faced newbies. stay tuned.

"keep away from those who try to belittle your ambitions. small people always do that, but the really great make you believe that you, too, can become great.” - mark twain

two kinds of ice cream

i was all set to pen a scathing diatribe about my utter hatred of all things coffee and the pretentiousness of java lovers worldwide, but quite frankly, i'm just too sleepy to muster the necessary ill will to compose such a bitter screed. so instead, i'll respond to a query directed my way from a most unusual, and hitherto anonymous, source. the query? are you happy, sir? what an interesting question. am i happy? well, i suppose i'm happy, but i guess it all depends on how one wishes to define happiness. i smile quite a bit. is that happiness? hmmm... maybe not. i know a girl who is always smiling, even when she is decidedly unhappy. in fact, the more unhappy she becomes, the more she chooses to force out a smile. so perhaps smiling should not be used as the litmus test for happiness. i laugh quite a bit. is that happiness? hmmm... maybe not. there is a homeless man living behind the library near my condo who is always giggling to himself. but he also sobs loudly for hours at a time and eats garbage from a nearby dumpster. and sometimes he shouts angrily at invisible enemies. so perhaps laughing should not be used as the litmus test for happiness either. i appear to walk confidently through life quite a bit. is that happiness? hmmm... maybe not. my best friend in high school could certainly be described as someone who appeared to walk confidently through life. but once, during a moment of grim revelation, he admitted to me that his public persona was just that - a persona. secretly, he would later confess, life was a challenge for him as he struggled desperately with issues of self-image and adolescent insecurities. yes, but everyone loves being with you, i asserted in his defence. that may be true, he would reply, but the real question is: do i love being with myself? so perhaps walking confidently through life should not be used as the litmus test for happiness. ok, so what then is the determining factor in terms of defining true happiness? surely no one can be genuinely happy all of the time? that much is obvious to me. and where exactly is the dividing line between happiness and mere contentment? between contentment and mere being. ah, who the hell knows. i sure don't. but i do know that writing about happiness hasn't added to my own level of happiness one iota. so maybe i'll do now what i always do when i wish to feel happier. i'll go check on my sleeping daughters for a few minutes before returning to the computer to search for tunes on youtube. it hasn't failed me yet.

"there's no point to any of this. it's all just a... a random lottery of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes. so I take pleasure in the details. you know... a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter become a cackle... and i, i sit back and i smoke my camel straights and i ride my own melt." - reality bites (1994)

the ultimate panacea, pick-me-up and cure-all for all that ails you: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xz-UvQYAmbg

just give it some time

the speech therapist made a point of reminding me that the benchmarks used to measure "normal" language development in children were just that - benchmarks. some kids would acquire their language skills a little bit earlier. other kids would acquire those same skills a little bit later on. still, i couldn't help but feel that she was patronizing me when she said that my two-year-old was already making progress. after all, how could she say that after only three one-hour sessions? i certainly hadn't seen any improvements up to that point. i had first recognized that my kid had a problem when, as a freshly-minted two-year-old, she still had trouble being understood by the symphony of geriatric neighbours chatting her up in the elevator of our building. the pattern had become firmly established. mrs schwartz would ask my daughter for her age. my daughter would reply in her clearest voice: "tao!" slightly befuddled, mrs schwartz would then turn to me and remark, "what did she say?" the speech therapist (which sounds so much less intimidating than speech-language pathologist) once asked me if i had experienced any issues surrounding my own personal language development as a child. as a matter of fact, i replied, i was aware of at least one somewhat noteworthy milestone in terms of my own early linguistic evolution. apparently, i had failed to utter a single word until the time of my third birthday. in fact, my mother was so concerned about the state of my mental health at the time that she actually had me examined by a licensed shrink (not an inviting proposition in those days) in order to see if there were any cracks that needed to be filled. as it turns out, by the time of my fourth birthday, i had deservedly earned the nickname "motormouth." my mother would subsequently observe that she spent the first three years of my life begging me to speak up and the next twenty years of my life begging me to shut up. anyway, getting back to the trials and tribulations of my own offspring, the therapy sessions will likely continue for the foreseeable future. the good news is that two seems largely oblivious to the entire ordeal. in fact, the kid seems rather bemused by the very nature of the sessions themselves. the other day for instance, when asked to describe the colour of the ball being held by her therapist, two blissfully responded, "back." "i think she meant black," remarked ms ph.d. to which my daughter replied, "no, give it back." i couldn't help but smile.

"if things go wrong, don't go with them." - roger babson

you try living with a seven-year-old and not hearing this ditty 300 times a day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye3T82Y5FHs