my mother always said to dress for the season

the thing about living in a neighbourhood with a significant component of elderly persons is that you can never really get a decent read on the weather. well, at least not by glancing out the window anyway. because the elderly seem to have this very odd, this very skewed sense of temperature. skewed in the sense that no matter what the temperature outside, the elderly will invariably elect to dress themselves as if a snowstorm is threatening to touch down. even in the middle of may. and the thing is that no matter how high the mercury rises, the elderly will inevitably approach the weather in the same way that a minesweeper approaches a combat area. with extreme caution. because i suppose that it could begin to snow. in the middle of may. and if by chance it does begin to snow, in the middle of may, it is likely the elderly who will be the most prepared. in fact, it is likely the elderly who will be the only ones prepared. for a snowstorm. in the middle of may. and even if that may snowstorm never actually touches down, just the sight of my bare arms and bare legs alongside all those woolen hats and fluffy mittens and down-filled parkas is enough to make me think twice. think twice about my choice of apparel. even though it is the elderly, and not i, that need to take a long, hard look in the mirror. because surely there can be no impending snowstorm. in the middle of may.

so the lead singer kinda reminds me of a fellow i know

not a creature was stirring

shopper: hello, i'd like to return this miniature pool table.

cashier: um, do you have the bill, sir?

shopper: well, no. no, i don't. but i am absolutely certainly that i purchased this item here.

cashier: yes, i understand that, sir. but in order to return an item, you must produce proof of purchase. you must also produce the bill. you must return the item within thirty days of purchase and you must produce the bill.

shopper: well unfortunately, i don't have the bill anymore. but like i said, i am absolutely certain that i bought this item here. i remember buying it the night before christmas. i bought it for my daughter.

cashier: christmas? you bought this item for christmas? sir, it's april. christmas was four months ago.

shopper: so... what are you saying?

cashier: sir, you can't return an item that you purchased four months ago. even if you still had the bill.

shopper: and why not? where does it say that i can't return an item i purchased four months ago? where does it say that?

cashier: uh, on the bill.

shopper: well, i don't have the bill.

cashier: and besides sir, christmas gifts are clearly marked "no return."

shopper: and why is that?

cashier: well, for one thing, because it is very difficult for the store to sell christmas gifts once christmas has come and gone.

shopper: but this isn't really a christmas gift. i mean, it's a pool table. a miniature pool table. how does that qualify as a christmas gift?

cashier: um, did you purchase it around christmas time?

shopper: yes.

cashier: as a gift for your daughter?

shopper: yes.

cashier: well then, it's a christmas gift.

shopper: but it's not a santa claus pool table. or a rudolph the red-nosed reindeer pool table. it's just a plain ol' pool table. a plain ol' miniature pool table.

(long pause)

cashier: well, is there anything wrong with it?

shopper: no.

cashier: is it defective? is it damaged?

shopper: no.

cashier: well, why do you want to return it then?

shopper: because my daughter doesn't want a pool table.

cashier: how come?

shopper: because she's an eight-year-old kid, that's how come! what the hell would an eight-year-old kid want with a crappy minitature pool table?

cashier: well, why'd you buy it for her then?

shopper: how the hell do i know! it was the night before christmas. i needed a gift. you were the only store open in the neighbourhood.

cashier: well, why didn't you attempt to return it sooner?

shopper: because she didn't even open the damn thing until last night.

cashier: your daughter waited until last night before opening it? how come?

shopper: i don't know. i guess she forgot about it, that's how come.

cashier: she forgot to open a christmas present? until april?

shopper: no, no, no. look, you don't understand. she opened the present on christmas morning, of course. but just the wrapping, that's all. she didn't actually open the box... she didn't actually open the box though until last night.

cashier: she didn't open the box until last night? why last night?

shopper: i don't know! i don't know why she waited until last night to open the box. look, she's eight, ok? eight-year-olds do some pretty strange things, ok?

cashier: and she doesn't like it? your child? she doesn't like the pool table?

shopper: no, of course she doesn't like the pool table.

cashier: and why is that?

shopper: like i said, she's an eight-year-old girl. what would an eight-year-old girl want with a miniature pool table?

cashier: so, uh, why'd you buy it for her in the first place then?

(long pause)

cashier: sir?

the first thing i noticed were all those lights in the mountains

the things we think and do not say

it occurred to me today that many of us spend more time thinking about the things we ultimately do not say than just about anything we think about in the first place. and it also occurred to me how uniquely different this life would be if we all just said everything we think rather than think about everything we say. and i wonder if anyone else has noticed how, in this society, we tend to hold those who pull very few punches, who put everything on the table, in a very odd light. because one would presume that in a society beholden to values of liberty and freedom -- one like ours -- one would presume that such libertarians would generally be viewed in a mostly favourable light. and yet that isn't always the case, is it? for far too often i have seen such individuals subjected to ridicule and scorn and contempt. and for what? for their honesty? for their frankness? for their courage to speak the truth as they see it? for aren't the lessons of our youth -- the lessons of our parents and our teachers and our mentors that encourage us to say what we mean and mean what we say -- aren't those messages just as valid in our later years? or have we become so concerned over how we may be perceived if our words are somehow misconstrued that instead we resort to the relative safety of that most famous of maxims, "silence is golden." because it isn't.

the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever will be

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