I'm still trying to figure out the whole Twitter phenomenon. Recently, I joined in the faddish thought bubble bonanza, partly out of curiousity and partly because a friend thought I would find it entertaining.
Twitter, if you didn't already know, is an internet based service that allows the user to post text messages about whatever he or she is thinking or doing at any given moment. They call these Tweets. Members can then follow another user's Tweets and/or submit their own. Of course the only way in which anyone is likely to read one of your Tweets is if someone is actually following you (which sounds disturbingly similar to stalking). Without followers, your great pearls of wisdom are lost to the internet ether, which for me is probably where they belong.
As it turns out, if you are a celebrity starlet, like Ashton Kutchar, it seems the entire world needs to know what you are thinking or doing. Thanks to the proliferation of wireless web access, inspiring reports from the rich and famous are posted as they happen. It's like we're right there with George Clooney as he takes an eye test at the DMV.
Conan O'Brien is the current Twitter sweetheart. He has turned his unfortunate public colonoscopy, at the hands of NBC, into self-promotion gold. O'Brien's witty Tweets have increased his popularity far beyond what he was achieving in his brief stint as Tonight Show host. He has cleverly used Twitter to promote his own comedy tour which is now blazing its way across North America.
Twitter's biggest appeal is mostly among the 25 and under crowd who seem obsessed with typing useless, coded information on microscopic keypads. This generation is addicted to a near constant flow of information in the form of text messages, Tweets and Facebook postings. Some have also been known to communicate with their voices, although this remains undocumented.
I'll concede my confusion over the success of Twitter is generational. I grew up in an era when people didn't feel compelled to spew out whatever brainwave they had, largely because there was no one else around to listen. If you were standing in line at a bank and turned to everyone to declare 'OMG, this lineup is so retarded' you would likely be escorted from the building. If you went to a concert you spent most of your time enjoying the concert and not trying to type the words 'OMFG Aerosmith is totally BA' on a keypad the size of a saltine.
Twitter may be great for celebrities with seemingly vast amounts of spare time and the thumb-typing Clearasil crowd. But for a middle-aged dweeb like myself, I just don't see the point of a service that is mostly a collection of useless thoughts. I have enough of my own. Should I really be enraptured to learn that Kim Kardashian is standing in line at a Starbucks? Maybe if she were standing in front of me at the time. I'm also fairly certain the world could give a rats ass that I just spilled coffee on the shoes I got on sale at Globo.
The thing is, as fads go Twitter could possibly have a shorter shelf life than those 'Frankie Says Relax' t-shirts. It is the celebrity fascination aspect that generates the service's largest traffic, but we all know how stars and their publicists like to control their images. Eventually people will clue in that most of the celeb Tweets are nothing more than blatant attempts at self-promotion aimed at manipulating the public's perception.
Then again, everyone thought the internet was a fad and look how that turned out. Oh well, I guess this will be one more craze that passes me by. If you're feeling out of the loop too, you can take consolation in the news that Miley Cyrus recently quit Twitter. The public was evidently not too pleased that she had real opinions.
That kid is wise beyond her years.
Follow me on Twitter @uncleshroom
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Last Minute of Play
A proviso before you read today's blog. I will be citing an event from the Christian celebration of Easter. That said, this blog is not about Christianity, or preaching, or theology, although there is a hint of spirituality. I am using these examples in part because it is a tradition with which I am familiar, but also because as a cultural reference it is relevant to the subject.
Last Friday Pat Burns, former coach of the Habs, the Leafs, the Bruins and the Stanley Cup winning New Jersey Devils, stood before a crowd in the Eastern Townships in what was likely his last public appearance. Burns has battled and survived colon cancer and liver cancer. Last year, when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, Burns decided that he would not, and perhaps could not, battle any further.
Burns' rare appearance was to celebrate the construction of a new hockey arena in Stanstead that will bear his name. He flew in from Florida against doctor's orders to be present at the announcement. Burns took the occasion to recall the time he spent as a junior coach in Sherbrooke when he had developed an affection for the Eastern Townships. He became a regular summer resident in the area and admitted his heart was always there.
Burns also spoke about the inevitability of his death in a wistful but frank manner. He acknowledged the love of his family, the dedication of his colleagues, players, coaches, and team owners, specifically Lou Lamoriello of the New Jersey devils. He was humble and appreciative of having the new facility named in his honour, although he openly conceded that he probably won't live long enough to see its completion.
The role of a coach is not always easy. Sometimes you have to make difficult choices, face heartbreaking defeats and yet somehow encourage your team to recover and prepare for the next game. Success as a coach often means pushing players to their breaking point and forcing them to see the consequences of poor effort and selfishness. The most valuable quality any coach can have is the ability to inspire.
In the Christian tradition, this past Sunday is known as Palm Sunday. This is a ritual celebration to mark Jesus' return to Jerusalem. It is part of a series of events leading up to Easter that mark a journey that would ultimately lead to his death. The name is derived from a description of Jesus riding into the city on a lowly pack animal, with some of his followers placing their coats on the path and many placing palm branches. In that era, such an act would have been reserved for the elite of society or a high ranking official. Jesus was neither.
Regardless of your religious or philosophical beliefs, there is something remarkable about this event. Jesus knew that his fate was sealed; one doesn't stand up against the Roman Empire and just walk away. He could have tried to run, he could have cowered, he could have wept and plead for mercy. Instead, he chose to face his mortality in the same way in which he led his life. Many Christians regard this event as one of triumph and courage.
Pat Burns looked gaunt and frail as he stood before a crowd of reporters, family, colleagues and community members. His voice was weak and gravelly. He could have bemoaned his fate. He could have been angry at the unfairness of life. He could have easily just sent a note from home. Instead, he gathered up his courage and strength and with a weakened voice defiantly declared that life is to be celebrated. He talked about the future for the community and its new arena, drawing people together with dreams of success and the stories to be told.
In addition to the timing, there is a Palm Sunday parallel to Pat Burns appearance last Friday, but it isn't about faith or spirituality. We are all mortals who only occasionally consider our own fate. The thought of death brings with it fear and dread, but seeing and hearing Pat Burns revealed that there is really only one way in which to face death. To live every moment, every second, right down to the very last, with courage, humility and thanksgiving. In essence, he gave back to the world the very gift that has served him best: his ability to coach. It wasn't easy, but he certainly inspired us.
Perhaps triumph over death comes when we recognize that everything we have, our time, our abilities, our opportunities are all gifts. When we cling to these gifts for our own benefit they will die with us, but if we can find some way to give them back to the world, then they will live forever.
Thank you Pat, for continuing to encourage and inspire us, today and always.
Last Friday Pat Burns, former coach of the Habs, the Leafs, the Bruins and the Stanley Cup winning New Jersey Devils, stood before a crowd in the Eastern Townships in what was likely his last public appearance. Burns has battled and survived colon cancer and liver cancer. Last year, when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, Burns decided that he would not, and perhaps could not, battle any further.
Burns' rare appearance was to celebrate the construction of a new hockey arena in Stanstead that will bear his name. He flew in from Florida against doctor's orders to be present at the announcement. Burns took the occasion to recall the time he spent as a junior coach in Sherbrooke when he had developed an affection for the Eastern Townships. He became a regular summer resident in the area and admitted his heart was always there.
Burns also spoke about the inevitability of his death in a wistful but frank manner. He acknowledged the love of his family, the dedication of his colleagues, players, coaches, and team owners, specifically Lou Lamoriello of the New Jersey devils. He was humble and appreciative of having the new facility named in his honour, although he openly conceded that he probably won't live long enough to see its completion.
The role of a coach is not always easy. Sometimes you have to make difficult choices, face heartbreaking defeats and yet somehow encourage your team to recover and prepare for the next game. Success as a coach often means pushing players to their breaking point and forcing them to see the consequences of poor effort and selfishness. The most valuable quality any coach can have is the ability to inspire.
In the Christian tradition, this past Sunday is known as Palm Sunday. This is a ritual celebration to mark Jesus' return to Jerusalem. It is part of a series of events leading up to Easter that mark a journey that would ultimately lead to his death. The name is derived from a description of Jesus riding into the city on a lowly pack animal, with some of his followers placing their coats on the path and many placing palm branches. In that era, such an act would have been reserved for the elite of society or a high ranking official. Jesus was neither.
Regardless of your religious or philosophical beliefs, there is something remarkable about this event. Jesus knew that his fate was sealed; one doesn't stand up against the Roman Empire and just walk away. He could have tried to run, he could have cowered, he could have wept and plead for mercy. Instead, he chose to face his mortality in the same way in which he led his life. Many Christians regard this event as one of triumph and courage.
Pat Burns looked gaunt and frail as he stood before a crowd of reporters, family, colleagues and community members. His voice was weak and gravelly. He could have bemoaned his fate. He could have been angry at the unfairness of life. He could have easily just sent a note from home. Instead, he gathered up his courage and strength and with a weakened voice defiantly declared that life is to be celebrated. He talked about the future for the community and its new arena, drawing people together with dreams of success and the stories to be told.
In addition to the timing, there is a Palm Sunday parallel to Pat Burns appearance last Friday, but it isn't about faith or spirituality. We are all mortals who only occasionally consider our own fate. The thought of death brings with it fear and dread, but seeing and hearing Pat Burns revealed that there is really only one way in which to face death. To live every moment, every second, right down to the very last, with courage, humility and thanksgiving. In essence, he gave back to the world the very gift that has served him best: his ability to coach. It wasn't easy, but he certainly inspired us.
Perhaps triumph over death comes when we recognize that everything we have, our time, our abilities, our opportunities are all gifts. When we cling to these gifts for our own benefit they will die with us, but if we can find some way to give them back to the world, then they will live forever.
Thank you Pat, for continuing to encourage and inspire us, today and always.
Friday, March 26, 2010
The Friday Time Waster Supreme: Reloaded
For those of you who came here yesterday looking for a blog about public urinal etiquette, I shall explain the use of absurd humour as a literary tool to lighten an otherwise heavy topic in another blog. In the meantime, find a comfortable seat, the hot beverage of your choice, put your office phone on voice mail so you may enjoy this week's regular brain spew. It's my gift to you.
* * *
As if we needed further evidence that the game of hockey is not for the faint of heart, take a look at the Canadien's Travis Moen. Fifty stitches on his brow after nearly having his eye sliced out with a skate blade. Two games later, he was back on the ice with the team for their 4-1 win over the Florida Panthers. Considering we live in an era when people take personal days for paper cuts, that's pretty freakin' tough.
* * *
Buzz Aldrin probably won't make it past the first round of Dancing With The Stars, but he still looks like he could kick the crap out of Chad Ochocinco. He walked on the moon for Pete's sake!
* * *
The line of the week comes courtesy of Bonnie Preece, the No Frills cashier who won $20 million in the 6 49. In response to a question about her ex-husband who divorced her some years ago, eventually leading to bankruptcy:
"Sucks to be you."
Ain't karma grand?
* * *
If you weren't paying attention this week, apparently democracy in the United States of America has been usurped by an evil (legally elected) dictator. Among this crazed tyrants first commands: providing healthcare to more of its citizens. Mark my words, this philosophical descension into anarchy can only be part of some diabolical scheme to create a population of healthy but brainwashed superhumans bent on spreading their twisted message of compassion and dignity all over the planet. Somebody call Gilles Duceppe to begin mobilizing the resistance.
My God, what could possibly be next? Social security for seniors and federally funded education?!! Oh wait, they already have those.
* * *
Is it just me, or does Microsoft Word remind you of that pesky, overly keen new kid in the office who just wants to help you with everything without being asked?
If I wanted freakin' bullet points, I would have asked for freakin' bullet points!
* * *
Okay, okay, I hate to see people so despondent, here we go:
Proper Etiquette for The Public Urinal: A Primer
Go Habs Go. Enjoy the weekend.
* * *
As if we needed further evidence that the game of hockey is not for the faint of heart, take a look at the Canadien's Travis Moen. Fifty stitches on his brow after nearly having his eye sliced out with a skate blade. Two games later, he was back on the ice with the team for their 4-1 win over the Florida Panthers. Considering we live in an era when people take personal days for paper cuts, that's pretty freakin' tough.
* * *
Buzz Aldrin probably won't make it past the first round of Dancing With The Stars, but he still looks like he could kick the crap out of Chad Ochocinco. He walked on the moon for Pete's sake!
* * *
The line of the week comes courtesy of Bonnie Preece, the No Frills cashier who won $20 million in the 6 49. In response to a question about her ex-husband who divorced her some years ago, eventually leading to bankruptcy:
"Sucks to be you."
Ain't karma grand?
* * *
If you weren't paying attention this week, apparently democracy in the United States of America has been usurped by an evil (legally elected) dictator. Among this crazed tyrants first commands: providing healthcare to more of its citizens. Mark my words, this philosophical descension into anarchy can only be part of some diabolical scheme to create a population of healthy but brainwashed superhumans bent on spreading their twisted message of compassion and dignity all over the planet. Somebody call Gilles Duceppe to begin mobilizing the resistance.
My God, what could possibly be next? Social security for seniors and federally funded education?!! Oh wait, they already have those.
* * *
Is it just me, or does Microsoft Word remind you of that pesky, overly keen new kid in the office who just wants to help you with everything without being asked?
If I wanted freakin' bullet points, I would have asked for freakin' bullet points!
* * *
Okay, okay, I hate to see people so despondent, here we go:
Proper Etiquette for The Public Urinal: A Primer
- always face forward, or downward to monitor your progress, in the latter case a short glance is sufficient
- if the person next to you decides to strike up a conversation, you may look in his general direction, however under no circumstances should you make eye contact
- never look down to monitor another person's progress
- should you missfire, be sure all spills land on yourself
- never try to cut into a lineup for the porcelain wall pots, unless you enjoy receiving unscheduled dental work
- there is no maximum distance to stand behind a person while waiting your turn, if your back is not against the opposite wall, you are too close
- if you end up standing next to the same person on your second visit or more, you must avoid that person for the rest of the evening or in some cases, for up to a year. Unless that was your plan.
Go Habs Go. Enjoy the weekend.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Gagging Annie
If you've been following this Ann Coulter hoo-ha, you've probably spent a fair amount of the time with your mouth agape. Coulter is considered even by Canadian conservatives to be uber-right wing. She is also a rather gifted trash-talker, liberally sprinkling racial and social stereotypes into many of her most outrageous statements (don't you love how I managed to slip liberal in there?)
Coulter is not the only American conservative talking-head known for spewing vitriol at anything not on the republican agenda. She is in good company with right-wing political commentators like Rush Limbaugh, Pat Robertson and virtually everyone employed by Fox News. Debaters and detractors should take note that Coulter is a truly gifted and fierce opponent to anyone who should decide to confront her in public. She is well-educated, knowledgeable and exceptionally savvy at manipulating an issue to support her views.
I also happen to think most of what comes out of her mouth is garbage. Now, by no means would I consider myself her intellectual equal, nor do I have the kind of knowledge and insight into the machinations of the American system of politics or the finer points of U.S. conservatism. Coulter walks a fine line between right-wing political propaganda and flat out racial and social discrimination. Her statements, if taken seriously, can be extremely offensive. She has insisted that her comments are not designed to incite hatred, but perhaps, in the same vein as the 70s TV character Archie Bunker, reflect the attitudes of a disturbingly large portion of the population, and that alone is worthy of discussion.
What is easy for most of us to recognize is that she has parlayed virtually all of her intellect and talents into an act that gets her lots of attention. In the grand galactic scheme of things, there's not much difference between her and the kid in the schoolyard who has mastered the skill of sucking spaghetti up his nose to the delight of his peers. You can hang her photo next to Howard Stern, Marilyn Manson et al. in the 'audacity over substance' hall of fame.
Regardless, the University of Ottawa's decision to caution Ms. Coulter steers dangerously close to censorship. The subsequent decision to cancel her appearance also reflects very poorly on the university and our country. Many people may rightly be offended by what she describes as political satire, but I'm not convinced that her goal was to incite hatred, except perhaps of her. To make matters worse, this is really an issue of free speech causing people like me, who would much rather be writing about sports or proper public urinal etiquette, to come to her defence.
If anything, the U of O has given her exactly the ammunition she needs to demean our country and attack our national values. Of course, most of what she has said, and will say, in response to this rebuke, is laced with the predictable, sardonic hyperbole that undermines the legitimacy of every opinion she has ever expressed. What cannot be avoided is the amount of face-time she will get, particularly in the U.S. media, over this fiasco, driving us all into an interminable cringe. It seems only yesterday that our neighbours to the south were beginning to get an enlightened view of Canada, post-Vancouver Olympics. So much for that.
That said, let me reiterate I don't like Coulter's chosen methodology. I don't believe that employing tasteless, nasty jokes about another culture or a particular segment of society is an effective means to generate constructive dialogue. Sadly, there's enough violence and hardship in the world to achieve this. At the same time, I'm not willing to lump her in the same category as James Keegstra. Nobody was being forced to attend her speech in Ottawa, just as no one is forced to watch a Michael Moore movie. The best thing to do with an attention-starved narcissist, who exploits the right of free speech to bark out dumb-ass things as a means to satiate their appetite for the spotlight, is to simply ignore them.
What do you figure that kid who sucked spaghetti up his nose is doing these days?
Tomorrow's blog: public urinal etiquette.
Coulter is not the only American conservative talking-head known for spewing vitriol at anything not on the republican agenda. She is in good company with right-wing political commentators like Rush Limbaugh, Pat Robertson and virtually everyone employed by Fox News. Debaters and detractors should take note that Coulter is a truly gifted and fierce opponent to anyone who should decide to confront her in public. She is well-educated, knowledgeable and exceptionally savvy at manipulating an issue to support her views.
I also happen to think most of what comes out of her mouth is garbage. Now, by no means would I consider myself her intellectual equal, nor do I have the kind of knowledge and insight into the machinations of the American system of politics or the finer points of U.S. conservatism. Coulter walks a fine line between right-wing political propaganda and flat out racial and social discrimination. Her statements, if taken seriously, can be extremely offensive. She has insisted that her comments are not designed to incite hatred, but perhaps, in the same vein as the 70s TV character Archie Bunker, reflect the attitudes of a disturbingly large portion of the population, and that alone is worthy of discussion.
What is easy for most of us to recognize is that she has parlayed virtually all of her intellect and talents into an act that gets her lots of attention. In the grand galactic scheme of things, there's not much difference between her and the kid in the schoolyard who has mastered the skill of sucking spaghetti up his nose to the delight of his peers. You can hang her photo next to Howard Stern, Marilyn Manson et al. in the 'audacity over substance' hall of fame.
Regardless, the University of Ottawa's decision to caution Ms. Coulter steers dangerously close to censorship. The subsequent decision to cancel her appearance also reflects very poorly on the university and our country. Many people may rightly be offended by what she describes as political satire, but I'm not convinced that her goal was to incite hatred, except perhaps of her. To make matters worse, this is really an issue of free speech causing people like me, who would much rather be writing about sports or proper public urinal etiquette, to come to her defence.
If anything, the U of O has given her exactly the ammunition she needs to demean our country and attack our national values. Of course, most of what she has said, and will say, in response to this rebuke, is laced with the predictable, sardonic hyperbole that undermines the legitimacy of every opinion she has ever expressed. What cannot be avoided is the amount of face-time she will get, particularly in the U.S. media, over this fiasco, driving us all into an interminable cringe. It seems only yesterday that our neighbours to the south were beginning to get an enlightened view of Canada, post-Vancouver Olympics. So much for that.
That said, let me reiterate I don't like Coulter's chosen methodology. I don't believe that employing tasteless, nasty jokes about another culture or a particular segment of society is an effective means to generate constructive dialogue. Sadly, there's enough violence and hardship in the world to achieve this. At the same time, I'm not willing to lump her in the same category as James Keegstra. Nobody was being forced to attend her speech in Ottawa, just as no one is forced to watch a Michael Moore movie. The best thing to do with an attention-starved narcissist, who exploits the right of free speech to bark out dumb-ass things as a means to satiate their appetite for the spotlight, is to simply ignore them.
What do you figure that kid who sucked spaghetti up his nose is doing these days?
Tomorrow's blog: public urinal etiquette.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Mayor Tremblay wants your family
It seems the geniuses at Montreal city hall have concocted a scheme to stem the exodus of young families from within city limits. The plan will cost the city $12.9 million and consist of things like: financial incentives and refunds for young families to purchase property; adding larger parking spots (identified with a teddy bear icon) near public areas like arenas and parks; and discounts on public transit.
This is a classic government manoeuvre that looks at a problem, allocates a sack of cash and then tries to figure out how to spend it to address the issue. The thing is, the issue is not one that can be solved with cash.
First off, the incentives for purchasing property are only available for new homes with at least three bedrooms, 1,033 square feet and a maximum price of $295,000. The average price of a home on the island of Montreal was recently reported as $324, 000, so where exactly are these mystical, brand-new, $295K homes going to come from? While we're at it, who exactly will be patrolling the parking lots to make sure that the teddy-bear spots aren't used for delivery vans, or overcompensating egomaniacs depositing their Hummers? And what good is a discount on public transit when your stranded at a bus stop with two screaming kids in minus twenty weather because the wheels fell off the bus?
Another brilliant suggestion was to install child seats on the famed Bixi bikes. I don't know if you've ever cycled in downtown Montreal, but if I were crazy enough to want to weave my way through a maze of death-defying traffic, the last thing I want is to risk my child's life as well.
People sneer and snicker at the burbs because of their dependence on cars, lack of a core centre and generally bland night life. Fair criticism to be sure, but one thing suburbs have that a city doesn't is space. Kids like space to move around, parks to play in, a back yard with a swing. Suburbs are generally safer than the city, with significantly lighter and slower traffic in most neighbourhoods, so kids won't be taking their life in their hands just to go kick a soccer ball.
It has also been claimed that the burbs leave a much larger carbon footprint than city centres. I would like to see the hard data on this, because there are a lot cars downtown, many of which sit idling in bumper to bumper traffic. Not to mention massive office buildings with their lights on through the night, parking garages spewing exhaust fumes and massive amounts of heated, recycled air. I'm no expert, but the smog doesn't seem to be hanging over the west island.
Grocery essentials are more expensive in the city due to high commercial taxes. Every year, enormous quantities of fresh water leaks out of the city's water system due to ageing and failing infrastructure; we can only imagine what is happening with the sewage. The cost of renting or buying property is not only much higher, availability continues to be a challenge. Transit discounts would do little to offset the higher property taxes. Besides, if we're trying to encourage public transit usages, why are we creating more parking spaces?
Given the choice, it doesn't surprise me that young parents would want to put some kilometers between themselves and these problems.
Don't get me wrong, I love my city, but let's face it raising a family downtown is a game for the rich, who would not stand to benefit from the property incentives being proposed. I'm also fairly certain that if your rich, you ain't strapping little Johnny on the back of a Bixi bike.
What the Montreal city council really doesn't get is that these incentives, which are also rather insulting to those already living in (and paying taxes to) the city, do nothing to improve the overall cleanliness, congestion and safety issues.
If anything, this money ought to be allocated to areas where the city is truly in need. Affordable housing, repairing and replacing infrastructure, improving public security, air quality or at the very least having the politician's heads extracted from their colons.
The latter would definitely be money well-spent.
This is a classic government manoeuvre that looks at a problem, allocates a sack of cash and then tries to figure out how to spend it to address the issue. The thing is, the issue is not one that can be solved with cash.
First off, the incentives for purchasing property are only available for new homes with at least three bedrooms, 1,033 square feet and a maximum price of $295,000. The average price of a home on the island of Montreal was recently reported as $324, 000, so where exactly are these mystical, brand-new, $295K homes going to come from? While we're at it, who exactly will be patrolling the parking lots to make sure that the teddy-bear spots aren't used for delivery vans, or overcompensating egomaniacs depositing their Hummers? And what good is a discount on public transit when your stranded at a bus stop with two screaming kids in minus twenty weather because the wheels fell off the bus?
Another brilliant suggestion was to install child seats on the famed Bixi bikes. I don't know if you've ever cycled in downtown Montreal, but if I were crazy enough to want to weave my way through a maze of death-defying traffic, the last thing I want is to risk my child's life as well.
People sneer and snicker at the burbs because of their dependence on cars, lack of a core centre and generally bland night life. Fair criticism to be sure, but one thing suburbs have that a city doesn't is space. Kids like space to move around, parks to play in, a back yard with a swing. Suburbs are generally safer than the city, with significantly lighter and slower traffic in most neighbourhoods, so kids won't be taking their life in their hands just to go kick a soccer ball.
It has also been claimed that the burbs leave a much larger carbon footprint than city centres. I would like to see the hard data on this, because there are a lot cars downtown, many of which sit idling in bumper to bumper traffic. Not to mention massive office buildings with their lights on through the night, parking garages spewing exhaust fumes and massive amounts of heated, recycled air. I'm no expert, but the smog doesn't seem to be hanging over the west island.
Grocery essentials are more expensive in the city due to high commercial taxes. Every year, enormous quantities of fresh water leaks out of the city's water system due to ageing and failing infrastructure; we can only imagine what is happening with the sewage. The cost of renting or buying property is not only much higher, availability continues to be a challenge. Transit discounts would do little to offset the higher property taxes. Besides, if we're trying to encourage public transit usages, why are we creating more parking spaces?
Given the choice, it doesn't surprise me that young parents would want to put some kilometers between themselves and these problems.
Don't get me wrong, I love my city, but let's face it raising a family downtown is a game for the rich, who would not stand to benefit from the property incentives being proposed. I'm also fairly certain that if your rich, you ain't strapping little Johnny on the back of a Bixi bike.
What the Montreal city council really doesn't get is that these incentives, which are also rather insulting to those already living in (and paying taxes to) the city, do nothing to improve the overall cleanliness, congestion and safety issues.
If anything, this money ought to be allocated to areas where the city is truly in need. Affordable housing, repairing and replacing infrastructure, improving public security, air quality or at the very least having the politician's heads extracted from their colons.
The latter would definitely be money well-spent.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Beautiful, Perfect Love
In the first blog of the Shroom Chronicle, I identified two components of life that I consider keys to keeping our collective lives on the rails. One was laughter, which is a tonic of immeasurable value in maintaining some semblance of sanity when the world around us seems beyond control. The other is love.
Seven years ago today, as I stood at the front of my local church, watching my beautiful bride-to-be walk towards me, one thing was certain, I was pretty sure I knew what love was. Today when I think back to that time, I realize that I only knew part of the story.
People are enamoured with romance. We get caught up in the passion of a new relationship, particularly ones with a compelling story attached. Romantic allegory permeates popular culture. There are stories of passion and beauty, the handsome prince and the beautiful princess. Tales that are rife with encounters of adversity, adventure and overcoming impossible odds. They end with sunsets and redemption, all culminating in a glorious wedding celebration. Everything is beautiful and perfect.
It sounds lovely, but I got news for you: that ain't love.
Actually, my wife and I have quite a romantic back story, although hardly fodder for a grand romantic novel, but then there is so much more to our love than that.
In our years together we have raised her son Josh to young adulthood. We brought our son Noah into the world. We have coped with more than one career crisis, the selling and purchase of a home and various other personal and professional challenges. It wasn't always difficult, but it wasn't always roses and sunshine either.
Some believe that when couples start to recognize the imperfections in one another, when their lives become a monotony of routine, it marks the beginning of a fading love. This is only true if you live in a fantasy world where everything must be beautiful and perfect all the time. The truth is that as the initial glow of a new relationship fades, that is when love begins to grow.
Seven years ago I thought I had love all figured out. Today I realize that the scope and depth of our love has grown far beyond anything I could have imagined. It doesn't concern itself with flaws and imperfections, which is good because I have quite a few. It isn't confined to perfect moments in time like tropical sunsets and fine dinners, not that we would say no to either.
It is in those everyday moments, when we find ways to support one another, console one another and forgive one another. It is those times when we act for one another without words, or expectation of recognition, in response to life's challenges. It is encouraging the other when they struggle with self doubt. It is knowing when to be patient, when to sacrifice, when to laugh and when the best remedy is a hug.
Love is looking below the surface and seeing a person's passions, hopes and dreams, and standing behind them and beside them through success and failure.
What makes love so much greater than a superficial perception of beauty and perfection, is that the more it is nurtured, in any given circumstance, the stronger and deeper it grows.
Today, on the seventh anniversary of our wedding, I know I am more in love with my wife than I have ever been before. I also know that there is still so much more to be discovered, and yes, there will be stumbles along the way. One thing I do know for sure is that my life is enriched because of her and is impossible to imagine without her.
That is what love can do, which to me, like my wife, is beautiful and perfect.
Happy anniversary Sweetie.
Seven years ago today, as I stood at the front of my local church, watching my beautiful bride-to-be walk towards me, one thing was certain, I was pretty sure I knew what love was. Today when I think back to that time, I realize that I only knew part of the story.
People are enamoured with romance. We get caught up in the passion of a new relationship, particularly ones with a compelling story attached. Romantic allegory permeates popular culture. There are stories of passion and beauty, the handsome prince and the beautiful princess. Tales that are rife with encounters of adversity, adventure and overcoming impossible odds. They end with sunsets and redemption, all culminating in a glorious wedding celebration. Everything is beautiful and perfect.
It sounds lovely, but I got news for you: that ain't love.
Actually, my wife and I have quite a romantic back story, although hardly fodder for a grand romantic novel, but then there is so much more to our love than that.
In our years together we have raised her son Josh to young adulthood. We brought our son Noah into the world. We have coped with more than one career crisis, the selling and purchase of a home and various other personal and professional challenges. It wasn't always difficult, but it wasn't always roses and sunshine either.
Some believe that when couples start to recognize the imperfections in one another, when their lives become a monotony of routine, it marks the beginning of a fading love. This is only true if you live in a fantasy world where everything must be beautiful and perfect all the time. The truth is that as the initial glow of a new relationship fades, that is when love begins to grow.
Seven years ago I thought I had love all figured out. Today I realize that the scope and depth of our love has grown far beyond anything I could have imagined. It doesn't concern itself with flaws and imperfections, which is good because I have quite a few. It isn't confined to perfect moments in time like tropical sunsets and fine dinners, not that we would say no to either.
It is in those everyday moments, when we find ways to support one another, console one another and forgive one another. It is those times when we act for one another without words, or expectation of recognition, in response to life's challenges. It is encouraging the other when they struggle with self doubt. It is knowing when to be patient, when to sacrifice, when to laugh and when the best remedy is a hug.
Love is looking below the surface and seeing a person's passions, hopes and dreams, and standing behind them and beside them through success and failure.
What makes love so much greater than a superficial perception of beauty and perfection, is that the more it is nurtured, in any given circumstance, the stronger and deeper it grows.
Today, on the seventh anniversary of our wedding, I know I am more in love with my wife than I have ever been before. I also know that there is still so much more to be discovered, and yes, there will be stumbles along the way. One thing I do know for sure is that my life is enriched because of her and is impossible to imagine without her.
That is what love can do, which to me, like my wife, is beautiful and perfect.
Happy anniversary Sweetie.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Planet of The Friday Time Waster Supreme
What a crazy week. I barely had two seconds to think, and usually I need several hours. Ah well, it's Friday, so time to kick back and get ready for a relaxing weekend. At least that's the plan.
* * *
So let me get this straight, the NHL board of governors (read: fat rich guys who own hockey franchises) decided that it was in the best interest of the league to introduce a rule to prevent head-shots for next season. This after letting Matt Cooke go unpunished for trying to decapitate Marc Savard. The net result, two more mind-numbingly brutal attacks resulting in severe injuries to Chicago Blackhawk's Brent Seabrook and Pittsburgh Penguin's Alex Goligoski. Now the league has done a 180 and decided it might be wise to introduce the rule before the end of this season, or somebody dies. I suppose if it had been Sidney Crosby who had been laying nose-first on the ice a couple of weeks ago, the rule would already be in place. So by the NHL's math: Savard + Seabrook + Goligoski = Crosby.
* * *
Why does the rise in the Canadian dollar always coincide with me having absolutely no disposable income? Actually just about everything coincides with me having absolutely no disposable income.
* * *
Not that there's anything wrong with a case of beer, but next time the Prime Minister makes a bet with the U.S. President over a hockey game it should be for something we could really use. How about Florida?
* * *
Montreal's blue collar workers are threatening to shut down the Biodome and Insectarium as part of pressure tactics in their negotiations for a new contract. Oh my, where are we going to find another boreal forest and a thousand bugs? Um, maybe my back yard.
* * *
From the 'Let's Find A Downside To Everything' department, apparently all of this warm weather is not good news for everyone. According to Maple Syrup producers, the warm weather is causing the flow of sap to slow and even stop, which means supplies of maple syrup could be affected. The warm weather has also cut into the cabanes à sucre business in Quebec. Which is not really a problem for me because I'm still full from last year's meal.
I guess I'll just have to drown my sorrows at a terrasse somewhere.
* * *
Cheers to my brother Johnny who will wed his sweetheart Heather this Saturday. I wish them many years of happiness, adventure, discovery and a love that grows stronger every day.
Enjoy your weekend.
* * *
So let me get this straight, the NHL board of governors (read: fat rich guys who own hockey franchises) decided that it was in the best interest of the league to introduce a rule to prevent head-shots for next season. This after letting Matt Cooke go unpunished for trying to decapitate Marc Savard. The net result, two more mind-numbingly brutal attacks resulting in severe injuries to Chicago Blackhawk's Brent Seabrook and Pittsburgh Penguin's Alex Goligoski. Now the league has done a 180 and decided it might be wise to introduce the rule before the end of this season, or somebody dies. I suppose if it had been Sidney Crosby who had been laying nose-first on the ice a couple of weeks ago, the rule would already be in place. So by the NHL's math: Savard + Seabrook + Goligoski = Crosby.
* * *
Why does the rise in the Canadian dollar always coincide with me having absolutely no disposable income? Actually just about everything coincides with me having absolutely no disposable income.
* * *
Not that there's anything wrong with a case of beer, but next time the Prime Minister makes a bet with the U.S. President over a hockey game it should be for something we could really use. How about Florida?
* * *
Montreal's blue collar workers are threatening to shut down the Biodome and Insectarium as part of pressure tactics in their negotiations for a new contract. Oh my, where are we going to find another boreal forest and a thousand bugs? Um, maybe my back yard.
* * *
From the 'Let's Find A Downside To Everything' department, apparently all of this warm weather is not good news for everyone. According to Maple Syrup producers, the warm weather is causing the flow of sap to slow and even stop, which means supplies of maple syrup could be affected. The warm weather has also cut into the cabanes à sucre business in Quebec. Which is not really a problem for me because I'm still full from last year's meal.
I guess I'll just have to drown my sorrows at a terrasse somewhere.
* * *
Cheers to my brother Johnny who will wed his sweetheart Heather this Saturday. I wish them many years of happiness, adventure, discovery and a love that grows stronger every day.
Enjoy your weekend.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Going Green
When we were kids, back in the elementary school days, St. Patrick's day was celebrated much the same as today. Cut-outs of shamrocks, leprechauns, pots of gold and of course everyone wore some shred of green clothing. The latter seemed particularly important, as one was often publicly scolded by their peers for the unthinkable transgression of failure to don the Irish national colour.
The thing is, I'm Scottish. I was born in Prestwick on the west coast of Scotland to parents who, to the best of my knowledge, had no Irish ancestry. At least none that they would publicly acknowledge. Which is why my parents would only grudgingly accept our participation in St. Patrick's day festivities, reminding my brothers and I that we were NOT Irish.
If you grew up in Canada, a generation or two removed from your ancestry, you might not get why my parents were so adamant about distinguishing themselves from the Irish. Without getting into and in-depth history lesson, it's fair to say that Scotland, Ireland and England didn't always play nice together. There were frequent disputes (read: wars) over land, allegiance to the empire, religion etc., etc. For the Irish, conflicts with England are not too distant in their collective memories.
Great Britain may appear to the casual observer as one big happy family, but scratch the surface and you will uncover nationalist pride that make Quebec separatists look like moderates.
The one thing Scottish and Irish natives do agree on is their lingering dislike of England. Of course most of this resentment is culturally based and has nothing to do with any recent conflicts with the English (except, again, for the Irish). Nonetheless, national pride runs deep in the hearts and minds of the Scots and Irish, and usually at the expense of the English.
I was born in Scotland but arrived in Canada as an infant, so in many ways I consider myself a de-facto Canadian. While I grew up with a sense of Scottish nationalist pride, it is only one part of my identity.
For many of us, celebrating St. Patrick's day means a lot of things. For some it is truly a celebration of their heritage; for others it is a celebration of a global cultural event; and for many it is the celebration of an event that has become a unique feature of their community.
What makes St. Patrick's day so remarkable is the variety of celebrations from city to city across North America, and the world. Each one incorporating its own distinct cultural characteristics and showcasing local talents, organizations and achievements. For an event that focuses primarily on one nation's pride, it is an oddly global unifying experience.
The key word here is celebration and honestly what living breathing Scot or Englishman, anglophone, allophone or francophone, can resist that?
So raise a pint of Guinness, or the green tinted beverage of your choice, and declare Erin Go Bragh, Ireland forever, and toast the greatest gift the Irish have given the world. Another excuse to celebrate.
And we can always do with that.
The thing is, I'm Scottish. I was born in Prestwick on the west coast of Scotland to parents who, to the best of my knowledge, had no Irish ancestry. At least none that they would publicly acknowledge. Which is why my parents would only grudgingly accept our participation in St. Patrick's day festivities, reminding my brothers and I that we were NOT Irish.
If you grew up in Canada, a generation or two removed from your ancestry, you might not get why my parents were so adamant about distinguishing themselves from the Irish. Without getting into and in-depth history lesson, it's fair to say that Scotland, Ireland and England didn't always play nice together. There were frequent disputes (read: wars) over land, allegiance to the empire, religion etc., etc. For the Irish, conflicts with England are not too distant in their collective memories.
Great Britain may appear to the casual observer as one big happy family, but scratch the surface and you will uncover nationalist pride that make Quebec separatists look like moderates.
The one thing Scottish and Irish natives do agree on is their lingering dislike of England. Of course most of this resentment is culturally based and has nothing to do with any recent conflicts with the English (except, again, for the Irish). Nonetheless, national pride runs deep in the hearts and minds of the Scots and Irish, and usually at the expense of the English.
I was born in Scotland but arrived in Canada as an infant, so in many ways I consider myself a de-facto Canadian. While I grew up with a sense of Scottish nationalist pride, it is only one part of my identity.
For many of us, celebrating St. Patrick's day means a lot of things. For some it is truly a celebration of their heritage; for others it is a celebration of a global cultural event; and for many it is the celebration of an event that has become a unique feature of their community.
What makes St. Patrick's day so remarkable is the variety of celebrations from city to city across North America, and the world. Each one incorporating its own distinct cultural characteristics and showcasing local talents, organizations and achievements. For an event that focuses primarily on one nation's pride, it is an oddly global unifying experience.
The key word here is celebration and honestly what living breathing Scot or Englishman, anglophone, allophone or francophone, can resist that?
So raise a pint of Guinness, or the green tinted beverage of your choice, and declare Erin Go Bragh, Ireland forever, and toast the greatest gift the Irish have given the world. Another excuse to celebrate.
And we can always do with that.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Hard Lesson
One of the hardest things about being a parent is watching your kids make mistakes. It is inevitable that your children will falter along the way as they mature, but it doesn't make you feel any better. Parents often feel powerless in preventing every stumble. We try our best to help kids learn from their mistakes, but it's still hard.
This grudgingly accepted reality becomes much harder to bear when one consigned to the sidelines to watch scenarios unfold with full knowledge of the potential consequences. It's like watching a car accident in slow motion and hoping in the end that no one will be seriously hurt. Most parents have lived enough of life to foresee those times when their children will make the same mistakes as they did. When they make poor choices based on peer pressure, when they rush into things without considering consequences, when they enter into destructive relationships with people who have their own interests in mind.
The problem is, parents cannot control the outcome. Although they might know that there is potential for pain or heartache, it doesn't mean that the scenario will play out.
Sometimes, kids get lucky.
As children and teens we often regarded our parent's concern with disdain. We thought they were being overprotective and sometimes controlling. Whenever we did falter, the consequences were made worse by listening to mom or dad say "I told you so" or "didn't I warn you this would happen?" Yes, maybe they did tell us so, but was it so necessary to gloat?
I guess now, as a parent, I get it. There are a lot of things that we might want to be right about, but accurately predicting our child's hurt is not one of them.
It's not something that we can see as children when we are so preoccupied with pursuing our independence, with our parents being the greatest hurdle to overcome.
Of course, the realization that another person is pursuing a potentially detrimental path is not strictly the purview of parenthood. It can be, at times, a challenging aspect of our friendships. Let's face it, we're uncomfortable asking a friend if they have had too much to drink before driving home. We don't want to to confront a friend when we recognize signs of destructive behaviour. If we see someone we care about in a toxic relationship, we try our best to be supportive because we don't want to risk losing our friendship.
For a young Alex Hamelin this past Sunday, luck did not save him. Caught up in the exuberance of the St. Patrick's day parade, and evidently impaired by a day of celebratory drinking, the young 20 year old man died after being crushed under the wheels of a parade float. He had evidently climbed onto the float when it stopped temporarily near the end of the parade route. As the truck began moving the man jumped down, lost his footing and fell in front of the wheels.
Sunday's tragedy has all the makings of something that could have, and should have, been prevented. But to think anyone would want to stand up with any degree of self satisfaction and declare "I told you so" is deplorable. It does, however, offer some perspective on how we weigh risk against personal discretion. Should someone have intervened to stop Alex's reckless behaviour? Should someone have been watching over him after he had consumed so many drinks? These things we will likely never know, but it surely weighs heavily on everyone involved, and leaves many others with a sense of emptiness.
This is no consolation to the parents of the young man who lost his life doing something so seemingly benign as celebrating. They will have to live with the most unthinkable pain any parent could bear, the loss of a child. They, like many others, have already learned that being a parent is not a popularity contest. Now they must endure the knowledge that they were not there, for just one last time, to protect their child. What they would surely give right now to have him be angry at their interference.
It makes us think of all those times when our own parents stuck their noses into our lives without invitation. Maybe we owe them a thank you.
This grudgingly accepted reality becomes much harder to bear when one consigned to the sidelines to watch scenarios unfold with full knowledge of the potential consequences. It's like watching a car accident in slow motion and hoping in the end that no one will be seriously hurt. Most parents have lived enough of life to foresee those times when their children will make the same mistakes as they did. When they make poor choices based on peer pressure, when they rush into things without considering consequences, when they enter into destructive relationships with people who have their own interests in mind.
The problem is, parents cannot control the outcome. Although they might know that there is potential for pain or heartache, it doesn't mean that the scenario will play out.
Sometimes, kids get lucky.
As children and teens we often regarded our parent's concern with disdain. We thought they were being overprotective and sometimes controlling. Whenever we did falter, the consequences were made worse by listening to mom or dad say "I told you so" or "didn't I warn you this would happen?" Yes, maybe they did tell us so, but was it so necessary to gloat?
I guess now, as a parent, I get it. There are a lot of things that we might want to be right about, but accurately predicting our child's hurt is not one of them.
It's not something that we can see as children when we are so preoccupied with pursuing our independence, with our parents being the greatest hurdle to overcome.
Of course, the realization that another person is pursuing a potentially detrimental path is not strictly the purview of parenthood. It can be, at times, a challenging aspect of our friendships. Let's face it, we're uncomfortable asking a friend if they have had too much to drink before driving home. We don't want to to confront a friend when we recognize signs of destructive behaviour. If we see someone we care about in a toxic relationship, we try our best to be supportive because we don't want to risk losing our friendship.
For a young Alex Hamelin this past Sunday, luck did not save him. Caught up in the exuberance of the St. Patrick's day parade, and evidently impaired by a day of celebratory drinking, the young 20 year old man died after being crushed under the wheels of a parade float. He had evidently climbed onto the float when it stopped temporarily near the end of the parade route. As the truck began moving the man jumped down, lost his footing and fell in front of the wheels.
Sunday's tragedy has all the makings of something that could have, and should have, been prevented. But to think anyone would want to stand up with any degree of self satisfaction and declare "I told you so" is deplorable. It does, however, offer some perspective on how we weigh risk against personal discretion. Should someone have intervened to stop Alex's reckless behaviour? Should someone have been watching over him after he had consumed so many drinks? These things we will likely never know, but it surely weighs heavily on everyone involved, and leaves many others with a sense of emptiness.
This is no consolation to the parents of the young man who lost his life doing something so seemingly benign as celebrating. They will have to live with the most unthinkable pain any parent could bear, the loss of a child. They, like many others, have already learned that being a parent is not a popularity contest. Now they must endure the knowledge that they were not there, for just one last time, to protect their child. What they would surely give right now to have him be angry at their interference.
It makes us think of all those times when our own parents stuck their noses into our lives without invitation. Maybe we owe them a thank you.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Bride of The Friday Time-Waster Supreme
Sorry I didn't get to yesterday's blog. Work and school ate up my leisure time, as our buddy Jon Montgomery would say: "brother's gotta eat." Anyway, I'll make it up to you today by providing a higher quality of pointless jabber. Actually, it probably won't be that good, but since you're already here, you might as well read on.
* * *
Not that I'm a big fan (I voted for the onion ring), but props to Prime Minister Stephen Harper for putting the kibosh on Parliamentary debate over changing the lyrics to 'O Canada'. I think we can all agree that this is not the time, particularly when too many Canadians are still singing 'O Where Did My Job Go?'
* * *
As if we needed further evidence as to why the NHL is widely regarded by American media as a sport for forehead sloping, mouth-breathing, knuckle draggers. Colin Campbell's refusal to suspend Pittsburg Penguins forward Matt Cooke over a brutal, and clearly intentional, shot to the head of Boston Bruin Marc Savard is indicative of an organization staffed exclusively by spineless weasels. I defy anybody who watched just one of the recent Olympic hockey games to tell me that it was not the most exciting hockey since the World Juniors. All games were governed by the International Ice Hockey Federation rules that, among other things, restrict head-shots of any kind as well as fighting. The NHL's ambiguous new rule for blindside hits, which will only go into effect next season, is too little too late for Savard who is likely out for the rest of the regular season. I guess someone has to die before the league decides to grow a pair.
* * *
Speaking of spineless weasels, let's also add classless halfwit to Academy organizer Bruce Davis' title for intentionally leaving Farrah Fawcett out of the In Memorium segment of the Oscars. Also absent from the list: Bea Arthur and Ricardo Montalban (Khaaaaaaaan!).
* * *
How do we know it's spring? Not the sunshine, the melting snow, the longer days, nope, it's the delightful aroma of skunk spray. Oh joy.
* * *
According to unnamed insiders (aren't they always?) Tiger Woods' return to the PGA tour will take place in April at the Masters in Augusta. If you didn't already know, Augusta National is an uber-exclusive private golf club that (surprise!) does not allow women members. Probably a good idea for Tiger to maintain some self-control, not so much if you're trying to convince everybody of your renewed respect for women.
* * *
Mathieu Darche is one of the best sports stories this year. Darche, a journeyman minor-leaguer, was called up to the Canadiens when the team's roster was seriously depleated by a string of injuries. Since donning the CH, Darche has registered 9 points with 5 goals and 4 assists in 19 games with the Habs. At 33, Darche could easily have thought his chances of making it in the NHL had all but vanished. His grit, determination and perhaps his wisdom have likely given him a chance to realize his dream to be signed to the team he grew up admiring. Darche reminds us that we should never give up on our dreams, no matter how unlikely, and to always be ready when opportunity knocks.
Have a great St. Patties weekend, enjoy the parade.
* * *
Not that I'm a big fan (I voted for the onion ring), but props to Prime Minister Stephen Harper for putting the kibosh on Parliamentary debate over changing the lyrics to 'O Canada'. I think we can all agree that this is not the time, particularly when too many Canadians are still singing 'O Where Did My Job Go?'
* * *
As if we needed further evidence as to why the NHL is widely regarded by American media as a sport for forehead sloping, mouth-breathing, knuckle draggers. Colin Campbell's refusal to suspend Pittsburg Penguins forward Matt Cooke over a brutal, and clearly intentional, shot to the head of Boston Bruin Marc Savard is indicative of an organization staffed exclusively by spineless weasels. I defy anybody who watched just one of the recent Olympic hockey games to tell me that it was not the most exciting hockey since the World Juniors. All games were governed by the International Ice Hockey Federation rules that, among other things, restrict head-shots of any kind as well as fighting. The NHL's ambiguous new rule for blindside hits, which will only go into effect next season, is too little too late for Savard who is likely out for the rest of the regular season. I guess someone has to die before the league decides to grow a pair.
* * *
Speaking of spineless weasels, let's also add classless halfwit to Academy organizer Bruce Davis' title for intentionally leaving Farrah Fawcett out of the In Memorium segment of the Oscars. Also absent from the list: Bea Arthur and Ricardo Montalban (Khaaaaaaaan!).
* * *
How do we know it's spring? Not the sunshine, the melting snow, the longer days, nope, it's the delightful aroma of skunk spray. Oh joy.
* * *
According to unnamed insiders (aren't they always?) Tiger Woods' return to the PGA tour will take place in April at the Masters in Augusta. If you didn't already know, Augusta National is an uber-exclusive private golf club that (surprise!) does not allow women members. Probably a good idea for Tiger to maintain some self-control, not so much if you're trying to convince everybody of your renewed respect for women.
* * *
Mathieu Darche is one of the best sports stories this year. Darche, a journeyman minor-leaguer, was called up to the Canadiens when the team's roster was seriously depleated by a string of injuries. Since donning the CH, Darche has registered 9 points with 5 goals and 4 assists in 19 games with the Habs. At 33, Darche could easily have thought his chances of making it in the NHL had all but vanished. His grit, determination and perhaps his wisdom have likely given him a chance to realize his dream to be signed to the team he grew up admiring. Darche reminds us that we should never give up on our dreams, no matter how unlikely, and to always be ready when opportunity knocks.
Have a great St. Patties weekend, enjoy the parade.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Happiness Management
I have a confession to make: I'm in a good mood today. I know it's awful isn't it? What right do I have to feel this way? With everything that is wrong in the world today: violence, corruption, poverty, I should be showing a little more sensitivity.
It seems we've become a society of grumblers and worriers. We worry and grumble about the economy, health care, our careers, our health, and on and on. We are constantly concerned with the state of things. Sometimes the worries and frustrations stack so high they seem almost insurmountable.
Things are bad. The environment is a mess and getting worse. The cost of living is increasing faster than our salaries. Somewhere, someplace in the world, a group of people are plotting an act of violence, maybe even right here on our own soil. The healthcare system is stretched to its limit, and a significant portion of our population is reaching an age that will create an even greater burden.
So why the good mood?
The truth is, we dwell way too often on the negative. Maybe we get some weird masochistic satisfaction in exposing the downside of everything. Recently, a frustrated hockey fan called a local radio station to rant about Canadien's goaltender Carey Price. Price had been pulled from the net in a previous game for allowing three goals on eleven shots. Not stellar, granted, but the caller went on with some earnest to proclaim that Price was not welcome in his municipality of Cote St-Luc.
Not welcome, really? Frustration I can understand, but why the hate?
I don't wish to insert myself into this inane goalie debate, but honestly folks, it's just a hockey game. He's still just a kid, and yes he's struggling, but he didn't run over someone's dog or burn down the playground. Seems to me that there are plenty of other targets for anger in this world. I could come up with a few people who ought to be banned from my own neighborhood whose transgressions far outweigh letting in some bad goals.
To answer my own question, I'm in a good mood just because...I am. The sun is shining, I have a job, I have a wonderful family, I am relatively healthy, I know where my next meal is coming from. I feel secure in who I am. I am surrounded by exceptional people and live in a great city, in an incredible country.
Many of these things are true for all of us but we don't seem to give this good news as much balance as the bad news.
More than ever, what this troubled world needs are dreamers and visionaries. We need optimism, we need to imagine things can get better and, most importantly, we need to celebrate when they do.
If I've learned anything about life it's that the things you worry about most will probably never happen, but that unexpected tragedy will blindside you every time. The thing is, there's really no point in worrying about the bad stuff, it knows where you live and when the time comes it will find you.
So, when things are going great, even if it's just a good mood, enjoy it. It's a gift, don't ruin it by looking for the pricetag.
Cheers
It seems we've become a society of grumblers and worriers. We worry and grumble about the economy, health care, our careers, our health, and on and on. We are constantly concerned with the state of things. Sometimes the worries and frustrations stack so high they seem almost insurmountable.
Things are bad. The environment is a mess and getting worse. The cost of living is increasing faster than our salaries. Somewhere, someplace in the world, a group of people are plotting an act of violence, maybe even right here on our own soil. The healthcare system is stretched to its limit, and a significant portion of our population is reaching an age that will create an even greater burden.
So why the good mood?
The truth is, we dwell way too often on the negative. Maybe we get some weird masochistic satisfaction in exposing the downside of everything. Recently, a frustrated hockey fan called a local radio station to rant about Canadien's goaltender Carey Price. Price had been pulled from the net in a previous game for allowing three goals on eleven shots. Not stellar, granted, but the caller went on with some earnest to proclaim that Price was not welcome in his municipality of Cote St-Luc.
Not welcome, really? Frustration I can understand, but why the hate?
I don't wish to insert myself into this inane goalie debate, but honestly folks, it's just a hockey game. He's still just a kid, and yes he's struggling, but he didn't run over someone's dog or burn down the playground. Seems to me that there are plenty of other targets for anger in this world. I could come up with a few people who ought to be banned from my own neighborhood whose transgressions far outweigh letting in some bad goals.
To answer my own question, I'm in a good mood just because...I am. The sun is shining, I have a job, I have a wonderful family, I am relatively healthy, I know where my next meal is coming from. I feel secure in who I am. I am surrounded by exceptional people and live in a great city, in an incredible country.
Many of these things are true for all of us but we don't seem to give this good news as much balance as the bad news.
More than ever, what this troubled world needs are dreamers and visionaries. We need optimism, we need to imagine things can get better and, most importantly, we need to celebrate when they do.
If I've learned anything about life it's that the things you worry about most will probably never happen, but that unexpected tragedy will blindside you every time. The thing is, there's really no point in worrying about the bad stuff, it knows where you live and when the time comes it will find you.
So, when things are going great, even if it's just a good mood, enjoy it. It's a gift, don't ruin it by looking for the pricetag.
Cheers
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
My Theory, Which is Mine...
I have a friend who has a great conspiracy theory. He believes conspiracy theories are generated in order to keep us from focusing on the real issues that need our attention. Simply put, conspiracy theories are a conspiracy. At least, that’s his theory.
The human mind is a funny thing. For creatures supposedly adept at finding ways to survive a sometimes violent and cruel world, we don’t handle facts well. We regularly engage in activities that we know to be either bad for our health or downright dangerous. Some of these activities become habits, like smoking, which are extremely difficult to break (been there).
Experts also tell us that our brains often fill in the blanks when we lack certain details. We perceive the world through what we see, hear and smell around us and combine this information with the knowledge of how things should function even if such things are beyond our immediate perception. This often affects how we interact with one another. Using a sort of unspoken language, we finish one another’s sentences, or get jokes before the punch line, or anticipate a pass from a teammate (or some greasy guy at the bar).
These frequent assumptions are partly why the brain is such an incredibly efficient and highly complex processing tool. It’s also why we find computers to be so boring and literal. We just assume they’re going to know what we want to do next. Computers, however, deal exclusively with accurate, factual information, which tends to expose the gaps in our thinking.
The assumptions our brains make are also an easy target for conspiracy theories. The latest theory being floated around the Internet (where everything is true) concerns the recent earthquakes in Haiti and Chile. It has been proposed that these earthquakes, and their magnitude, somehow indicate that a global cataclysm is afoot, and that these quakes are just signs of what is to come. Of course, the usual suspects, the governments of the world, are concealing this fact from us to prevent a worldwide panic.
If this sounds familiar, you've probably seen the movie 2012, which is based in part on the premise that the ancient Mayan calendar, which evidently stops at the year 2012, is a prediction of the end of the world. I have my own, less exciting theory about that. I think the guy in charge of the calendar just got tired of writing it and no one else wanted the job, so that was that. Pretty boring, but probably closer to the truth.
Like most conspiracy theories, the latest one doesn’t seem to be based on any hard statistical data. Somebody just took a few facts, matched them up with apocalyptic literature and connected the dots.
The thing is, as catastrophic as these events are, if you were to look at earthquake data recorded over the past four decades you would find there is virtually no pattern at all. Other than the fact that earthquakes happen every year and that the severity of these events often varies. The impact on human society, measured sadly by death toll, is largely attributed to the size of the population in proximity to the epicenter.
The number of quakes per year also varies. According to the United States Geological Survey there is anywhere from 1200 to 2000 quakes globally per year (if you can believe a goverment agency). This data does not take into account the fact that as populations expand and the technology of the measuring equipment improves we are likely to detect more quakes over time.
Once again, boring, but true.
The earthquake in Haiti was particularly tragic due to the combination of the strength of the quake, the close proximity to a densely populated city and buildings ill-equipped to withstand such an event.
What I find truly bothersome is the fact that while people waste precious energy inventing connections that don’t exist, people continue to struggle with devastation, disease and loss.
Knowing this doesn’t seem to quell the voices of conspiracy theorists, which feed primarily on fear and the accompanying adrenaline rush. Unfortunately, dumb-ass theories seem to have a longer shelf-life than humanitarian aid.
Wouldn’t it be more exciting if we could find some way to use our Swiss-cheese brains for something a little more useful? By thinking about solutions and not problems, by sharing the stories of those in need and mobilizing resources, rather than parking our arses in front of a screen looking for patterns that don't exist. Surely this would do more to lessen the impact of natural disasters than could possibly be achieved by inventing pointless conspiracies.
Just a theory.
The human mind is a funny thing. For creatures supposedly adept at finding ways to survive a sometimes violent and cruel world, we don’t handle facts well. We regularly engage in activities that we know to be either bad for our health or downright dangerous. Some of these activities become habits, like smoking, which are extremely difficult to break (been there).
Experts also tell us that our brains often fill in the blanks when we lack certain details. We perceive the world through what we see, hear and smell around us and combine this information with the knowledge of how things should function even if such things are beyond our immediate perception. This often affects how we interact with one another. Using a sort of unspoken language, we finish one another’s sentences, or get jokes before the punch line, or anticipate a pass from a teammate (or some greasy guy at the bar).
These frequent assumptions are partly why the brain is such an incredibly efficient and highly complex processing tool. It’s also why we find computers to be so boring and literal. We just assume they’re going to know what we want to do next. Computers, however, deal exclusively with accurate, factual information, which tends to expose the gaps in our thinking.
The assumptions our brains make are also an easy target for conspiracy theories. The latest theory being floated around the Internet (where everything is true) concerns the recent earthquakes in Haiti and Chile. It has been proposed that these earthquakes, and their magnitude, somehow indicate that a global cataclysm is afoot, and that these quakes are just signs of what is to come. Of course, the usual suspects, the governments of the world, are concealing this fact from us to prevent a worldwide panic.
If this sounds familiar, you've probably seen the movie 2012, which is based in part on the premise that the ancient Mayan calendar, which evidently stops at the year 2012, is a prediction of the end of the world. I have my own, less exciting theory about that. I think the guy in charge of the calendar just got tired of writing it and no one else wanted the job, so that was that. Pretty boring, but probably closer to the truth.
Like most conspiracy theories, the latest one doesn’t seem to be based on any hard statistical data. Somebody just took a few facts, matched them up with apocalyptic literature and connected the dots.
The thing is, as catastrophic as these events are, if you were to look at earthquake data recorded over the past four decades you would find there is virtually no pattern at all. Other than the fact that earthquakes happen every year and that the severity of these events often varies. The impact on human society, measured sadly by death toll, is largely attributed to the size of the population in proximity to the epicenter.
The number of quakes per year also varies. According to the United States Geological Survey there is anywhere from 1200 to 2000 quakes globally per year (if you can believe a goverment agency). This data does not take into account the fact that as populations expand and the technology of the measuring equipment improves we are likely to detect more quakes over time.
Once again, boring, but true.
The earthquake in Haiti was particularly tragic due to the combination of the strength of the quake, the close proximity to a densely populated city and buildings ill-equipped to withstand such an event.
What I find truly bothersome is the fact that while people waste precious energy inventing connections that don’t exist, people continue to struggle with devastation, disease and loss.
Knowing this doesn’t seem to quell the voices of conspiracy theorists, which feed primarily on fear and the accompanying adrenaline rush. Unfortunately, dumb-ass theories seem to have a longer shelf-life than humanitarian aid.
Wouldn’t it be more exciting if we could find some way to use our Swiss-cheese brains for something a little more useful? By thinking about solutions and not problems, by sharing the stories of those in need and mobilizing resources, rather than parking our arses in front of a screen looking for patterns that don't exist. Surely this would do more to lessen the impact of natural disasters than could possibly be achieved by inventing pointless conspiracies.
Just a theory.
Monday, March 8, 2010
And the loser is...
I don’t know when I stopped watching the Oscars. No, I don’t mean the point at which I turned off the TV last night. I meant the number of years I have avoided watching that grand gala of excess, exhibitionism and pretense. Not that the show can’t be entertaining, in much the same way a telephone directory would be entertaining if you inserted two or three pages of comic strips.
Our society is often obsessed with celebrity and it’s hard to understand exactly why. I’ll admit, there have been times when I have been somewhat star-struck. I’ve found that when you actually meet a so-called celebrity you are often left with one of two impressions. If you are lucky, you discover they are humble, appreciative of a complement and not much different than yourself. In some cases however, you discover they are self-centered, uncaring and unwilling to mix with the lowly masses; unless said masses should happen to open their wallets. Regardless, all of my brushes with celebrity over the years have done nothing to make my life any better, other than having a good story to tell at a party.
The older I get the less I can tolerate the whole buzz around the Oscars. The mindless speculation of who will accompany who, who will be wearing which designer’s gown, which multi-gazillion dollar film will take home best-picture, best-supporting actress, best-credits, best-product-placement in a short film or animation. Ugh. Who gives a flying-freakin’-squirrel?
Don’t get me wrong, I love movies. I think film has an incredible power to capture our imagination, to take us to places we dream of, or perhaps places we might otherwise be reluctant to go; to anger, inspire, entertain and move us. Yes, movies can do all of that, but honestly, can we just call a spade a spade? When you look at the pay scale versus workload, being a movie actor is not that hard. I know some people who work behind-the-scenes in movie productions. Many get short shrift come Oscar time even though they put in way more hours than the pampered stars. So you were born with good looks and the ability to convince people that you are someone else, big deal.
The movie industry takes in huge profits from the box office, not to mention the various other licensing deals and residuals. In 2009 the movie industry made over ten billion dollars in box office profit alone, in a year when the economy had completely tanked. Ten billion! How does that compare to the single mom who’s working two jobs, barely making rent and trying to feed her two kids? Should I care about some actress starving herself to fit into a gown that equals that single mom’s yearly income?
As an artist who struggles everyday to make ends meet, often working on material that is neither inspiring or entertaining, I have a hard time taking the glam-fest Oscars very seriously. There is a wealth of exceedingly gifted, talented and hard-working musicians, artists and actors, some of whom I am fortunate to have as friends, who slog away at their craft with very little recognition or appreciation. We do it because we love it, and we don’t need a golden idol for validation (although if I got one, I could sell it on eBay to cover some of my bills).
I’ve got an idea, why not take that bejeweled, overindulgent, overdressed, botoxed mutual-appreciation extravaganza and put it on pay-per-view? The people that care about such drivel will surely pay for it. With ten billion dollars in profit we shouldn’t have to sit and watch the benefactors wallow in it. We already paid our ten bucks. Besides, I know some pretty talented people who could easily fill six hours of prime-time television with something significantly more entertaining and meaningful.
Brother can you spare a billion?
Our society is often obsessed with celebrity and it’s hard to understand exactly why. I’ll admit, there have been times when I have been somewhat star-struck. I’ve found that when you actually meet a so-called celebrity you are often left with one of two impressions. If you are lucky, you discover they are humble, appreciative of a complement and not much different than yourself. In some cases however, you discover they are self-centered, uncaring and unwilling to mix with the lowly masses; unless said masses should happen to open their wallets. Regardless, all of my brushes with celebrity over the years have done nothing to make my life any better, other than having a good story to tell at a party.
The older I get the less I can tolerate the whole buzz around the Oscars. The mindless speculation of who will accompany who, who will be wearing which designer’s gown, which multi-gazillion dollar film will take home best-picture, best-supporting actress, best-credits, best-product-placement in a short film or animation. Ugh. Who gives a flying-freakin’-squirrel?
Don’t get me wrong, I love movies. I think film has an incredible power to capture our imagination, to take us to places we dream of, or perhaps places we might otherwise be reluctant to go; to anger, inspire, entertain and move us. Yes, movies can do all of that, but honestly, can we just call a spade a spade? When you look at the pay scale versus workload, being a movie actor is not that hard. I know some people who work behind-the-scenes in movie productions. Many get short shrift come Oscar time even though they put in way more hours than the pampered stars. So you were born with good looks and the ability to convince people that you are someone else, big deal.
The movie industry takes in huge profits from the box office, not to mention the various other licensing deals and residuals. In 2009 the movie industry made over ten billion dollars in box office profit alone, in a year when the economy had completely tanked. Ten billion! How does that compare to the single mom who’s working two jobs, barely making rent and trying to feed her two kids? Should I care about some actress starving herself to fit into a gown that equals that single mom’s yearly income?
As an artist who struggles everyday to make ends meet, often working on material that is neither inspiring or entertaining, I have a hard time taking the glam-fest Oscars very seriously. There is a wealth of exceedingly gifted, talented and hard-working musicians, artists and actors, some of whom I am fortunate to have as friends, who slog away at their craft with very little recognition or appreciation. We do it because we love it, and we don’t need a golden idol for validation (although if I got one, I could sell it on eBay to cover some of my bills).
I’ve got an idea, why not take that bejeweled, overindulgent, overdressed, botoxed mutual-appreciation extravaganza and put it on pay-per-view? The people that care about such drivel will surely pay for it. With ten billion dollars in profit we shouldn’t have to sit and watch the benefactors wallow in it. We already paid our ten bucks. Besides, I know some pretty talented people who could easily fill six hours of prime-time television with something significantly more entertaining and meaningful.
Brother can you spare a billion?
Friday, March 5, 2010
The Friday Time Waster Supreme: Episode 3
Not that I want to wade into a hot-button issue, but this whole bru-ha-ha over a student refusing to remove her niqab in French class is a bit much. A niqab, if you didn’t already know, is a veil worn by some Muslim women that covers the face leaving only a small slit for the eyes. According to some expert, the reason for asking the student to remove the face cover was because: "It is important for the teacher to see the student's mouth to teach good elocution. A niqab interferes with that objective."
Because ‘elocution’ is such an important part of communication in Quebec.
* * *
Yes, it was all very amusing, but now what the hell are we supposed to do with those giant inflatable beavers?!
* * *
It’s one thing to lose the Olympic Gold medal hockey game to your archrival, it’s another thing entirely to have to return to your regular job: coaching the Leafs. The good news is finally Ron Wilson has truly honed the skill of inventing creative explanations for his team losing, other than throwing his players under the bus.
* * *
Living with a teenager is a lot like having raccoons in your home. You never see them, but everytime you walk in the kitchen all the doors are open and the food is gone.
* * *
The way things are going, Sidney Crosby is going to have to install a GPS tracking system on all of his equipment.
* * *
Farewell Thérèse Guevremont-Rochette. We felt your pride, we wept with your joy, we held your child in our hearts. Be at peace.
Enjoy the sunshine.
Because ‘elocution’ is such an important part of communication in Quebec.
* * *
Yes, it was all very amusing, but now what the hell are we supposed to do with those giant inflatable beavers?!
* * *
It’s one thing to lose the Olympic Gold medal hockey game to your archrival, it’s another thing entirely to have to return to your regular job: coaching the Leafs. The good news is finally Ron Wilson has truly honed the skill of inventing creative explanations for his team losing, other than throwing his players under the bus.
* * *
Living with a teenager is a lot like having raccoons in your home. You never see them, but everytime you walk in the kitchen all the doors are open and the food is gone.
* * *
The way things are going, Sidney Crosby is going to have to install a GPS tracking system on all of his equipment.
* * *
Farewell Thérèse Guevremont-Rochette. We felt your pride, we wept with your joy, we held your child in our hearts. Be at peace.
Enjoy the sunshine.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Noogie Diplomacy
Controversy is swirling over news that a child was given permission to direct traffic at New York’s John F. Kennedy airport. A recording made on February 17th revealed that a young boy’s voice was heard making at least five transmissions to the flight crews of passenger aircrafts. One portion of the transcript had the boy clearing an aircraft for takeoff. Evidently the children were visiting the control tower during a week-long school break.
I honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. Presumably the children were given instructions on what to say, and from what I heard, the pilots found the conversations rather entertaining. One would think that if they had any concerns they would have expressed it.
Come to think of it, wouldn’t it be interesting if kids were in charge of a few other things? For example, imagine if they ran network television. Kiss those predictable police-lawyer-hospital dramas goodbye, and say hello to back-to-back episodes of Wipeout. At least half of all sports coverage would focus on the team mascot or the guy with the funny hair who just spilled beer on his pants. News programs would feature stories about videogame cheats, the newest flavor of Skittles and that kid in grade four who can stick virtually anything up his nose.
Winter carnivals would start at the first snowfall and end when the last remnant of a snowbank melted. Which wouldn’t be a problem, since everyday of winter would be a snow day.
The movie Avatar would probably be identical, except the dialogue would be way better.
If kids ran the government, legislative debate would be replaced by a giant game of dodge ball; the team with the last kid standing passes the law. Huge military budgets would be redirected to figuring out how to extract dinosaur DNA from amber to create a super army of T-Rexes.
The UN would be way more effective with kids in charge. ‘All in favor of the resolution to give the ambassador for Iran a huge noogie, say aye.’
I suspect that if kids were in charge, a lot of global issues would be resolved rather quickly. If people are starving or sick somewhere in the world, then just fill every airplane we’ve got with food and medicine and send it there. It would only take a day, and we’ve certainly got enough airplanes, food and medicine. Heck, if people are living in a country with no food or shelter, fly them back. We’ve all got spare rooms or a sofa bed, and we’d have way more players for the dodge ball teams.
I also don't think children would waste any time settling some of the world’s ongoing conflicts. All kids would prefer to have their mom or dad tuck them in at night, rather than trying to survive on a distant battlefield fighting with someone else’s mom or dad.
While it’s true that our children have much to learn about the complexity of the world, they also possess a remarkably acute sense of fairness, something that often gets lost in the vast layers of gray in adulthood.
So, if a kid can clear an airliner for takeoff, maybe understanding some of our global challenges is a lot simpler than we thought.
Tag, you’re it.
I honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. Presumably the children were given instructions on what to say, and from what I heard, the pilots found the conversations rather entertaining. One would think that if they had any concerns they would have expressed it.
Come to think of it, wouldn’t it be interesting if kids were in charge of a few other things? For example, imagine if they ran network television. Kiss those predictable police-lawyer-hospital dramas goodbye, and say hello to back-to-back episodes of Wipeout. At least half of all sports coverage would focus on the team mascot or the guy with the funny hair who just spilled beer on his pants. News programs would feature stories about videogame cheats, the newest flavor of Skittles and that kid in grade four who can stick virtually anything up his nose.
Winter carnivals would start at the first snowfall and end when the last remnant of a snowbank melted. Which wouldn’t be a problem, since everyday of winter would be a snow day.
The movie Avatar would probably be identical, except the dialogue would be way better.
If kids ran the government, legislative debate would be replaced by a giant game of dodge ball; the team with the last kid standing passes the law. Huge military budgets would be redirected to figuring out how to extract dinosaur DNA from amber to create a super army of T-Rexes.
The UN would be way more effective with kids in charge. ‘All in favor of the resolution to give the ambassador for Iran a huge noogie, say aye.’
I suspect that if kids were in charge, a lot of global issues would be resolved rather quickly. If people are starving or sick somewhere in the world, then just fill every airplane we’ve got with food and medicine and send it there. It would only take a day, and we’ve certainly got enough airplanes, food and medicine. Heck, if people are living in a country with no food or shelter, fly them back. We’ve all got spare rooms or a sofa bed, and we’d have way more players for the dodge ball teams.
I also don't think children would waste any time settling some of the world’s ongoing conflicts. All kids would prefer to have their mom or dad tuck them in at night, rather than trying to survive on a distant battlefield fighting with someone else’s mom or dad.
While it’s true that our children have much to learn about the complexity of the world, they also possess a remarkably acute sense of fairness, something that often gets lost in the vast layers of gray in adulthood.
So, if a kid can clear an airliner for takeoff, maybe understanding some of our global challenges is a lot simpler than we thought.
Tag, you’re it.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
My City of Lights
In my last job, in what feels like a previous life, I commuted to downtown Montreal everyday. Each morning I would roll into town on the train with all the other sleepy west-islanders bracing ourselves for the workday. I would step onto the platform at Lucien-L'Allier and be greeted by the tall brick facade of Centre Bell. Exiting the station, I passed through Centennial plaza paved with personalized bricks purchased by adoring Habs fans, one of which is a tribute to my late brother, I always made a point of looking down to see his name. I would continue along past the plaques and retired numbers of former players, the bronze figures of Howie Morenz, Maurice 'Rocket' Richard, Jean Béliveau and Guy Lafleur.
From there my journey took me by the historic stone facade of Windsor Station, once a hub of rail travel for the city, from which many an exotic adventure would begin. I would cross Peel and cut through parc Place du Canada and it's magnificent and sobering war memorial. My next shortcut crossed the steps in the shadows of the tall pillars of Marie-Reine-du-Monde Cathedral which faced the equally majestic, although philosophically diametric, Sun Life building. From there I made my way towards Montreal's iconic Place Ville Marie. This grand, modern structure is still impressive even at her relatively young age of 48. My father, and my wife's father, both worked in head offices in what tenants affectionately refer to as PVM. As I passed through the plaza below, not far from the elegant green fountain, I would often see a man performing his ritual morning Tai-chi. My office was not much farther, situated on Phillips Square facing the archetype of Canadian retail, The Bay.
I would often take that walk for granted. I was usually more preoccupied with the coming events of the day than the city around me, but not always. As commutes go, it was not a short one, nonetheless the reward for the train ride was the sights, sounds and smells of a vibrant city.
There were a few things about downtown life I could do without. The impending peril of stepping off a sidewalk. The not-so-pleasant aromas wafting forth from an alleyway. If you were tired or sick, the city seemed cold and noisy and unsympathetic. It was often congested with people and traffic which brought forth ill tempered honks and dirty looks.
Blemishes aside, Montreal was and is a most beautiful city. It is dense with history, overflowing with character, rich in culture and alive in diversity and spirit. It is jazz and hip-hip, rock and opera, sushi and steamies.
I don't commute to the city anymore. A career change has led me to a somewhat bland location in Laval. Okay, it's in an industrial park, so bland is being kind.
Earlier this week I started a course that has taken me back into the city, to a location not far from Bishop's and St. Catherine. While my focus has been primarily on this new and exciting venture, I find myself once again drawn to this endlessly fascinating city. Even though I barely have the time between work, classes and family, I find myself wanting to linger, even if for a few moments, just to drink in the atmosphere of Montreal.
True, my hat hangs in the suburbs, but part of me will always belong to the gleaming lights on the long gentle slope of Mont-Royal.
Something tells me I'm not alone.
From there my journey took me by the historic stone facade of Windsor Station, once a hub of rail travel for the city, from which many an exotic adventure would begin. I would cross Peel and cut through parc Place du Canada and it's magnificent and sobering war memorial. My next shortcut crossed the steps in the shadows of the tall pillars of Marie-Reine-du-Monde Cathedral which faced the equally majestic, although philosophically diametric, Sun Life building. From there I made my way towards Montreal's iconic Place Ville Marie. This grand, modern structure is still impressive even at her relatively young age of 48. My father, and my wife's father, both worked in head offices in what tenants affectionately refer to as PVM. As I passed through the plaza below, not far from the elegant green fountain, I would often see a man performing his ritual morning Tai-chi. My office was not much farther, situated on Phillips Square facing the archetype of Canadian retail, The Bay.
I would often take that walk for granted. I was usually more preoccupied with the coming events of the day than the city around me, but not always. As commutes go, it was not a short one, nonetheless the reward for the train ride was the sights, sounds and smells of a vibrant city.
There were a few things about downtown life I could do without. The impending peril of stepping off a sidewalk. The not-so-pleasant aromas wafting forth from an alleyway. If you were tired or sick, the city seemed cold and noisy and unsympathetic. It was often congested with people and traffic which brought forth ill tempered honks and dirty looks.
Blemishes aside, Montreal was and is a most beautiful city. It is dense with history, overflowing with character, rich in culture and alive in diversity and spirit. It is jazz and hip-hip, rock and opera, sushi and steamies.
I don't commute to the city anymore. A career change has led me to a somewhat bland location in Laval. Okay, it's in an industrial park, so bland is being kind.
Earlier this week I started a course that has taken me back into the city, to a location not far from Bishop's and St. Catherine. While my focus has been primarily on this new and exciting venture, I find myself once again drawn to this endlessly fascinating city. Even though I barely have the time between work, classes and family, I find myself wanting to linger, even if for a few moments, just to drink in the atmosphere of Montreal.
True, my hat hangs in the suburbs, but part of me will always belong to the gleaming lights on the long gentle slope of Mont-Royal.
Something tells me I'm not alone.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
TV Wasteland
After two weeks of intense competition, heartwarming and heartbreaking stories that was the glory and the majesty of the Vancouver Winter Olympics, I’ve come to one irrefutable conclusion: regular television sucks.
The lunkheads at the big networks have been spoon-feeding us such a mass of stale, dry oatmeal for so long that is takes something like the Olympic games for us to realize it.
Drama? Really? We get cop shows that open with a shot of a corpse that met a more imaginative death than the previous week, while a team of police and forensic investigators jockey for the most clever sardonic quip to capture the moment. Then forty-odd minutes of flashy graphics, vacuous dialogue, gratuitous cleavage and an aging actor brooding behind his sunglasses. Yeah, this is way better than overtime in a gold-medal hockey game.
Reality TV? Are you kidding me? A bunch of spoiled, needy, attention-grabbing celebrity wannabes clawing and back-stabbing their way through every episode. That they could share the same screen as Joannie Rochette is laughable.
If that wasn’t torture enough, there are shows like Lost, which is so appropriately named, not only because you need a team of quantum physicists and a slide rule to figure out what happened in the last episode, but also because all the time you wasted watching this contrived sack of camel spit is lost…forever. Here’s the thing, bobsled: two guys in a toboggan sliding down a track of ice, whoever goes fastest wins. Simple and exciting.
As I sat in front of my TV last night, willing Brian Williams to magically appear with anything other than two decorators cat fighting over paint chips and fabric swatches, I seriously considered packing up my digital cable box and calling Purolator to ship it back to Videotron (hell, if Purolator can ‘deliver the games’ surely they can handle this overpriced paperweight).
Sigh, post-Olympic let down has set in. Time to dust off the Habs sweater and hope that the players might be somewhat passionate about a game in Columbus, Ohio. Back to channel flipping and maybe catching an episode of Mythbusters I haven’t seen, or Mike Holmes gutting another house while he tut-tuts and shakes his head. Back to a barrage of network promos that promise earth-shattering revelations and episodes we cannot miss, most of which you can miss, because two weeks later they’ll be running as repeats.
Ugh, regular television sucks.
Oh well, only 877 days ‘til the 2012 games.
Go Canada.
The lunkheads at the big networks have been spoon-feeding us such a mass of stale, dry oatmeal for so long that is takes something like the Olympic games for us to realize it.
Drama? Really? We get cop shows that open with a shot of a corpse that met a more imaginative death than the previous week, while a team of police and forensic investigators jockey for the most clever sardonic quip to capture the moment. Then forty-odd minutes of flashy graphics, vacuous dialogue, gratuitous cleavage and an aging actor brooding behind his sunglasses. Yeah, this is way better than overtime in a gold-medal hockey game.
Reality TV? Are you kidding me? A bunch of spoiled, needy, attention-grabbing celebrity wannabes clawing and back-stabbing their way through every episode. That they could share the same screen as Joannie Rochette is laughable.
If that wasn’t torture enough, there are shows like Lost, which is so appropriately named, not only because you need a team of quantum physicists and a slide rule to figure out what happened in the last episode, but also because all the time you wasted watching this contrived sack of camel spit is lost…forever. Here’s the thing, bobsled: two guys in a toboggan sliding down a track of ice, whoever goes fastest wins. Simple and exciting.
As I sat in front of my TV last night, willing Brian Williams to magically appear with anything other than two decorators cat fighting over paint chips and fabric swatches, I seriously considered packing up my digital cable box and calling Purolator to ship it back to Videotron (hell, if Purolator can ‘deliver the games’ surely they can handle this overpriced paperweight).
Sigh, post-Olympic let down has set in. Time to dust off the Habs sweater and hope that the players might be somewhat passionate about a game in Columbus, Ohio. Back to channel flipping and maybe catching an episode of Mythbusters I haven’t seen, or Mike Holmes gutting another house while he tut-tuts and shakes his head. Back to a barrage of network promos that promise earth-shattering revelations and episodes we cannot miss, most of which you can miss, because two weeks later they’ll be running as repeats.
Ugh, regular television sucks.
Oh well, only 877 days ‘til the 2012 games.
Go Canada.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Fantabulariffic
A couple of thoughts as the streets of Vancouver are cleared of plastic beer cups.
The post-Olympic conversation at CTV seemed to revolve around how much the Vancouver games had changed Canadians. That maybe true, but I would also argue that much of what makes us unique is fundamentally the same. Win or lose, we still love this country. I think the games and its successes gave us permission to express that sentiment. Perhaps the epiphany that all Canadians have experienced is that humility in both success and failure paired with a respect for others makes us stronger not weaker.
* * *
A bewildered Catriona Le May Doan emerging from the floor at the closing ceremonies was the best moment of either ceremony.
* * *
I love Michael J. Fox, but don’t you think it was a little unfair making him, of all people, stand next to a three thousand year old, 110 foot pine tree and say ‘it’s big’?
* * *
I think sometime around 9 PM Eastern Time on Saturday the Canadian media covering the Vancouver Olympics finally ran out of superlatives to describe the performances of our athletes. So desperate to frame the events in a way that could help us understand what we were seeing that the script-writer’s Thesaurus actually burst into flames. In fact, the incomparable Brian Williams said as much as he opened yesterday’s broadcast that would later feature one of the greatest hockey games in our history (oops, got caught up in the hyperbole again).
So in an effort to capture at least a part of what we witnessed in words, here are some suggested additions to the famed reference book:
Bilodeaucious
Virtuelly Moirriffic
Hamelincredible
St-Gelaisious
Montegomerastic
Hughsmongous
Szabadorious
Rochettational
Crosbeauty
That should cover us, at least until the next Olympics.
Hooray Canada
The post-Olympic conversation at CTV seemed to revolve around how much the Vancouver games had changed Canadians. That maybe true, but I would also argue that much of what makes us unique is fundamentally the same. Win or lose, we still love this country. I think the games and its successes gave us permission to express that sentiment. Perhaps the epiphany that all Canadians have experienced is that humility in both success and failure paired with a respect for others makes us stronger not weaker.
* * *
A bewildered Catriona Le May Doan emerging from the floor at the closing ceremonies was the best moment of either ceremony.
* * *
I love Michael J. Fox, but don’t you think it was a little unfair making him, of all people, stand next to a three thousand year old, 110 foot pine tree and say ‘it’s big’?
* * *
I think sometime around 9 PM Eastern Time on Saturday the Canadian media covering the Vancouver Olympics finally ran out of superlatives to describe the performances of our athletes. So desperate to frame the events in a way that could help us understand what we were seeing that the script-writer’s Thesaurus actually burst into flames. In fact, the incomparable Brian Williams said as much as he opened yesterday’s broadcast that would later feature one of the greatest hockey games in our history (oops, got caught up in the hyperbole again).
So in an effort to capture at least a part of what we witnessed in words, here are some suggested additions to the famed reference book:
Bilodeaucious
Virtuelly Moirriffic
Hamelincredible
St-Gelaisious
Montegomerastic
Hughsmongous
Szabadorious
Rochettational
Crosbeauty
That should cover us, at least until the next Olympics.
Hooray Canada
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