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

tales from the tunnel

let's see, now what exactly can i recall from yesterday's brief sojourn into the deepest, darkest recesses of toronto's subterranean transportation labyrinth. (ok, so maybe our city's subway system isn't really all that complicated, but it is underground.)

well, there was the spontaneous nose bleeder, who not only felt it necessary to gush crimson gold from his portside nasal cavity for the better part of my trip but who also seemed intent on broadcasting every minute detail of his ordeal to his nearby paramour and confidante.

and then there was the slightly peculiar beer can collector (an early candidate for hoarder of the century) who proudly displayed his wares stuffed inside the clear plastic garbage sack slung over his shoulder. santa claus he ain't, although the scruffy white beard did leave me scratching my own slightly stubbled chin for a moment or two.

and who could forget the loudtalkers -- mr. and mrs. loudtalker i presume -- who managed to enunciate each and every syllable with such earsplitting intensity that even an army drill sergeant would have blushed.

and finally, no railway journey would be complete without the disquieting unease generated by the unwavering gaze of this city's multitude of tunnel-dwelling creepers and stalkers. if promoting awkward ennui amongst your fellow travellers is indeed your bailiwick, then the toronto transit commission is the place for you. so step right up and take a seat, ladies and gentlemen.

what is it they say about no two snowflakes being alike?

random observations from the living room chair

as much as i would love to blast youtube tunes on my headphones all night (or my earbuds, to be precise), the little one is fast asleep on the couch behind me. hence the need for volume control. the kid has been struggling with a cough and fever for a few days now, so i have to keep at least one ear on her breathing habits. meanwhile i haven't eaten a single thing since sundown in anticipation of my wife's imminent arrival from a family christmas party. she and my eldest left home around six-ish and promised to return with ayaka (a traditional venezuelan dish) firmly in tow. speaking of seven, i just caught a glimpse of the latest version of her "no boys allowed" poster affixed to her bedroom door. this edition features several furious declarations of "girls rule!" as well as multiple images of angelic belles alongside demonic laddies. um, i guess that's a good thing, right? otherwise, the house is so chilly that i can practically see my breath every time i exhale. but i'm afraid that if i turn on the heat, i may inadvertently wake my youngest from her silent slumber. you see, the furnace in our unit isn't exactly a hybrid model -- in other words, it tends to rumble quite a bit upon startup. elsewhere, tonight's leafs game was, remarkably, yet another dud. and if you're old enough to remember the so-called "golden years" of '93 and '94, the team's recent ineptitude is almost impossible to forgive... or forget. all in all though, the kid looks pretty comfortable all rolled up over there on the sofa.

ok, so i wasn't exactly blasting this one

the death of manners

it was a g-d damn holiday assembly after all. a time for festive celebration. a time for community spirit. but most of all, a time for supporting your child's considerable achievements over the past year. it was obvious that the kids in my daughter's elementary school had spent months rehearsing their various solos and duets and harmonies. months spent with an eye to impressing mom and dad who would be sitting only a few feet away come opening night. months spent trying to satisfy the expectations of the only persons who mean anything to them in the world. so put away the blackberry's, for christ's sake. i mean, really, scanning your inbox while some seven-year-old is struggling to hold the high notes on "silent night"? sending a text while a pair of grade three's warble out a wobbly rendition of "hava nagila"? flipping through your vacation pics while a clearly rattled preteen hums along to the forgotten lyrics of "i saw mommy kissing santa claus"? i mean, c'mon pops. c'mon lady. give the kid a break. has anyone ever heard of manners?

it's so elemental