you, sir, are old

never really tried a morning post before. kinda feels like twitter. not good.

stuck at school marking business summatives. testing my patience. trying to stay sane.

if i keep adding posts like this, i may just make it to 1000, lc.

btw, the "new album which just came out this week" alluded to by robin zander in the intro was actually released 32 years ago this month in 1978, and pay attention to the "kiss" reference later in the number: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=th370QmFtk8

brown-eyed army

during a chat with some of my former students the other day, the subject of eye colour came up again and again. essentially i was trying to make the point that in western societies, i.e., our society, there seems to be a preference for blue eyes over brown eyes. more to the point, it is not uncommon to hear someone say, "he/she has such beautiful eyes" when the only defining characteristic of said eyes is the fact that they are blue. and so my question to you is this: what makes blue eyes so inherently attractive? no, really. why are blue eyes considered by so many to be naturally superior to, say, green eyes or grey eyes or hazel eyes or especially, to brown eyes? on that point, just about every pair of colour contact lenses i've ever noticed also happened to be blue, while the natural eye colour of the wearers was almost always brown. how come? ah yes, the blue eye-brown eye debate rears its ugly head once again. i have brown eyes. my two daughters have brown eyes. i certainly think my daughters are cute. i certainly think they have beautiful eyes. (and eyelashes, for that matter, but i digress.) why would i be more impressed if their eye colour just happened to be blue?

blue cars aren't inherently more attractive than black cars or red cars or grey cars, are they?

blue couches aren't inherently more attractive than green couches or beige couches or brown couches, are they?

my first girlfriend had blue eyes and she proceeded to tear my heart out of my chest before smashing it into a thousand little pieces. did i mention that she had blue eyes?

so why all the fuss then about blue eyes? and what's a brown-eyed gent to do in the face of all this blatant eyeism?

just thought of this one... the best of both worlds: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t0aT0GXW8jw

i can't compete

recipe for hearty bologna and cheese sandwich

prep time: 1 min

cook time: 0 min

ready in: 1 min

original recipe yields 1 serving(s)

ingredients:
white bread, 2 slices
beef or chicken bologna, 1 slice
processed cheese, 1 slice (thick)
yellow or dijon mustard, 1 squirt

directions:
1. preheat oven to 425 degrees F
2. arrange bread, bologna and cheese slices on cutting board
3. place bologna and cheese on one slice of bread
4. squirt mustard onto bologna and cheese
5. place other slice of bread on top of bologna and cheese
6. let stand 3 minutes before serving
7. cut into quarters or halves for variety
8. turn off oven
9. each sandwich serves one

nutritional information (amount per serving):
calories: 562

total fat: 36.5 g

cholesterol: 65 mg

why exactly is joe so sloppy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_-KbstEG4E

have you seen my flip-flops

so i was all set on calling it quits after ninety-nine entries. i even told a kid or two in class today that i had reached the end of my rope. but then i changed my mind, as i am apt to do. so now the challenge lies in reaching two hundred posts. at that point i'll re-evaluate my priorities. besides, i have at least two more good entries inside of me - one on bologna sandwiches, the other on the preference for blue eyes in a brown-eyed world. and how could i stop at 101 entries? that just wouldn't be right.

emo music for the soul: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0kGo_x12DQ&feature=related

"if you never change your mind, why have one?” - edward de bono

masks

everyone sports a facade. everyone fronts. everyone wears a mask. at least some of the time. some might think me to be pretentious and ostentatious and arrogant. fair enough. but only some of the time. put me in front of thirty strangers and i'm a star. put me in front of three hundred strangers and i'm a wreck. tomorrow i'm supposed to stand before the student body and deliver a thirty-second speech prior to handing out a few awards. fair enough. but here's the rub. i'm terrified of public speaking. at least speaking publicly in front of three hundred strangers. i'm already thinking about what can possibly go wrong. oh, so much can go wrong. i can trip and fall upstairs walking onstage. i can pass out on stage waiting my turn. i can trip and fall on the way to the mike. the mike can go dead. the mike can be positioned too low. the mike can be positioned too high. i can knock myself unconscious struggling to remove the mike from the mike stand. my voice can crack. my voice can quiver. (or is it quaver?) i can mispronounce a word. i can mispronounce a name. i can forget a name. i can pass out at the mike trying to remember a name. i can become temporarily blinded by the spotlight. i can become permanently blinded by the spotlight. i can fall offstage walking back to my position. i can knock one of my colleagues offstage walking back to my position. i can trip and fall downstairs walking offstage. and that's just what immediately comes to mind.

the weight of the world: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ism9itDvKTk&feature=related

p.s. someone may indeed have said "less is more" but it sure as hell wasn't me. that's not how i roll, kid.

priorities

after about a half-dozen or so false starts, i am finally willing to admit that i just can't seem to pull it together tonight in time for my self-imposed deadline of 10:30 pm. something is on my mind. something that i don't wish to share... at least not in this forum. and i'm a little disappointed in myself for being unable to focus my thoughts sufficiently in order to compose a coherent entry. look, i tried my best but tonight just isn't gonna be my night.

one of the reasons i began this blog some three months back was to test my commitment to the task of writing. i knew that there would be moments like this where i would have difficulty concentrating given the events of the day. indeed, today's circumstances do not represent the first time that i have been pushed to the limits of my tolerance and patience. and up to this point in time i have been mostly successful in overcoming those hurdles. but tonight my tolerance and patience have simply been overpowered by the gravity of the present situation. and so i must beg off for at least one evening in order to gather my thoughts and collect my wits.

perdoname.

the parallel universe of the octogenarian... or words to that effect

living in a condominium with a preponderance of elderly persons, one's judgment can become a tad skewed at times. it's as if the senior citizens who make up my building's mailing list exist in an alternate universe ruled entirely by their own set of unique principles. for instance, gauging the actual temperature on any given day can be quite the challenge for me when the average octogenarian willingly slips on a fur parka and snow pants before heading out into 25 degree temperatures. and old people have no sense of personal space. they routinely ignore the internationally-accepted standard of a 12-inch radius in terms of one's psychological comfort zone. and when they do get right up into my grill, old folks like to invade my personal comfort region even further via the exercise of inappropriate touching. as an example, there is an elderly woman living in the complex who is physically incapable of having a conversation with me without rubbing my arm up and down every fifteen seconds or so. (cough) and old people are never in a hurry so they tend to move about rather slowly, making it difficult for me to feel like i'm an active participant in the dog-eat-dog, chew-'em-up-and-spit-'em-out society i'm so fond of. in fact, sometimes i'm forced to spend a good ninety seconds inching my way through the first-floor hallway trailing behind one of my dawdling neighbours that i just shared an elevator ride with because i don't have the nerve to elbow her to one side so that i can make a break for the lobby doors. and oldtimers simply love to talk about themselves. every conversation, regardless of the subject matter, must necessarily come back to a discussion of their highly successful adult children or last winter's sojourn to miami beach or their latest triumph at the bingo table. and older people don't complain about the same things that you and i complain about. they complain about things like the mailman and whatever is making him six minutes late that day. and they complain about... wait a minute. what was the point of this entry in the first place?



never mind.

completely off topic, but when has that ever stopped me: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FabM1RJTkrY

seven going on seventeen

with g-d as my witness, seven just asked me the following question: "hey dad. do i look like one of those hotties on tv with their hair in their eyes?" not quite sure how to respond, i replied with a cursory, "uh... no. you don't."

but that got me thinking more generally about all of the forces in modern society that encourage young girls like my daughter to reach maturity at ever-quickening speeds. forces like youth-oriented television, online dress-up games, pre-teen clothing designers, fan and fashion magazines, peer pressure and parents. yes, even parents are part of the problem as they push their youngsters into yoga classes at two, modelling classes at four and advanced pilates classes at seven. and yes, i have readily admitted in the pages on this very forum that i, too, am guilty of pressuring my own daughter to "compete" with girls her age in terms of athletic activities and dance showcases. maybe that explains why seven literally chases the boys around the playground at school during recess. maybe she feels that she has to contend with the other girls in her class for the attention of this boy or that boy. for so much of the self-image of young girls today seems tied to issues of boys and clothing and weight and popularity and the beauty myth. indeed, seven has already asked me on several occasions if i thought she looked fat. keep in mind that seven is one of the tallest kids, boy or girl, in her class and yet she barely weighs 50 pounds.

that said, i wonder if my seven-year-old truly perceives the pressures i have heretofore described or instead has remained blissfully oblivious to those societal influences thus far. for her sake, i hope the latter is the case but my instincts tell me that the former is probably closer to the truth. it's almost as though growing up today has become a vortex that reshapes everything and everyone into a homogeneous lump before sucking those formerly diverse entities into its core.

and finally, i suppose the real question should be: why can't we just let the kids remain kids until they actually mature?

but oh how she loves to dance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xFrGuyw1V8s

winner... gagnant

apparently i just won ten free tickets to absolute comedy, the fledgling comedy club at yonge and eglinton. now at this early stage of the investigation i can't really be sure if the offer is legitimate or simply a marketing ploy designed to reel me in on some overpriced package deal that'll end up costing me hundreds of dollars. i didn't personally receive the telephone call from "mike" this evening informing me of my win. i was out having dinner at the yorkdale pickle barrel with my best bud. but my wife tells me that "mike" sounded sincere and the award seemed genuine. and it is true that i filled out an entry form at the club some six months back when i last visited the establishment, although six months later i have no recollection as to what that entry form actually permitted me to enter.

but tonight's alleged windfall highlights an even greater issue: i have never won anything in my life, certainly not something that i didn't already deserve to win in the first place. by that i mean that i have never won a lottery or a raffle or a sweepstakes or a free grad t-shirt. in fact, i can't even remember winning a prize in a mcdonald's giveaway promotion. you know, those periodic contests where you have to peel away a sticker on the side of a coffee cup to see if you won a million dollars or a trip to france or a free filet-o-fish. quite frankly i have always felt as though i was being teased by the powers that be as far as games of chance are concerned. indeed, i have known others who have won lottery prizes and sweepstakes prizes and raffle prizes and free grad t-shirts. but as for me... nothing. nada. nil. naught. never. maybe it's better that way. maybe it's better to earn everything that comes your way, rather than have it fall into your lap without rhyme or reason. after all, in sports we say: "the stronger the effort, the sweeter the victory."

regardless, could my streak of bad luck finally be coming to an end? could tonight's jackpot signal a sudden turn in my fortunes? could serendipity and fortuitousness stand ready to enter my life once and for all? nah. but still, i can't wait to give this "mike" fellow a ring tomorrow just to hear what he has to say. who knows? maybe i did win ten free tickets to the comedy club - no strings attached. hey, it could happen.

"i'm a great believer in luck, and i find the harder i work, the more i have of it." - thomas jefferson

not quite orchestral manoeuvres in the dark, but it'll have to do: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TfJe8hQ8ha0

rinse. spit. repeat.

"and don't forget your toothbrush. after all, you're still in your cavity-prone years." - breaking away (1979)

every night the dance begins around 8 pm or so. bedtime. showdown. gunfight at the ok corral. cue music. the combatants? in this corner, weighing in at a respectable 187 lbs, wearing red trunks with gold trim... alright, alright. enough already with all this tangential adhd meandering. so here's the scoop. every night is the same. yours truly is forced to chase his two-year-old seemingly halfway across the globe in order to stick a toothbrush into her mouth for a few seconds before bedtime.

the drill always begins with my demand that my daughter come to the bathroom so that i can discharge the dental duties of a doting dad. two's inevitable response: "uh... no." come here, kid. "no!" come here! "no!" come here right now! "no! no! no! no!" i said come here this instant! "noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!"

stage two involves the aforementioned chase and capture. this normally requires a short pursuit through one, possibly two, rooms of our condo until i can corner the little monkey against her will. when i finally have the mischievous imp in my grasp, i carefully lay her down on the carpet, toothbrush in hand, and attempt a cursory cleaning. but the kid is smart... and slippery. within a few seconds, she usually squirms free of my hold and cleverly positions herself onto her stomach, arms and legs extended outward like a starfish, not unlike a freestyle wrestler locked in a defensive posture on the mat. my response? why, flip the kid onto her back, of course. her response? why, quickly roll back onto her stomach naturally. onto the back. onto the stomach. the back. the stomach. back. stomach. (sigh) after maybe ten to fifteen reps of this silliness, the rascally rabbit usually begins to tire and allows me to proceed to stage three. the problem is that my two-year-old long ago figured out that in order to brush another's teeth, one requires access to another's mouth.

hence stage three: unlock those lips. i have come to learn that my daughter can press her lips together for a remarkably long time. my response: i gently squeeze her nostrils shut until she's forced to gasp for air. mouth finally open, i dig in to perform the dirty work. but not without one final obstacle. you see, the kid loves to feel like she's in control of the situation. any situation. i suppose it gives her a sense of empowerment. and who am i to mess with a two-year-old's sense of empowerment?

stage four: give and take. my youngest will ordinarily propose that i allow her the privilege of brushing her own teeth while lying on her back. sometimes this means that for every ten seconds i spend in her mouth, she requires at least thirty seconds to move her winnie the pooh toothbrush about her teeth and gums in a mostly pathetic attempt at oral hygiene. but hey, it's a relatively small price to pay for a shot at fighting plaque and tartar buildup, ain't it?

oh, and before i forget... step five: rinse and spit. now back on her feet again and hovering above the bathroom sink courtesy one fisher price step stool, rinsing for my daughter begins with a swig or two of cold tap water. this is followed by an exercise in juvenile spitting futility that often sees the lion's share of mouth water ending up in two's nightgown, and not the sink.

whatever. i tried my best. lights out. time for bed, kid.

quite possibly the worst choreography ever recorded on film: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_w4Xulsjo5I

see if you can catch your hometown, and quite possibly the worst choreography ever recorded on film: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OnP-b_IVdT0