Steve's Inquest

Valentine Hell

2011-02-11T22:42:00.000-05:00

Tonight on the weekend-eve of Saint Valentine’s, I want to discuss love and hate, and indeed the very definition of hell on earth.

This is a story involving kids; they are just so mean aren’t they? This is not a condemnation, but think about this, dear parents, these are your kids who are mean, and for other parents who've had to console your child, you will know of what I speak.

Someone I love dearly recounted a story to me, you know, the kind of story you wish you’d never heard. If you don’t want to be moved or revolted, stop reading now.

I’m warning you. Stop now, and have a nice life.

Now…

For those of you who stayed on, here’s the story (and another warning).

Think back to grade 5, maybe 6. There’s a girl in class, a little bit round, but nothing over the top mind you. A little bit of a shy squirt she’s happy go lucky but remains insecure deep down.

On Valentine’s Day there’s a big to-do at school and a contest. Oh joy of joys. The prize is a big velvet Valentine’s Heart box with a mess of chocolates inside.

Guess who wins? It’s just so awesome, our little girl had never won a thing in her short life, was never paid much attention, well, other than the occasional ribbing.

She is overjoyed, jumping right up in class, skipping to the front her eyes wide in overwhelming anticipation! The box is so very beautiful, bright red and soft with a bright shiny bow. Her heart is filled to bursting with joy!

The teacher says: “you must share with the class.”

Her little heart skips a beat, but that’s ok, it’s a fairly big box. She’s been taught to share. Her heart is still pounding with wonderment, unabated.

She passes her winnings to the first “friend”, and the box goes around the room dutifully.

It finally comes back to her.

(You know what’s coming don’t you? You can still stop reading.)

Her heart sinks. But the box is not quite empty, there may something left.

A dash of hope?

There’s a half-eaten piece, with a fair amount of spit on it.

There’s also snot spread around on the box and boogers inside.

And nothing else.

Well, there is something else: there is pain, pure, unadulterated, blinding, life-altering pain.

The little girl cries.

She cries every tear in her tiny infant soul.

She cries every tear in her tiny crushed heart.

And that, my friends, is the definition of hell.

Even some 35 years later, the pain returns every year at around the same date, just as intensely as that day.

Ah, but our adult mind will say: “children can be so cruel,” and dismiss it as a fact of life, “bah, she’ll get over it”, “she’ll learn to live with it”, “she’ll forget.”

But for that little girl whom I love so dearly, it’s not a “fact of life”, she will never get over it, and it will never be forgotten. She doesn’t cry any more, but tears do well up. She doesn’t hold ill-will towards her classmates, but the wound on her heart still smarts. It cannot be dismissed, although she may have it forgiven long ago.

For my own part, every year I try my level best not to succumb to a murderous rage.

This year I decided to write about it.

Oh, yeah… and a Happy Saint Valentine’s Day to all.

May we all share the love.

Road Between Rocks - A Spiritual Autobiography Essay

2010-10-18T09:37:00.003-04:00

*** WARNING: This post has religious and spritual content. It's actually nothing BUT religious and spiritual content. You have been warned, so deal with it. ***

“What’s this brown wood cross above your bed?” Such were the first utterances of a curious child making his first foray into learning about religion. Many more words and thoughts like it would follow.

This is recounting of those events that are significant in a spiritual sense, to me. My childhood was formative, as is often the case, I will portray a questioning kid but mostly devoid of debate. I will say a few words about my teenage years and to my defining event away from religion. Adulthood brought rejection of things religious, if not outright at least in function. I will list a few events that made an impact. Finally I will draw a picture of a man on a new quest, indeed along an arduous path of self improvement.

“It’s Jesus on the cross,” my mother said. And so I discovered about a man, a demi-god, a mythical figure with the strange letters INRI above his head. I immediately recognized that this person must be of some importance since I’d seen such a cross in Charleton Heston’s (RIP) movie Ben-Hur. I knew nothing of religion, or so I thought, at the time.

My parents were Roman Catholic therefore so was I. I was to learn from my father that this was the most beautiful of religions in the world. I took this at face value and went along for the ride, not understanding much, if anything, but also not questioning it. If my dad said it was beautiful then it must be true.

Grade school brought along added information. Realistically other than these bizarre rituals, like mass every Sunday and the exciting time of Christmas and Midnight Mass, of which I was disappointingly excluded, I didn’t feel as though any of it applied to me. I was a good Christian and tried my level best not sin, what else was there?

In March of 1972 my father was transferred to Manchester, England. This was a shock of course as I was still a young lad of seven years. Here was a foreign country, with foreign traditions, and a foreign language. Everything was foreign until we visited a Church of England.

“This looks exactly the same as ours!” My father smiled a knowing smile. “But it’s not supposed to be, we Catholics are supposed to have the only Jesus!” I was amazed and a little offended that these Anglicans had stolen my Jesus. To add insult to injury the holy water was conspicuously missing. Thus I learned of world religions, well actually only the Christian ones, very quickly. There was us, the Roman Catholics and then there was all of them, the Protestants. My questions were relentless, but furthermore I was in awe that all these people had a Jesus too! Obviously I was right and he really was important.

Upon our return from England I met Father Paul, our school priest. He was a down to earth and jolly fellow who rounded out my religious education. I remember in confession lying to Father Paul in order to have something to confess the next time around. I was still trying to be a good Christian after all.

Given the trip to England, there were some timing issues surrounding my first communion, but more importantly my subsequent confirmation. It was well into my teenage years that I was finally confirmed and it was Father Paul whom I sought out as my confirmation godfather of my own volition. This was the first time that I was actively espousing my religion.

As an adolescent I was allowed to attend Midnight Mass, which I resented not being able to do as a small child since it seemed mystical and even magical, as opposed to regular Sunday mass which was boring. I sang in the Church Christmas choir. This required many Sundays of practice and so I had made a pact with God that I would skip Sunday mass in favour of doing my deed in the choir instead. It must have worked on some level as I was in the choir for over twelve years. Following this I never went back to Sunday mass except on rare occasions.

It was around this time too that I got into serious arguments with my religion teachers in school. One teacher, specifically, maintained that all religions were fundamentally different whereas I held, and unfortunately defended, the position that religions were actually quite similar in that they all had appeal to a higher deity, beyond ourselves and it was the celebration that was different. These episodes garnered bad school marks and thereby just reinforced my typical rebellion against authority. In this particular case this crooked my path away from religion in general since this so-called representative, he was a brother if I remember correctly, and clearly didn’t want to understand reason. I forsook religion altogether for over a decade thereafter.

This suited my purpose as an adult since I had much more important things to do. I had university homework and later a new job which required 7day-24hours a day on-call work so God had little or no place in my mind, or my heart for that matter. But my girlfriend, a very devout Catholic, insisted we get married in her childhood Church.

Wanting to assuage my wife’s desires, we went to Engage-Encounter as a preparation to our marriage. This didn’t work out very well as it just reinforced my now deep hatred of things religious. Then to exacerbate the point, the priest who ran my wife’s parish wouldn’t allow us the use of “his” church unless we went to his own preparatory class. I was livid.

My saving grace is that I found Father Paul again. It was lucky for me that after years of mission work he was back in country, and agreed to marry us. This planted a brand new seed, or perhaps watered an old one.

Five years later my wife became pregnant for the first time. The elation soon ebbed, for after a 15-week pregnancy our son died in her womb. In excruciating pain, my wife gave the stillborn birth and haemorrhaged severely afterwards. She lapsed into a coma. As people often do in these times of duress, ashamed though I was over years of rejection, I still prayed for all I was worth. She recovered by day’s end.

Two years after that, one of my best friends fell gravely ill. He had a stroke. I was at his bedside the entire time, even taking time off work to be with him. It was with a heavy heart that I prayed again.

These two events didn’t bring me back into good stead with the Lord, as I was still full of rage especially at the death of our son, but it did switch a light on in my head: when things are beyond me, I run back to the Lord every time.

I suffered a burnout at Nortel and was in therapy throughout. My psychotherapist, Bill, is a deeply spiritual person and leads by example rather well. Non denominational per se he still remains an Irish Catholic at heart, although disillusioned with the Roman Catholic Church, his belief in the Lord is strictly unwavering. I have found a strange energy in this over the years.

Bill and I keep talking of my calling, even today, and of what I want. It was last November that I finally came to the conclusion that what I want is to learn more about this “spirituality thingy” as I kept referring to it. It seemed such a cornerstone of my recovery from my burnout and one I had put off for far too long. So I started making my way towards this program he knew about: Pastoral Counselling at St. Paul, now known as Counselling and Spirituality.

Then horror struck again. My father-in-law was diagnosed with leukemia in January of this year. Being a tough old bird, he hung on for 5 months. I promised my mother in law that I would do a novena for him, several in fact. For the first time, I wasn’t praying out of duress. I was praying because it was right. He expired while my mother-in-law, my wife and I were in the room with him.

It was quick.

I thanked God, and I meant it.

I think it a typical path that a child would have questions, also typical that a youth would rebel and eventually reject authority. Events in my life forced me to seek help, but when things are beyond anyone’s help, it is significant to me that I have turned back to God and done so consistently and unwaveringly. I am at a loss to explain why, but then this is precisely why I have chosen this path now to spiritual discovery. Maybe I’ve come full circle with the wonderment I had as a child?

[Essay assignement, presented to the professor of Introduction to Theology, Saint Paul University, Fall 2010]

On Shorts and Things

2009-11-30T17:39:00.001-05:00

No, not skivvies, I’m talking short stories.

A few weeks ago, I proposed a get together with one of my great friends, that is to pop over and commit acts of writing. In this instance, have a go at some short stories.

We have both been interested in writing for the longest time. In fact we both have blogs, and have both tried our hand at producing works of fiction. My friend and I are so completely different on so many levels, yet we found common ground on our most basic human qualities. Nevertheless, we are both fighting the same demon it seems: motivation.

I’ve stated quite a few times in this very blog that motivation is what escapes me most as a writer. I seem to have plenty of ideas, some of them even creative in nature. I’ve been observing my friend’s process, and his creative process never ceases to amaze me. He is nothing short of a genius at it. As a point of reference to back up my claim, he is actually terrific at improvisation, and I’ve seen him in action.

I can produce text at a rather incredible pace, but he can produce ideas much faster than I can compile. When we are together we encourage each other, we play off each other so very well, we get some mojo going and we are eager to write. We do make a good creative pair.

For weeks now I’ve been looking forward to seeing him for both as a friend and as a primer. We’ve been working at this short story concept since last night. I’ve been my usual resistive self, but the enthusiasm we’ve managed to generate is, low and behold, impressive to me. I knew it was a good idea to invite him over.

This morning we started on a short story about a typical day in a poor schlep’s workaday life. Boy did that bring back memories. My buddy has been typing away furiously all the while we’re debating and distilling this “crap”. The onus is to write a 2000 words short of creative realism with no regard for quality, hence the crap. The mission is to finish this one story as an exercise, or more probably exorcism.

I am marvelling at how this is developing, which is a good indication to me on how I do love writing and the creative process such as it is.

So it seems by working together we’ve easily vanquished the original motivation demon. It’s not all rosy mind you, as after a couple hours of intense work, we’ve come to a bump in the road, a wall of sorts. This is where the going gets tough.

I’ve noticed this phenomenon on many occasions, throughout many disciplines actually, not just writing. Athletes talk of a second wind, which is a valid analogy. Others speak of stamina or having “go getter”. Regardless of the term used, it seems clear to me that there are two stages, at least, to producing something non trivial.

Many times I’ve heard, “the blank page is the writer’s worst enemy.” This may be true in a sense, but oddly enough, the blank page has never been an issue for me.

Back in grade school we were directed to write short stories, or projects, or some form of research. This was maybe a bi-weekly assignment so getting stuck on a blank page was quickly overcome as a matter of course. Hell I can fill a blank page with nonsense faster than anyone I know.

So no, the blank page isn’t my issue, and never has been. Continued creation is. When I ask myself the question, “where will this go?” I falter. “Where am I going with this?” is a death knell. Maybe the solution isn’t to ask, although that has proven time and again to lead to unfinished stories.

No, indeed that second wind has to be something of an effort, but what kind? By god this one is continually elusive, even to the most positive people. How many positiveniks have stopped just short of finishing something because of loss of interest? It’s no longer fun, or “what’s the point”, or moved on to other things. Endgame motivation? Oh great, now I’ve stumbled upon another phase of the work. Say third wind?

I’ve never run a marathon, so I’ve never subjected myself to the 2 or 3 or more hours of gruelling physical and mental challenge this brings. But I do know intimately the sense of loneliness and isolation that occurs just before catching that second wind, just before getting into “the zone”, where training, or habit, or force majeure, or determination, or pigheadedness plays a major role. I know intimately too the sense of having to keep going “just because”. In that blind spot, you lose track of time, sense of self even. Basically, you’re high. Runners know exactly what I’m talking about. Those adept at Tai-Chi as well. Believe it or not, writing is the same.

You can get into a zone where words pour out of your mind into a computer, or pen and paper, or Dictaphone, and you look up to take a breath and you’re already clocking over 873 somehow. You’ve made it through those first hurdles and you pat yourself on the back. But there are still 1127 words to go from when you last counted and then you become a little depressed knowing you aren’t even half way.

What’s the point? you ask yourself and all your little foibles come haunting.

The first is so obvious as to often be overlooked. “What if it’s crap?” This one we were wise enough to disarm before we got started, thank goodness, because it’ll stop you dead in your tracks if you let it. Oh sure you can convince yourself that it isn’t crap, that it may be worthy to read down the road, but you’ve already mined yourself.

We are taught to do our best, always. “What if my best isn’t good enough?” True talent takes a kick in the teeth with this one. On the other hand the truly talented and the truly talentless seem to have a knack for never asking themselves this one question. Funny how that seems to work out.

“What if no one likes it?” For a writer of any genre, that’s a death sentence right there. If no one likes the novel, it won’t get sold, if no one likes the poem it won’t be inspiring, if no one likes the short story it won’t get published, if no one likes the blog it… well… anyway.

“What ifs” are the domain of fear. Fear of inadequacies long instilled in us since childhood and beyond. Fear of real life failures that we’ve had difficulty in overcoming. Fear of punishment real or imagine, either by ourselves or others: rejection!

Psshaaw! No fear but fear itself! Yeah, but not quite.

Creative writing is much like having a child, but with the small caveat of external approval. It never enters a mother’s thought that her child could be rejected by the world at large. Not for a single moment! Yet for a writer this is a very real possibility, the fear is genuine and totally justified. A novel, for instance, is a labour of love. It can take years to develop and edit, and with a single bland note, can be rejected off hand!

The writer has poured heart and soul into creating this work of art, it is very much like a baby. Push comes to shove a mom can always say, “I don’t care, this is my child and I love him/her.” The reality for a writer is somewhat different. The endgame in that act of creation is to get published. Yeah, you can always publish yourself, but that doesn’t count for much, in fact it is frowned upon by publishers and does not count as any kind of writing credit and doesn’t count at all in trying to get a job as a writer in any publication. I other words, someone else has to give you approval. Always. Argh!

If as in this instance we are writing for the sheer hell of it, producing crap as an exercise, then the rejection is somewhat diminished since the goal doesn’t lend itself to the subject of rejection. It is, thankfully, a clear defence mechanism used to sidestep and get some words down. Kudos to for empowering ourselves!

So we keep writing. But then comes time for that third wind. The end is in sight, but much to far away tom contemplate. Say at 1441 words, the next 559 prove to be difficult, more so than seems possible a moment ago when you were still in “the zone”. At this point, you’ve expended all your ideas, you energy is waning, but still you must keep going. You don’t actually know why, except that was the goal you set out.

But, but, but, I’m not a goal oriented person! Fundamentally I hate goals. I actually despise the whole concept or having to set goals. It entails the stigma of failure if it isn’t reached. In my not so humble opinion, the premise of the goal was invented to sate the appetite of people like my sister and brother in law, who are ultimately competitive by their very nature. Indeed many of these people cannot fathom those who aren’t! The solution to everything is “you start by setting a goal…”

Yeah, NO! I just hate that. I understand it all too well being a former technical manager was the mainstay of my diet for too many years. On the other hand, I don’t have a good alternative, and find this to be arguably even more frustrating than setting a goal in the first place.

Then there’s that truly worthless exercise that we learn in corporate surroundings, that when you get to an impass, declare victory and move on. Seriously, how the hell can you just “declare victory”? There definition of victory is: achievement of mastery, blah blah… see that word “achievement” there? If there ain’t achievement, then there ain’t victory is there? No victory, no goal… boneheaded mutherf… !

And thus, as one can easily tell from the above, I get to my fallback device for completing a task. Anger. I’ve talked about this in previous blogs, a potent device if there ever was one, but which comes at a serious emotional cost, no matter how reigned in you think it is. But I don’t have an easy, or hard, alternative. Motivation is such a fleeting bitch.

I’m at 1774 now and that previous chunk of anger is already expended. I could fire up some more, but unfortunately, it is logarithmic in nature. That is to say its effectiveness is cut in half every time it is used. It might be enough to just finish something like a short story, but would leave one frustrated because, of course, I’ve now failed to motivate myself in a clean and wholesome manner, haven’t I?

So anger isn’t the ultimate answer either. At this point I’m pushing myself, as I have done for so many years, just to see it all through, just because. (See how that last bit of anger wells up again but isn’t quite as effective?)

Deciding to write a blog about this process, the emotions and what really goes on throughout such a seemingly simple task as a short story seemed like the thing to do. I’m not quite sure why I did that. Maybe it’s comeuppance, or maybe it was just to make myself feel good about the exercise? I don’t know. Not that I haven’t looked for an answer, have I ever though! Foibles, fears and all questing for a holy grail of motivation. Maybe like the holy grail it is the work of a lifetime.

And then maybe, just then, you have to take a beating and say "ah fuck it.”

Been too long and Haunting

2009-11-17T12:45:00.001-05:00

Holy crap, I've not posted anything since June, already!

Oddly enough my last two posts have generated more traffic than all my other blog entries combined since the beginning!

Just goes to show I guess. Techies unite!

That's all okay now since I've taken a shine to my iPhone since I've mostly resolved the issues I had. A sad chapter indeed.

On a more positive note, I must confess that I am just as exasperated with the world-at-large as always, but not quite so angry of late. I'm guessing this is a good thing, although the "very stupid" (tm) still need slapping upside the head they don't read my blog anyway, and if they did, they wouldn't get it.

Today I am compelled to write after this long hiatus if only for sign of life. Befitting, I think, since last week I went through a bit of a rough patch. All is well now, at least as well as can be expected.

Fellow bloggers were each stating abandonment issue with their respective blogs recently. Something about a two-year mark in one case. To me this hypothesis holds water, in fact, methinks a summer full of rain doesn't help the creative juices either, as it were.

I read over a few of my older blogs, and this led me to think about, about staying power. For example my blogs about the iPhone will see their relevancy expire eventually, in effect this knowledge has a past-due date.

In a roundabout way and on a much grander scale this got me to the subject of historical staying power.

This weekend friends and I were discussing historical events that mark us and our daily lives. Don't ask how we got onto that subject.

The subject eventually turned towards big brother watching us. I've talked a little of this before.

In this instance the analysis went towards what historical events molded my generation's thoughts on big-brother inherently being a "bad thing"™. Today's youngsters have no qualms about sharing the very core of their lives on facebook or twitter and what not.

I don't actually remember McCarthy's red menace shenanigans, I wasn't born yet. Nevertheless, it was an influencing factor in my childhood that one should be careful whom one associates with. This is good advice anyway, but the point is made that something so simple as having coffee with a co-workers speaking their minds can have adverse effect on your very livelihood should the gubmint or special interest group decide take exception.

No one in the current generation of youngsters even knows about McCarthyism, nor cares, not even as lessons of the past, because obviously this could never happen again.

Of cooooooooourse not!

How quickly we forget, regardless of the fact that it happens time and again throughout history. Wonder where the term: "witch hunt" comes from? Doh!

Yeah, but that was all really just local phenomenon was it not?

Ok, so how about on a truly grand scale, just offhand: Jews and Jewish sympathizers leading up to and throughout WW2.

And thus we moved on to the subject of the Second World War, which is still relevant to us, especially given that there are people alive today who remember it directly.

As I mentioned previously, I asked my nieces once, now 25 & 27, if they knew about this thing called the WW2, all I got was blank stares. Then one of them chimed in, "waitaminit, the second?"

My hopes were dashed but lifted at the same time. At least she'd realized there were two of them, although knew nothing about either.

Hmmm, staying power indeed.

I was talking about the Apollo missions with others of a younger generation, again blank stares. Just shook my head. One saving grace at least they didn't say, "it never happened."

So I made a statement at the breakfast table that 9/11 was going to be the defining moment of this generation of young people today. I also submitted that their kids will know a little about it, but this will also fade in time, as much as we may hate to admit it.

But the kids born 10 to 20 years from now will give us blank stares upon mention of 9/11 when they reach the age of reasoning. That'll be about 50 years after the event, which is roughly the same timeframe as WW2 and my nieces, give or take a decade.

But really who cares about an old chunk of history? It doesn't affect me here and now does it? So why should I care? I remember those exact words coming out of my own mouth when I didn't want to study history in high-school.

What the teachers failed to drill home was the ramifications of these events in our everyday lives. Cause and effect were never clearly laid out. Maybe that wasn't part of the curriculum as this could lead to some serious discussion, probably heated at that, actually more than likely outright belligerence as everybody's interpretation of historical cause and effect is different, and indeed usually much more complicated than not.

Yeah, we just can't be having that kind of debate in schools. This simply would not do at all. It would skew way too much unilateral dogma.

Now, to get back to those kids that will be born in 2020: where privacy will no longer be relevant in their minds and indeed contrary to the public good. Will they have the hindsight to know why they are growing up in a policed state?

I submit that they will accept and indeed cherish their civil liberties being curtailed to a point past any relevant definition of the word freedom. They will welcome being observed 24-7 as to them it would be unconscionable not to be watched, under this new dogma of security that we are, even now, in the process of refining.

Hell kids today not only don't miss having any privacy, it is wholly irrelevant to them. Privacy is something they neither understand nor care about really. I will likely debate this again in another blog entry.

The point I'm trying to make, is that they will have absolutely no idea that the concept of liberty, privacy, and freedom, came to a crux because of a terrorist attack on a date represented by a couple of numbers that will mean nothing to them.

Major events in history fade, but the ramifications on the other hand do have staying power.

I know this is a repetition of some things I have touched on before, but for some reason it seems to haunt me.

Voice Dial options for iPhone 3G

2009-06-18T09:49:00.003-04:00

*** NEW LATE BREAKING NEWS - Proper Procedure for BlueAnt V1 @ v5.3 and iPhone G @ OS 3.0 ***

BlueAnt Tech support supplied me with a procedure, so I am paraphrasing below the procedure which has worked for me! (Kyle has described another method in the comments section below the post)

1) Put on the V1 then:

2) Ensure the V1 is in Idle mode - switched ON but not connected to any phone,

3) then click BAB - multi function button - and say “settings menu” then, “reset the V1”.

4) Then turn off the V1. (Good luck with this, I couldn't turn it off, but anyway...)

5) On the IPhone: remove the profile for the V1 on the IPhone by selecting “unpair”.

6) Then remove all numbers in favorites list and turn the IPhone Off and On (I did a hard-power off, that is top/sleep button and menu button at the same time, then slide to turn off)

7) Then pair the V1 with the IPhone and...

8) repopulate the favorites list.

...and Bob is your uncle.

So my original post below stands.

=> original post:

We all know this now, that the iPhone 3G does NOT do voice dial directly from the operating system, even with the new OS 3.0. This is a feature reserved only for the 3GS.

A quick key-word search will make this painfully clear, extremely painful in fact if you didn't have the foresight to check BEFORE you bought your iPhone 3G, which probably lead you here.

Despair not, there are some possibilities:

If it is illegal in your region to handle your phone while driving, like it is for me, I have found the following workaround, while incomplete, does the basics of what I need.

The BlueAnt V1 Voice Controlled Headset. It's not a cheap date though.

When pressing the BlueAnt button on the V1 it accesses the favourites list in the iPhone in the order they're laid out for its speed-dialling feature. Sort your 9 favourites in the proper order and Bob's your uncle. Like I said, this is enough for most of my calls, but there's no navigating through all your contacts.

Speed Dial slot #5, on the V1, is reserved for GOOG-411. So your favourite #5 becomes speed-dial slot #6. No biggy, just have to keep that in mind when putting the list in order.

Downloadable apps from iTunes (as of June 18^th, 2009):

Keep in mind that all the apps suggested below require handling of the phone in order to dial, so no Bluetooth access. Personally I can't and won't use any of them while driving. Your own mileage may vary, so check your local laws, and sort out for yourself how dangerous you want to be when driving.

Fonix iSpeak - This one was recommended to me when I squeezed Rogers Wireless for a workaround to what I consider the no-voice dialling design flaw of the 3G.

There are also: Say Who LITE, Vlingo, Voice This from HRL, AdelaVoice Voice Dialer. There may be others.

I honestly had never even thought to check the iPhone for voice dialing capability; it just seemed so obvious a feature to have, but that is completely my bad. So I write this in the hope that I can help some of you out there who are frustrated with this, and maybe with themselves for not checking either.

iPhone 3G does NOT Voice Dial

2009-06-09T13:35:00.007-04:00

=> Click here for voice dial options for the 3G <=)

I bought an iPhone 3G a month ago – actually, one month and one day precisely.

I was looking to replace a really old Palm Pilot V and a p.o.s. Samsung mobile with a single device, and if there were games and videos on it, all the better.

I really wanted a Blackberry, but Bell wouldn't budge on the data-plan that I had to have with it. That is I had to fork over $70 a month. I don't want or need a data plan, and am not prepared to spend the extra 1000$ for the privilege. So I went with Rogers and got the iPhone instead at 40$/mo for three years.

To be honest, I'm a little excited about getting an iPod-like Apple device, as I've heard really glowing reviews about these things.

I quickly discover, however, that the iPhone has one major drawback – it doesn't do voice dial!

This is really a requirement in Quebec where provincial law states that you aren't allowed to mess with your phone while driving. You can talk as long as you aren't holding anything in your hand.

Given that it's really a high-end mobile device, I figured haplessly and without checking that it would obviously have voice dial. To my great chagrin I find it doesn't. Not a big deal, Apple is supposed to have a software update that fixes this particular problem. I wait patiently.

On the eve of 30-day expiration, while I am having supper with friends, the news comes out that the software fix for voice-dialling will not apply to the older 3G phones, making my brand new month-old phone an obsolete boat anchor in the process.

The iPhone 3G will never have voice dial because the software update, the OS 3.0, which has the voice dial feature does not apply to the 3G. The new one, the iPhone 3GS coming out in a week, does have the voice dial feature activated.

Now I'm stuck for 3 years with a major feature design flaw, which feature that I really, really wanted and that was in fact a deal breaker, if I had known.

It is entirely my fault for not checking. I have no one to blame but myself. Nevertheless I am still livid.

I call Future Shop where I am told to fuck off, in no uncertain terms. 30 days is 30 days, but maybe I can call Rogers to plead my case.

Rogers tells me to fuck off in no uncertain terms.

The worst part is that a little voice in my brain was telling me not to buy it right away. But I dismissed it as a long-ago grudge against Apple products.

I had major difficulties with activating the account, I had to visit Future Shop 2 days in a row, and then some issues with acquiring some of the accessories.

For some obscure reason I dismissed all this karma and was hell bent on buying the thing for some utterly stupid use: I just wanted a little entertainment for myself while working at the motocross track this summer.

To make matters worse still, a little over a week ago, someone broke into my truck and stole the car-adaptors for it.

And this week, my beloved iPhone has transmission issues where the party with whom I am trying to speak hear nothing but static. I can hear them just fine.

I shake my head.

For the longest time in my career as a system administrator I would refuse to support Macintoshes, another delightful Apple product, because they were by and large unsupportable in the traditional sense. And now I get bit in the ass by Apple and for the very same reason I refused to support their gear in the past.

I guess they got me in the end, didn't they?

That'll teach me to be magnanimous, in trying to be open minded and give-the-guy-a-chance.

Passive Murder

2009-05-20T11:16:00.003-04:00

I am moved. Or possibly will have a bowel movement. The upsetting thingy of the day, nay past couple of weeks, is religious freedom and state interference.

I have been following a couple of stories in recent news of parents killing their offspring.

The first was about parents not seeking medical attention for their diabetic daughter, Madeline Kara Neumann of 11 years. The District Attorney of Marathon County, Wisconsin, is considering pressing charges for manslaughter. The gruesome details are simple: the girl was in diabetic shock for several days while the parents prayed on. In fact the little girl was displaying signs of type-1 diabetes for a full month before her death. Relatives did try to intercede on the girl's behalf, while the parents refused medical treatment for their daughter, and prayed on.

This is one of these standard-strict interpretation religions whereas they substitute medicine for prayer.

This reminds me of an old "joke":

'Heavy rains are flooding a low lying area. TV reports of imminent flooding and authorities broadcast an evacuation advisory.

'Our hero decides to stay with his homestead.

'The police show up at his door and enjoin our man to evacuate, to which he replies: "it's the will of God, he will save me."

'After a fashion his first floor gets flooded, our man climbs up to the second floor. The fire department shows up in a dingy to rescue our hero. He refuses. "The will of God, he will save me!" he says.

'Hours later, as he is sitting on his roof praying for salvation, Search and Rescue arrive in a chopper. But again he refuses.

'The man drowns.

'He gets to heaven, and of course, he is very severely pissed at God.

'"God why have you forsaken me? I've been devout and yet you didn't save me!"

'God is totally exasperated, and replies: "Good grief man! I broadcast an evacuation, sent you the cops, a boat and a fucking chopper! What the hell else did you want me to do?"

Sometimes God doesn't act all that mysteriously.

Anyway back to our religious fanatics, I'm all for religious beliefs, sure. But I also figure there should be a very special kind of hell reserved for parents who torture and kill their children even passively. I do hope Wisconsin throws the book at them.

Now this all gets more interesting, in other news:

There's a 13-year old boy, on the lam with him mom, who is refusing chemo for Hodgkin's lymphoma. He believes in alternate medicines as his parents have duly taught him. The reports I've read say he has a 95% chance of making a full recovery with chemo, yet refusing this treatment on religious beliefs.

This story is a little more proactive in nature. The courts have actually ordered this child to live. Mom is now in contempt and has an arrest warrant out on her sorry ass.

Be it known that I actually find it reprehensible that courts could override a parent's determination of their child's care. The state has no business interfering in the family nucleus, but then I also feel neither does the church! Case in point, if the film Evelyn with Pierce Brosnan is anything to go on, it's one of the reasons America founded separation of church and state.

I think my views on state-control are well known at this point.

Unfortunately I have to come to the conclusion that it is sometimes necessary for the authorities to step in. While never ideal, if it's a child's last hope, it's certainly better than nothing. Keyword there: "last hope".

I fear there's no way to prevent pre-emptive strikes by the state to presumably save children that don't actually need it and thereby destroying families in the process. I am certainly torn on the subject, but with yahoos willing to murder their kids by denying modern medicines I start to praise that which I hate.

Back to our 13-year-old hero.

He's not yet allowed to drive.

He's not yet allowed to drink.

Technically he's not yet allowed to screw (depending on state laws, granted).

But apparently he's allowed decision of life and death?

He's allowed to commit suicide?

Actually, there's the rub.

Many years ago, I think it was in high-school, we received some sensitization training on teen-suicide. I don't remember much of it now, but something did stick in my brain for a long time afterwards.

It was the question on the legality of suicide.

Where I lived suicide was actually a crime. My young brain was baffled.

For one thing, if you are dead, what the hell difference does it make if it's a crime? You don't go to jail. Furthermore, if you miss yourself does that mean you get your ass hauled off to jail on an attempted crime, whereas it seemed to me a trip to the psych ward would probably be a better investment.

As I grew older I began to understand the ramifications of making suicide a crime. It meant assisted suicide becomes a crime too! This is a safeguard of sorts against taking of a life and passing it off.

In this case, some pundits are saying 'if the boy wants to kill himself… blah, blah'. Technically, the boy is not actually allowed to kill himself now is he? This would be a crime! Something seemingly snaky now starts to make sense.

Other pundits are spouting 'dying with dignity… blah, blah'. To this I respond that a 13-year-old is unequivocally incapable of making that decision. If you are 50 years old pain ridden with 10% chance of survival, then yes, the quality of the life you have left by refusing treatment should very much be your own choice.

Here is something the pundits are wont to remember: magical thought. Children, except the very gifted, and I say gifted guardedly, don't understand their own death. Indeed that very concept doesn't really sink in until the early twenties, sometimes much later. Children just don't get that they can die. Their brains just can't compute it.

They do understand sick though.

What I'm thinking is that the 13-year-old boy is making a case with his mom about not wanting to be sick, he's just not fathoming death. Mom is a true-believer and his refusing treatment, no matter the reason, plays into her believer-hand perfectly.

I've talked about the issue I have with people who can't tell the difference between what they believe and what is fact. This is a perfect representation of that conundrum.

Mom believes in faith healing. I can't fault that.

But then I believe in science.

This means that my position will be that of proven fact as can be demonstrated by scientific method or, hell dare I say it, statistics.

My logical will say this: given the child can't make an elucidated decision, then treatment must be mandated and such or such treatment is chosen because it has a track record of being valid and successful. Of course then I add upon this my own empirical evidence of my family and friends saved by the very chemo that would save this child and it's pretty clear cut to me.

But faith isn't about logic, is it?

Faith is about, well, potentially defying logic and being at peace with it. Ok I get that, I really do.

I've been thinking about this blog for several days now, and I still haven't come to a comfortable conclusion.

I don't want the state to decide in lieu of enlightened family decision.

But what is enlightened?

I don't think anyone should impose their religious beliefs on another, especially when it comes to decisions of life and death.

But logic is itself a dogma of sorts too isn't it? And therefore I am guilty of imposing it!

Leave it to the experts, the doctors, etc. to council on what's best.

But expertise is based on who you believe and why. Many don't trust doctors believing they're just in it for the money! Many don't trust the clergy for reasons that are just as obvious albeit more personal. So who's to say which is right?

Maybe there's a middle ground here someplace? How about traditional treatment now, and when the kid is 18 he can then decide to off himself if he feels that strongly about it.

Hmmm. I think I'm about to get vociferous again.

The bottom line is that religious zealots are all about holding God (and others) hostage aren't they?

It's about imposing your faith on your child and praying that he or she survives the imposition. But worse in my book it's making light of life on earth in favour of an afterlife, but deciding for someone else! So my question is: how do you hold faith accountable?

The word belief was chosen carefully in the above statements. Belief is interpretation of fact, which is based on one's own experience…

"Good grief man! I send you scientific evidence, send you doctors, chemo and fucking logic! What the hell else do you want me to do?"

Bailout Greens

2009-04-02T14:20:00.001-04:00

In these times of eco-troubles, we are trying to balance economy with the environment, often at odds. We don't seem to have clear view of better times, and does that view include greener solutions? You can be ecological all you want when you can afford it. Keep this in mind for a minute.

I was thinking about Beloved Barrack's gambit of putting the screws to the automakers for the People's Loan.

More power to him.

Then I thought if I were the typical arrogant automaker of old, see how I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt here, I'd be looking for financing where the attached strings aren't cramping my style. So I'm thinking to myself in my Japanese-made S.U.V. on my way to my shrink, who would have the kind of money for a bailout of the magnitude we're talking about here? When the Boss-man of the richest country in the world is taking you to task, you have to wonder how grim your state of affairs really is.

It comes to me: who has money enough to buy God with an Amex?

The oil companies.

In these times of hardship, they are still making a killing, so to speak. So why is it, exactly, that the oil companies aren't fronting up the cash for the automakers?

Remember my first statement in this post?

For one thing, the eco-world would have an unholy fit I'm sure, and for obvious reasons.

But then the debt that Blessed-Barrack and other world leaders are incurring to recover the economy will come out of our taxes for the next several generations, I'm thinking a hundred years, maybe more.

And the loan to save some 1/2 million jobs and an intrinsic way of life is part of this debt.

But that particular way of life isn't exactly green. More cars? Fuel efficient? Hmm, I must refer to the arrogance of bad-old GM for instance which destroyed the EV-1 Impact full-electric vehicles.

And as the Indians are aspiring to a safer mode of individual transportation, Tata comes under fire for wanting to produce cheap gas lawnmower-engined vehicles to replace the family motorcycle. Of course the eco-world is all dead set against the Indians putting all those cheap cars on the road, but we certainly want to keep our own auto industry alive. Huh?

So you can go green or you can save a way of life, but it seems you can't do both. Or maybe there is?

Maybe Bailout-Barrack should put the screws onto the automakers: they get the cash only for alternate-fuel designed cars!

Nah.

Retrofitting American compacts would probably put them at around $67,000 each and they would still be cheap, unreliable crap.

Stupid Iz

2009-03-20T11:07:00.001-04:00

Note: I apologize up front for the style of this post, ie. the use of "double quotes", (parenthesis), ->little arrows<-, shouting in CAPS, etc. I hate bowing down to these simplistic graphic vehicles in my written language, but this morning I'm just too tired to expend the energy for it. In effect, this is a departure from the self-imposed perfection I was talking about in my Deserve Well post! We'll get back to proper grammar and writing style for my next post.

Just the other day I was debating genetics of stupidity. My grandma sometimes said: « Il y a des gens qui sont née sans-desseins, c'est pas leur faute, ils sont nées comme ca. »

It's one of these dictums that cannot be translated directly, but a loose translation would be: "Some people are born without mental wherewithal, it's not their fault, they're just born that way."

I desperately try not to judge based on mental acuity. Operative word: "try", since I typically fail miserably when confronted with utter stupidity. (oops! So much for not judging.)

Anyway, I was a manager once, long ago. During this time I made the realization that everyone in an organization has different strengths and weaknesses. Some could be developed, others leveraged, and others avoided. Mental acuity was just one of many qualities needed in the type of job we were doing. Steadfastness and patience was another easy one. Social skills were de rigueur, being in customer service, etc.

Seldom was outright idiocy displayed however. Usually seemingly idiotic decisions were often explained by hidden agendas once brought to light, or simple ignorance of some facts, or just hadn't realized some important element. So I came to the natural conclusion that bad decisions weren't necessarily akin to stupidity and looking deeper, if I so had the time and inclination, would yield a different point of view.

Intelligence is measured in many different ways. For instance there's: book smart, street smart, troubleshooters (white box or black box), associative, creative, science, theology, Mensa, mentalist, sales, marketing, and even manipulative. The list goes "on-dan-don" as Céline would say.

Some are adept at situational analysis and others still at survival, among others.

Given all the possibilities, I came to the conclusion in my recent discussion, that everyone had the "wherewithal" gene, whether it be recognized or not. While some may not choose to use it, or may not have been shown how, it is there nevertheless. I chose to exclude outright mental disabilities from the equation.

As per scientific methodology: observation -> conjecture -> hypothesis -> test and cycle, I was ultimately coming to the theory that a "smart" gene existed in everyone.

And then all of a sudden as if by magic, coincidence, happenstance, or design, I get a flood of examples of people seemingly just too stupid to live. I'm thinking my hypothesis may need looking at. I give you today a misguided, distraught and so very, very screwed young woman (I'm not saying "lady", as that would be a serious stretch! You'll see why in a minute.)

In a nutshell, she's in the middle of a custody battle with her ex, for their kid. As so many people are having to play this game nowadays, she's looking for ammo to discredit him. I'm not sure if she had the brainstorm herself or if it came from someone else, but I have to admire the initiative, well sort of anyway.

She has her laptop brought into the police station, claiming her ex had left child porn on it, and if they could find it, this would be evidence that he's an unfit father. A sound plan, right up until the cops find a couple of videos, in the recycle-bin on her desktop, of her engaging in sexual activities with a dog! (Go ahead, read that last sentence again slowly.)

Ok, not my cup of tea, but I'm still trying not to judge remember?

But then the sorry bitch admits to the bestiality felony, this is AFTER the cops have informed her of her Fifth-amendment rights and that the videos contained evidence of a felony. Furthermore she compounds the problem in admitting she was drunk at the time (and she's on probation for this!), and just for shits and giggles admits to trying to destroy the evidence thereby making the point for the cops that she's perfectly aware that what she did, even then, was wrong. Serving her own ass on a silver platter.

I realize that she may be in distress over the custody battle, that she has blinders on, and that she is focused solely on trying to stick it to her ex… but jesus-h-christ-on-a-popsicle-stick!

Too stupid to live? You decide.

Here's the article from The Smoking Gun, including the police affidavit: The Smoking Gun "Porn Sting Goes to the Dogs"

I'm certainly giving my hypothesis the evil eye now! I'm thinking some mutations may have occurred.

al-Bashir just isn’t a nice man

2009-03-17T09:36:00.001-04:00

(Caution, atrocities warning ahead.)

Is this the latest trend in negotiation tactics?

The President of Liberia, among other African countries, is making a case for begging. To quote Yahoo news: "Liberia, is also threatened, according to President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. She said that it made sense for the richer countries in the world to fund the poorest now, since it would cost much less than paying for peacekeeping operations later." (BBC News) Isn't this exactly like saying: come and mow my lawn or I'll shit on your porch?

I'm not saying African countries don't need help, but at first I was offended at the syllogism. Nevertheless she understands her corner of the world and does make a good point.

And then as if to give her credibility, from across her continent…

Sudan's President-by-military-coup, al-Bashir, has ordered ousted all foreign humanitarian aid to his country. He is claiming that these organisations providing care, where his own government will not, are spies. He's probably right to a certain degree mind you. He certainly doesn't want any foreigners to deal directly with the Sudanese people. Then he says drop of your care packages at the airports or seaports and his government will take care of it. I, for one, have complete and utter confidence that the medicine, water and rations will, of course, get to where they need to go in a timely fashion. Riiiiight.

Notwithstanding that Sudan is the most war-torn country on the face of the earth, second only to Somalia (high praise indeed); notwithstanding that 1.1 Million people in Darfur will go without food or aid or water, and is actually a perfect representation of Hell on earth; and also notwithstanding that al-Bashir has an arrest warrant out on his ass by the International Criminal court for, wait for it, crimes against humanity! All this notwithstanding, get this, the quoted number of deaths is at 300,000 people and counting. Ok. So al-Bashir says, (wait for it), "this number is exaggerated." Exaggerated? EXAGGERATED? Seriously? He's admitting to mass murder, but basically saying, "yeah well, it's not as bad as all that". So tell me, my dear man, exactly how much mass murder is acceptable? I'm thinking maybe 100,000 slaughtered should be the high water mark, right? Good fucking grief.

Any kind of peacekeeping missions here would probably wind up killing off the 2.7 million people displaced into the arid western region because of warring factions from all corners, including Chad for that matter. But then al-Bashir's army isn't equipped well enough to slaughter them all before we get there, so I figure it might be worth a shot. Maybe I should revise my forecast of war with Iran. Sudan would make an awesomely expensive "playing field".

Then a peacenik from the World Health Organization chimes in, she's worried about al-Bashir's order tearing a gaping hole in the monitoring efforts that could lead to outbreaks of infectious disease going unchecked. "If they are not helping us do this very vital work, we may see the emergence of infectious diseases," said WHO spokeswoman Fadela Chaib. (AP)

I think that's precisely the point, honey.

Saves on bullets doesn't it?

Watchmen (movie review)

2009-03-16T13:25:00.001-04:00

I can't help thinking Triplettes de Belleville, Blade Runner and Watchmen all definitely cult movies of varying genres. So it goes with Watchmen: you either worship it or you hate it. Seldom is there a middle ground for the type. Oddly enough I fit in that middle ground, I was bored out of my skull, but curious enough as to where the story was going.

Cinematically and symbolically it was very impressive, except Mars, I still don't get that. Entertainment-wise it's too long by at least an hour. I think some people left the screening because of sheer boredom, way too plodding. I looked at my watch twice, which not generally a good thing and thought about leaving at least twice. But the plodding translates into an amazing story and moral study of an alternate 1985 earth. If you get hooked (reference "cult" here) it ties up everything nicely. The ending does not leave you on your appetite. Now you may not like the ending, but all the loose ends are tied up. The action scenes are very short-lived but then they are very intelligent, including the assault/almost-rape.

I would have liked to see this as a mini-series on DVD instead. Re-add the very material which was glossed over in the opening credits, and then spread it over 4 or 5 discs. If and when you see the movie, you'll understand what I mean.

A few bonuses: I may have caught a glimpse of a Dodge Omni 024 in a back-scene, too funny and I'm impressed they even found one to film! And of course the lovely Carla Gugino in a black silk overbust corset was nice eye candy. Rorschach was positively hypnotic.

I'm not sure where to put the so-called love-scene in the hovercraft though. Miss Akerman is certainly cute enough, but meh.

The caveat: Don't see this on IMAX if you're allergic to blue penises. One of the characters is mostly naked throughout the movie and glows bright blue. It's not offensive per-se on a regular movie screen, but this giant dick on IMAX could be a little, shall we say, overwhelming. That being said, it is rated "R" – that's RESTRICTED to a mature audience, even if you think your kids are "mature", they ain't! See reference to an assault/rape-scene above, and a cold-blooded murder by the same characters is, to put it mildly, deeply disturbing.

Not having read the graphic novel/comic books I can't say how it rubs up, but then it also makes me one of those people who walked in the theatre not knowing what to expect. So from the perspective of one who has not read the novel, if you go at it with an open mind you won't be disappointed, there's plenty of visuals and story material to keep one entertained. If you go in expecting to see an action-packed superhero jaunt you'll be leaving early. It's that simple.

I'm giving it an overall C rating because of the over two and a half hours worth of cult-only direction. Unfortunately this trumps everything else, as is often the case with cult-centric productions.

Source of Aggravation by Circuit City

2009-03-12T15:54:00.002-04:00

Another bitch of the day. (warning, graphic language ahead, hehe.)

I walk into The Source by Circuit City. My mission is to find an over-the-air solution for my mom's TV. She is getting tired of paying cable TV fees, and honestly, can't really afford it.

I do some research into getting some new gear in order to tune into the new OTA (over the air) digital broadcasts.

Be it known that on June 12, 2009, the Americans are supposed to cut-over to digital broadcast completely, and free up much needed analog broadcast frequencies for other uses. Digital taking up a lot less bandwidth, this is a huge airwaves savings and generally a good thing™.

The down shot is that all these older TVs out there will need a digital to analog converter. Simply put, it's a STB (set-top-box) to put between the TV and the antenna, and bob's your uncle. Yep, it's that simple.

Hell, this little chunk of equipment will actually allow you to get High-Def digital TV from the ole' rabbit-ears! That's pretty damned cool.

And by the way, if you have a TV and, or VHS/DVD/HDD-recorder that is manufactured with an ATSC tuner built-in, just slap on the rabbit ears and enjoy!

The upshot for the Americans is that their government has seen fit to supply 40$ coupons to acquire these OTA STB for their old TV sets. Sweet!

The CRTC is still debating the entire conversion problem.

Furthermore, our beloved broadcasters aren't yet aligned with this whole digital conversion and would much rather you pay for your TV reception through a satellite or cable carrier. Then they don't have to fork out for the new fangled digital transmitters. Bastards.

But that's not my bitch-of-the-day. No.

Back to The Source by Circuit City. I walk all around the store looking for the piece of equipment that will allow my mom to tune into this new digital airwaves thingy. She lives near Montreal, so she should be well served with a plethora of transmitting antennae. The converter is nowhere to be found. I do spy some cool looking reception antennas but, since I don't have the converter, there's no point even looking at those yet.

Finally I break down and ask a nice fellow at the counter for some guidance. In French of course:

Me: "I'm looking for the converter to tune into the new digital broadcasts."

Gentleman-behind-the-counter(BTC): "That's illegal! We're not allowed to sell those!"

And he turns around tending to something or other.

Me: "What?"

Idiot-BTC: "That's FTA and it's illegal!"

Apparently I'm being annoying now.

Me: "What's FTA?"

I'd heard the term and knew enough to be a satellite term, and not airwaves.

Dickhead-BTC: "Free to Air."

Now he's just being condescending.

Me: "Then why do you have it on your web-site?"

I'm just getting way too smug, but also just so sickeningly pleasant, as I can be in these circumstances as I circle for the kill.

Idiot-BTC: "We do?"

Getting defensive are we? HA! Now I gotcha, you arrogant prick!

Me: "Uh, yeah. It's called an analog-to-digital TV converter and you have one brand I think it's TiVax or something like that on your website."

Moron-BTC: "What did you search for?"

Now he's realizing that not only did he speak out of turn, but didn't actually listen to what I was asking for, and furthermore is caught with his fly open on his own stock. He's typing away furiously on his terminal.

Me: "digital TV converter, DTV converter, something like that."

Dumb-fuck-BTC: "Tivax STB T8!"

Me: "That's the one."

Jackass-BTC: - reads off the entire freakin' description! -

Me: "Yep, that's it! Can I see one?"

Stupid-shit-BTC: "Nope, they are special order only!"

Me: "What? None of your stores carry any? Like none in the entire region?"

Dick-wad-BTC: "Nope, they are special order only."

Me: "Oh well, thank you very much, have a great day."

I can't help but roll my eyes on the way out.

Post mortem: I'll use a little baseball terminology since Canada was handed its ass by the Italians at the Baseball Classic thingy.

Strike 1: They actually do have them in stock at three other locations in Gatineau for a total of 5 units, and another three places in Ottawa for another 7 units. So the little fucker lies too! Hmm.

Strike 2: As for his opening statement, regarding FTA being illegal to sell? If it is, someone had better tell those satellite gear suppliers throughout Canada that they are being unlawful. So the fool is ill-informed to boot. This does not bode well.

Foul-ball: I can forgive him not knowing what he has in his store. Can't know everything! Although his attitude would clearly lend itself differently.

Strike 3: Mister-know-it-all not listening to the customer in the first place? Nope, sorry, that's strike-three nimble-nuts!

I bought a converter at Future-Shop instead.

No wonder Circuit City is going bankrupt. Duh!

Deserve Well

2009-03-12T14:44:00.001-04:00

"What deserves doing deserves doing well."

I don't know who this was meant for, but it sure as hell is debilitating to me.

When I was in high-school, there was one teacher who I assume was severely depressive, in hindsight, who was reef on us over and over again, week after week always hammering home that we should apply ourselves, that it was truly disgraceful that no one knew proper French anymore, that we should be paying attention, often he would cry. The tirade would go on for 45 minutes, once a week. The class was supposed to be methodology or some such, but other than learning Dewey Decimal's name, well, it was for naught.

I'd come home crying myself, inasmuch as I did apply myself, and I would always do my level best in French class, and that I was always trying to pay attention in class. I was chagrined that this teacher would think I wasn't putting in max effort. My parents were a comfort, trying to make me understand that the teacher wasn't necessarily talking about me directly, maybe he was addressing those who weren't paying attention, etc. but to no avail. I remained distraught and what this teacher was saying kept hitting me, deep. I'm not claiming this particular episode eventually led to my being a perfectionist control freak, but it sure as hell didn't help.

As I look back on it now, this expression and that teacher are simply a representation of the times. To this day I still have problems with dissociating myself from self-imposed view of perfection.

Then the thought struck me: procrastination may well be a desire for perfection, and motivation being inversely proportional to possibility of a perfect task.

Let me explain. Let's say I'm gearing up to vacuum, a simple enough household task, or is it? I start planning which floor of the house I will start with. I select to start in the master bedroom.

Ok so far so good.

Then I think: I will need to gather the vacuum cleaner and attachments from the basement, two floors down; where did I put that dusting nozzle again? I should pick up the clothes lying all over the floor first; dump what's due for cleaning in the hamper, take the hamper downstairs and save a trip; fold the rest; must stow the missus' jewelry before dusting; I'll have to remake the bed seeing as some of the bedspread has slipped and is bunching up on the floor at the foot of the bed; then move the bed out and back into place; take the seat out from under the makeup commode; move the winter-chest away from the wall; I mustn't forget the slots to the wardrobe's sliding doors; I really should dust behind the window's bug screen too, so take those off; while the screens are off, may as well give a quick wipe down on the windows; since I'll have the Windex handy anyway, I'll do all the mirrors too.

Not that any of this is by any means overwhelming, it isn't, but I honestly get tired just thinking about it, and multiply it all over again for each room, with each their own quirks. And that's assuming the vacuum cleaner operating properly, that is the collection bag isn't full and the filter not too packed with dust.

All of a sudden, I really don't want to vacuum anymore. Small wonder!

Now, do I really have to do all of the above? Maybe I can take some of the edge off? Can't I get away with skipping the wardrobe slots and the mosquito screen and windows this week?

Ah, but: "What deserves doing deserves doing well."

So I suck it up, hunker down and do it all.

Bah, no biggy, it's just a vacuuming. Who cares?

Have a mental picture yet?

Now imagine if you will this very process, for every single little thing, all the time, every day.

Yeah. Perfection just isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Vocab

2009-03-11T10:54:00.001-04:00

My bitch of the day.

Seriously, what do you think of when someone says:

"There's a surge…"

I'm thinking, ok, something is active, in occurrence is rising, something rather significant in nature, a serious push likely upwards, from somekind of a low. A swell.

Ok, what about "soaring"?

I'm thinking Icarus here, altitudes worthy of gods, eagles, and possibly Boeing 747-400s, ya know? Lofty, not just high, we're talking out of sight.

You know what I'm saying, right?

Now if I say: "world stocks SOAR again on banking, etc. etc."

I don't know about you, but to me the use of the word soar in this context would means maybe tens of percentages, like a 20% increase would be a soaring!

No.

0.8%

Yeah.

Eight tenths of a percent. It's the major part of one percent, I'll grant you, but it's not even one whole percent!

What the fuck dictionary are these assholes using? Obviously these guys are better with numbers tha… oh no, wait, apparently not.

Ah, never mind.

Shaky Sue

2009-03-09T18:33:00.006-04:00

In the spirit of true inanity, here is another one of those mining the depths of my memory for truly useless information.

Back in 1972, or was it 1973? we got the most awesomest of records. Yes, that's a vinyl record for those of you who remember such things as turntables. The record was Glitter – Gary Glitter. The funniest thing about this record as I look back on it now is that everyone, and I do mean everyone, knows at least one song off this record. Maybe not by name, but certainly would recognize the tune: be it Rock and Roll - Part 1 or Part 2.

So it is: Hockey fans worship Rock and Roll - Part 2! It's like 2 chords and one word: "Hey!"

I listened to this album over and over again, wearing it thin in spots. Amazing music to be sure. Hell it even had Gary doing a rendition of "Donna", originally from Ritchie Valens.

( Unfortunately for everyone, several years later, the musical genius known as Gary Glitter was defunct. The sad sordid tale of, real name, Paul Gadd took over. In Vietnam, he was tried, convicted and sent to jail, although he maintained he was innocent. Nevertheless, Glitter-music, the art, cannot be denied even though the human being may be totally reprehensible. )

Anyway, I bought the recut CD, but was missing the song below.

The lyrics aren't available anywhere and neither is the music, so in order to entertain as well as provide "useful" data, here are the lyrics to Shaky Sue, one of my favourite songs off the vinyl album, again as best I can remember seeing as I haven't actually heard it in many, many years.

Shaky Sue

Written by: Gary Glitter & Mike Leander (circa. 1972)
(as remembered by me!)

Rama-lama-lime
I'm a hard, hard man
With a head and a heart of stone
I pay no heed to the female weed
I can make a standing on my own
And then one night when the moon was bright
To the music of a slot(?) machine
I shook on and I lost my song
To a rock 'n' rollin' teenage queen
Shaky Sue!

Dancin' 'til the early morning light
Shaky Sue, Shaky Sue
Bring back a little love-light into my life,
Shaky Sue, Shaky Sue

Now I'm no fool
I'm a stubborn mule
But I knew I met my match at last
I got shrewd to my Shaky Sue
When I <intelligible> her on the dust(?) so fast
I asked her sittin'(?) on my knee
If she's dumb enough to be my wife
Well you can guess
Shaky Sue said yes
Now I'll be rock and rollin' the rest of my life
Shaky Sue!

Dancin' 'til the early morning light
Shaky Sue, Shaky Sue
Bring back a little love-light into my life,
Shaky Sue, Shaky Sue

(Repeat and fade)

L’Oiseau

2009-03-09T13:51:00.012-04:00

It's Québec culture time!

I was surfing Youtube for some old songs with the missus this weekend, looking for TV show themes from our childhood. Given the search engine features in Youtube I got some more or less apropos suggestions. Nevertheless, I found this gem.

I remember seeing this kid on our state-of-the art 12-inch TV. It is vague, mind you, but I do remember it. Here is it reproduced, as I saw it, including horrendous recording quality, such was the technology of the time, and of course, in black and white.

His name is René Simard, born in Chicoutimi in 1961. He is arguably one of the most beloved Québécois artists of all time. I understand, from a very reliable source who's actually met the man, that he is a polite, caring, simple and genuine, and this is despite super-stardom status here in Québec.

Urban legend has it that the sound-board operators had to crank down the gain on the kid's microphone during the song, because he would routinely peg the meters. Raw power, insane talent. Stirring, truly stirring.

This particular recording is from a Canadian stage, probably 1970 or 1971, before his trip to Japan (1974) where he brought down the house.

And I've translated it for you below.

"L'Oiseau" (The Bird)

Je connais les brumes claires La neige rose des matins d'hiver Je pourrais te retrouver Le lièvre blanc qu'on ne voit jamais Mais l'oiseau, l'oiseau s'est envolé Et moi jamais je ne le trouverai Car j'ai vu, l'oiseau voler J'ai vu l'oiseau, je sais qu'il partait Je l'ai entendu pleurer Le bel oiseau que le vent chassait	I know well the light mists The pink snow of winter mornings I could find it again for you The white hare which we never see But the bird, the bird has flown away And I will never find it Because I saw the bird fly I saw the bird, I know he was leaving I heard it crying The beautiful bird that the wind chased away
Je voudrais tout te donner Mais toi pourquoi ne me dis tu rien Quel est-il ton grand secret Un secret d'homme Je le comprends bien Mais tu sais je peux te raconter Combien l'oiseau est parti à regret Si un jour tu m'écoutais Tu apprendrais tout ce que je sais L'oiseau part et puis revient Tu le verras peut-être demain	I want to give you everything But why do you not tell me anything What is it your great secret A Man's secret I understand so well But you know I can tell you The regret with which the bird left If someday you really listened to me You would learn all that I know The bird leaves and then returns Maybe you'll see it tomorrow
Si jamais je rencontrai Ce bel oiseau qui s'est envolé S'il revient de son voyage Tout près de toi le long du rivage Moi vois-tu je lui raconterais Combien pour toi je sais qu'il a compté C'est l'oiseau que tu aimais L'oiseau jaloux je l'ai deviné S'il revient de son voyage Je lui dirais que tu l'attendais	If ever I meet The beautiful bird that flew away If ever it returns from its voyage Near you on the shoreline You see, I would tell it How very much it meant to you This bird whom you loved so The jealous bird, I had guessed If it returns from its voyage I will let it know that you were waiting.

Cat in the World

2009-03-06T16:47:00.001-05:00

My new cat is in to get fixed today, more specifically, getting some parts lopped off, as opposed to a repair.

As I stated in a previous post, this little bundle of black fur was rescued from the SPCA shelter where it had been abandoned. So in keeping with my philosophy of being responsible for my own pets, I brought him in for neutering and thereby doing my bit in reducing overpopulation. And also to ascertain my self-righteous stance regarding irresponsible and moronic idiots who let their pets proliferate unabated.

I understand their dilemma, mind you it's really a sorry-assed excuse for doing nothing, whereas who are we as humans to decide right to live upon wildlife? Yeah, right! The irresponsible pet owners don't want to fork over the cash to get their animals sorted out, that's what I think.

However, a thought about this whole wildlife thing pops into my head as I'm playing with my cat yesterday, but first, a little hindsight.

I'm using a bungee string to tease the cat into attacking, and trust me, it doesn't take much. More often than not, the cat is pawing and mewing at me to play with him.

Oddly enough, as with any child I suppose, the cat's coordination is getting better and better as I play with it. When I first got him, he'd chase a string and readily slam into adjacent walls. He'd leap and fall sideways and once fell plum on his back, to my greatest dismay! I figured there was something seriously wrong with this cat's sense of orientation. But In fact, all it took was a little playing.

His spatial perception is up to snuff now, as well as his motor control. He actually lands on his feet after jumping. He hasn't careened into any walls or furniture in a while either. It's really amazing how fast they learn. And I think he may be a south-paw.

I read in a cat-care book that cats need to play in order to develop these skills, whether with humans or with other cats for example. It is said that this chasing of strings, balls, mousy look-alikes and feathers on strings, among other things, is way for them to hone their hunting skills. Not that domesticated animals really need to hunt.

Then it comes to me.

I'm developing his hunting skills. Pause for thought.

Now I'm totally torn as to what to do! Certainly I want to keep playing with my cat. And he is very much a riot to watch. But how much intelligence should I put into all this playing?

It's one thing to play, "just 'cuz", but I realized that I would set up these scenarios for him, like hide the string just behind a blind corner, or have him jump from a running start to gain height, or not moving the ball on-a-string until I see him move, then make the ball escape, etc. You get the picture.

All of a sudden, I'm horrified to think that I'm contributing to developing a better hunter!

This is a problem.

I believe he'll be more successful at killing than if I leave well enough alone. I am sure of it. So some poor wildlife, or many wildlives, will die because of me and my cat! I am chagrined. On the other hand, better a clean kill than a maiming I suppose.

And then the real horror strikes me! I'm betting he'll want to show me his kills. Ick! I've created a monster, a very cute, soft, cuddly monster, but a monster nevertheless.

I wonder how cuddly he'll be with a mouth full of blood and claws clumped up with feather or fur.

Response Ably

2009-03-01T00:28:00.001-05:00

Once again a public-craze driven media reports on credit cards, or specifically the nefarious credit card companies, big bad meanies that they are.

According to a report on La Facture credit card companies are forcing their cards upon us, coercing us into obtaining too many cards! The strong arm tactics of these huge companies are too much to bear. Poor innocent people are getting their lives ruined by having too many cards in their possession. One poor schlep interviewed has four, count'em, FOUR credit cards, so of course his life is now over. It's a gruesome tale.

This is simply overwhelming. It is staggering really.

They pressure you to fill out applications for their cards, literally! You'll be walking in the mall minding your own business when an a-grade assaulter with a sixth-grade diploma will accost you violently and strong-arm you to provide a host of personal information thereby taking over your very life. The scene is horrific if you've ever been witness it will last some 10 minutes. 10 minutes of sheer torture where you can do NOTHING. Usually it involves a bully of massive proportions, typically one of those dangerous non-descript housewives looking for a side income, these monsters will stop at nothing to throw you down and beat the living daylights out of you to fill out an application. Violence is the order of the day.

Even in the relative safety of your own home, theses companies will send you unsolicited mail coercing you to apply for yet another credit card.

The intimidation doesn't stop there! They will harass you over the phone and brow-beat you into taking a card.

And if you refuse? Well by god, they might even make you some more offers!

And then, hell-on-earth, they will drive you to spend money you don't have. They will threaten you in the strongest possible language that you, unequivocally, must incur debt! Otherwise, well, otherwise, by all that is holy, they may send you yet another card!

Imagine, just imagine, having four credit cards! It boggles the mind, truly. I mean four credit cards? Seriously! FOUR! This is, of course, way too many for any human being to tolerate. It's truly unthinkable. For shame!

Oh where, oh where will it stop? When you have five cards? Or maybe even six? Oh the humanity!

<pause>

It is a plague on the very stupid.

Unfortunately, it isn't fatal.

War Eco (not part of the War series)

2009-02-24T10:31:00.002-05:00

CAUTION: this is a dark one, you have been warned.

War is coming.

The economy is in a downturn, and there’s no sign of recovery.

I was actually hoping that all this “going green” bullshit would provide enough money opportunities to drive a new economy, but it is all asinine crap. People are going to realize that they are being manipulated into consuming the wrong solutions for money’s sake and not for the ecology's ake, and will eventually refuse to toe the line, thereby putting another nail in this economic coffin.

The standard government banking and financial solutions are still for naught. There are too many hidden agendas and power struggles, in my not so humble opinion.

Also, there’s an economist and humanist as President of the United States.

My prediction: If the economy doesn’t pick up and turn around within the next six months to a year, the President will literally be bullied and coerced into going to war.

War is immediate and fast. The war industry will quickly provide jobs and unabashed spending.

As an example, GM and Chrysler will be polled and drafted to produce vehicles and engines, etc.

The faith that people can pull together will lift spirits amid the chaos, and as such, life will return to a semblance of normalcy. Once the war is over, hope will return and the economy will spring back to a new life, as we pick up the broken pieces, and mourn our dead.

So where will this war be? And who will we be fighting?

My guess: Iran.

It will give us an excuse to stay in Iraq and wage war from there. And Iran is certainly powerful and rich enough to give us a war of proper magnitude to easily recover the economy, which Afghanistan clearly cannot.

I really hope I’m wrong about everything.

But I don’t think I am.

Kids Crisis Numbers

2009-02-20T07:59:00.003-05:00

I published some numbers in a previous blog for children in crisis, and I've been looking for an nation-wide American equivalent since. Europe and other parts of the globe will have to fend for themselves I'm afraid. I'm not crusading here.

Here's what was given me:

A crisis line for the US (that might be similar to the Kids Help Phone):

Boys Town National Hotline 1-800-448-3000

The Boys Town National Hotline was established in 1989 and receives more than 400,000 calls every year. Trained, professional counselors are available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Callers' problems range from relationship and parental discipline issues to depression and suicide. In crisis situations, counselors assist callers and provide community resources and emergency intervention. The Hotline provides referrals to agencies throughout the United States and responds to anyone in need of assistance, with a special focus on children and families. Anyone in a crisis situation, especially children and families, can call 800.448.3000 for help anytime. Direct url about them: http://www.boystown.org/AboutUs/hotline/Pages/CrisisHotline.aspx

And again the Canadian ones, just in case:

Tel-Jeunes (French and English): 1-800-263-2266
Kids Help Phone: 1-800-668-6868

.

Different Taxes - Part 2

2009-02-19T14:32:00.005-05:00

This is the follow-up about why “it doesn’t work” when kids report harassment.

After doing some research, that is I actually asked the questions that the reporter so miserably failed to ask, I have it on good authority that sometimes the resources actually do nothing vis-à-vis the bully. It seems that my guess from my previous blog as spot on.

In these times of de-responsibility, social lethargy or whatnot, hardly anyone but for a select few, will go to the trouble of actually fixing the aggressor. The reasons for this are many, not the least of which is that the fixer puts him or herself in the line of fire.

Now what does this line of fire look like? Perversion of responsibility!

Check it out: If one doesn’t acknowledge that there is an issue, then one doesn’t need to track it, if there is no paperwork, then no one gets saddled with not doing anything to prevent or stop the abuse. Or worse, doing something wrong. A record will be held against you!

Perversion to be sure, but the alternative sticks like shit. You can’t dodge the accusation “you knew but didn’t do anything!” Sacrilege indeed. How many times have we heard that particular cry in the media in the past, say, week? However, you can totally get away with not knowing, especially if there’s no record of any incident. At which point one can get accused of incompetence, rather minor in comparison whereby the alternative is criminal negligence.

I don’t want to paint all of the world with such a dark brush, but we all know the dictum: “cover your ass.”If anyone tells me that school board members and teachers don’t do it? I call him a bald-face liar.

Another force at work is sheer ignorance. While programs and coaching may be in place, it is with experience that one recognizes abuse. A punch is, relatively speaking, easy to see. Name calling is also something readily identifiable. But intimidation goes much further than this, and it’s the lack of awareness that makes it difficult to recognize.

Remember those workplace harassment classes and video presentations given by H.R.?

Do you remember each one of the examples and what it was about?

I didn’t think so.

I touched a word on it before with regards to school jurisdiction, but there’s also an inherent problem within the school workings itself. Teachers and principals often have their hands tied solidly behind their backs with attributing consequences for a child’s behaviour. They are extremely limited in their response. The public outcry over the past few decades has ensured that teaching professionals have no powers of punishment. Right, wrong or indifferent, the only thing a school can do is suspend a child for bad behaviour, and nothing else.

Worse still, I am told that nothing exists to provide support to the school, nor the victim for that matter, when the bully returns from suspension. Furthermore the learning-time lost during the suspension will make the badly behaving kid all that much more of a liability.

All this assumes of course compliance on the part of the troublesome child’s parent(s). They have to subscribe to the school’s disciplinary measures, otherwise it is all for naught. It comes down to accepting parental responsibility: if a parent isn’t being a parent, the child will have no reason to change his behaviour.

A case could be made that the parent may or may not believe the evidence levelled against his or her child. Indeed, false accusation is one of my own greatest irritants and a real possibility. So while the parent does need to keep a critical eye out for such things, it also behoves them to realize that their cherished little angel may still have massive behavioural and social issues. So sorry, bloodline blindness is no longer acceptable.

Finally, we get to social stigma, which encompasses the reluctance to suspend or otherwise deal with a badly behaving child in the first place in order not to victimize him or her!

A real case: a victim we’ll call Vic is being bullied in class by Bull. (Yeah, I know, not too imaginative but we'll more easily keep track of who's who!)

Vic’s parents have asked the school to move Bull into another class. But the school refuses, well aware that such a move has the potential to impart stigma upon Bull. The other kids will ask why Bull was moved! And, obviously, Bull’s parents don’t want this either, and so they refuse their child be moved.

Vic parents don’t want Vic to be moved since he has friends in the class and likes his teacher.

To this day Bull is still picking on Vic.

For the Victims: not all is lost since I also acquired some tricks of the trade in my research.

The victim should be talking to someone. He or she should very much get it out in the open, preferably to an adult in power, but also if only to friends. This allows unloading some of the frustration, and it may be enough by itself, assuming the intimidation doesn’t carry on for months on end.

The second requires gumption, some coaching and a fair amount of faith. Bullies are often cowards, and when one stands up to them, they may back down. Being assertive and walking away is potentially a good tactic on the part of the victim, and disarms the bully.

Different Taxes

2009-02-18T16:21:00.006-05:00

A great debate is going on right now towards taxation, intimidation and harassment in schools. Case in point, a youngster by the name of David Fortin has disappeared off the face of the earth for over a week now. He was adamant about his being constantly harassed and now has apparently decided to run.

I must admit I’m a little torn about the essence of this problem. Ok, I’m a lot torn.

I’ve talked about the schoolyard bully before, albeit as an analogy to something else.

When I was a kid, in grades 5 and 6 specifically, I was subject to intimidation. Fortunately enough for me, it didn’t last altogether long and was fairly light in comparison. Not that this is an excuse. It happened again during the first two years of high-school. Then I got stocky.

I was listening to a bunch of guest speakers on Radio Canada, all learned by the looks of it. I didn’t get the entire report, so these ideas I have might have been discussed before or after I tuned in.

One interviewee spoke of being pro-active with programs, denunciation, surveillance and support to those children in need. As she was saying this, I was thinking, ok half of those are clearly reactive in nature. But I kept listening anyway.

There seems to be a lot of effort expended in listening to the youth, but not a whole lot in actually correcting the initial problem, that is misguided, or delinquent, or violent youngsters.

Ok, so technically the root-cause is that some people should not be granted the luxury of having children at all, and much less rearing them, but that’s a whole other social debate.

A woman comes on from Tel-Jeunes which is an organization allowing youngsters to reach out for help via the phone. She makes one statement that sticks. She often gets the feedback that these youngsters have talked to an adult and have brought forth the issue of taxation, but to no avail.

Essentially, reporting the problem has failed. Dare I say it, since they don’t, it’s probably made things worse in some cases, but I’m hoping the opposite.

And then, nothing.

She doesn’t say why it’s failed nor in which capacity! I am on pins and needles in my truck, just waiting for the other shoe that never comes. The troubleshooter in me is screaming for information to sink my teeth in to. I wait.

Still nothing.

This leads me to conclude that these people have no actual clue as to what’s really going on!

I wait for the next caller, but the discussion is sidetracked again. At this point I change my mind, the people on the phone may have a clue, but now I’m positively hating the reporter asking the questions.

My quick un-knowing analysis comes up with at least 3 possibilities for failure.

First, something the Tel-Jeune lady said, off-hand, that the youth may not be believed outright when reporting occurs. Ok, I can understand this. I am fairly sure that any adult involved in the school system will be extremely diligent in accepting the report and following-up on it. I don’t believe for a second there would be any slacking off on something like this, from anyone.

I can easily see, however, that given the caution required to avoid false accusations and the time it takes lead a proper investigation, the youth doing the reporting may not get the impression that anything is being done! At that age, youthful impatience is de-rigeur of course. But in this case the youngster doing the reporting is hanging his own ass out there, so immediate action, and therefore protection has to be forthwith. If it’s not, well, the youngster in question will gladly report that the system has failed him. Unfortunate, but fair enough.

The second thing that occurs to me, is that the school can protect school-grounds. Once the kid takes the city bus, he or she, is pretty much left to his/her own devices and risk.

I have learned recently that kids are no longer bussed into school, but rather have to rely on public transit, which opens a whole other can of worms!

My point is that school ground boundaries lead to jurisdictional problems when the events happen between school mates, but off school property.

The third thought, is that a bully can wait. He or she can wait a long time. So offering protection for the victim is stop-gap at best, and bullying will resume as soon as the protection is gone, or even simply out of sight.

I can then see that our victim looses faith in reporting.

Only one interviewee mentioned contact with the bully as part of any process.

So much for that!

One must now wonder if this problem has always existed, or if it is a new phenomenon.

I remember being bullied. I remember others in my school being bullied too.

But younger still, I also remember picking fights due to my diminutive stature. I did this to establish myself as someone to be reckoned with, not to be picked-on, in spite of being small. In essence, I was the bully.

Low and behold, I was reprimanded, punished, and therefore stopped picking fights. The very next year, I was picked-on and bullied for all I was worth, and of course, having learned my lesson not to go all-Rambo on anybody’s ass, I went home crying more than a few times.

My fear of being scolded for fighting far outweighed my fear of being taxed. Classic rock and hard place.

So it’s not a new problem, obviously.

My guess is there’s a lot more light shining on this issue nowadays, given the information-age we live in.

How much of this comes to light by overcompensation on the overworked parent’s part, or under-compensation on an overworked school system, knee-jerk reaction, or actual epidemic? Maybe none, maybe all.

Then I wonder about the bully, and the very same thoughts come to mind. Epidemic, or explosion of the family nucleus, same with overprotection on the parent’s part, or sheer cluelessness as happened to me, or is it really something far more sinister.

I was told of the story of a young boy being constantly harassed. Everyone at school knew about it, but given the obvious efficacy of attacks off school grounds, the school responsibility was for naught. After months of failed resolution school talking to bully’s parents, our victim’s dad makes a direct plea with the bully’s dad.

The connection becomes crystal clear: The bully’s dad, is a bully himself!

Oh shite.

Given the family’s financial situation, moving away is out of the question, and so is alternative schooling.

No amount of proactive-anything is going to solve this particular problem, now is it? See how my comment about how some people shouldn’t be allowed to raise kids comes to pass?
The pleas land upon deaf ears, furthermore, the ears in question are downright insulting.

Does the harassment stop? Good gracious no, it actually gets worse!

The school cannot do anything further, jurisdictional issues notwithstanding, using words has no effect. The police don’t have enough evidence to press actual charges, and no witnesses will come forward, all kids, all being too scared.

You can see this coming right?

Our victim’s dad now turns his pleas into outright threats.

Oddly enough, the problem is now solved.

Aw fuck.

-

Some Canadian numbers:
Tel-Jeunes (French and English): 1-800-263-2266
Kids Help Phone: 1-800-668-6868

Or search for "youth crisis phone" in your favourite search engine.

What if? #2 - Tires

2009-02-17T12:46:00.001-05:00

The second in a series of “what if I’m right” ideas. These are simply observations, not holy writ.

Our beloved provincial government has our best interest at heart. They look out for our safety, or do they?

Late last year, a new law came into effect with regards to installing winter tires on all cars in registered in Quebec.

In theory this is a good idea, as I believe in winter tires and have installed them on all the cars I’ve ever owned.

Just as an aside, the first cluster-fuck with the new law is that until very, very recently, the government hadn’t defined what a winter tire was exactly.

The second enraging thing is that eventually, all winter tires will actually be ice tires. I’ve owned both front-drive and rear-propulsion cars, and 4x4 S.U.V.’s of course. While ice tires certainly have value on glare ice, (be it blue or black) on a rear-drive car, they are, for all intents and purposes useless on any kind of packed or loose snow. They actually become downright dangerous in deep snow.

A rear-drive car requires a good amount of displacement tread on the ass-end to even get anywhere, and to limit fishtailing. A 4x4 can make do a little better, but not by much. So I’ve always put M+S tires on my own SUVs and rear-drive cars. They are the ideal solution. As far as ice – I elect to stay home if I can anyway. I’ve always put ice tires on the wife’s vehicles though, inasmuch as this is what she is most uncomfortable with.

However, in its awesome wisdom, the gubmint has decreed that M+S tires will no longer be lawful come 2015. I suspect there won’t be any rear-drive cars left by then, nor I surmise SUV worthy of the name, so it shouldn’t matter I guess.

Back to the law, the intent was allegedly to reduce the number of accidents on our roads, and blah, blah, since 4-season tires were over-represented in crash cases, etc.

I will make a small foray into statistics for a minute, much as I may despise doing so.

They proudly announce that 38% of crashes involved one of both vehicles shod with 4-season tires. This is the over-representation. According to the other stat below, it should really be like 10%... or so. And besides, the 38% is already debateable. What if the other half of the vehicles involved in the crashes were shod with winter tires? And how many were accidents involving out of province vehicles which would not be covered by the new law anyway? Skews that particular perspective a tad now doesn’t it?

Now then, 90% of cars were on winter tires anyway. At this point I’m thinking “why bother?” for a lousy 10%, but I’ll go along with it.

Remember what I said about the gubmint not being forthcoming as to what constitutes a winter tire? So how the hell can they come up with 90% were presumably winter-tires if they don’t know what a winter tire is? They quote stats from 2005, whereas they established the regulation in September 2008! High confidence indeed.

All this is for naught.

In the news a couple of weeks ago, I hear it. Yes, indeed I do. I hear it loud as a Concorde on take-off and clear as day.

A community of a fair size in northern Québec has significantly reduced the abrasives used on the roads this winter to the glee of councillors at this cost cutting measure.

“It won’t affect safety…” the interviewee rambles on.

I’m thinking: but of course it won’t since everybody has winter tires now!

How so very, very convenient.

What if? #1 - Mergers & Money

2009-02-17T11:50:00.005-05:00

The first in a series of “what if I’m right” ideas. These are simply observations, not holy writ.

The previous government of Quebec (read Parti Québécois) unloaded the maintenance of roadway infrastructure to cities and towns all over the province.

This was done to cut costs at the provincial level, and move that cost towards the cities. The actual money didn’t all follow suit, and what money was downloaded was quickly dilapidated and dispersed.

No way can towns afford to support super-highways, it just ain't happening.

My first conjecture: the towns were forced-merged into larger entities thereby increasing the tax base. Economies of scale I guess. “Fusion forcée” is the word of the day, hell even in Ontario.

Is this enough? Probably not.

How can the new towns make enough money to support these new things without a substantial increase in taxes? Remember, if the taxes go up too much, people will be clamouring for reversing the mergers, and that just can't happen.

The solution is simple, yet Machiavellian. Take away the people’s right to sue the cities (re. pothole damage, etc.) This translates into potentially millions of dollars in avoided costs for the towns, and costs the provincial government NOTHING, except a vote.

Not bad really. No taxes raised, and seriously, who gives a crap about my neighbor's transmission getting ripped out from under his car? Not my problem. Besides, I drive this big ass S.U.V., so potholes are sporting.

Yes this passed as law, as is. I think I may have mentioned it before, but I connected the dots just recently, hence my second conjecture: easy money.

Now I am here to say that all this bullshit obviously didn’t work did it?

I give you: falling overpasses.

Hurray Home Depot

2009-02-12T18:38:00.002-05:00

Sheesh!

Home Depot’s Compact Fluorescent Bulb Recycling Program Got2BeGreen

Jeff Dunham

2009-01-23T15:27:00.004-05:00

I have to share one of the funniest most perfectly irreverant things I've ever seen.

I give you today: Achmed the Dead Terrorist

PS. See if you can spot the reference to Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

New Family Member

2009-01-08T10:22:00.003-05:00

I wanted to pay tribute to my old cat yesterday. Today however is time to introduce the newest member to our family.

He is a survivor of an animal refuge. He was abandoned on the front porch of the Gatineau SPCA this last November 26th.

He was born, an approximation to be sure, on May 24 2008, therefore is a Gemini just like his new daddy.

We took him into our arms this past Sunday where he did his level best to impress us with his good nature. Continuously purring throughout he kept fetching our hands for caresses all the while mashing up against us.

On Tuesday I return to the SPCA to purchase the little black 7 month bundle. The young lady at the counter was highly impressed that I’d already booked an appointment with my vet for my new cat. I pay the fees and cart off to buy a real pet transporter, rather than a dull cardboard box. I head over to Wal-Mart (yeah, yeah, I know-but it was closest) for a single quick purchase, but I exit with an extra 60$ armload of toys, brushes and assorted knick-knacks, as well as a new blanket to pad the bottom of the pet taxi.

I head back to the SPCA once again to collect our new friend. The voyage to his new place of residence went well, although he wasn’t easily convinced into the pet transporter. I cannot blame him though since he did have this nice luxurious 2-foot by 2-foot condo, whereas the pet taxi was a serious downsize.

We are wary of my wife’s allergies, so once the cat and I get home, I go to town on him with the brush to remove as much dander as I can. I sit with him in the downstairs lavatory, with the door closed, for a solid two hours. Needless to say the allergy crisis is mine, but it had to be done. In that time, I fill up a box and present my new friend with fresh litter. It takes him all of 5 seconds of sniffing the corner of the box before he starts digging. Unceremoniously drops a load, expertly covers it all up, and that, as they say, is that.

When the missus gets home, it’s celebration time! We let the cat out of the lavatory and he is now free to explore the rest of the house while both my wife and I look on. We are well served as he dashes like a rocket from room to room. Hilarious!

But, what’s this? A bed? Woohoo! He jumps on and spreads out for all he’s worth. He’s obviously staked possession of this new space. He looks at us, I swear from under his nose, and rolls lazily. He adopts the bedspread for a good chunk of the evening.

He comes back downstairs to be with us for a bit. I had bought him a fur-ball on a spring, this is a winning gift. He’s already taken a shine to honing his hunting skills. More entertainment.

As with all good cats, as we get into bed on Tuesday night, he takes watchful position upon our feet. Clearly genetic coding, not another word uttered, we all fall asleep pronto.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the missus awakes for a quick run to the water closet. The cat grabs at the opportunity for a petting séance. Even dares so much as a smack to my face to garner attention, much as in the following cartoon : « click here ». I await the baseball bat with dread.

I think we’ll have to install a lighter coloured bedspread too. The current one is dark blue so once the lights are out, the cat is invisible!

In the morning, our new friend acts the part of a puppy and follows us around a little.

I bring him to the vet on Wednesday morning, braving yet another wonderful foot-high snowfall. He isn’t impressed with the pat taxi again (maybe because he knows it’s from Wal-Mart?) but he’s a good sport about it.

The vet is really happy to see me again with a new found buddy. She is a doll and fusses over him. The examination goes well, the verdict is in. He is a strong 7 month old male, weighing in at 7.1 pounds. He is not a diminutive cat and certainly has good presence and sturdy at that.

Other than some sneezing, he is healthy!

We come back home, risking life and limb in the storm. He immediately recognizes his digs, jumps onto the sofa and promptly falls asleep.

This gives me enough time to write a blog.

The vet needed a name for their files, so we picked one quickly.

It’s my pleasure to present to you, my new friend: Chamoir

PS. Chamoir is a would-be French name. It is a multi-entendre. Let me explain.
Chat : cat
Chat noir : black cat;
Cha’ moir : slurred baby-speak for the above;
Chamoirée : uneven multicoloured mix – so an opposite to black;
Chamois : or shammy, a soft suede leather made from sheepskin;
So seeing as this cat is really completely pitch black, has really soft and dense fur, well, I just couldn’t resist.

R.I.P. Le Chat Jaune

2009-01-07T09:36:00.004-05:00

I've not been able to look at pictures of him until now.

I'd like to introduce you all to our cat which died on October 27, 2008. He was some 19 years old. He was worn down and overtired. It was a huge blow to have to put him to sleep.

We acquired him for my mum-in-law at Christmas back in 1990. She couldn't keep him so we took him in when my missus and I moved in together the following May. He'd been with us ever since, an integral part of our daily lives ever since the day we were married.

He was a truly excellent cat, for all that means. A real sweetheart, forthcoming with strangers, gentle and so comforting. A companion and presence for me during the day, and nothing short of a child to my wife. I have no qualms in saying he was really the child we never had.

So today, I give you my old friend le Chat Jaune.

Keep on Trackin'

2008-12-11T16:38:00.001-05:00

Global Positioning System (GPS) allows one to identify the exact location, to within a few feet, of where a GPS chip is emitting.

I give you the GPS underwear.

It’s meant as a gift for the, presumably, frivolous woman in your life.

If you note, the opening line of the article: “Feminists around the world have reacted with horror to a new line of lingerie that comes equipped with a GPS tracking system.”

Horror? Really?

I guess it’s the concept that really irks them: the very idea that they could be offered lingerie. Sheesh!

Oh wait.

Perhaps, it’s the thought that lingerie may be used out of bounds, as it were. That would really be just insulting.

Oh no, wait…

I’m thinking it’s probably the GPS that irks them! Ah yes, now I see it. They view it as an infringement on their freedom to do, well, the nasty? Or is it that they might get called on it?
Who would dream up such a hair brained surveillance system anyway? Bad, bad males that we are!

What if a male were to be offered an equivalent? Would that be ok with these feminists? Nah, that one was a too easy, too obvious and sub-standard reflection, even for me. But I figured I’d throw it in for the sake of completeness.

Personally, I submit they should be horrified just out of general principle, but that’s me.

I have to wonder who these people are that are horrified? I am really wondering if they know that their computer’s internet IP address is tracked and recorded. Of if they know that their cell-phone has a GPS tracker unit built-in. Or can anyone say “On*Star”?

Hey, bitch! You are already tracked 12-ways to Sunday! Wake the hell up already.

Just accept the lingerie, say thank you, cut the unit out of the bustier, and duct-tape it to his, or her, skivvies. I think the message will come across loud and clear.

And besides, who dreamed up all these surveillance systems anyway? Bad, bad people that we are!

Process Improvement? - bah, we don't need that shite

2008-12-11T07:14:00.002-05:00

News Worth

2008-12-03T15:01:00.003-05:00

The media is really making an effort to piss me off recently.

I give you Quebec's new provincial law that winter tires are now required on all automobiles registered in the province, from December 15 onwards throughout the winter. Don't get me started on this recent particular cluster-fuck.

Back to the media.

Last week, we had a nice dump of snow, freezing rain and all around general crap befalling us from the heavens. I wake up to hear on the radio that there have been multitudinous car crashes and “sorties de route” – loosely translated as haplessly falling off the road. This occurs every year, like clockwork, the first few times it snows.

Everyone is subject to it, no matter how careful, because the physics of car control literally changes overnight, sure as it it goes for me too! Eight months of driving with one set of rules goes to pot in minutes when the roads slick up. Ok, no news there.

But now let us put two and two near each other shall we?
- Impending new law coming into effect?
- Winter weather happening right now?
- Winter tires is a word of the day?

It would seem to me that the very, very, very first issue that any reporter worth their salt would elucidate for us: were the cars involved in the crashes already shod with winter wear, or not?

I look all over for the data, the modicum of empirical evidence, an article somewhere on the subject. The sheer curiosity is killing me!

And, well…

Nothing.

Not word one.

For the love of Pete!

Now I give you multi-page articles, nay tens of multi-page articles, on some guy named Avery dissing his old girlfriends and fellow hockey players. I think “sloppy seconds” were the words used. Obviously this guy has a chip on his shoulder regarding his ex’s.

I mean seriously.

Like I give a shit that a guy, no matter how infamous he may be, would bad-mouth his former squeezes? JHC on a popsicle stick, tell me who the hell doesn’t have a few choice words for their ex’s?!?

Maybe his former lovers can put the summer tires back on his rig and get him into real trouble!

… oh no, wait, he’s in Dallas.

PS. I am NOT giving you any link to what’s-his-face. Look it up yourself, he’s all over the sad-assed waste of resources we euphemistically call “the news”!

Bad Seating

2008-12-03T14:46:00.003-05:00

I am broad shouldered. It’s genetic, so I think I should get the seats on both sides of me, let’s say in an airplane or on the bus or train, for free.

Also, I suffer from depression and sometimes I deal with bouts of agoraphobia, so I should be allowed to see James Blunt in concert all by myself in the arena, at no extra cost.

I’m partially deaf, so people around me at concerts and at the movies should shut the fuck up so I can hear the show.

Kidding aside, or is it really kidding?

I give you the airliner gambit. Wow.

Anyway, I’m immediately thinking: how about some decent seat space for the lot of us, to begin with? Then we’ll see.

Oh and by the way, James Blunt gives a really good show, assuming you don't have two ornery god-owes-them-all blond bitches in the seats beside you making an unholy ruckus during the entire concert.

Anger Thoughts - pt 2

2008-11-26T14:35:00.002-05:00

Such a wonderfully powerful tool, even when not in actual use!

I was at my bi-annual workshop back in October when the subject of anger came up again. This is an oft occurring theme among us, even, maybe especially, those who suffer from lack thereof.

Repression is the word of the day.

One of the participants made a statement to the effect that anger was never seen as a good thing. From the typical, if there is such a thing, female’s perspective anger should be quelled and bottled at all costs being the ugly that it is.

I’m not sure I agreed with either his statement, or the so-called ugliness of anger. Nevertheless, as is customary in these workshops, I respected his opinion and internalized it for myself, with the above caveat and I made a placeholder to revisit the opinion.

A few hours later I was working on my issues with the group a cornerstone of which is anger, as usual. Now one must understand that I’m a bona fide expert on anger, under all its forms and notions, and especially using it for a given purpose. But also, I’m no slouch at bottling it up, corking it solidly as it were. I’m really good at seething too.

So here I am, in a quandary about my emotional content, being angry, also as usual. Bill, my therapist’s method usually goes into one of two parallel directions: let the anger speak – what does it have to say? And the other is to take exception to a cushion and just scream.

Both are methods to work the anger out in a controlled manner, and un-injurious at that. The idea is to let it out so that other emotions and materials can come out from beneath the anger, in essence come out of hiding into the light.

The process is one I know well. So once again, in the spirit of the workshop, I handed the reigns over to Bill and the Group.

Usually, most of the upfront discovery work is done with Bill, one on one. Sometimes someone from the group will jump in with some heartfelt perspective and help move things along.

After the first phase of discovery is done, there’s usually some emotions related work to be done, sometimes it’s acceptance, maybe forgiveness, other times it’s new insight, the list goes on. The work is as varied as there are individuals. There are some canned methods which are almost always effective too. Bill does run a good workshop.

In this case though, the discovery portion, read anger, was interrupted by one of the members. Can anyone guess who that was?

As if on cue, and to prove my comrade's statement, a lovely but somewhat misguided woman jumps in and says words to the effect that: anger is toxic and that I should just delete it!

Oh wow.

This was a perfect, absolutely perfect escape hatch for me. I knew I was being coy, but the things I knew were coming up were going to be very painful for me. And here was a group member offering feedback that I should nuke the very anger that I was conjuring up to make way for that deeper emotion.

How quickly I shut down is a matter of record for the ages. Saying that I shut down the anger within mere seconds is actually allotting a lot of time. I’m thinking fraction of a second maybe.

Remember, I’m an expert with anger now aren’t I?

My lovely lady was very well pleased. And who am I to refuse a lady.

Bill was shaking his head, almost dejected.

My best mate just had his head down and smiled knowingly, if sadly – he knew exactly what had just happened.

I did remain with the process, but the moment was lost. My emotional content was safely protected, locked away, beneath the now bottled up anger which wasn’t going anywhere. A siege.

Her feedback was spot on, but her timing really sucked.

Had she afforded this feedback but fifteen minutes later, the real issue I was trying to work out would have been out in the light. So her feedback would have been correct inasmuch as anger would have finished serving its purpose.

And heck, I’m not even angry that I blew 250$ worth of therapy that day.

However the lesson I carry away is that even if it is scary, one must let anger work itself out, or “speak”, otherwise, one just keeps hiding behind this most potent of tools.

Mustn’t be careless and careening all over with it, but by god, let it speak.

Stress Lines

2008-11-24T14:56:00.005-05:00

I’m impressed that I even have the password to my blog anymore. My last post dates back to end of June, thankfully of this year, of Our Lord 2008.

I’m not yet ready to expound on the whys, whereas and whatfors of my latest spell of silence, not just yet.

Nevertheless, something is afoot that is increasingly upsetting me. I've talked about this somewhat before, but hope to bring another perspective.

Every day I’ve been thinking about “the line” again, or more specifically where to draw it, or not, as the case may be. It’s a plague really.

I bring forth first (try saying that three times fast!):

Liz Hurley is getting raked over the coals for her support of baby-mink fur coats by PETA. To quote the PETA people (try that 3 times fast too!): “fantastic faux furs (try that 3x *smiles*)available there is no excuse for the wearing of real fur” See the Starpulse article here.

One could argue for either side. Me, personally, I ate the cow that I wear, to wit my leather jacket causes me no qualms whatsoever inasmuch the animal it came from was thoroughly used up. I also drink milk if anyone cares.

Back to PETA; just to get their goat, so to speak, I think I’ll send their quote to Greenpeace. Faux-fur is made of nylon and derivatives and other hazardous materials. Yes folks, that’s fossil fuels being used and transformed instead of something more rudimentary and thereby more natural.

Hmm.

Now I give you: perfumes in the workplace. Many places interdict the use of perfumes or any scents for the comfort of others, nay even allergies. Ok, not too much of an argument there, I suppose. But shouldn’t that extend to the stench often associated with co-workers who smoke? Even if they do so outside, the smell impregnates clothes and they do bring that back into the workplace. Arguably, this is worse than a nice sweet shade of Impulse™. By the way, I’m not taking about the vamps who bathe in buckets of $7.95/gallon on-sale eau-de-skunk. That would be where I draw my line.

NofA: Do they even make that Impulse stuff anymore? I knew a few girls in CEGEP who wore that positively intoxicating product. Delicious… but I digress.

We cannot force smokers to stop smoking, this would be infringing on their rights. Yet we don’t give a second thought to the miss or mister, who wants to shore up their self-image by sprucing themselves up! Psychology be damned, the physical well-being of one trumps the psychological well-being of the other.

Hmm.

Let’s take it one step further.

On the radio this morning, they were waxing poetic about real Christmas trees being better overall than their unrecyclable and non-biodegradable artificial counterparts. In case you were paying attention, this is the very counter argument to PETA. Mind you, there is still the open sore about killing cute furry animals, whereas nobody gives a rat’s ass about killing a pine-tree, except maybe Greenpeace.

In reality, do we even need Christmas trees or even Christmas cheer at all?

During the great Canadian ice-storm over a decade ago now, people were enjoined to turn off their Christmas lights out of respect to those who didn’t yet have electricity restored. What the fuck difference did that make? The juice wasn’t getting to them have-nots because the lines were down and out, not because the power-plants were running low on power, for chrisssakes.

But the media played it up for what it was worth: the misery of one, should trump the cheer of the other.

Hmm.

Sure it’s a bunch of small things, Christmas trees and lights, a perfume, a warm and good-looking fur coat, even smoking, the list goes on. I’ve mentioned before, it’s the relentless accumulation of small things that make life either worth living, or the banishment of more and more of them that make life a living hell.

I’m thinking that the bottom line is: there is entirely too much stooping to the lowest miserable denominator.

Let’s take smoking in effigy again. There’s a case for smokers putting an additional health-cost related burden on society, namely cancer. Sure on the face of it this would stand alone on a business case.

What about the psychological gambit? Smoking does calm the nerves, there is no doubt of this. The drugs in cigarettes have this effect. By extension would it not behove us to ban coffee, an accelerant, instead? Maybe by doing so there would be less cases of road rage in rush-hour traffic? Less people killed or maimed on the roads? Not to mention the inadvertant spillage onto one's lap self-inflicting grievous bodily harm. Ban coffee, anyone?

What if, every morning, before getting in our cars, we skipped coffee, had a smoke, relaxed a little and only then went into work... Think about it. Smoking doesn’t seem so bad now does it?

Hmm.

My dad told me once, long ago, there where would always be people around in life whose sole purpose is to bring you down. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, since I was a kid with no life-experience. I look back on it now, and I realize this to be true. Maybe not on a personal level, indeed while I try not to take it personally, I become extremely wary of anyone who starts a serious statement with: “there should be a law against…” or a second favourite, “this should be banned…” or the third “someone should do something to stop…”

I’m not saying this is always wrong, I’m just saying it’s too often the first statement in levelling from the bottom and with myopic or even no regard at all for the accumulation of the consequences.

I have nightmares of brown-cotton dressed, stoic, cold people being herded onto busses, and that people is us!

Can’t do perfume or makeup, can’t do dye in any fabric, can’t do coffee or smoking, nor joking nor any talking as it disturbs the next person, can’t put up Christmas lights nor trees inasmuch as it disturbs religious sensibilities, not to mention energy consumption. And by religious I don’t mean just the obvious, I’m talking about environment dogma as well!

I’ve used a few completely disparate examples here to, I hope, demonstrate that drawing a line is never so simple as a single thing. Think accumulation and I will show you accumulated frustration.

Still don’t believe me?

Let me draw a simple image: if you are a Christian smoker who wears perfume or scented aftershave and an animal-skin coat you are currently getting your ass banned on all fronts and from all quarters!

Hmm.

Yeah, it’s all getting to stick in my craw something fierce.

Wanted - The Movie

2008-06-28T01:10:00.002-04:00

When asked: "can a bullet curve" as per the trailers in the movie Wanted

My answer was: sorta, kinda, but no. Not really.

The dynamics of it are barely plausible in theory, and pretty much impossible in real life.

However, I will take a crack at it.

First, the aerodynamics of the bullet itself (as well as the recoil of the gun) can see it rise a little, for a very, very short period, then gravity takes over, thereby demonstrating that a rather serious curve already exists in the vertical plane. Hold on to that thought for a minute.

No bullet actually comes out of the barrel perfectly straight. However, it will follow, what's known in missile parlance as, a spin-stabilized path. This means that, barring external force, the gyroscopic inertia produced by the spinning missile will force it to go in a straight line perpendicular to the rotational plane.

Now then, gravity is a constant external force – which explains the down-curved path, as seen above.

So, to imprint a curve on a spinning bullet you would need to exert a force "while" it is travelling.

In relation to a fixed point, say on the ground, the bullet curves while travelling down the barrel and while the gun is being moved. Upon exiting the barrel however, the bullet should then keep going straight on its last "affected" trajectory. Think of the rock spinning on the end of a string, when you let go the string, the rock will then travel straight along the last tangent to the circle since the external force 'holding the string' is no longer in play.

You might be able to kick the bullet's ass sideways a little as it comes out of the barrel to impinge a wobble or tumble, but not a curve per se. Also, to get such a maneuver right is beyond human means. A bullet can travel several hundred feet per second. Out of a 6 inch barrel? That's ½ a foot in which to make your move, and then a micrometer would be required to nudge the bullet as it comes out at precisely the right distance and time. Not bloody likely.

Now, the game dynamics of jai-alai or lacrosse, and even baseball, tells us that you can indeed greatly curve a ball given the right amount of movement and tool, etc. However, a lacrosse ball would actually be spinning in a parallel plane to the travel, not perpendicular to it as a bullet does. Same goes for a curveball in baseball. The reason it works is that the ball is not spinning perpendicular to the plane in which it is travelling. The gyroscopic effect being skewed away from the straight path, not inline with it.

The bottom line? A bullet only spins one way, and that spin is imprinted by the barrel's rifling (see why we call them rifles?). If you manage to impart a spin in any other direction, then in real life the bullet will tumble ass over end or it will wobble. There might be a theoretical limit whereby a bullet won't tumble, but it's pretty much impossible for it not to wobble.

Neither of these vehicles, wobble nor tumble, will ever allow a consistent "curve".

So no.

But I'm allowing for some physicist to prove me wrong.

Oh, and I haven’t seen the movie yet.

Takes Balls

2008-06-12T09:12:00.001-04:00

There’s this huge fuck up in the Canadian government right now with a minister or whatnot who dated a biker chick.

And by the way, she is hot.

Said biker chick is apparently known to the RCMP and has ties with the Hell’s Angels. The general consensus is that she was a spy sent by the gang to obtain sensitive contract information so the gang could secure these contracts, etc. etc. etc.

As with all things political in Canada, and elsewhere I assume, this entire thing turned into a clusterfuck. The minister in question, a fool named Bernier, was to be appointed to a big post when this so-called news came out that he once dated a biker chick.

Did I mention she was hot?

Anyway, the opposition couldn’t bring this up back then, no. Obviously the better political capital would be to nail his ass to the wall on the eve of an important appointment thereby maximizing the humiliation value. The media couldn’t bring this up back then either, his involvement with NATO wasn’t deemed important enough then I guess. The RCMP knew about this girl but did nothing. I’m not even going to speculate as to why.

So, the question du jour is: why is this information coming to light now? And from whom?

Assuming the Angels did want to infiltrate the government, my question is a little more involved. Why did they really?

Is it not possible that they never wanted the contracts and whatnot?

Is it possible, rather, that what they actually wanted was to embarrass and bring down the government? Therefore she was a plant, and not actually a spy?

And seeing as the idiots running the show won’t question a seemingly golden goose, just so long as political capital is gained, it’s not a big leap, for me anyway, to think they were manipulated into it.

Maybe the biker chick was a spy, maybe she was a plant, maybe she was attracted to a man of power, maybe they just fell in love. Who knows? Maybe even all of the above.

One thing is for sure though everyone, and I do mean everyone, has handed over their power to her. Literally. Because if you look at it cold, by hook or crook, she is currently the most powerful entity in the Canadian government.

And while she’s hot, she was never elected to anything!

Oh, and one other thing, her name is Couillard, and “couille” is literally translated as balls, yes, those balls.

Falling really

2008-04-08T18:14:00.003-04:00

Read: 'I love being a call girl - I'm in control,' boasts fallen child genius

wtf?*

She went from math genius in University to call girl. How exactly is this “fallen”?

I made a case a while back about reporting actually being editorializing and not true straight-up non-judgement stating of the facts. This is a prime example of a moral media-judgement headline.

Hypocrites, especially, and some others who judge off hand will qualify this girl as “fallen”.

Irate socio-control freaks will also judge this girl to have fallen.

Parents, who only want “their” definition of what’s best for their child, will declare this girl to have fallen.

On the other hand, some will espouse the opinion that she’s making a huge mistake; taking huge risks and whatnot, is out of, well, control… oops, that was already covered above wasn’t it?

And a select few others will be jubilant at her will to take control of her life, regardless of personal foibles, beliefs and moral makeup.

Whether anyone thinks it’s a valid career choice or not, the bottom line is this: she’s making some serious money but more importantly making a living at something she apparently loves doing!

We should all be so lucky.

*Note: wtf ? – is web-speak shorthand, basically an acronym for “what the fuck ?”

W Strikes on One

2008-04-01T08:54:00.001-04:00

After the daylight savings debacle, the American government (read W Bush) has decided to change the layout of Months now, for chrissakes… so check it out:

It’s been a long standing problem that not all months have the same amount of days, so effort is now being made to homogenize this, but the solution is anything but simple.

Apparently, the rationale being that February for example is short a few days and furthermore, as happened this year, is added an extra day – this creates havoc in timings and calculations for satellites, space shuttle, and of ALL things – missile trajectory problems for space-based technology and submarines. A likely story… right.

So, coming next year, the calendar will be redone from top to bottom, homogenized to carry the same number of days, and account for bissextile years…

Now the problem is that we’re still using 24-hour days… this will also need to be tweaked to line up properly with the needs of American interests.

Thankfully, the days will remain almost the same length as now… but the divisor units will be 13 which is the same number as the horizontal stripes on the Flag. The identifier “hour” will be disbanded by the way: so we’ll move to 13 “stripe” days.

Back to the months, there will now be 50 months, again, apparently to line up with the 50 states, and each month will carry the name of a president. Since there have only been 43, dual terms will be counted as well. So we’ll have Clinton-1st and Clinton-2nd for example. Impeached presidential terms will be deleted (and others adjusted)… thereby allowing W. Bush to be included in the last month.

There is an insanely complicated method whereby 365.25 x 13 “stripe” days will be fit into 50 months, but the political scientists working on the issue assure us that they will have a solution soon.

Furthermore, since there’s still a big push on for separation of church and state, and W. doesn’t want to appear insensitive to the needs of non-Christian religions… the whole on-the-seventh-day-the-Lord-rested bit is being disbanded, since weeks will no longer exist, neither will Sunday.

I don’t know about all this… all seems pretty asinine to me, although come to think of it, our current calendar was built in precisely this manner, albeit with different rationale but just as unscientific really

I really do hope this all doesn’t come to pass, I mean seriously! What godforsaken day will April 1st land on?

Parallel Déjà

2008-03-20T11:50:00.002-04:00

It’s 1980 all over again. The parallels are just insanely scary… it’s like, omygod!

Some of my readers will remember the XXII Olympiad debacle. It was held in Moscow that year.

The USSR invaded Afghanistan in 1979, and therefore there was a 64-country boycott of the Olympics due to protest of this invasion.

Did the USSR pull out of Afghanistan? Uh… no.

Now let’s see, from my bag of tricks I give you: China!

China is about to slap Tibet upside the head – as if this was late-breaking news! And now we really should protest this “new” event with a boycott of the 2008 Beijing Olympics?

And we didn’t think of this BEFORE we awarded the honour to China?

And does anyone honestly think China will give a rat’s ass about a boycott? The USSR didn’t, so who in their right-mind would think any different in this case?

I mean, seriously!

I have to assume that these morons calling for a boycott weren’t yet old enough in 1980 to remember how utterly useless that move was back then.

Another parallel?

The USSR did get their asses handed to them in Afghanistan, and eventually left of their own accord.

Now we are getting our own asses handed back to us over there. A friend of mine mentioned bombing them back to the stone age – and then something about them already being in the stone age, so obviously the low water mark on that one is for naught.

Anyway.
One other note, while I’m at it, about the 1976 Montreal Olympiad… turns out it was the most expensive in history!

Wrenching On

2008-03-12T12:42:00.005-04:00

“… but my husband has Alzheimer’s, he’s confused at the best of times. He barely recognizes me and I visit every day!”

“Sorry ma’am, the centre is closed, the quarantine is for ten days. No visits allowed by anyone. Again, I’m sorry, there can be no exception.”

“Oh my god, he won’t even recognize me anymore!”

Now this is what I call a gut wrenching exchange.

2 weeks ago, a bout of influenza broke out at my missus’ health care centre. We’re still unsure how it got in. Probably a hapless visitor but no one can be sure. Most of the employees already had their vaccine, but as sometimes happens in this environment the virus got in anyway.

This made the local newspaper and there was a blurb on TV about it. Quarantining a long-term health-care centre is definitely news worthy.

For influenza, the standard lock-down is ten days after the last occurrence of symptoms. This means no family or friends get to visit, the staff is on high-contagion protocol, and everyone in the building is started on anti-viral medications.

This is a truly horrible time for the residents, as they are alone, sickly and some even pass away from such severe strain on their already frail systems.

It's also just as devastating to loved ones who cannot visit, as the conversation above can attest. Even for the physically healthy residents, who will pull through the infection, the collateral damage can still be severe beyond understanding.

The call for the quarantine is not taken lightly. It is a matter of process established to reduce pain and suffering and ultimately save lives. Nevertheless, as with all absolute procedures, there are always difficulties.

Enforcing quarantine is atrocious for any care-giver. Nurses, nurse’s aids, care staff, all these people’s entire reason for being there is to provide a quality of life! Yet the lesser of two evils still cuts deep into their fibre.

Not for the faint of heart, as my own was shattered when hearing this story.

The ten days came and went, without further outbreak of symptoms. Once again, management, staff and supporting crews pulled out the stops to quell the spread, at greatly reduced numbers, and at much higher than normal care levels. Some of them contracted the flu as well as were sent home as per protocol… and given the shabby state of the health-care system and limited call-out lists, they could not be replaced!

So keep in mind they have a greatly increased workload, but they pull together, going above and beyond what anyone could conscionably expect.

This allowed one nurse, of the very few, to take some time to talk to our Alzheimer’s ridden husband every day.

She used the same tone of voice she’d seen his wife use.

She would put fresh grapes in his hand the very same way his wife did, one at a time.

She held the phone receiver to his ear every day when his wife called so that he could hear his wife’s voice for a few minutes.

Heroes, all of them really... I just don’t consider this being anything less.

Oh, and yes, he did remember his wife.

What's Owed is Owed

2008-03-10T17:44:00.003-04:00

I started off being angry, then resigned myself to the default “it figures”.

The Canadian gubmint, in it’s vast and infinite wisdom is about to permit the out-of-country sale of RadarSat-2. Check it out: Ottawa Citizen – Part 1 Sovereignty for Sale

Now I don’t mind that high- technology should be sold to our friends to the South.

I don’t even mind that said intellectual property would no longer be available to Canadian interests in the future.

I don’t particularly care that Canadian high-tech workers will be out of a job.

Heck I don’t even mind, all that much, that the U.S. doesn’t recognize Canadian sovereignty of the Arctic.

What I DO mind is after investing some 620+ MILLION dollars of 1995 Canadian tax-payer monies, the Canadian tax payer will receive NOTHING in compensation from the sale of this paid-for technology.

As far as I’m concerned, MacDonald-Dettwiler owes the Canadian people billions (1995’s 620M$ + interest + SPAR investments + etc., etc., etc.)…

Now, would someone PLEASE instruct the Canadian gubmint how to put a lien on their ass?

For those who didn’t quite follow all that, let me paint a clearer picture…

“I wanna borrow 6-grand from you for this car I’m building see? In exchange, I’ll give you rides to school, work, hockey, we’ll go all over the place together! I promise!”

I fix up the car. And it looks so cool now that I have piles of people who want to buy it.

“I’m gonna sell it for 18K$… you don’t mind if I keep the money, right? And by the way, the new owner doesn’t want you anywhere near it... Bye now.”

There is a single French word that fits really well in this context, and it starts with a “T…”

Blame the Cooks

2008-02-01T09:38:00.000-05:00

A few days ago there was an article in the Citizen that simply disgusted me. So much so that I didn't finish reading it.

The gist of the byline was that obese people over-ate because the food industry markets their products in too flashy a manner.

I even checked to see if it was April 1st. I just stopped reading.

While I realize that we are sheeples to a certain extent, and while marketing does hold some sway over us all, I consider it completely insulting on one level: that I am apparently too obtuse to tell the difference between marketing and my own life choices.

But furthermore, that the media, of all people, would blame the food industry for my psychological problems with overeating is so utterly asinine as to be indescribable.

I am without words at such gall.

I don’t eat because of some publicity, no matter how catchy. I eat because it makes me feel good. The endorphins and whatnot are addictive. Why I need to do that? Well that’s a whole other blog isn’t it?

However, I could make a case for overeating because of the media - and the outright depressing amount of lies, half-truths, political correctness, subterfuge, misguidance, misdirection, misrepresentation and often sloppy, incomplete or downright incompetent investigative work.

Yet another article in my beloved Citizen outlines that fact that Bill Clinton got lambasted in the media for speaking the truth – oh wonder of wonders, he stated the obvious! Words to the effect that Obama was garnering the black vote. I’m thinking: “yeah, so? It’s obvious ain’t it? Hillary is probably garnering the female vote. Makes sense. No surprise there.” Apparently some media pundits took exception to this and Hillary had to make an apology for William the next day in saying something about his being tired and overwrought.

What the fuck?

When the hell did stating the obvious become verboten?

Ah wait… oh, never mind.

Anger Thoughts - pt 1?

2008-01-09T16:48:00.000-05:00

Anger...

We all have issues with anger. Those who do not are obviously missing something.

For some, anger is something to be reigned in. Others something to be ignored, and others still, something to let flow freely. For most of us, it is something that we deal with day to day.

It’s not every day that we get angry, not even often.

For me, it’s something I use even now and something I have used in the past. The alternative would be unthinkable.

A series of events occurred yesterday that produced anger in me. It was no ones fault, as is often the case. I could have cut loose and wreaked murder and mayhem. Instead I redirected the anger into managing the situation. I took subtle control as I often do, and modified my environment just so.

I cannot go into specifics right now, nor do I want to. Suffice to say that the energy expended redirecting the situation was furnished by the anger, the payback was a smooth social encounter. The cost, since there is always a cost with anger, was a lost moment of tenderness and understanding, but furthermore, there was a lost opportunity to do some good for someone else, so in fact a lost opportunity to fuel the soul for my own self.

There were other forces at work of course, but that’s the gist of it.

So in this particular instance the payback was totally worth the cost. Not so often can I affirm such is the case.

Nevertheless, the point is demonstrated that anger can not only be controlled but can also be used.

The trick is to know the full extent of the cost.

This puts a new slant on it all doesn’t it?

My shrink has recommended that, when the time comes, I state: “I am angry” to whomever I speak, and leave it at that, further discussion being unnecessary and laudable.

I am now left wondering the validity of such an action. Tactically it takes away all the weapons in anger’s arsenal, which can be a godsend if one is prone to violence.

But this would leave me feeling, well, vulnerable, albeit behind a stated defensive position.

Being a warrior in my core, this seems to me to be counterproductive. Maybe it’s meant to show me something else? Another path?

Anger does have one unavoidable cost: perception. It always skews perception. Always.

So maybe adopting this defence is a way of reducing this cost. The business case remains to be done…

But since my thoughts have not yet congealed on the matter… I’m sure there will be more to come. So stay tuned?

Merry Christmas to all!

2007-12-22T02:49:00.000-05:00

... and safe travelling - I prepare my own self for battle with ice, sleet and snow, as I envisage my yearly holiday treks to see family and friends.

May Santa visit and sprinkle joy upon you! And may he drive dump trucks full to the doorsteps of those most in need. I'm thinking everyone can make use of some joy.

Warm hugs to all, and to all a good night.

Writing Posting

2007-12-19T10:55:00.000-05:00

I was chatting with a friend online this morning. Innocuously enough this friend asked me what I had planned for today and replied without even thinking about it: writing.

It has been a little while since I've written something of real value, rants notwithstanding. And I don't consider writing emails as actual writing. My next step was to fire up my blog console and exercise myself.

Then I thought I'd catch up on a couple of my friend's blogs and try to find motivation among them. I was delighted to find their diligence and subject matter to be full of inspiration and talent. I always find the value in other's creations, but seldom in my own. Their blog posts are absolutely brilliant, on all levels. In case you are wondering which I am talking about, I will name them specifically here: MedStudentWife’s Another Day in Paradise, and Deathsweep’s Deathsweeping.

I am awed by their dedication and quality of work and so I am inspired with them once again.

The creative process is one I am still struggling with and it seems “motivation & inspiration” are only 2 parts of a multi-part equation. I have been working on my novel with another friend of mine and the act of creation of a novel is seeing yet more interesting twists. I am learning that having different approaches to something adds immense value.

I don’t know why I am surprised at this, since it was my very lively hood for many a decade. I am a troubleshooter by nature and the single most important key to finding solutions is to look at something from various angles.

The work I am doing with my friend is akin to brainstorming. Currently, we are working on character arcs, which is an interesting concept in its own right.

A story arc is a series of events that carry the story to where it needs to go. I define the word “need” here as the extension of what the author wants to present. The story arc transcends characters, events, places and time to form a whole. Usually a story arc will contain specific key events, brought on sometimes by happenstance, but more often than not by the behaviour of characters involved.

And so through this involvement we come to the character arc, which is wholly different from the story arc in that the characters are the vehicles by which the story moves. They are involved in, or indeed sometimes are the story events themselves. But each person has a life, has his or her own motivations and, presumably, predictable behaviours. It is through their arcs that we get to know each of them. It is by determining their arcs that I, as a writer, lay out what they do.

I had never thought, not for a moment, that this would be the case!

I figured my characters were pawns and that I, the almighty writer, had complete control over who did what and when and how.

Pawns I say!

Indeed not. Giving them qualities, foibles, moods, thoughts, and motivations is the real act of creation, but in doing so, they are actually telling me what they are going to do faced with the situations I put them in.

So it has appeared to me in the past few weeks, or months even, that while understandable, my approach has been all wrong. I have a story in mind for sure: the story arc, as it were. But the characters, through their own arcs, are going to be telling me what they’ll be doing; what a revelation!

I’m not sure this is inspiring exactly, but it sure as hell is exciting!

I have no formal training as a novel writer, so I am beating around the bush and doing what feels most natural. Note that I said natural, and not easy. Drawing on my friend’s talent for both organizing and improvising has been an unexpected godsend. Him and I do not think in the same ways at all, thereby inherently contributing to that special dimension I was referring to earlier: different approaches.

We have been struggling greatly with the last of the main characters; her arc ties much of the story together. I have 2 other main characters: one is the male protagonist, the other, also male and is the main vehicle by which the story moves forward.

I began my story with setting up the second male, but when I wrote the first few episodes, it quickly became apparent that the protagonist had the more interesting stories to tell, which is why he now became the lead. Naturally, my friend and I conjured up the character arc for the second male first, seeing as we didn’t know any better, and this went swimmingly.

Then we tackled the protagonist, at this point declared as such. This went very well, although we did hit a story arc snag of minor significance.

Then we got to the female lead. She is a little more complex than her two male counterparts, but not agonizingly so. Low and behold, however, her arc actually holds all the keys to the story arc! This caught me by surprise, as I originally thought her character would hold some, if not all, the solutions, not the questions. Pawns indeed.

My story has now changed, and I am very happy about it: the story I wished to write in the first place held little appeal past the first 15 or 20 episodes, which I had already written and was competing with mental block.

Now, however, I am looking forward to writing more episodes as my characters develop. Also, I am curious as to what they will do, which actions they will take, and the consequences thereof.

I have another conference call with my friend tonight. I’m still not sure what we will be working on, seeing as my female lead has led us to ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer. In fact, they are questions I had not even thought of.

So it seems my so-called pawns are actually controlling my ass…

Def: protagonist:
1 a: the principal character in a literary work (as a drama or story)
1 b: a leading actor, character, or participant in a literary work or real event
(Merriam-Webster)

Wrong Picture

2007-12-12T23:20:00.000-05:00

Everything wrong with Canadians? Here’s a prime example:

Mayor of Ottawa, O’Brien, has seen charges of coercion levied against him.

The media is clamouring and stating that he should resign.

Public letters & editorials are calling for his resignation.

And he hasn’t been to court yet!

This is what I was talking about before: being accused is enough to destroy someone, anyone really, because the media and the populace as a whole don’t have the wherewithal to sort out what they believe, from what is fact.

What the hell kind of people would condemn a man before having a fair trial?

I am truly ashamed.

PS. Note that Canadians don't hold the monopoly on stupid, but by god I'm not real proud right now.

Guns Away

2007-11-22T07:44:00.000-05:00

(*this may not live here long, but I had to get it out*)

And so it begins...

A few years ago, I was shouting upon rooftops that the whole gun registration thing was in fact a disguised ploy in order to confiscate citizens legally owned property.

Once again, I am chagrined to say I was right.

It is not techincally legal to own handguns of any kind in Quebec unless you are a registered collector (with testing done by the gubmint) or target shooter (with valid membership card). After the Dawson debacle, now there is a 5000$ fine and immediate confiscation with no warrant necessary. (No warrant? This sounds real democratic, yeah.)

Of course, as usual, no provisions are made if you are lacking the funds to shoot for example – but then that’s not the point of these laws. This would be too logical and counterproductive to vilifying firearms and their owners. Since the comparison is always made with cars, for registering firearms, I will make one as well: If you don’t have money to put gas in your car, or pay the insurance to drive, you are still allowed to keep it! Not so your firearms apparently.

In case you are wondering, shooting is a costly hobby. Membership fees run to 500$ per year at least. The ammo isn’t cheap either, and can easily cost up to 100$ a day, and more than twice that if shooting match-grade for example.

Now, I have to wonder if the provincial gubmint isn’t accelerating their pressure to get rid of these dastardly and politically expedient items, in light of the possibly-soon-to-be-terminated registry? Makes one go ‘hmmm’.

Oh and by the way, the young man doing the shooting at Dawson College, was in fact a duly registered gun owner, and also had a membership in due standing at a Montreal gun club. So I have to wonder, too, how being part of a club changes anything.

Do You Know What Hg Is?

2007-11-14T16:40:00.000-05:00

It's mercury baby!

Note that all those so-called "eco friendly" fluo-lightbulbs do contain a quantity. Now, multiply this by millions of lightbulbs and no matter how infinitesimal the quantity, you're still in a world of hurt. Tungsten just doesn't seem quite so bad now does it?

Now that you know what Hg is, you can proceed to RECYCLING of your green-bulbs, since it's actually illegal to dump them in the trash.

Oh, yeah, almost forgot: they don't take them back in the blue-box. So it's back to the store with you. Oh wait, the stores don't take them back either. But I'm sure they will soon. Shouldn't be long now...

Green hunh?

Enough said.

What Have You Got?

2007-11-03T08:31:00.000-04:00

“Father, I’m in a spiritual crisis.”

“Sounds serious Tom, what’s up?”

“Well, it’s not easy for me to say... really.”

“That’s OK, take your time. I can see this is affecting you.”

“You see Father, I’m uh… I’m thinking about swapping religions.”

“My! Whatever for? Are you dissatisfied with your beliefs? With the Chruch?”

“Oh no, nothing like that! You give great sermons and mass is always refreshing for me. It’s something else.”

“Then I don’t see what the problem is Tom. Do go on.”

“Well, you see Father, oh my, how do I say this…”

“Go ahead, whatever it is, I’m sure we can sort it out.”

Tom takes a deep breath.

“Ok, so I’m a … a um… a crossdresser!”

“I see... well, uh, Tom... there’s no sin in that.”

“No, no! You don’t understand.”

Tom pulls out a clipping with a picture on it and hands it over to the Father. The Father looks at it and becomes confused.

“Tom, this is a picture of a burka!”

“I KNOW! Isn’t it AWESOME?... Umm… what have you got?”

*pic taken from Wikipedia.com – if copyright is being infringed, please do let me know.

Got Tagged

2007-10-30T14:36:00.000-04:00

dammit…

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night?
A woman reporter on Radio-Canada (radio) when she summed up a Muslim condition workshop, with words to the effect: "I can't see any concensus here... so you guys are all over the freakin' map?"

2. What were you doing at 0800?
Sleeping.

3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago?
Unpacking groceries, errand stuffs and checking the rear leaf springs on the Jeep.

4. What happened to you in 2006?
Can’t remember that far.

5. What was the last thing you said out loud?
”Merci patron.”

6. How many beverages did you have today?
Two

7. What colour is your hairbrush?
I don’t have a hairbrush.

8. What was the last thing you paid for?
A diet-coke (bleh) to got with my hot dogs.

9.Where were you last night?
Shopping, Lone-Star Café and then home.

10. What colour is your front door?
Reddish-brown.

11. Where do you keep your change?
My purse (yes purse, deal with it)

12. What’s the weather like today?
Nipply with sun.

13. What’s the best ice-cream flavour?
Häagen-Dazs dulce de leche.

14. What excites you?
Coming up on red-line and a gear left to shift into.

15. Do you want to cut your hair?
Not right now – If I did, it would be a shave, not a cut.

16. Are you over the age of 25?
Yeah… so?

17. Do you talk a lot?
It’s been known to happen.

18. Do you watch the O.C.?
What’s an O.C.? (Ohhhh, I think I understand where question-16 comes in now!)

19. Do you know anyone named Steven?
Yes.

20. Do you make up your own words?
Not often, but it’s happened on occasion. However I do tend to bastardize French words into English and vice-versa just for the enjoyment of the strange sounds.

21. Are you a jealous person?
Nope.

22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘A’.
Ali, but she isn’t a friend, rather a work acquaintance.

23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘K’.
Karen.

24. Who’s the first person on your received call list?
Unknown/blocked number.

25. What does the last text message you received say?
ok cya there

26. Do you chew on your straw?
I don’t have any straw.

27. Do you have curly hair?
Uh, no.

28. Where’s the next place you’re going to?
The living room or the washroom, not sure yet.

29. Who’s the rudest person in your life?
I’m not touching that one.

30. What was the last thing you ate?
Hot dogs for lunch.

31. Will you get married in the future?
God I hope not. I’m already married and intend to stay that way, although technically there is a vow renewal happening at 25, does that count?

32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks?
The Kingdom (it’s the ONLY movie I’ve seen in the past 2 weeks)

33. Is there anyone you like right now?
wtf? Uh, yeah.

34. When was the last time you did the dishes?
Last week.

35. Are you currently depressed?
Duh, always.

36. Did you cry today?
No.

37. Why did you answer and post this?
Cause MSW made me do it because of the evil deep fryer making LGS do it and, argh… whatever…

38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey…
Uh, no.

PS. I corrected the flavor and color abominations into proper Queen’s English: flavour and colour. *large grin*

What of Dreams Come

2007-10-29T12:05:00.000-04:00

Yes, I’m talking about actual dreams that you have at night, while sleeping.

This weekend I was at a workshop, my annual pilgrimage into myself for, what my best mate from Toronto calls: a tune-up for the soul.

I made some progress in revisiting a significant and painful childhood event. Anger welled up, cushions were abused, all around pain was wrought but mayhem was avoided by a hair’s breadth.

It’s a funny thing how bottled up emotion from an ill-conceived and ill-understood event comes out – or more accurately doesn’t come out – in one’s character makeup. My anger at that situation, in which ultimately no one bears fault, has been a source of energy for me. In fact it became an integral part of me for so many years. I’ve spoken of drawing on anger in previous blogs as a source of motivation for example.

But having dissipated some of that pent-up rage I was able to dream last night. The dream itself is now lost. I don’t dream all that often, and when I do I hardly ever remember what the dream was about, but I inevitably remember dreaming.

Such is the case this time. The memory of it is lost, yet the energy from it was positive and carried on until this morning.

I sat down at my computer and fired up my emails, as I often do in the morning. I concentrated on one, or rather it caught my attention first; an exchange I’m having with a friend from the mid-mid U.S. (from a geographical point of view). I’ve been talking with him about some of my latest and long past lost friendships.

As I was composing the email I realized that I was at peace. Some of his council combined with the energy from my dream yielded a decision about letting go and letting the chips fall where they may. This decision I was making still feels sound to me, and so then was my peace with it all. I wrote him that I would follow his advice and experience, partly as a contract I was making with myself to follow-through on my decision, I admit.

My mother has often said, and still does: “la nuit porte conseil” – the night is a good advisor. What this idiom fails to mention however is that the mind must be open to council and the next morning conducive to making it happen. Fate, serendipity, timing, whatever… my point is that I was serene and open, not calculating and focused, when my mate’s email popped into view. I was open to reading it with a fresh mind and my night’s dream advisory came into focus all by itself.

I made a few choices like that this morning. I am satisfied and even though I got into a phone-phight with Bell Canada about them fucking up my long-distance plan, I am still relaxed.

Then another friend of mine calls to check up on me. I was utterly delighted at the gesture and we talked a little bit about dreams and recalling them, and when they occur: write them down as soon as we wake up, even if it’s only a single word. The conversation was maybe three minutes in length. I felt good.

And then I thought, “man, I gotta write some of this down!”

Rain Proof

2007-10-11T12:17:00.000-04:00

It's been raining on and off here for 3 days.

Truth be told, I have no idea what to write, but I figure proof of life is enough of a reason for today.

I went to see my shrink yesterday and afterwards went to the House of Lasagna for lunch.

Funny story about that, when I first came to the region back in 1990, I noticed this restaurant on my way to the office where I would do time for 12 years. I thought to myself: wow, this is the greatest! I do so love lasagna and vowed to frequent this restaurant forthwith.

It was some 17 years later that I finally decided to try it out, and it was excellent.

So yesterday I dropped in again, since it is a block away from my therapy session.

I had not brought a book with me, nor my ever-present Sudoku booklet, which was just as well since I was not in a good frame of mind to concentrate on either. So I sat in this olden place with my thoughts and my lasagna.

Once again I drifted towards friendships won and lost, to people’s relationships with themselves and each other. My previous one-hour therapy was obviously spilling over.

Sometimes I can immediately segregate my session from real-life within the time it takes me to walk from my shrink’s house to my Jeep. Some twenty paces. On days like yesterday it would take me hours. This is significant as it usually means I’ve hit a good vein. Good being a relative term of course.

I didn’t want to be alone, but eventually concluded that I needed to be. I lean on my wife and my friends for support quite enough as it is, I don’t want to call upon my friends only when I’m dreary. This sets bad precedent, and to be honest, it gets heavy and depressing for them! So I do try to balance it all out. Yesterday was such a day.

In no particular order, I played with calling my best-buddy, he was probably working from home, but he’s specifically someone close and local, whom I cherish and don’t want to overburden.

I wanted to call my wife, but I knew she was in meetings all day.

Then I floated to my mate from Toronto, and was wondering how he was doing. I haven’t heard hide or hair of him for a coon’s age. I should call him, but I hope to see him in person in a few weeks time.

This train brought me to a wonderful girl who used to work for me. She was lovely as can be and bright as high-beams on a dark night. I know for a fact that I was way too heavy on her. I sacrificed a developing and what might have been a durable friendship by being too much of myself with her on occasion. I deliberately chose to let her disappear from my world. I thought this was best, and I still do.

I looked at the hour for what seemed like the hundredth time. I desperately wanted company for my meal, but my usual lunch buddy would have eaten already. Maybe I was hoping that by glaring at my stainless steel Bulova that time would back up and lunchtime wouldn’t have passed for him yet. I finally put that aside.

Coming full circle, I thought of my recently lost friend again, but not so much as a lunch date. Rather, I thought of being my real self and how this had cost me.

Not to dwell on it, I was going to eat lunch, and by-god I was going to enjoy my lasagna.

So I ate and paid - left 24% tip, picked up a dozen fresh bagels and dropped off my cordless phone battery for a rebuild.

It had stopped raining for a bit and it was warm. Even though the overcast was solid as ever, I felt a bit better.

The day wore on and it rained again last night.

I like rain.

It washes.

Seven

2007-09-28T12:06:00.000-04:00

In my past life, that is to say while I was doing time at Nortel, there came a confluence of events and situations that contributed to my eventual breakdown. There were seven major things of worry in my life. I have since determined that 7 is the absolute most I can handle, but barely.

It has now come to pass that I’m back up to 5 situations of major importance. I am feeling the strain. Given my burnout I am quite a bit more fragile than I used to be, maybe in the sense more careful and self-aware.

With this awareness comes a cost, which in my case is defence.

Not that I get defensive towards others, indeed I am trying to correct that behaviour, but rather I defend my own emotions. This invariably clouds my heart and what’s right for me. The mechanism whereby this happens in very convoluted, and I’ve spent many a session with my shrink describing how it all works. Maybe I’ll blog this so-called method some time.

My vision of events being unclear, but mostly, the effect on my heart and soul, gets me in a recurring depressive state.

You see, there are so many time/thought slices in a day. If those slices are used up by the worrisome shite, and there are enough of them, then beyond a certain ratio the world looks grim and so I get depressed.

Problem is, the recurring state then becomes a worry in itself, adding to the 5 I’m already carrying.

We’re getting damned close to 7 aren’t we?

This isn’t meant as an excuse not to write or blog, but is an explanation.

As to what those 5 things are, I won’t get into any details, but they are the usual.

2 are related to friendships going to pot, I stated this in a previous blog actually.
1 is family,
1 is money (of course!),
1 is quite personal,
and the last self-inflicted being mentioned above.

Now there are things I can do, and things I must let go. My path now is letting go of the things I can’t do anything about, and be well with myself that I’ve done so.

My shrink quoted a poem, from memory, yesterday. I was singularly impressed, since the stuff I remember is from television, like Burger King or Levi’s commercials…

So as with many, many a blogger who have quoted it, for various reason, I will do the same and leave it here as well, in case the link (click the title) disappears:

LET GO AND LET GOD!

As children bring their broken toys
with tears for us to mend,
I brought my broken dreams to God,
because He was my friend.

But then, instead of leaving Him,
in peace, to work alone;
I hung around and tried to help,
with ways that were my own.

At last, I snatched them back and cried,
"How can you be so slow?"
"My child," He said,
"What could I do? You never did let go."

- Author: Lauretta P. Burns -

Swear, I swear

2007-09-10T14:54:00.000-04:00

Brief hiatus from my vacation.

check it out: http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/elxn_cda_veils

Canadian electoral law requires Muslim women to swear an oath as to their identity if they are vieled upon presenting themselves for voting at the polling station.

Now, seeing as Canadian society, and its gubmint at large, require an oath to be performed on a stack of bibles...

doh!

Damned Are the Nice

2007-07-25T11:14:00.000-04:00

It’s a thing that really disturbs me to the core: change you, not them!

I have been in therapy for years, upon years. The essence of which has been to accept those things I cannot change and become “zen” with it.

One solution that I have been working on with great focus is changing my own outlook, changing my own self because, well, it is the one thing that I do have control over.

There may be other ways, death, mayhem and the odd assassination come to mind. Or more peaceful methods, like poison...

Let me backtrack for a minute.

Here is an article in the, hateful MSN, world of news: “Stop Being So Nice to Your Coworkers”.

It describes how nice-guys finish last and what to do about it. It doesn’t come right out and say: “become an asshole”, but it might as well, since that is the very thing which is celebrated in the North American work industry.

I read the article and it rings about right. It brings back a flood of memories. From my introduction one can guess they weren’t all good memories.

I was never one of the really nice guys, not by a long shot, however I did very often put the needs of the corporation before my own. In fact, that’s pretty much all I ever did.

This latter is, in and of itself, really my responsibility and I own that. Misguided as it was, it is the way I was brought up and I own that too.

Now the question does come up in my mind, why should the “nice-guy” have to change to become an asshole?

Should the asshole not change him or herself to be more nice, in effect fostering a better working environment, even for themselves? The obvious answer is that they aren’t interested in a good working environment, indeed they are only interested in their advancement within it. The objective is simply different.

So we come to the crux of my bother, if I don’t like nor agree with the objective - self aggrandisement, to advance, to yield more self aggrandisement – then why should I suffer because of it, and why should I have to espouse this? I’m thinking frog becoming bull scenario.

“That’s the way it is,” is not only depressing, it’s the nice guy’s view.

Ultimately, why shouldn’t the assholes have to change themselves, and go into their own therapy to crank it back down a notch?

Really they should!

I tried to implement exactly such behaviour in my teams when I was a manager. I’d systematically value teamwork, I’d recognize the quiet workhorses sometimes thrusting them into the limelight to their great dismay! I knew too well this was the game that had to be played for their own benefit, whether they ever realized it or not. Not all managers above me had the savvy to recognize the true workhorses as opposed to the horse’s ass. So I delighted myself in pointing them out.

Anyone becoming too big for their britches would take a lapping. So there! This is why I wasn’t so nice.

A few employees hated me for it – behold I had changed the rules in favour of the nice guys! I’m proud of that fact actually, not so much for being hated, but for bringing a little counterweight to the culture. Yay me! (Oh wait, I got my ass nuked. Maybe there’s a correlation there?)

But realistically, as much as I hate to admit it, the article is correct: it befalls the nice guy to do the hard work, yet again! That is to change themselves to fit the mould. Unfair? I suppose. Comeuppance someday? Not bloody likely.

Nope. Nice guys just plain finish last. Period.

The real question is: are nice guys happy and content with their lot? Water off a duck’s back, so to speak? Maybe so, but many of us are nice guys, so why do we buy lottery tickets and count the days until retirement if we’re so fucking content with our lot?

I guess it all depends how zen we actually become, doesn’t it?

See the Light - Too?

2007-07-17T08:05:00.000-04:00

(*Hit and run blog*)

I figured I'd start off my day with something light. Pun, oh-so-very intended.

Just saw a web-ad, angling for your pledge to swap out a regular light bulb to a green-bulb.

Swap?

I do pray to all that is holy that people will pledge to swap out just the freshly burned out ones.

Maybe I'm being too cynical? Not putting enough trust in people's intelligence? Hmm.

So here are some - real - thoughts, please add your own in the comments section.

1) I pledge to acquire some eco-friendly bulbs, (actually I already have some)
2) But ONLY if they come in a green-friendly carton (thanks medstudentwife).
3) I pledge to swap out ONLY burned out bulbs.
4) Green-friendly ones are destined for my ceilings, for sure.
5) Move and swap bulbs where I don't need the extra heat.
6) Outdoors require a special type of eco-bulb that fires up at colder temperatures - I may get 2 of those (1 front, 1 back), assuming they will work at -40.

Anyone else have some suggestions?

Some manufacturer links (where applicable, I used the Canadian urls)

Philips: http://www.nam.lighting.philips.com/can/consumer/
OSRAM-Sylvania: http://www.sylvania.com/ConsumerProducts/LightingForHome/
General Electric: http://www.gelighting.com/na/
Globe: http://www.globe-electric.com/html/products/bulbs/cfl/products-bulbs-cfl-light_up_your_home.htm

Damage Uncontrolled

2007-07-16T13:02:00.000-04:00

It’s amazing, in the course of a life how much damage one can perpetrate and not know.

Once again, I am confronted with miscommunication.

It appears that I have somehow pissed off some very good friends of mine. The problem is that I have absolutely no idea what I have done,

No idea at all.

None.

I cannot even begin to fathom what it could possibly be! And no one is telling me.

In fact, those that could help me mend, or at least understand, the issue are refusing to communicate with me.

I must have done something absolutely horrible. But that’s only an educated guess.

I can’t fix it. I can’t talk about it, and apparently, the wrong I have caused was through my talking in the first place. So why wasn’t the slight addressed while I was having the conversation? I can only surmise it happened later.

As I said before I am not perfect and I am trying to improve every single day. Faced with such roadblock though, I feel helpless and hopeless and self improvement is for naught.

I can’t shake this image: you certainly want to fix the car, now that you’ve found out it’s broken. You want to give it a try, but no one will allow you into the garage, nor tell you what’s wrong with it. All you can do is wait for the bill and hope it doesn’t ruin you.

I cannot appeal, given the delicate situation, since this would be construed as further encroachment! And I might just make things worse!

And this is where the friendship really breaks down: my intentions were judged to be malicious and deliberate up front, and therefore unworthy of further consideration. Not all friendships warrant benefit of the doubt, but I thought this one certainly would be. I guess I was wrong.

I can assure you dear readers, that I was NOT deliberately being malicious.

This is the epitome of frustration.

And then it dawns on me that this refusal to communicate is, in fact, the actual punishment for my transgression.

I have been tried, judge and sentenced, all in absentia. And I can’t get a court transcript.

I just hope that whatever the hell it is I did, I never do again.

I See the Light

2007-07-15T22:25:00.000-04:00

... and heat.

It has been a recurring thought, whenever I see a lightbulb, that some inane special interest green group has seen fit to lobby the gubmint towards outlawing traditional tungsten light bulbs in favour of the so called energy efficient derivatives.

At first there was a question of tungsten being hard to recycle.

Longevity.

And finally the power savings gambit.

I can’t say anything about difficulty in recycling. I just don’t know.

Longevity is total bullshit. I used to install commercial lights when I was younger. These puppies would turn over 25000 hours easy, for a bulb that is half the cost of the energy-saver for twice the time rating!

Now the power savings issue: the evil 60-watt tungsten bulbs I use, and love, are mathematically more economical on power, believe it or not.

Ok, so I haven’t done all the calculations, nor am I inclined. I am a writer (presumably) not a mathematician, although I can explain what integrals are in layman’s terms.

My bulbs suck back some 60 watts of power and provide a goodly amount of illumination.

And I live in Canada.

So, about 6 to 7 months out of the year I need at least a little bit of heating too. Oddly enough, my light bulbs give off a pile of heat. This pile is used to keep me warm on those cooler evenings. The light is usually close-by so I don’t need to heat the whole room. How about that?

The energy saver bulb gives off light at 15 watts, which is ¼ power of the tungsten bulb, but then I have to fire up the room heater to compensate for the warmth I’m no longer getting from the bulb. The heat register will heat up the entire room, at over 1500 watts heat output.

Hmmm, the math on this just doesn’t tip in favour of the so-called energy-saver, does it?

At least my tungsten friend gives both warmth and light for my 60 watts.

Sceptics will say, but what about those times I don’t need the added heat? Summertime!

Well first we do have daylight savings time that compensates, and second, this being Canada more often than not the nights are cool enough to warrant the use of a little lighted heat.

OK, I’ll give the energy saver its due for those really hot nights. Fair is fair. But the other 300+ days?

Plus, when I’m exposed for too long to neon light, or halogen, or anything but tungsten really, I get physically ill. Go figure.

So if the law is passed that tungsten is going dodo-bird here, I’m stocking up on industrial long-lasting tungsten lights before they disappear.

I do have one question: I realize neon gas is inert, but where the hell does it go when it’s subtending bulb has expired and broken?

Mainstream Media

2007-07-15T21:38:00.000-04:00

This is a shameless plug for my friend Martin's blog, yet his most recent post does dovetail nicely from my own post on Bushwacking - Expanded, so I'm adding it here as a worthy read: “This is CNN”

And as far as knee jerk reactions? Read his blog post on the Don Imus debacle.

Bushwhacking - Expanded

2007-07-11T07:03:00.002-04:00

Bush whacking by anyone outside the U.S. is a matter of opinion. Anyone is entitled to his or her own, I guess.

Bush bashing by anyone inside the U.S. is somewhat self-defeating, but clearly justified. Indeed a goodly portion of the American people elected him, twice. Well once and a half really. Notwithstanding the fact that many Americans feel the electoral process has failed them in this instance, I really want to look at why I said he is “the result” and not the cause.

My friend Martin brings up a good point (see comments on previous blog).

The media and American people are at fault?

Yeah, I do believe this to be true, but not in the popular manner. Or maybe it is popular but I just haven't heard or read about it yet.

First, the people of the U.S. have a history of minding their own business. I would not qualify the mass as egotistical, not at all. But I feel there is a current of thought much like the quote from a Lord of the Rings hobbit which went something like: we should not pay mind to what goes on beyond our borders, make no trouble and no trouble will come to you.

My evidence is empirical of course, yet it is consistent since at least WW2.

Mind you, and this is the utter dichotomy that the rest of us have a hard time with. The US governments, since even before Roosevelt jumped into the fray after the attack on Pearl Harbor (note the American spelling of harbour, not a mistake on my part), have come to aid countries and foreign governments in peril. One will remember the Japanese retribution on the harbour was because they felt slighted by U.S. aid to China, declared or not.

When the cause is just, and maybe sometimes when it's not so much, the U.S. government will undertake military and economic action. And now the clincher - you see this coming right? - they actually have a history of doing this despite the people's wishes!

So what gives?

We are led to believe that the typical American wants nothing to do with the outside world, yet their gubmint has foreign policies which are, shall we say, aggressive?

The easy answer is power and money. Duh. Yeah, yeah, protecting the American way of life, blah, blah. I'll leave all that shite to Michael Moore.

The hard answer is manipulation.

This is where the media’s failure comes in, to Martin’s point.

There are spin-doctors working for the gubmint. Assuming Aaron Sorkin was even 1% correct in his depiction of the workings of gubmint on The West Wing, and I suspect he’s actually not far off the mark, the media has been fed and manipulated for at least the past 60 years.

Check out Good Night, and Good Luck for a chilling interpretation of how this can happen and is somewhat avoided. Maybe.

Sometimes the media has been well manipulated (9/11) and sometimes not so much (Vietnam). The former caused outrage – and support, at least for a while. The latter caused outrage and a national pullout movement, oops.

Now I’m not saying the gubmint manipulates all media, indeed not. Even that would be a stretch for me. But consider without video cams and instant coverage, the Twin Towers debacle would have made the front page of newspapers the next day, and ugly as it was, would have lost much of it’s potency in the process.

But “right there, in your face, all the time”? Media that is too raw and so it’s way too easy to make a statement, especially if it’s the wrong one. Editors are there for a reason. Context is there for a reason.

I remember something bizarre about 9/11. I saw on TV, I think if was that very evening, Los Angeles class sub(s) in the gulf fired some Tomahawk missiles. It only dawned on me several days later that they were shooting at targets of opportunity and not so much retribution.

The bizarre thing is that I felt strangely satisfied that revenge had been exacted.

Until I found out about the whole minor detail of the wrong target thingy. Then I just felt betrayed.

My point is that raw data in the media, may or may not work in ones favour. Sure we can then have hindsight to apply, but the initial manipulation has been done. No one can take back the terror damage done by instant footage of the Tower’s crash. That’s the very point of terrorism and terrorism needs quick media in order to work properly.

An exercise if you will.

Imagine a little bit of editing, very little in fact, on the Twin Towers aircraft crash footage. Add a voice-over or caption saying this: “Civil and military authorities are conducting experiments on building resilience after attack. What you are about to see is actual footage of test missile firings on buildings to be demolished in a few days. They and surrounding buildings have been evacuated for safety.”

These are the exact same pictures, but presented in a different context. See how easy that was?

Make this kind of editing pervasive throughout modern media and you have manipulated the entire population.

So now we are scared and irrevocably so. And have been for a good long while. (Ref. many previous posts on the subject of “Fear”.)

And we feel powerless, sometimes dejected.

Some feel outright hopelessness.

And so, maybe out of anger and need for comeuppance, we elect those that we believe will defend us nice and proper.

Bush and his ilk are… the result.

I think the solution is simple, if impossible to implement. The media does need fixing, and the editing needs to be done by men and woman of outstanding social fabric - note that I did NOT say HIGHER social fabric, I said outstanding.

My grandmother was one such person. She was intelligent and had disarming common sense, life experiences untainted by judgemental attitude, a righteous set of personal beliefs and an uncanny wherewithal to separate fact from fiction. Sure she had some strong opinions, but if you wanted the straight goods? Holy shit did this woman ever tell it like it is.

My grandma was a cotton weaver, and she was deaf.

Thought of the Day

2007-07-09T11:03:00.000-04:00

Once again I come across a Bush-hater comment. I am getting a little sick and tired of all the Bush bashing out there. Not that I am a fan of this President, indeed not.

But to all Bush-whackers out there, consider this thought for a moment:

Prez Bush isn't the cause, he is the result.

Green Dictum - Free Parking

2007-06-20T16:56:00.000-04:00

(Hit & run blog)

I thought it was a little presumptuous but who am I to make such a claim? Here’s the story, before I get ahead of myself.

I was watching the news last night and got the low down on the enlightenment of the gubmint of Ontario. Seems they are earmarking some C$650M for eco-friendly vehicle development. A nice move I think.

Then the report continues with interviews and sound bites. And by the way one man, who seemed like a pretty big cheese, voiced what I’ve been saying all along: “we need bigger vehicles, because we still need to take the kids to soccer and we have families and stuff to carry and so forth, but made the emphasis should be on light materials and better fuel efficiency,” and so forth.

I am well pleased with the way this report is going.

Then the sting!

Some moron proposed that Smart cars be allowed to park downtown for free at the parking meters, since… well, since you can fit 3 of these things in a single regular parking spot.

First of all, if you can fit 3 of these in a spot, the spots are obviously painted way too big. I know a Smart is short, but it’s not that short.

Secondly, this would be an incentive to purchase a Smart to commute to the downtown core. I cannot be the only person to think it is ludicrous to encourage the purchase of a Smart for the sole appeal of, presumably, free parking.

And third: free for how long exactly? Until the next bylaw? How stupid do these people think we are? (Do NOT answer that! It was merely rhetorical.)

And my rebuttal? You see this one coming don’t you?

What about instituting free parking for motorcycles? You can pack, at least, three regular motorcycles (ie. not Goldwings) into a spot, for the same passenger capacity and commensurate fuel economy.

Furthermore, you can pack a lot more motocycle traffic per square foot on a street than you can Smarts.

And what about Mini’s?

- Hey jackass, if small is the criteria, then you had better bloody well own up to it!

And somehow, for some reason, I don’t think this will happen.

When the Bitch Shows

2007-06-19T10:55:00.000-04:00

(*Warning, heavy blog ahead*)

Depression, as with many life experiences, has a way of rearing its ugly head at the damnedest moments. I have been combating a series of depressive episodes since maybe the end of February. Actually, it’s been more like 42 years now, but the latest bout dates back five months.

As usual, I take it upon myself to drag my sorry ass out of it and into a new light, where sunshine and lollipops are canon fodder. The cool thing about it is: years of introspection have yielded a better understanding of myself and those around me. So the exercise is certainly valuable.

I’ve been recovering slowly in the past few months. I feel it has been slower than usual, although the hit itself wasn’t quite as intense.

My usual pattern is three or four days of dark misery, with recurring but thankfully passing suicidal thoughts, and as a bonus bright sunshine makes me physically ill. I tell myself that tomorrow will be a better day.

This time the darkness has lasted weeks on end, but not anywhere nearly as intensely as my usual hit. It is rather insidious since I don’t feel quite so bad I hardly think to motivate myself out.

It’s impossible to describe really. I guess it feels like I’m walking on a tightrope. I’m still moving forward, but I feel like a single false move will send me into the depressive abyss.

And it is tempting.

The urge to fight comes out through my warrior side, and keeps me on the wire. But if I was outright down, then my trouble-shooter side could recover me in three or four days and be done with it, at least for a little while. Choices indeed.

Now, as I am going through this, two very good friends of mine, completely unrelated to each other, are experiencing life confusion in one case and outright existential angst in the other. The former is 19 and, the latter is 39, if I remember correctly. I would summarily explain this away as coming up on a decade barrier for each, but I’m not so damned sure.

Maybe it’s something in the water, or in the air? The weather maybe? Or maybe it’s in the socio-political status of our culture? Economic doom looming? So many external factors that hold invisible sway over our lives.

Or maybe we’re all just tired. Tired of fighting with ourselves, fighting our inner demons, continuously shoring up our defences against our perceived inadequacies. It’s a game really, with self-confidence hanging in the pot, assurance the ante. Bluffing is our own selves, and bother, we cannot clearly see our hand.

Vision and clarity are required to evaluate what we have. Discovery becomes the lifeline. The plan comes later, but knowing we have one makes us feel better. It makes us feel in control. And that’s what it’s about.

The problem is that control isn’t the solution. Being ourselves and being true to one’s self is.

But who, exactly, the hell am I?

Well, I have been asking myself that question for many years now and working towards the answers. I have many adjectives and qualifiers, and some adverbs as well. I cherish them all and they make me feel better about who I am. Those answers I do not like, I get to change! Hell, I can’t lose! What a game, what a game! I’m liking this particular game.

In the meantime, I still feel down, but there is always hope… because I’m winning my game. Woohoo.

Now, how do I impart this wisdom upon my two friends?

Argh maytees!

2007-06-08T09:08:00.001-04:00

My last post was my 100th, I'm so proud. So in due celebration, I've decided to lean towards canned humour for this one. I have no merit for this since I picked up the link from a good friend's blog.

Also, I saw Pirates of the Caribbean 3 last week, so it's all coming together!

Here are my pirating talent results, and as luck would have it, they are the same as my friend's! Great minds and all that...

You are The Cap'n!

Some men are born great, some achieve greatness and some slit the throats of any man that stands between them and the mantle of power. You never met a man you couldn't eviscerate. Not that mindless violence is the only avenue open to you - but why take an avenue when you have complete freeway access? You are the definitive Man of Action. You are James Bond in a blousy shirt and drawstring-fly pants. Your swash was buckled long ago and you have never been so sure of anything in your life as in your ability to bend everyone to your will. You will call anyone out and cut off their head if they show any sign of taking you on or backing down. You cannot be saddled with tedious underlings, but if one of your lieutenants shows an overly developed sense of ambition he may find more suitable accommodations in Davy Jones' locker. That is, of course, IF you notice him. You tend to be self absorbed - a weakness that may keep you from seeing enemies where they are and imagining them where they are not.

What's Yer Inner Pirate?
brought to you by The Official Talk Like A Pirate Web Site. Arrrrr!

Flyer Without

2007-06-01T18:46:00.000-04:00

Peeve du Jour.

For years, nay decades, the places where I lived all got local publicity flyers, but never the Canadian Tire weekly flyer. This is my favourite publication in all of the known universe. How joyful bliss and nirvana was achieved when I moved into this house, in which I am living currently. For years I relished that which I could not have before, the wonderful and weekly Canadian Tire flyer.

Low and behold, in the last month or two, the flyer is nowhere to be found. I am immediately thinking that my very beloved Canadian Tire is cutting back on its marketing budget, to my great chagrin. Then I house-sit for my good mate across town and there, right there, in the little enviro-unfriendly white plastic bag that serves as a reservoir to my shopping addiction, lives, nay EXISTS, an ever so beautiful Canadian Tire weekly flyer.

I steal it.

Then I get home and savour the inadequate descriptions, the lousy, but fully coloured images, the faked sales. I am in heaven once more.

But then I think.

Wait a rock-pickin’ minute, these bastards are still putting out the flyer, but not to my neighbourhood! What wrongs have I done? Which evil have I perpetrated to be so cursed? Why me, oh Lord of Marketing? Why am I being punished so cruelly? I have shopped, I have bought, I have returned. Why am I damned thus?

Then I think some more.

Uh oh.

I did, once long ago, enter my own postal code while browsing the Canadian Tire internet site! (Which site if fucking useless by the way.)

My money is on these fuckers not sending the paper flyer to those who have registered their postal code on the internet. My neighbourhood is one of professionals and mostly tech savvy folks, at least that’s my guess. I’m laying odds that we have been electronically damned by the flyer Gods.

Damn it all to hell, I am once again, to go without my weekly fix.

And they call this civilization? Pul-eeze!

NoA: Canadian Tire is an institution up here. Until recently, we didn’t have Pep Boys or NAPA, nor anything even remotely resembling an auto-parts stores. Although a typical Canadian Tire is more akin to a hardware & general store than a real auto parts, it is nevertheless the place where most of us get our replacement windshield wipers, headlights and flashers as well as patio furniture, garden hoses, snow shovels, etc. By the way, they do sell tires as well, almost as an afterthought.

Back to Motorcycle School

2007-05-15T16:52:00.000-04:00

This is too priceless, I had to get this down on cyber-paper.

I was driving back from a stint of physio and groceries...

Up ahead is a motorcyclist waiting to turn left at the light across the intersection from me. He has a bright orange and yellow traffic vest signifying that he is being evaluated. Behind him or her, it's hard to tell with the mandatory helmet and gear, there is a smaller car, maybe a Hyundai Excel, with a roof sign. This is obviously the evaluator.

I'm pushing the tail end of a green light, and it turns yellow as I finish crossing the intersection, and no one behind me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the motorcycle moving off and behind me, so I watch closely in my side and read view mirrors.

Indeed, the evaluatee has launched on a yellow light, thereby losing his tail!

I can only imagine the evaluator's face when he saw his prey carting off, and losing him, on a traffic infraction no less.

I guess one had to be there, but I just about busted a gut. What exactly is it that they teach motorcyclists nowadays?

Good Guide - Good Grief

2007-05-11T08:24:00.000-04:00

It rears its ugly head every couple years, an article - presumably - written in 1955 in Housekeeping Monthly: The Good Wife's Guide. <-(click on the title)

I sourced it from Wikipedia, because it explains what I believe of the original article.

By and large it is an excellent piece of satire, which was reproduced - as such - in the first copy of Playboy, no less, available in Canada in the early 60’s.

Def Satire: trenchant wit, irony, or sarcasm used to expose and discredit vice or folly

But here is the question du jour, is there anyone on this planet who does NOT believe this to be satire nowadays? And you know whom I’m referring to - email me if you don’t. Unfortunately, we already know the answer, so I will leave it at that.

A cute 2005 rebuttal was issued by Yvonne Prince.

Motorcycle Enmity

2007-04-23T14:56:00.000-04:00

It dawned on me yesterday. I can't believe I didn't see this before.

The Quebec gubmint has increased and will continue to increase motorcycle registration fees. It's in the 360$ range right now and indications are that it will go up to 1000$ or more.

I was wondering why in hell would they be doing something like this?

1) Health/compensation in case of injury?

This first seems obvious as there are, assumedly, more parapelegics created in motorcycle accidents than other vehicles. However, the fee increase would not offset the compensation, because quite frankly, there just aren't enough motorcycles around to fill the void at 3 times the cost.

Debunk 1

2) Limit user-access

This is an age old ploy to prevent youngsters from from buying crotch rockets and go about killing themselves. A noble if misguided attempt. I have known many a young-n ride without a license of any kind on account that it was already too expensive. There will just be more of them.

Ah, but we can put cops on patrol and pull over EVERY motorcyclist and check. Yeah, ok, like that's going to work. Above mentioned youngsters have avowed to me that they take off at breakneck speeds if they see a cop. In reality, unless there is a roadblock up ahead, there is no way that a cruiser is going to catch a bike rider hell bent on escape. Nightmare visions of high speed chases and old ladies getting mowed down crossing the street.

Just an ugly situation all around.

Debunk 2

3) Easy target for a money grab

Not so easy as one would think, since there are quite a few motorcycle clubs around, and while they may not have much clout in the grand scheme of things, they tend to have marginal members of rather vocal groups such as lawyers, politicians, and such.

Which is actually contributing the the problem, inasmuch as 1000$ for these people is a lot of money, but not prohibitve by any stretch. Remember these highway cruisers cost upward of 25 kilo-bucks in Canada.

Debunk 3

And finally, yesterday it came to me in a flash.

Global warming. Yes, the price of fuel will go up some 60 to 100% in the near future. Economy of fuel will become tantamount and quality of life as we know it will suffer greatly as people are given no other choice but to use communal transport. Freedom of movement will be curtailed, by default, until mass transit gains a foothold in our society's habits and psychology, and is shored up to be adequate - read not sardines in a can.

You see where this is going?

The practical solution for freedom of movement will be the motorcycle, affording personal transportation and self fulfillment, while remaining a very economical alternative. It is somewhat of a standard in Europe where the Vespa and other assorted motorized cycles are de rigeur for personnal transportation on a moments notice.

And this just will not do! Our so-called gubmint does not want us to consider this to be viable alternative, given injury costs et al, and given they really want everyone to be herded onto public transpo buses and trains.

In effect, they are establishing groundwork to keep the general populace off these death traps.

Now it all makes sense. My cynical bias is intact.

NofA: My '86 Ninja 900, does 10 litre/100km (28mi/ImpGallon) on a really bad day, full of max-throttle accelerations and the like. On a reasonable day, I'm seeing about 8.8/100 or 32mi/ImpGal, that's 26mi/US-gal. This is for an 1986 vintage full-on sport bike mind you, that is totally out of tune. The equivalent car would be an '88 5.0 Mustang, and that thing did 15 on a GOOD day!

My Clean Face

2007-03-30T12:21:00.000-04:00

I honestly thought I knew how to shave my face. How so very wrong I was.

Let me explain.

In my youth, I was fortunate enough to require shaving at a somewhat later age. My first shave was around age 14. My father was a proponent of the Philishave 3-headed electric razor, and so I followed suit.

The massage that an electric razor yields is quite soothing, and is a little treat that one gives himself in the morning. Being youthfully impatient this did not bode well for my future as a shaver, obviously. Little did I know this issue would only get worse.

The electric razor concept is tidy, unmessy, easy, all good stuff. However, it quickly became apparent that the flex-shave with micro sluts, and what not, are in fact too micro and totally inadequate for me.

You see, by the time I got into university, my beard had turned from the soft duvet of recent-puberty sprouts to all out barbed wire. I don’t have a particularly strong or heavy beard. My five o’clock shadow shows up around, well, five. But my face hair is so tough, it is akin to the crunchy side of Velcro™.

Whenever going to the barbershop for a shave I tell the poor man to use a fresh blade and by the time he gets to the other side of my face, the blade is well and truly shot to hell. It should really be replaced, or sharpened as the case may be, even before he is done.

Such lays out the ground work for years of wearing a beard while I was in school.

Many thought it was some kind of bold socio-political statement, rebelling against the establishment, sticking it to the Man, a cool look for the refractory student, be different, and a host of other nonsense that I never bothered to dispel.

A select few in my entourage knew the truth; I had simply grown to hate shaving.

So I sported a full beard for decades, and in all honesty, I look really good with a neatly trimmed beard.

Grooming a beard with a quality electric trimmer and the right comb attachment is sheer joy. The same lovely massage as a regular buzz-razor can be had, but none of the yanking and having to go over the same area six or seven dozen times. It is wonderful.

The problem is that you need to vacuum the apartment when you are done. Especially with my barbed wire, it snaps off all over the place. Not good, too messy.

Few years ago, more on a lark than anything else, I started shaving again. At first I would just use the trimmer on it’s shortest setting. This was inadequate to look clean, but I got by for a while. I couldn’t remember where I put my old Philishave, nor did I really look for it. I decided to try a different brand, and since Victor seemed so convinced about buying the company, I thought I’d buy one of his products. Also, the name Remington has a special significance for me, albeit completely unrelated to shaving.

The new improved TCT Micro-Screen Remington shave is, well, great for Victor and his baby face.

Me? I would have sold the fucking company.

The Remington does fair a little better with my sandpaper face than did my old Philishave, but not by much. It is tolerable. The massage is still there, and no mess. Almost a winner, but not quite.

I turned to ghastly wet shaving. I broke down and bought me the fantabulous new Mach-3 from Gillette and a couple of cans of that gel goo that came in the introductory package.

As one can guess, I’m going through these high-tech blades at an astounding rate, my neck looks like a Canadian snowbird* in Mexico and the goo oozing from the can is all over the washroom. Hell, that canned shit keeps oozing in the cupboard under the sink well after I’m done. I even take to shaving in the shower.

This is not good.

I’m thinking to myself, there’s no way that men, and a few women, have been shaving their face this way for centuries. It just does not compute.

Enter the gift: a badger-hair brush, a razor handle that will fit a Mach-3 blade, and a round chunk of shaving soap in a little stainless steel bowl, all this for a modicum of double-zero dollars.

Had I known, I would have begged and borrowed shaving soap a long time ago. The blades now last for three or four shaves, but I still can’t shave every day, my neck is just too raw. The soapy mess is easy to clean up since it is, well, soap! And the sploshing of lather upon my face is a little soothing. A little.

I have not yet achieved shaving nirvana, but I’m getting there. At least it’s not a chore to clean up and, even with the production of a good lather, it’s still a lot faster than electric ever was for me. I can be shaved and showered in under 7 minutes. The electric razor would chew up my time, and my face, at twice that rate.

I splurged the 12 dollars and got the Mach-3 with the little vibrator too. What joy this brings to my face, for the first 2 or 3 seconds. A massage this ain’t, but it does seem somewhat more effective than the regular non-woohoo handle.

This morning, as I surfed the net, in one of those don’t-ask-me-I-don’t-have-a-fucking-clue-how-I-got-there scenarios, I happen upon youtube.com and proper shaving techniques. I know this seems altogether unlikely, but it is no joke.

There is this guy out there, goes by the moniker mantic59 who put together this amazing educational series of videos on shaving. What he’s got, as of this date, is 21 videos in his collection that I have been studying throughout the morning.

I can’t wait to go shave now: I have got to try out the J-hook.

I’m so excited. I may even buy a straight-razor soon.

*Snowbird: A breed of Canadians who flock to the south, and warmer climes, to escape the Canadian winter for a while. Typically retirees, but in this case, I am referring to hapless vacationers determined to acquire a full on tan from ghostly-white skin, in their two weeks off, with the obvious cooked-lobster results.

Quickly Myers-Briggs

2007-03-15T18:27:00.000-04:00

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive.

Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men
You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

Note from me: My F changes to a T from time to time and my P -> J, but my IN is always on.

34Qs

2007-03-15T16:54:00.000-04:00

Fulfulling my promise to a friend, here is the entry for the 34 questions.

(Courtesy of my friend Martin on the outskirts of Toronto.)

Feel free to fill out the following in the comments section.... If you wanna repost these Qs to your own blog/journal, I will be more than happy to fill it out for you... just let me know.

1. Can you cook?

2. What was your dream growing up?

3. What talent do you wish you had?

4. Favorite place?

5. Favorite vegetable?

6. What was the last book you read?

7. What zodiac sign are you?

8. Any Tattoos and/or Piercings?

9. Worst Habit?

10. Do we know each other outside of Livejournal (blogger)?

11. What is your favorite sport?

12. Do you have a Negative or Optimistic attitude?

13. What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?

14. Worst thing to ever happen to you?

15. Tell me one weird fact about you.

16. Do you have any pets?

17. Do you know how to do the Macarena?

18. What time is it where you are now?

19. Do you think clowns are cute or scary?

20. If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?

21. Would you be my partner in crime or my conscience?

22. What color eyes do you have?

23. Ever been arrested?

24. Bottle or Draft?

25. If you won $10,000 dollars today, what would you do with it?

26. What kind of bubble gum do you prefer to chew?

27. What's your favorite bar to hang at?

28. Do you believe in ghosts?

29. Favorite thing to do in your spare time?

30. Do you swear a lot?

31. Biggest pet peeve?

32. In one word, how would you describe yourself?

33. In one word, how would you describe me?

34. Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you?

(Note from me: This is totally optional... No offence will be taken if you don't feel any burning desire to respond, none whatsoever.)

Grade 5 Intelligence

2007-02-26T09:12:00.000-05:00

This is a hit & run blog, but it's just too good to pass up.

On Tuesday, will start a new game show. "Are You Smarter than a Grade 5?" or something like this. I know I haven't got it right, nor do I care. The show, as the title describes in earnest, will be about grown people being asked questions straight out of a grade-5 text book.

Laughs at general populace ignorance will surely abound. Although it probably won’t be quite as asinine as the screening interviews for the next American Idol. In any case, it promises to make one feel much better about him or her-self, at watching someone of, obviously, dubious intelligence.

But is it really quite so obvious?

I’m not going out of my way to watch this new show. The reason is simple: it will be depressing. There’s just no way around it.

Let’s say our contestant knows none of the answers and merits the dunce cap and 10 minutes of humiliation. What does this mean?

I want to break it down an extra level to illustrate the point: let’s assume for a minute that our contestant isn’t some rube but is, in fact, a nuclear scientist - fat chance, but let’s just say – this means one thing: that grade-5 subject matter is, in effect, totally useless to our scientist type.

Let’s take the rube now: would having grade-5 knowledge change anything to his or her life? Maybe, but if the nuclear scientist is anything to go off of, I doubt it. Go figure.

Now let’s see, if the contestant does answer all or a majority of the questions correctly: This demonstrates great memory on the part of our contestant, or maybe it just so happens that this grade-5 knowledge is used daily life, or at least often enough to warrant remembering.

This is almost hopeful, inasmuch as our current grade-5 educational programming is not totally useless to life at hand. Almost.

Our contestant will then proceed to win gagillions* of dollars and the respect of a nation of Nielsen viewers.

And for what? For the grasp of grade-5 subject matter?

High praise indeed!

Like I said, depressing.

*gagillions: pronounced “gag” …

Fellow Blogger

2007-02-15T15:36:00.000-05:00

I have a friend who "thinks" he's sarcastic, but he needs to be slapped upside the head. *grin*

So here's my own result:

You're Totally Sarcastic

You sarcastic? Never! You're as sweet as a baby bunny.
Seriously, though, you have a sharp tongue - and you aren't afraid to use it.
And if people are too wimpy to deal with your attitutde, then too bad. So sad.

How Sarcastic Are You?

War - Part 4: Know Thy Enemy

2007-02-06T10:45:00.000-05:00

This has been a recurring concept throughout my dissertation on war. And again in recent exchanges with my friend.

To wage a successful battle, violently or not might I add, depends on means of course, but more importantly I think it depends on strategy. Your strategy is inextricably linked to the enemy you are fighting.

Seems obvious, but apparently, this is a concept that is totally misunderstood by millions of modern peaceniks worldwide.

Note, that I will be a little facetious here, because, well, because it’s fun.

I will use, in effigy, the nasty British Empire. They were trundling all over the world for a hundred years colonizing this and that and the other thing; big bad meanies that they were.

Along comes a genius by the name of Ghandi. This warmonger wants to liberate India from the British overlord. He gathers a following of millions and hunkers down to wage an almighty battle. Remember, he is a genius and he understands his British enemy.

He toes the line with his millions, the war machine is looming, all hell is going to break loose. And…

Nothing. He does nothing. Actually, he does more than nothing, he tells his army to stay quiet and peaceful. What the fuck?

The Brits are totally taken by surprise by this new-confounded attack strategy. It will be years before their confusion is sorted out that Ghandi has actually won.

You see the British Empire is essentially a moral one. Based on human-life principles and Ghandi knew this. So his strategy was simply to bring out that moral human and let England back down, from inducing death and mayhem, at its own pace.

Ghandi knew full well that his enemy was not prone to genocide. He knew that fighting was a normal course of action for the Brits but then so was diplomacy. Finally, Ghandi was well aware that the British Empire was there to colonize, not invade or overrun through arms but most importantly they weren’t there to annihilate anyone.

He knew his enemy better, maybe, than they knew themselves. Make no mistake, there were casualties, but a damned sight less than there could have been.

OK, so he figured out the Brits were fighters, diplomats, colonizers, and moral. Not genocidal and not barbaric.

Now, if Ghandi had tried the same thing with, let’s say, Hitler there wouldn’t be anyone left to tell the tale.

Would there?

Guilty As Not Charged

2007-02-05T10:59:00.000-05:00

I was exchanging emails with a good friend of mine yesterday, and I was reminded of a few items that I wanted to record. This is in the vein of the almighty-gubmint acquiring power through snow jobs over their constituancy. This is just a sidebar to my -War- exposé.

Abuse of power is the word of the day, and due process is the victim.

A guy I know (first hand), was caught up in a scandal several years ago. He was a puny business man involved in lower levels of government. He and his wife owned a small shop as well. In other words, not a "huge cheese", just a regular joe.

Being somewhat in politics, I’m sure there were some things that would be deemed scandalous by the general population if it got out. But who’s to know? Here’s the rub: someone of unknown origin and by unknown design sicked the police on our man to dig up some dirt.

To make a long sordid story short, the cops seized everything: moneys, the kids’ computer, assets, basically turned his life and that of his children completely upside down and inside out. The investigation went on for months, if not years really. Under such brazen attack he was forced to resign and his business was totally washed out.

He was, and in a sense still is, ruined.

He was treated as a common criminal. His rights were disregarded and in effect he was prevented from defending himself. They broke him, pure and simple.

The cops found nothing. NUH-thing. Nada. Squat. Dick. Goose egg. Zilch.

It is my firm belief that nobody can be that good at hiding stuff from such an investigation. So if the police didn’t find anything, that’s because there was nothing to find.

To this day it is unclear why this civil weapon was levelled against out man. He was a minnow in a basically meaningless position. I suspect, through ulterior knowledge, that it may have been drug-running related, and he needed to be removed from his post because he was unlikely to play ball. This is speculation of course as no evidence was ever turned up.

The point I am trying to make is that he was deemed guilty from the onset. In Canada we have the philosophy of innocent until proven guilty, which guideline was clearly lacking in this case. Who the hell needs due process and jails when you can ruin someone just as effectively with well placed police action.

It could be argued that he could take the gubmint to court over something like this, with a simple slander case for example, but against who? Anyways, he no longer has the means. Dare I say, the lesson has been learned, a few more threats from the cops and he would fold like a deck of cards. He would be insane not to. Shocking though the case may be, no one would be stupid enough to independently take it on because it just doesn’t have any sex-appeal.

And oh joy - oh bliss, he wasn't the only one being targetted, so he needn't take it personally. (I'm not sure whether this makes it better or worse really!)

There is no real and effective check and balance for something like this. Sure Mr. Arar pulled it off but only because he got lucky that a major-newspaper reporter got hold of insider information. Otherwise, his injustice and suffering would have been in silence. I won’t speak further to Mr. Arar’s case because I just don’t know what really happened.

I have another story of identical ilk, which I will not discuss openly. The common thread is that if you are standing alone, you are well and truly fucked, and David kisses Goliath's ass.

Anyway, let’s just say that guilty until proven innocent was the order of the day in all these cases. Examples abound. Reminds me more of third-world dictatorship than civilization.

Due process is totally unnecessary, and often is counter, to a good business case. It’s much cheaper to ruin someone and just as effective. For criminals, hell it’s what they deserve! But for the rest of us? It’s a hell of a price to pay, assuming it was a mistake; I still contend it was Machiavellian manipulation.

This is a round-about example of why I despise allowing the gubmint to acquire more powers over its people, and it’s worse in my opinion if it’s under the auspices of security. They already have more than enough as it is.

Besides, they can’t even use it properly; an example that I’ve used before: About a year ago there was some sort of violence by youngsters against an elderly couple (I’m not sure of the details of the attack any more). But firearms were involved, and I’m immediately thinking to myself, “oh yeah baby, throw the book at them, on the firearms related charges ALONE they could be put away for 20 years apiece! Go for it!” Nah. Never happened.

But a bona-fide, honest-to-goodness middle-manager and storeowner? Woohoo, let’s go to town on his ass!

WAR - Part 3: Something to Lose

2007-01-29T15:09:00.000-05:00

There are winners and there are losers. It cannot be argued that conflict will inevitably cost something to both parties, they will both lose something in the deal, if only some humanity, a dire statement indeed, in the best of cases.

I have heard it said that the most dangerous man is that who has nothing to lose. I do agree with this statement with the only caveat that “nothing” should be defined a little more closely.

Nothing can mean a very great deal to some, and an actual nothing to others.

Let me pick on the subject du jour, and to make things simple, I am only showing a single perspective here:

Christianity holds life-on-earth as the dearest of values. In fact, so much so that suicide is a sin that will instantly send one to hell. So theoretically a Christian always has something to lose, by it’s very definition.

It is rather obvious then, that suicide-bombers, for example, don’t hold life-on-earth in particularly high regard. I don’t think I need to elaborate any further to make this point.

One party’s value can be very dramatically different from the next, and this mere difference yields an interesting attack strategy, does it not? Keep this in mind for a little bit.

This also screws our perspective of the warring factions. An atrocity is reprehensible only if the crime being committed matters to you, the observer. I have mentioned genocide as being a heinous act in a previous blog, again this is from my own, dare I say, Christian perspective. I cannot fathom anyone thinking that genocide is conscionable, but with the fuckup in Darfur among others, it is obvious that I am wrong on this point, and that genocide is quite acceptable to some.

Perspective or no, what is it that declares the winner of a war? This is another version of the same question to define success.

An easy answer is that the forces of evil are kept at bay. Yeah, right, but who was the evil? The attacker? Who’s to say who attacked first? Sometimes this is very clear-cut, but other times, not so much. Sometimes a party is simply baited into conflict, either by design (contemptible) or happenstance (friend of thy enemy).

I will use WW2 to demonstrate the point: Hilter was very clearly out to do serious harm, take over the world, etc. No question, and even the Germans admit that one, so it’s not just a case of the winners writing the history books.

The latter is a bit trickier, but again I draw from WW2. Japan was at war with China, who was being sold arms and provided mercenaries by their friend the United States. By measures, it could be argued that Japan and the U.S. were already at war for a while, albeit indirectly through China, by the time Pearl Harbor was attacked. So by this particular point of view, Japan didn’t really attack the U.S. first. I’m not saying Japan didn’t attack then-friend China first though!

Anyways, the forces of evil were kept at bay when the Allied forces won. Capitulation was had, treaties were signed, and so forth. Everyone lost a bit of humanity.

Note that we weren’t fighting for life per se, but rather quality thereof. We were fighting for freedom. Self-determination.

Hmmm.

50 million dead on the Allied side, and 12 million casualties on the Axis side. By sheer numbers alone, in cost of life, the Axis was the clear winner. That’s a shocker isn’t it?

It is a shocking point of view, yet we wage war in precisely this manner, even today!

So obviously, cost-of-life, for example, has to be weighed against freedom and self-determination in gauging the outcome of that war. Our elected leaders estimated that the cost of 62 millions lives was worth the price for freedom. Keep this also in mind for a minute.

Now let’s take a look at a conflict a little closer to our timeframe.

Some friends and I were discussing air-travel and new security restrictions imposed by our governments. We all know why.

It’s the tip of a mean iceberg: It’s a small thing to keep the illusion that we are safe in the air, it’s a small thing for the security people to have files on everyone boarding an airplane, it’s a small thing to have a black list of people, it’s a small thing to have mandatory passports (which I’ve already discussed), it’s a small thing to have cameras installed everywhere, it’s a small thing to have bio-id systems (retinal scans, DNA, fingerprints, etc.), and finally it’s a small thing to invoke publication bans… Nineteen Eighty-Four is here, right now.

And the populace is wont to accept any number of not so subtle and very significant encroachments on personal freedom in the name of the illusion of security. Yet personal freedom is what we held very dearest some 60 years ago, to the tune of at least 62 million dead.

And today we have no less than self-inflicted outright dilapidation of freedom, with no end in sight. Furthermore there is no clear treaty that can be signed to stop that. And to cap it all off, we have a first-day-only count of 3000 civilian casualties.

A very wise and venerated American once said: “Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.”

Back to our 2 tagged thoughts from earlier: know thy enemy and exploit his weakness and what is important enough to give up your life for. We remember right?

OK, so the question I have today, which can never be truly answered, is: Did al-Qaeda or Ousama or whoever, bait the free-world into a war with itself? Did they know we would knee-jerk our own selves into fucking up our own freedom?

Thereby freely handing over the win?

Lazy Q

2007-01-23T19:25:00.001-05:00

Once again the mass media strikes with a lousy interpretation of statistics. This one is just too cute.

In today's paper I am chagrined to find out that Québec workers, apparently, work the least amount of hours of all the labour force in Canada. The numbers quoted by Statistics Canada demonstrate that we work roughly 2 hours a week, on the overall average, less than other Canadian provinces.

Being statistics, of course, they are subject to vast interpretation. With such a statement in boldface letters on the cover, the obvious qualifier of laziness comes to mind. In order to defend my own parish I am forced to wonder which question was asked in order to conjure up such damning numbers.

The newspaper article alludes to the fact that maybe they are talking about remunerated hours only and gives as sole example taking care of children to explain the rest of the time.

I submit other hypothesis, the first being income tax. Québec has the highest income tax rate probably of the free world. After a certain bracket, typically attained with overtime mind you, we are talking 50% taxation. Yes, that is half of your income gone into government coffers. So it stands to reason that after a certain threshold why would anyone be stupid enough to work for a half day's wage. Other than yours truly of course.

A second guess would be, depending on the question that was asked, that work hours might be present but not paid for, in effect a 40 hour week becomes 32.5 when an hour for lunch and a half hour for breaks are factored in. It’s obviously the same question all over Canada, but is it interpreted the same way?

On the other hand, maybe Québecers actually have it straight; since Québecers do not typically complain of overly long work weeks may be they have actually attained a more appropriate balance between their work life and their leisure time.

By the way, I reject wholesale the asinine conclusion in the papers that Québecers take more, or better, care of their children with those two hours than anywhere else. This is not only self-serving but is, in fact, downright insulting to other Canadians.

Or maybe, we are just a bunch of lazy louts… for 2 hours a week.

Your Papers If You Please

2007-01-22T17:55:00.000-05:00

I have crossed many items of late that are worthy of my wrath, ahem, blogging, yeah that's it. I have been accumulating them on bits of paper, and quick notes on my machine. This morning even, as I brought in my newspapers, another jumped at me, leaping from the front page.

I'll tackle that one today.

Apparently, and this is a long time in coming, a passport will now be required and obligatory to land in the United States.

Oh boy! What news! Right…

To a long-time air-traveller, like myself, carrying a passport to go to other countries is a matter of course, and not something I ever gave a second thought about. In fact, I’ve had a passport of my own for my travels abroad since 1972. It is a defacto standard in my view, and always has been. If you fly, you have a passport! I am a more than a little puzzled as to why this hasn’t always been required, to be honest.

I find it rather presumptuous to even think that another country would accept your entry without some kind of official government sanctioned document identifying who the hell you are.

As much as I hold dear my freedom to walk around my own ‘hood with no papers, I certainly don’t expect any other country to abide by the same. I’m certainly glad when they do, I’m just not so arrogant as to expect it!

(Note that this freedom of walking around with no ID is being stripped from us here in Canada, by the way. I won’t get into why, well, not today.)

That was too easy, you see this coming don’t you?

What if I’m not going to the U.S.? What if the country I am trying to get to is beyond? What if they don’t require anything more than a driver’s licence or government ID? Or a heavy lump of cash and a bottle of liquor?

And the clincher: what if my airplane gets into some kind of mechanical trouble, or, heaven forbid, gets hijacked and is diverted to American soil? If I don’t have a passport I am screwed, am I not?

Sounds farfetched, doesn’t it? I can hear it now from the queen’s peanut gallery, “ah those silly Americans with their security, they are trying to make life miserable, blah, blah, godforsaken national security, blah, blah, get deported on a mishap, blah, blah.”

And I smile, that knowing smile.

I redirect us to the story of some doomed, and as-luck would have it American, hunters making their way to Alaska to partake of their yearly vacation. I’m going from memory again here, this was about a decade ago. Suffice to say, 4 grown men, flying from the contiguous U.S. up through Canadian airspace, with no intention of landing here at all, up to Alaska for some bear hunting.

Obviously they were packing heavy artillery, such as .375 H&H, .300 Weatherby Magnum, rifles & ammo. But low and behold, they were also carrying sidearms (those are pistols and revolvers for you non-gun savvy folks).

It is - in my opinion a little insane - but perfectly legal to hunt bear with a sidearm. There is an old joke in shooting circles that you want to hunt polar bear or grizzly, do it with a 6-shot revolver; the preferred method is 5 shots for the bear and the last one for you.

The general consensus is that a grizzly is just too stupid-mean to die and shooting it with any pistol is just going to piss it off.

(Note: one possible exception would be the proper use of .30-06 Contender, but that’s a whole other story.)

Anyway, back to our troublesome aircraft, which did in fact have to land in Canada for a short spell. Of course our hunters got detained for having sidearms without proper Canadian permits - which you cannot get, since hunting with sidearms is totally and completely illegal in Canada.

Regardless of their end destination, the laws and authorities make no allowances for mechanical failure, or weather, I forget. Our hunters were detained for the remainder of their vacation and beyond, and it took an act of God to get them back into their native country. And oh, by the way, all their gear was confiscated, never to be returned. Probably all got melted into paperweights as soon as it all got to the police station.

The joys of air travel.

So even fully documented, travelling over another country is liable to get you fucked over. It was by exception only that our hard-luck tourists didn’t garner 10 years in jail, which is the minimum sentence for their offence, according to 1976 firearms ownership laws.

So the peanut gallery from queen’s park may now proceed to shut the hell up.

The real question is: how can the (any?) authorities determine a legitimate mechanical failure from a disguised hijacking?

The real answer is: they can’t.

Self-serving case in point: I once asked a police officer what kind of car he drove on patrol, he couldn’t tell me. Thus unscientifically, and somewhat through syllogism I admit, I have nevertheless demonstrated that it is not of their purview to understand such simple matters as aircraft maintenance, either.

So once again, the snowjob is on, we are subject to political marketing to make us warm and fuzzy by announcing a so-called new, mandatory, piece of paper; which paper will still be used in a totally discretionary manner.

But, hey! We now feel a lot better about it, don’t we?

10 Obvious Millions

2006-12-29T17:07:00.000-05:00

I find it is significant that if you ask someone what they would do if they won 10 million dollars, the answer is often: travel the world.

Why is this the most common answer, I wonder?

A wild guess would be that travelling is a wonderful experience, but it is expensive, so people would want to do it more so?

I have some friends who squirrel away some money to take a cruise once or twice a year. This is what they really like and they don’t wait for a million dollar windfall to act upon fulfilling this desire. They invest in the opportunity for themselves and enjoy it to the fullest.

This is a wonderful example to follow, really.

So why don’t more of us do this?

My hypothesis is that people who answer the question thusly, don’t really want to travel all that much. Furthermore, I submit that they might travel if they got out of their own way right now! Lack of money notwithstanding.

So I believe the basic problem is that people want to get away from their otherwise unsatisfactory lives. Travelling to far-away and exotic places seems like just the ticket. And this is the illusion.

I don’t know that very much thought is given to this, but travelling for more than a month, maybe two, is extremely difficult for most of us, even with an expense account. So what gives that people would want to travel for the rest of their lives? This simply lends credence to my hypothesis.

One possibility is that the answer isn’t really well thought out in the first place. Disbelief that a million dollars will actually land in our lap warrants no further investment of mind share. I’m entirely with that.

But if the dream is pushed on regardless (notice proper use of the term regardless…) then often the true answer will come out, to wit: I would travel for a month, or six, then I would return and blah-blah.

AH HA! The blah-blah is what the situation is really about. Upon hearing this, I inevitably start to pay attention. The answers are as diverse as the people I talk with.

Some will start their own business, others will actually travel for a few months out of the year and plan the next trip, even buy an outfitted bus and take in the country for a couple of years, others still will semi-retire to a similar job but only part time, rebuild an old car, volunteer for a good cause, invest in the market - privateers or stock, build houses, work with wood or steel, get involved in full-time leisure like motocross or racing or horses. The list goes on.

In effect, travel is the default position, it’s like saying, “I’m fine, and you?” in answer to the obvious greeting. It may be true, but it may also hide something worthwhile.

So the question becomes why aren’t we pursuing our desires as a goal, instead of abysmally hoping for the million dollars. And then not driving for it anyway!

The person who answers “I wouldn’t do anything different than I am doing now” is truly the happiest among us. Or maybe this person suffers from utter lack of imagination. Regardless (see? again, proper use) this person is already living the dream.

All I have said above is obvious and has been debated over many a coffee or beer. What is not so obvious is that we systematically deny ourselves that which we truly want to do for no good reason.

If one truly dreams of something then why is this not pursued? Money is an obvious roadblock, but again I submit there is much deeper issue. Either the dream is unconscious or it just seems plain impossible, or one is deemed unworthy of the dream (that’s awful), maybe we are punishing ourselves (more awful), or maybe we actually don’t have a clue how to attain our dream. In any case, the pursuit is stopped short and it shouldn’t be.

And so we use the excuse of lack of money, far too often, to keep ourselves away from what we really like or want. This has also been debated over much coffee the world over.

This is starting to sound like a new year’s resolution essay. Gawd!

Anyway, to answer the question, with 10 million dollars, what do I really want?

I would continue to lose weight and take care of my health. Umm, no, wait, I’m doing that anyway, for 8$ a week.

10 millions dollars would publish my writings. Umm, well, I’m not even trying to be funny here!

Let’s see, with 10 million dollars, I would certainly have a bi-weekly lunch at the Lone Star with my buddy. Umm, I’m already doing that, but, oh yeah, I would pay for both our lunches though!

With 10 million dollars, I would watch movies all tangled up on the chesterfield with my wife. Umm, no, wait, we already do.

To be honest, now that I’ve thought about it, the list could go on for pages and pages, so I think my new years resolution is to be thankful for that which is worth tens of millions, to me.

And for this, my friends, I don’t need a single damned cent.

Wishing upon everyone a wonderful & merry New Year!

Searching for a Levi's advertisement

2006-12-28T19:42:00.000-05:00

(with soul and a fast beat)

I bought a pair of Levi's,
They really been around.
I taken 'em camping
and I laid 'em on the ground.

I've taken 'em to parties
And climbing up a tree,
Why they been to school so often,
They' nearly smart as me!

And after years 'n years of wearin'
My Levi's in and out,
I couldn't help notice
That the knee wore out.

So I sewed on a patch,
A flower here and there,
And they look so good again
I could take 'em anywhere.

I'm usin' 'em as cut offs
And flying through the air.
Now I really think it's time
That I bought another pair.

You can live in Levi's.

(The lyrics are from memory, so I'm not 100% on accuracy. Let me know if you find it. While we're at it, here's another for, well, you'll figure it out.)

Imagine, a too-cute, round faced, little girl, sitting atop a counter gripping a hamburger about twice the size of her hands.

Remember ME? I chose Burger King.
Remember why? 'cause Burger King serves Pepsi now.
'cause they think Pepsi tastes better, and soooo do I.
Flame broiled hamburgers and Pepsi, Burger King, you've got great taste!
Unbelievable!

Ice the Season

2006-12-28T13:05:00.000-05:00

‘Tis The Season,

I don’t know why I like that phrase so much, maybe because it is popular and exceedingly rare at the same time. The use if ‘tis is not seen often at all, but it has a certain magic.

And of course, being Canadian, the word “season” has special meaning, as do all terms relating to weather. It is a mystery to no one that we are passionate about our weather. As a case in point, yet again last week, there was a weekly comedy series on a French channel (Radio Quebec) that expounded on the hardships of 400 years of Canadian winter to an exchange professor from Rwanada, no less.

Even on good days, Canadian weather is right there, in your face, all the time.

So it was on the eve of December 23rd. There was a forecast of freezing rain - the dreaded, for the afternoon. My wife and I were planning our trek to Montreal in the afternoon, to visit with family and friends. Upon hearing the freezing rain advisory, we decided to pack up the ice-tire shod SUV and leave in the morning.

Yes, our 4Runner can get through anything, which is the main reason we bought it, but freezing rain? Well that’s just something else entirely. Ask any Canadian driver who has been forced by circumstance to drive in that shit, and you will immediately get a sombre thousand-yard stare and rush of hatred.

Nothing so completely takes away any illusion of control over your own life quicker than a mere ½ centimetre of freezing rain covering the countryside.

You can’t see the ice, but you can feel it in the pit of your stomach. You tread on it, and you hope all is well, but in the back of your mind, you know full well that your purchase over ground is nil. In fact, any depression or incline will send the back of your mind splattering to the front. In a vehicle, the stability afforded by four rubber pylons will actually become a liability when trying to stop before hitting the curb, or the city bus in front of you.

We scraped the windshield and fired up the rear defrost. Keep in mind that we are in a 5000-pound juggernaut equipped with the best-money-can-buy full-on ice-tires. None of that all-terrain crap, none of that 4-season-which-are-actually-only-2-&-1/2-season tires either, I am talking the best ice tires that engineers at Yokohama could come up with.

We left my in-laws place at around 8:00pm, hoping that the main roads would be salted. We returned at 8:10 after thrashing our way around the block. This is in east-end Montreal, where a block is maybe 100 yards long. So we travelled some 500 yards in 10 minutes, and by the time we got back inside, my nerves were shot and my hands already crisp from the grip-o-death on the steering wheel.

For those uninitiated, a 4-wheel drive can launch off a corner, even an icy one, but it won’t stop any quicker than any other vehicle on the road.  On glare ice, I never gear-up the 4-wheel drive feature anyway and leave it in rear-drive only, as I did this time as well.

The 4Runner is equipped with off-road ABS, which makes them hyper-sensitive to back pressure, such as you would get on slippery mud or wet grass. Freezing rain is actually so slick that there wasn’t enough pressure for the ABS to even kick in, not that it would help anyway. So we had 4-wheel lockup as soon as I would touch the brakes.

“Enough of this shit”, I though to myself, and turned back to sleep over at my in-laws. Even with my bad back, the carpet in the living room would be better than trying to confront this mess outside. We managed beds for all.

It was safer to check out the road in the truck, rather than walk the 150 yards to the main road if you can believe that. Each incline in the sidewalk will have you smashing a body-part against ice-covered cement, if you are lucky.

I’m assuming the salting trucks never made it out of their depot.

So we waited it out overnight. The next day was pissing rain, but the temperature had risen a couple of degrees, just enough to wash the ice and turn it to a thin sludge. We call it “slush”, yes, just like the sugary drink that will give you a brain freeze if you drink it too quickly. Freezing rain gives you a whole other type of headache.

It is against Quebec law to equip your tires with studs, which would solve the problem of course. Also, the use of chains is proscribed. I guess their reasoning is better to stay home and wait for it to pass.

So this was the opening to our Christmas celebrations. Every year we get at least one day of obtrusive road conditions, at some point, during our holidays in Montreal. We felt fortunate that karma took care of it on the first day, and left us well enough alone for the rest of Christmas.

We are back at home now, safe and sound, for a couple of days back to work.

And the New Year family celebrations are starting in 2 days.

I wonder what the weather is going to be like?

Honestly Practice Business

2006-11-18T15:31:00.000-05:00

A question comes up during my shopping research for cut-rate computer parts. Specifically, what constitutes good business practice? There are obviously two different points of view, from the enterprise and from the customer.

I submit that there is, in fact, a third.

Let's first look at the customer's view.

A typical purchaser of product or service wants to know in clear terms what they are buying and for how much?

This is such a loaded statement it's not even funny. In itself, it has many interpretations depending on the point of view, as I mentioned above, but namely: what defines clear?

Clear is supposed to be vocabulary and explanation that the common customer will understand reasonably. It is also a description of the product that is true or at least reasonably close to the true form. In other words, once the customer has understood the product description he or she should receive something close to his or her expectation.

I'll tackle price in a minute.

From the business point of view, one should assume a stance commensurate with clarity for the purchaser, right? Wrong. The enterprise instead works to fulfill the purchaser’s need or perceived need.

You can immediately see the disparity, although not entirely opposing, it can still lead interesting discrepancy.

I'll use the example of Bell Canada and up-selling. When a Bell Canada customer has a problem, more often than not, Bell will attempt to sell the solution. This is a matter of corporate philosophy. A case was made recently that a cell subscriber, through some technological bug, would get charged long distance for local calls. Suffice to say that the bug itself is very, very difficult to resolve. The solution was to subscribe to a cellular long-distance plan, which the customer eventually did, at some extra cost to her even though she only makes local calls.

We know it's not her fault, we know it's a techno-bug, but this is the solution Bell proposed. The purchaser "needed" to get a long-distance plan. This is a valid business view, though unsatisfactory it may be.

The third point of view, again from an enterprise perspective, is to provide the customer with a fac-simile that satisfies a first-view interpretation. The snow-job. The simplest example of the latter is the bait and switch, or the eBay gambit. For example, a picture is put up on a listing, and the actual product is significantly different but only upon close-up inspection.

So we get to the issue of price.

The last point of view is defensible only on the basis that the price is commensurate with the value of the real article, and not the publicity. The phrase "for that price, what did you expect?" comes to mind.

Fair price for fair product? The issue with this is that the customer expectation is not fulfilled in any way, but the fault may actually lie with the purchaser and not the seller, since due diligence of the buyer would have sorted everything out up front... Like I said, from that business’s point of view.

The case can be made that a picture can be misleading, and so forth, but this is only defensible from the customer point of view. Either business will accept this as a legitimate business practice, but the customer would not.

Whether it is ethical will be invalidated by our first enterprise model, yet embraced by the second.

This demonstrates the 3 views. Which one is correct and proper? More importantly, which one will survive in the long run?

Running a legitimate, upstanding and ethical business is becoming increasingly difficult. I mentioned trust in my blog yesterday, and here repeatedly shady business practices have all but eroded trust completely.

As consumers we are now, more then ever, intolerant of bad practice. In fact we routinely declare war on perceived bad practice whether it exists or not! This makes running a business on the up-and-up very difficult indeed. Anyone can feel slighted, with just about anything, especially when unreasonable expectations aren't met. I believe that we are becoming a society of knee-jerk reactions and, quite unfortunately, rightly so.

The natural reaction from business is to become more defensive on all fronts instead of straightforward and assuming the all-important responsibility. My problem with my 4Runner's premature tire wear is a prime example of this. And I can't say I blame them. After all the enterprise is composed of humans as well.

Abuse is now occurring from all sides, and we reap what only a few have sown, but overgrew the rest.

Here our court system fails us miserably, whereas it should be a solution. We now turn towards the courts, public opinion or otherwise, for vengeance or satisfaction, or to right a wrong. Seldom, if ever, do we simply hand over the issue to a judge for an impartial decision.

I make a detour to illustrate this point. Two good friends are hanging-out together in a one of their bedrooms. The dog wants out, and the owner asks his buddy to open the door. The friend does so, waits an unspecified amount of time, doesn't check to see if the dog has doubled back and closes the door, trapping and breaking the dog’s tail. The dog is rushed to the vet, with no other harm, but the tail must be removed.

Now the friends argue about who should cover the cost of a broken tail. They cannot come to a resolution, so instead of fighting and potentially destroying their friendship, they go to small claims court, and agree to abide by whatever decision the judge takes. The judge makes a call and the friends remain friends!

This is really, in my humble opinion, how courts should be used. End of detour.

We are becoming more and more trigger-happy but some businesses have forced us to do this and so the circle is complete. This is something we have to live with, on both sides. Luckily, most purchases we make are relatively problem free, but there is almost always some little thing to taint the experience.

If we review Bell's case, the company should really assume the extra cost since the technology that they are responsible for is at fault. A judge has not ruled on this as of yet, as far as I know.

The eBay case yielded a refund agreement! But the refund has yet to appear anywhere.

Back to our friends. The judge ruled in favour of the door-opening friend. He couldn't reasonably be expected to be more careful, since he isn't a dog owner himself, and could not reasonably predict that the dog would double back, and there was no malice in closing the door. Ruling: cost of ownership. The owner pays the vet fee.

So honest mistakes are made, but what of deliberate misleading? What is deliberate? Deliberate introduces the concept of malice.

Is Bell being malicious?

Not really, but the corporate view is clear: the customer now has the correct service. Not what she wants, but the need is being fulfilled at proper value. It’s a snaky philosophy to be sure, and not a customer centric view, but a perfectly acceptable business model.

However, we do know that Bell is consistent in their up-selling practices. Evidence abounds. Think what you will.

Is the eBay merchant being malicious?

Yes in being misleading, but no since a full refund is agreed, and then yes again for having the customer chase the refund down. Is there malice in the stalling tactic? Unsure. If it is indeed a tactic then it is reprehensible. And we don't yet know if the merchant is consistent in this kind of shady practice. eBay feedback is a damned good indicator, but not evidence, since it could be vindictive as well.

Which is worse? Hard to say since the only real gauge will be survival.

The eBay merchant will eventually get boycotted or garner enough negative feedback comments to seriously dampen his sales. But Bell can survive a hell of a long time because in theory, upselling doesn't take away from the basic quality of the product. In practice, their dubious philosophy will kill them when, or rather if, enough people become savvy.

So vigilance is the real price.

Most of the transactions we effect in our daily lives are, thankfully, satisfactory. So we unconsciously repeat our business there.

As paying customers we should actively support, and in a way protect, those businesses that adopt, and keep, our customer view.

But we don’t, because truth be told most of the time we just can’t tell.

Neo Experience Necessary

2006-11-17T18:52:00.000-05:00

What makes experiences worthwhile? This is not rhetorical... I think it is realization of the lessons learned.

Sometimes we turn to our elders, or those we view as wise, to share their experience with us. In point of fact, we are asking them to share their life-lessons.

Now, if they have learned nothing, their experience is useless to us, obviously.

On the other hand, lessons learned by others are invaluable, for one, it keeps us from making the same mistakes as they did! More importantly however, we can internalize their story with little or no cost, and a modicum of listening investment.

We do this all the time. What did you think of Marineland? Would you go to Turkey? What do you know about Toyotas? The questions go on. Our aim is to gather useful information for our possible use later on. The answers then become part of our own baggage of usable knowledge for decision-making.

When we do this, we couch the experience with our opinion of the person we are speaking with. The more trustworthy the person, the better we feel the information might be valuable. Also, if our tastes are similar, the more likely a person’s experience is likely to mimic our own. You wouldn’t ask someone who hates marine life to recommend Marineland in Niagra Falls as vacation spot, for instance.

Couching is key to gathering intelligence. The information gotten depends on the source of course, but our interpretation of a Ford-lover’s opinion on Toyotas for example, will be reinforced if the Ford-lover finds Toyota to be a good product, thereby overcoming his own prejudice. High praise indeed.

Also, the connoisseur is useful in the same way. The Ford-lover will likely have a complete and rounded knowledge of his beloved product. More than likely, he or she will be well aware of pitfalls unknown to the public at large.

So I’ve demonstrated that all information is good, depending how it is couched. A case can be made that the person is trying to snow you, in which instance, the trustworthiness needs to be questioned first, and then the information.

I now get to applicability.

One’s experience may or may not be applicable to our own situation. The real trick is to recognize when it is. The other person will give you a best guess based on observation and evaluation of your situation vs. their own. Often times, when we take another point of view our own situation becomes clearer. In effect, standing back from the problem to get a better overall view.

Then we must decide to apply only the parts that fit. Those parts that don’t, we simply discard.

For example, a situation that occurred recently had me giving advice about a situation very similar to one I had lived through a few years back. All the parameters were exactly the same, with different people of course. The problems that I was consulting on paralleled my own almost word for word. It’s like I was in a twilight zone. With flashbacks and everything.

So I shared my view of the situation through my experience, but none of the history of that experience. In a way, I bypassed the couching and I really shouldn’t have.

This finally brings us to the issue of trust that I mentioned above.

I said earlier that the lesson is only as good as the person giving it. No trust in that person will negate the lesson altogether, even before we get to couching and applicability.

Trust is a very strange concept. We trust almost everyone blindly! Case in point: we trust that the driver coming the other way isn’t going to cross the yellow line. This trust is borne of years of sampling that this one rule of the road is most always followed. Yet, it is still a person driving that other car.

Trust is then the constant and expected repetition of an action. It is conditioning.

It’s odd that we can say, with conviction: “I trust person so-and-so to fuck me over whenever they can.”

In effect trust isn’t necessarily a “good-thing”™, it is, rather, a consistent thing.

If a person is consistent in giving information that makes sense, and is a propos, we will internalize it and accept that it may be useful. By the way someone who is totally inconsistent will often be dismissed as insane, or not having a clue. Funny thing that.

Note that I am in no way debating that the information is factual, nor indeed true, but simply that it is useful to us, to reject or to accept as we see fit.

The mechanics of this concept has been a puzzle to me for many years. I’ve always wondered how a person of intelligence could come to believe utter nonsense, yet another disbelieve something that is, for all intents and purposes, factual beyond doubt.

If any element is missing or broken in my information triangle: couching, applicability and trust, then we have misdirected experience, or worse.

I saw a report on scientology on TV, and quite clearly the scientologist do not trust psychologists, or in fact the entire field of psychology. So the trust element is the issue. This is akin to car salesmen, who suffer from a prejudice, which was caused by years of similar experiences of consistently erroneous information. I’m not saying psychologists are like used-car salesmen, but obviously the scientologists do.

The other two points of the triangle: couching and applicability are much easier. In a sense, they are personal judgment and straightforward evaluation. The former opens the door, the latter slams it shut.

If I don’t listen to the report, I have already chosen not to couch anything at all. If I do listen, and “trust” that the report itself is fair, I have thus couched the information… then I return to applying, or not, the concepts, so it becomes my call again.

I have said before that some people cannot tell the difference between what they believe and what is fact. I now think this is too much trust in a given information on their part, but without due couching.

I have also said before that some people don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. I think this is too much couching and not enough trust or applicability.

Anyway, this past week, NCIS debunked the non-apology philosophy. To quote the actress “I thought you had to be strong to apologize,” or words to that effect. So obviously the writers of the show read my previous blog on apologizing.

I used trust of the character Gibbs, couched the apology statement appropriately to my reality and wrote a blog on the “opposing” applicability.

And I now feel somewhat vindicated by the TV writers, fine people that they are.

I’m not sure I had any specific point or parting statement to make on this conjured triangle. And I’m not pretending that this triangle is neither exact nor complete.

‘twas nothing more than trying to gain perspective on the human mind.

And maybe that's the experience I wish to share with you.

Researching Peeve

2006-11-12T16:11:00.000-05:00

OK, pet peeve time, I have just a couple today, but they are related.

I have been doing a lot of research recently into the acquisition of a new PC. As a matter of fact I am investigating the possibility of building one for myself. I’ve done it before, and it’s a lot of fun.

The PC I’m running now is old, I mean antediluvian-old, it dates all the way back to 1999. I have upgraded many things over the years, not the least of which is the memory and VGA card. I would upgrade the memory again, but the main board is locked at 512MB of RAM and won’t go any higher.

So we come across my first peeve. The retail version of this board is supposed to take 1000MB of RAM whereas the version that I have in my commercially manufactured machine is limited to 512MB, which means that XP is painful at best and tends to swap continuously. (I may explain some of this jargon in a later series of blogs.)

I consulted with my best mate from Montreal on a PC for his home, and the one thing that stuck with me about that machine was, again, the RAM limitation. By the way, his machine is also from the same manufacturer. Rock solid as they are, one has to be careful about future proofing. Mind you his PC will be perfectly adequate for Vista when it comes out in January, with double the room for RAM to spare. So he’ll be good to go for at least 3 or 4 years, likely many more.

I am disappointed that the manufacturer is up to old bullshit tricks. That is with limiting a key component, whereas the same, commercially available, motherboard is not so limited. I understand the business case for it, but it still remains a peeve.

My second peeve for today is with documentation available on the web for the above research. I read articles, reviews, machinery shootouts and general information on the boards and equipments. It’s all good. Sometimes I will explore a tangent, for instance power-supplies, and will investigate uses, features, functions, differences, design and sometimes history.

And so the peeve is exposed: I ran across this wonderful article on a special and great piece of kit. I look all over for it, and the manufacturer has disappeared!

What the f---? Simple really, the article I was reading was not dated, so there was no way for me to tell that the kit was actually some 6 years old and the manufacturer was bought out like 4 years ago!

The web is a wonderful place for research, but this annoys the hell out of me that text can just exist out there with no context of date or time. Heck, even free newsgroups and mailing lists have date stamps! But honest to goodness e-zine (web-based magazine) articles are more often than not, undated!

I must get back to my research now. I just found a reference to this wonderful new thing, it’s called lunix and it’s for… a commodore 64.

Oops. Never mind.

War – Part 2: Omega Man

2006-11-10T20:07:00.000-05:00

Yet again I draw up on a movie as my muse, The Omega Man with Charlton Heston as Robert Neville. This wasn’t a particularly good movie, although the suspense was palpable, more to the point, it was a doomsday film, like many, many such films during the late 60s and throughout the 70s. It was a sign of the times. The world lived in very real fear of total annihilation and Hollywood represented this in movies.

We know what transpired during the end of the 60s with peace rallies and demonstrations against “the bomb” and so forth. Regardless of the great events of the era with Apollo program, etc. in the back of everyone’s mind was the possibility of a flash, a warm feeling and then nothingness. (Note again the proper use of the word “regardless” and not that abomination irregardless.)

The TV and radios emitting a high-pitched “this is a test” broadcast would strike a nerve every single time. I even remember exercises in school where we’d be told to crawl underneath our desks upon hearing the howler on the intercom. Fun and games.

For years afterwards, I would hoard little amounts of food for days, chocolate bars and dry fruit stowed under my desk at home, which I would renew and restock every few days. I always kept a radio nearby with spare batteries. My little knife would always be tended and sharpened. Even my dress was commensurate with apocalyptic events. I would favour jeans and sneakers and would feel physically ill-at ease in dress pants, shirt and shoes, because, well, if a bomb exploded nearby, I would be more mobile and ready in overalls and running shoes.

These were not conscious thoughts on my part, they were simply the habits of a young mind really, a kid whose comprehension of a nuclear blast was black and white: either I’d see a flash, feel warm and die, or I would survive and wake up to a living hell.

I enjoy doomsday movies now that the cold war is over. I also understand that blockbuster nuclear bombs are actually not all that powerful in the grand scheme of things. Younger, I was told that 6 warheads would wipe out the entire planet. This was common knowledge, albeit quite false. The purpose was served though: “Just one nuclear bomb can fuck up your whole day.”

The cold war was indeed a war in the strictest sense of the word: there was conflict, there was an enemy, and there were casualties. Most of the wounded were psychological in nature, and of course there were physical casualties in skirmishes and within the espionage community. No one remained unaffected. No one.

The effect was far-reaching and as usual, insidious. That we didn’t blow ourselves to smithereens is a testament that our enemies weren’t any crazier than we were.

How we got there is irrelevant for now. The fact that the entire world was on pins and needles for decades is the stuff nightmares are made of.
I am fairly certain that a part of my recurring depression symptoms do originate from the fear of being blown up when I was a kid, or more specifically once I was aware that forces were at work that could wipe out my entire universe with my not being able to do a damned thing about it. This makes a really good case for the peaceniks’ demonstrations.

Kids normally have the “invincibility” complex at some stage in their development, and death just isn’t part of their vocabulary. To some degree this was true for me, in the form of reckless riding on my bicycle, with the car later on, and other such insane activities. But deep down, instant death was very much part of my vocabulary and that of my friends. Not something we talked about very much mind you. Even today, a pitched howler tone on the TV or radio will square my heart solidly in my throat. I am hardwired that it can only mean one thing, until I get a grip of myself. Even the after-hours colour-carrier tone on the TV will startle me if I’m not expecting it.

Being reminded day after day of imminent detonation skewed our perspective, and rightly so. Hate and loathing fuelled by fear make for a potent recipe and because of it we were very ready and willing to retaliate, if it came down to it.

In this sense, luckily, the war was cold and never degenerated into all arms conflict.

The seed of retribution had been planted, but never fully came to fruition.

War - Part 1: Cry Havoc

2006-11-03T13:59:00.000-05:00

This is my first instalment in my treatise of war: Cry 'Havoc!' And let slip the dogs of war.

I’ve just finished watching the movie “The Dogs of War” again, with Christopher Walken as Jamie Shannon. And the tagline above is originally from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.

I want to examine this phrase, to which I attribute loaded meaning.

Cry, yell, order to havoc. Assumes there is a personal imperative or command to do so. Probably well out of one’s control, might I add. That one would even order the creation of havoc is the essence of conflict. The personal reasons to reek destruction is never without some kind of trigger, such as retribution, revenge, lust for violence, power or as in this case, money. We’re not talking juvenile vandalism here!

Havoc is obvious. Used nowadays in the phrase “play havoc”, I agree with pundits who portend that it’s lost the force of the earlier phrase. Havoc is not a bed of roses; it is general devastation and destruction. The watered down version yields great confusion and disorder, which isn’t exactly devastation by any stretch.

“Let slip” is even more obvious as a synonym to release, but almost reluctantly. A firm grasp is simply now, not so firm, as the leash slips, not ripped or thrown, it is let.

The dogs has two distinct meanings, the face-value which appears as a ferocious animal since it is borne of war.

However, I’ve come to understand a second meaning, possibly cynical in nature, those dogs are also locks or devices to stop or hold fast some kind of machinery. This illustrates a concept that maybe war is always upon us, but always held in check by the locking mechanisms of peace and process. If the dogs are released, the machine is then free to begin its purpose of mayhem and death.

Merriam-Webster also mentions dogs are synonymous with feet. Yet again the image is significant and intense: feet of war, will trample.

That phrase, which is notorious, as are many quotes from that literary genius Shakespeare, has always held this kind of significant meaning for me, ever since I read Fred Forsyth’s book, with the phrase as a tagline on it as well. It was years later saw the movie adaptation for the first time.

In the movie all our mercenaries, except Drew, go home. The book however ends with blood in the protagonist, Jamie Shannon’s mouth. It’s his own. Now, make of that what you will.

When You Fuck Up

2006-11-01T15:44:00.000-05:00

NCIS would have you believe that apologizing is a “sign of weakness”. That’s what Gibbs would say on this marvellous TV show. This is a statement that has stuck in my craw since the first time I heard it. I understand why it’s bullshit now more than ever.

Just very recently, I made a sad-assed mistake with one of my very best friends. The mistake itself is not relevant; suffice it to say that I spoke out of turn and hurt my dear, dear friend.

On the one hand, I could do the Gibbs thing and refuse to apologize, since I am not weak!

Or alternately, if this friend will find room for forgiveness, I am given to apologize profusely and with very sincere regret.

I could see Gibbs’ scenario with regards to federal agents not wanting to appear weak in front of suspects et al, and so as a matter of course, would refrain from doing so, in case it slipped out during an interview.

However, I firmly believe that caring for and nurturing a friendship entails acts of much higher courage, once in a while, such as asking for forgiveness when a mistake has been made.

The ideal situation is to be perfect all the time and thusly never make mistakes that would require apologies. Such is not my case. No one is perfect, not I, not anyone, much as each of us would like to believe. The pressure to be at our best at all times is high enough without adding utopic perfection to the weight.

Once the bad has been committed, there remains only one single course of action for any kind of salvage of the friendship, and that is to keep the lines of communication open. Without this primordial umbilical cord all hope of regaining what was is lost.

Words have this uncanny ability to stay. It has been proven by philosophers and communication-majors that once a word is out, it can never again be recalled. It will forever, sometimes regrettably, affect the other party.

This is why it becomes critically important to keep channels open in order to at least tamper the effect with, you guessed it, more words. Explanations maybe, or simple compassion is often more appropriate, in this case sincere regret.

This is where the apology comes in. It is the groundwork for building a new relationship between the interlocutors. The friendship may be damaged, but forgiveness yields new ground to break, for the work to continue on, despite the bent-up shape it’s in now.

If the friendship was true it should be able to withstand such an assault that a mistake can unleash.

I wish I hadn’t hurt my friend’s feelings,
In fact, I wish I hadn’t made any mistake in the first place,
I certainly wish to salvage a friendship,
I wish to make things right again,
I wish for forgiveness,
I wish for… friendship to prevail.

As much as I wish all these things, my mistake has been committed, and because of it, none of these depend on me anymore, it all depends on my friend.

There are only two things I can possibly do to rekindle the friendship: apologize, and hope.

And I am, very sincerely, doing both.

Choice of Curse

2006-11-01T11:30:00.000-05:00

“It’s all about choices.”

When I hear that phrase I want to scream.

It is the mainstay of all time management courses; they will say the same thing.

Any and all life-changing courses will say the same thing.

Any therapy, coaching, life, plan, wants, desires, jobs, even love, is all about choices.

Why should there be a choice? It’s one of the great curses that God wreaked upon us.

The apple in the Garden of Eden wasn’t poisoned, nor did it yield to pestilence, nor any kind of damnation. In fact the choice itself, to pick & eat, was God fucking with his new toys. The choice itself IS the damnation. The apple is totally irrelevant, in fact, I’m pretty sure getting Adam and Eve to eat the apple per se, was a side bet between God and the Devil. So the snake was pissing itself laughing, really, because God already established temptation by inventing choice in the first place. And that was all God’s doing.

So choice is a curse. For a freedom-seeking person like me, this seems counterintuitive, yet there it is.

Back in my first, and last, time management course the teacher asked for examples to use for decision making in order to plan and utilise the available time during a workday. A lot of us were there from the technical support organization, so the question of the pager came up.

He said simply: “turn it off! Pagers will mess up your time planning faster than anything in the office, second only to the telephone.”

“But,” we cried, “we can’t just turn off our pagers!”

“It’s a question of choice and owning that choice we’ve made.” He said deadpan.

Me, and every single other person in tech-service was thinking, “and my choices are to be out of a job - or - keep the pager turned on? What the fuck kinda choice is that?”

“It’s a choice you have to make in order to own your time!”

Everything he had to say from that point on was more-or-less lost, as we were deciding on the choice we now had to make: whether to leave the time-management course right then and there - or - stay and see if anything useful would come up later.

Some of us left.

There are no tricks to time management. There just aren’t any. Don’t even bother taking a time-management class, it is itself a waste of time, because time management doesn’t exist, only choices as to what to do with that time. Maybe a better course would be “decision making.”

The above example is a simple one but with huge consequence. Our decision, which was taken unconsciously, was simply to keep our job and keep putting up with the overload, and the pager. We couldn’t manage either the overload, nor time, and that became quite clear by the end of the class.

The only choice that remains is overload, until you crack, and then you have to choose leaving or changing your job, and sometimes even this is beyond your control, like getting laid off, for example.

Life is about choices lost or damned. I’m not talking about deciding to rent a movie vs. watching a show you’ve taped; I’m talking about managing life.

In such cases, invariably and inevitably, the choices are always rock-and-hard place types. When you get into decisions about what you want most out of life, you often get pasted into the corner. I’m not saying all wants and desires are mutually exclusive, not at all, what I am saying is that most of the really big ones are.

The successful people tout balance as the epitome of choice. “You have to have balance in your life,” I hear them say.

An example I’ve used in a previous blog, one can raise a family or have a sports car. If one has a job that allows balancing both, you are either fucking people over for a living or you are spending all your time at work and your spouse or S.O. is raising the kids and your sports car is an expensive commute vehicle, as opposed to being a refreshing toy. Yeah, that’s balance all right. But is it really what one wanted?

Once we’ve accumulated a number of wants for ourselves, it becomes increasingly difficult to derive satisfaction from any of them without impacting the other. See above about raising kids versus satisfying career versus sports car.

One possible philosophy is to “need-not, want-not.” Indeed this can work, by sublimating the problem entirely. This utter refusal to make any further choice is in reality changing the rules of the game. More power to them! But I wonder how they make the rent? This is a perfect tactic for convicts for instance. Don’t know that I’d want to go that route.

Another is to time-slice. Career for 20 years, kids for 20 years, time to heal myself for… well, we get the idea. This one is managing your life plan, balanced though it is not within each slice. It can work if you have the patience and determination for it. It forces one to live in the moment probably more so than any other philosophy. Not bad really. A strategy that is effective for many people. Just not for me.

What’s left is wrangling, scheming, planning, and all around chuckin’ & jivin’ to have your cake and eat it too. Then most of your effort is invested in attaining what you want, and not so much enjoying it. Some proponents will say: “it’s the trip that matters, not the destination.” I think of those Tibetan monks climbing the mountain… because it’s there.

I’ve jumped from one to the other in my life, hoping to stumble across a fitting philosophy for myself. The latter has been somewhat successful, I say this because it’s been somewhat unfulfilling as well, at least as far as the trip goes.

Right now, I am engaged in that crossroads again where choices are laid out in front of me, because, well, I want them to be.

So now I have rocks, I have hard-places, and I have the curse.

Hospital's Too Per Sent

2006-10-23T18:01:00.000-04:00

It’s been a few weeks now that I have been trying to get back to my blog. As a matter of fact, it has been on my mind almost constantly. The problem was, and still is, that I have lots to bitch about, but not so many things to find positive.

My wife is living through some managerial nightmares quite akin to my own of a few years ago. I have not sorted out how to handle the mid-management pressure exerted by the enterprise-monster that inevitably rears it’s ugly head when budgets are badly overrun and bean-counters make the decisions.

So it goes that she has to cut 2% of her budget, but the budget is not available to her, this rests with some other department, and they ain’t sharing!

I find it significant that during vacation time, as there often is during our summer, essential services to her residents are not even fulfilled! Again I mention this as I did in a previous blog: if there is a strike, the law obligates more staff on-hand than is even available during summer vacation.

And they expect her to cut budget by 2%? Indeed.

Well, maybe the old and diminished folks can rot in their own filth for lack of 2% of service. Either they eat or they shit, but apparently, there won’t be enough staff for them to do both.

And I have trouble finding a positive aspect of this.

Then there is the black hole of the badly managed hospital system in this region. The health budgets were overrun only by the hospitals. All the other health organizations ran on balanced budget expenditures (local services community centres, the nut houses and the homes.)

So now that all services are combined under a single auspice, the hospital deficit is spread over the other services. Leading up to the above stated 2% cock up. Yeah, like that’s real fair.

And I have trouble finding the positive aspects of this.

Low and behold the story doesn’t stop there. A few years ago the hospitals started closing down offices in various government buildings in order to save on lease costs, etc. This was a brilliant move towards occupying unused rooms in the hospitals themselves. Many rooms, in fact entire wings, were converted to office space.

This seems odd to those of us that have ever visited an emergency room in the Outaouais region, as the emergency hallways are often overrun with patients. The grim reality is that the hospitals don’t have enough nursing staff to operate more beds, thereby closing down the afore-mentioned wings in favour of office space.

You see where I’m going with this? The patients that should be in hospital rooms, which are now closed due to lack of staff, and occupying offices, are now being sent to the other services. So now, the homes, asylums and service centres are being told to commandeer utility closets and such to house patients on a temporary basis. This with the looming 2% cuts across the board, obviously.

And I have trouble finding any positive aspects to this.

As for the epitome of the right & left hand scenario the government, which allegedly controls it all, issues max-number of residents permits to the homes and asylums and service centres: my wife’s establishment is permitted to have 75 residents. Period. If they have more, they face severe fines. Their own ministry of health, no less, is telling them to accommodate an extra patient in a utility room for a one-over the permit. Never mind the staff implications.

Some centres are being told to go 2 and 3 over their permits. This is all temporary of course. All temporary.

When I served time at Nortel, all things temporary became permanent in more or less short order. So it goes today from the friends I have who are still interned there. My wife’s own experience is similar if not identical to my own. And so I dare anyone to contradict that this will become a permanent arrangement.

Utility closets indeed.

Does anyone else have trouble finding the positive aspects here?

And this is a tiny bit of bitching that happened just last night!

Calmer days

2006-09-16T16:38:00.000-04:00

...or so one would think, if the Dawson incident hadn't triggered more violence. I'm not sure there is any causality between them but it begs the question.

Food for thought: does one act trigger another act of similar nature, even if otherwise unrelated?

One would hope this not be the case, as with violence or assault. But on the other hand, maybe an act of kindness yeilds to another? Causality can cut both ways I guess. The good with the bad. I don't have a good answer. But on the odd chance that it is contagious in a way, my own thoughts are with the families and friends of both youngsters. Two families lost children in this horrible mess. Neither are to blame and all bear the brunt of circumstances of a troubled young man.

As with a previous young man, this one is dead also. Probable suicide. (I say probable because I'm just not sure what to believe on this point - another blog entry.)

This makes closure for the survivors infinitely more difficult. Jail-time, or other retribution, or even a simple explanation are piss-poor susbtitutes for such deep loss, but they do tend to make us feel better. Not knowing why this young man took exception to his own life and that of others is tortuous. Not havng the luxury of accusing, or hating, or pitying is difficult at best, because all that is left is forgivness and grief. Neither of which comes easy when someone you love is involved.

Working grief and rage out of your system almost always requires a target, and when that target has removed itself from your reality, through suicide in this case, you just don't know where to direct it all.

The flip side is just as bad in a sense. The questions, the self-recriminations, the "if-onlys" surface and that's heavy grief as well.

If only we could undertstand something so... senseless?

But it did make sense.

Quite unfortunately the one person who could have shed some light on it all decided that he didn't want to answer any questions. He said all he had to say, then he chose not to share ever again.

And it is that very decision that haunts us.

Cry for uselessness

2006-09-14T23:17:00.000-04:00

Nope, they just couldn't wait. The first cries for tougher gun control are already out into the media because of the Dawson incident... Stupid fucks!

I'm so angry I could chew nails.

What about sorting out some money for a crisis hotlines? What about putting focus on youth programs to curb violence? What about making efforts into teaching philosophy and morals and (dareI say it?) pacifist religion? What about taking responsability for the sick and unhealthy young men and women, of their minds and souls? Jesus H Christ... there's a whole mess of these kids that cry for help and go ignored!

And when they go down, it's ugly ain't it?

Nah, no business case there. Gun control, yeah that's it... that'll just solve everything won't it?

Stupid fucks.

Condolences anew

2006-09-14T11:52:00.000-04:00

I’ve just finished reading most of the horrible news about the insane young gunman at Dawson College in Montreal.

My condolences go out to both the families & friends of the young woman, Anastasia DeSousa who died in the attack and this troubled young man Kimveer Gill.

…may the next world be a better one for you both.

(Emotions are running high right now so I’ll refrain from speaking, out of respect, but you know what’s coming. I wonder if I’ll beat the news media to it or not by giving this a few days.)

Fear Revisited

2006-09-14T11:49:00.000-04:00

I decide to forgo war once again and continue with my utter amazement of people’s inability to connect the dots, either unwilling or incapable. I’ll jump in with my 2 cents (Canadian) on terrorism as well since it’s the mot-du-jour following the anniversary of the twin-towers attack.

There was an article in this weekend’s newspaper about a poll on the Canadian peoples’ concern with home-grown terrorism and racial profiling. I read it cross-wise and I don’t want to revisit. First point: the least concerned are the Quebecois.

Pause for thought.

And pause again.

What the fuck?

We had our very own Quebecois terrorists back in the 70s that lead to a kidnapping and a murder. But we’re the least concerned? Check.

We had a sexually frustrated son of a 2nd generation immigrant shoot some women engineering students in ‘84. But we’re the least concerned? Check.

Then a professor, no less, takes offense upon his offending coworkers but a few years later.

As of yesterday, we now have a full-on disgruntled white-bread national wreaking havoc in yet another school. But we’re the least concerned? Check.

All terrifying!

But we’re least concerned? I mean seriously folks, that’s just messed up.

That people are unwilling to look in their own back yard and see what’s there is both amazing and distressing. The poll was slanted towards Islamofascists obviously, but I hope I’ve made my point about actual back yard terror.

(By the way, read David Warren’s excellent column “The enemy within -- and it's not who you think”, where I saw the term Islamofascist for the first time.)

We just don’t want to see it for what it is.

Our very own children perpetrate the worst acts of terror. “It’s just kids being kids” we’d say and dismiss it as a social problem. But then we point the finger at nations or particular presidents or prime ministers taking action to enflame terrorism onto our shores.

I’m not saying we are wrong to point fingers, what I am saying is that school-ground taxation is really just as serious a problem and instils the concept of terrorism at a young age. Indeed learning that the ability to induce fear in others is a powerful weapon. This is not lost on anyone with any sense.

Which leads to my second point, and I paraphrase the same poll article: something about foreign nationals and/or international religions affecting our local sense of fair play which we apparently learned at home, at church (… and in our schoolyards!)

Good grief.

I’m guessing schoolyards all over the world aren’t quite so different. I’m guessing fear is fear the world over and once you’ve learned to use it and seen that is works and works very well, it’s just too late. You can’t put the worms back in the jar.

My third point is that the poll itself is a bit stilted. Fear terrorism? Fear fear? See?

Fearing something legitimately fearsome like terrorism is of our natural sensibility. Nevertheless, if you give in to fear it’s already too late. “They” have won. That’s how the weapon works, its purpose is not to kill or maim, it’s to control you to do their bidding.

We learn to be subjugated to it, or to use it, in our very own schoolyards, and that’s why it’s so damned effective!

Lunch money, retribution, religious control, mutually assured destruction… the weapon is the same.

Trash Can

2006-09-12T08:22:00.000-04:00

I was going to talk about war in my next blog, but decided it was a bit too harsh for my first blog entry in 2 months. So instead I decided to go with something else somewhat less important and closer to home: trash.

No debate as to how garbage is important. Suffice to say that toxic waste disposal, for instance, does have serious consequence on the environment and on the populace.  Maybe not creating as many deaths as war, but certainly cause for concern.

What I want to talk about is people.

In Gatineau, we are allowed to bring up to five (5) garbage bags at a time to the curb for disposal.

“OH MY GOD,” rants some well-meaning moron in the letters section of the Ottawa Citizen.  He immediately makes a case as to how only 2 bags are allowed in his neighbourhood of Ottawa, and cannot conceive of putting out 5 bags! And then goes on about trash-nazi controls with silly stickers for each bag.

Obviously this man accumulates his spring-cleaning somewhere in his vast basement and puts it out one bag a week along his other one bag.  Hopefully he didn’t have guests with small children over for a weekend and had to stow rancid bags of crap, in his vast storage area, in order to wait for the allowed disposal next week.

Obviously he had misread the article or was misinformed.  The good folk in Gatineau, and I say this very loosely, seem to put only one bag to the curb on any given week!  Since the article came out, I’ve made a point of watching my neighbour’s habits.

I’d say 9 houses, of each 10, will have a single bag, or regular size garbage can, on any given week. The family of four across my circle will fairly consistently have 2 bags at the curb but not always.  My own neighbour and I sometimes skip a week. Occasionally three or more bags show up alongside a roll of carpet, duly cut up in 3-foot bundles.  Hardly the constant weekly 5-bag output our idiotic denizen was bitching about.

When I read things like this, I think that this planet is truly in trouble. Then I take comfort in that everyone on my block recycles. The recycling is every two weeks and the amount of recycling is commensurate with the anointed 2 bags of trash.

Now a case could be made that both recycling and garbage should take up no more than 2 bags. That would be quite the accomplishment. This might yield to civil unrest and old mattresses thrown off trucks into nearby patch of trees, or busted sofas accidentally dropped on a cement divider of a major artery. Don’t laugh; I’ve seen it done.

In a previous entry, I talked about my old fridge being dumped into a regular garbage truck and crushed like any other trash, to my utter disbelief. And my wife clued in yesterday that the city of Gatineau is actually not recycling anything at all. The recycle-collector simply threw all the steel, plastic and paper fibres into one vat and crushed it all, just like my fridge.

This has been going on for over 10 years now, and not a single thing in Gatineau has been recycled yet, at least not to my knowledge. Heck, I’ve even heard they fine people for mis-sorting.

Actually, cedars were recycled for free, but the city has trashed a symbiotic contract they had with the cedar recyclers, so we have to pay for this disposal ourselves… guess where it all winds up now? The good people, I use that term loosely, can be pushed and poked and prodded to be good citizens, but just so much apparently.

So my wife asks me why we bothered to wash our plastics and glass bottles before sorting them into our green box, as per the city’s instructions. I told her the local gubmint just wants to instil good recycling habits on their citizens and give the illusion they actually give a rat’s ass…

Then I pause for a second, and I look at her deadpan: “kind’a makes you regret wasting all that water to rinse-out and clean the shit, don’t it?”

Gubmint: a derogatory red-neck homonym & synonym used instead of the word government.

Kids vs. Society - Part 2

2006-07-07T10:51:00.000-04:00

A friendly nudge tells me it's been almost a month since my last blog. 'tis true, but not for lack of stuff to write.  In fact, I was writing away furiously after the first Kids vs. Society entry, then realized that my part 2 creation was rather angry, maybe too much so.

I took a step back and evaluated how I wanted to say my piece. My anger was directed towards irresponsible parenting.  Not being a parent myself, I figured my anger may be justified, but my judgement was not.  So I recanted myself and took a different approach, more opinionated and probably more accusatory but less judgemental. Parents will probably not like it.

But they shouldn’t take it personally.

We are railroaded into making stupid decisions that have insidious far reaching impacts every day. We are, of course, responsible for those decisions we make and even for those we avoid making! My current grief is that the influence to which we are subjected is never clear, never straightforward.

If the influences could be readily identified we would somehow be in a better position to cope, with less judgement.

Take for example, the daughter that accuses her mother of being selfish, and the subtending anger that comes with it. What she is really rebelling against is the power that her mother holds over her actions. Since the daughter is not clear on the matter and level of influence her mother wields, she gets justifiably angry and frustrated.

Whose fault is this? The mom has her own ideas and personality, and often the daughter has the same personality but different ideas, which is why mom and daughter clashes are legendary. What if the daughter saw these very traits, what if she realized the very nature of the influence?

Simple answer is that mom’s power would be tempered, to a point where the daughter would make her own call, with a better understanding of why she’s making it. Anger will be averted.

I think it is perfectly natural for a child to be angry with its parents. The frustration is learned at a very young age: “don’t do this, or that”, “do as I say”, “do as I say - not as I do”, “I am allowed because I’m a parent, you’re not.” Escalation is inevitable and the need for freedom grows as well.  Eventually kids want to leave the house, hate the power their parents have, and want to break free at all costs.

Then the kid starts making mistakes.  Some will extol the virtues of making one’s own mistakes in order to learn the lessons of life. These are the same parents who frustrated the shit out of their own children.

To wit, in a liberally wet campfire conversation, a parent was expounding the character building capability of the army and, by god, was going to sign-up his son to give him “du nerf” – force of character, toughness, nerve.

I was thinking to myself at the time that this guy fucked up his son’s character so badly that he now has to turn to society to make up for what he missed! Years later I was thinking that his kind of life, very different from my own, might require a strong, even violent, character. Now I’m back to thinking:  nah! You fucked up and now expect the army to fix your problem.

I’m not even going to discuss the frustration the kid might have felt, that’s just too obvious.  The parent’s incongruent approach is in evidence here.

Were the child to have enough nerve to throw his old man a whopping, he would surely have been enlisted into the army to teach him discipline!

Power indeed.

Once the child has broken free, has come to terms with the parents power over him or her, has identified those areas of vulnerability, he or she can begin to address making sound decisions.

This impact on decisions is not solely the purview of parents, indeed not, I should make a case for friend’s influence and peer-pressure as well.  I think both of these are rather obvious and follow the same basic pattern.  Replace frustration with the need for acceptance and you get the idea.

Many people are in therapy because of unresolved, so-called, issues with their parents. By and large, I think this is normal. The parent’s intentions are, we assume, pure but some mistakes will occur and some situations will yield bad results no matter what. The child being a child cannot understand the difference and files it away in core learning and then builds upon it.

And this is the problem.  We have no idea what lies under the cement in the basement. We assume it’s bedrock, or packed gravel, but we just don’t know, and the same goes with our childhood learnings.

We observe other houses around us, maybe we are lucky enough to see one built from the ground up, which gives us an idea of what may be under our own slab.  But unless you go digging up the basement, or taking core samples, you just cannot be sure.  Breaking a concrete slab is tough thing to do; it takes courage and hard work, but is sometimes necessary to replace the packed dirt or pyrite with gravel. But even then, there might be something just a little deeper, like a fault line.

You can get pissed off at the contractor, but at some point, it’s the earth itself.

And that’s when it’s time to move.

Notes:

Basement: Most if not all modern houses in my corner of Canada are built upon a poured cement or concrete block foundation, which will either rest on bedrock if it’s present, mechanically packed gravel, or deep sand. This avoids foundation movement and cracking during the freeze-thaw cycle every year. Although not necessary a smooth cement slab will usually be poured within this foundation, creating a floor for a liveable basement.

Pyrite: “fool’s gold”, a nasty little rock.  It is prevalent in some regions and was mostly ignored decades ago, but it has a tendency to absorb water and humidity and will expand over time, cracking foundations and warping house frames. According to some, it will stabilize after some 50 years. Maybe tens of thousands of houses in and around the greater Montreal area may be afflicted in some way, mind you, if they haven’t moved by now… they probably won’t.

Kids vs Society - Part 1

2006-06-16T17:46:00.000-04:00

While I was thinking upon the subject of kids, there were 2 conversations I had with different friends.

I’ll start with society’s woes and teachers.  This will dovetail (I hate that word) into education and rearing later.

The email exchange started innocently enough with a dissatisfaction of the daycare gambit: in this case, the parents would palm off the Ritalin riddled little tyrants on the ski mountain.  In fact, some kids are so stoned that a bloody nose from taking a full-face snow sample is simply a normal occurrence for them. No fuss, no muss, no emotion.

In a word simply too smashed to realize how smashed they’d actually gotten in the snowboarding accident.

Pause for thought.

The obvious benefit was that the kid was sufficiently sedated for the accident.  One wonders if there would have been a serious crash at all if the kid wasn’t wiped-out in the first place.

The empirical evidence, or maybe just urban legend, tells us that there is many a child out there on mood-altering drugs.  I won’t quote the statistics from the NIDA link to Ritalin, you can draw your own conclusions on that.  And I won’t debate the validity of any singular case. As with any health problem, and particularly with the mind, ADHD is no joke.

This issue launches into million different directions: the one of interest to me being a question of judgment.  Judging of the parent, and judgement on the parent’s part, then, as usual, judgment of society and it’s own monstrous needs.

An excerpt from my own email: “To stand in judgement is potentially disingenuous, and besides, the question really is: is the parent is drugging the kid to keep him or her under control, or is it because there is a legitimate need?  Furthermore, is the so-called need dictated by the state?  For example overworked teachers who don't want to, or can't deal with, a non-homogenous overloaded classroom...”

A case can be made for children requiring a goodly amount of physical activity, to spend some of the pent-up hyper-energy: martial arts and sports being an obvious answer.  Liberal use of drugs, pushed by the pharmaceutical industry no less, is not so much a good answer.  Ritalin wasn’t around centuries ago, but kids were!  And parents managed to cope. Doesn’t that beat all?

Another case against drugs: social activities can be applied to depression as well.  This is really what society should be encouraging, not more drugging.  Point of fact, in the olden days, there was a much stronger sense of community, in tribes, in church, etc.  Critical issues were addressed quickly, usually within the community.  Nowadays many don’t even talk with neighbours or coworkers.

But I have my own misgivings about the so-called olden days:

Spankings were de rigueur.

Parents’ beating the shit out of their children was rampant.

Heavy drinking was commonplace – (now we have Prozac instead, woohoo.)

Fear has replaced the lack of privacy.

Big brother is now institutionalized, in lieu of the "town gossip".

The list goes on.  We’ve unfortunately not really improved on these specifics per se. For example: spankings may well be a bad-thing™, but verbal abuse is arguably more damaging in the long term.

I’m not saying that a restless child can be solved with a spanking, far from it.  But we are expecting the little bastards to fit into a still ill conceived but more modern mould!  So we start hammering away with drugs to fit this square peg?  This is the modern solution?

What does the future hold for the next generation of kids?  The same problems will still exist and drugs will be considered as barbaric as spankings were yesterday.

During my bouts of depression, mood-altering drugs did help.  Some of them, however, messed me up much worse than the depression itself.  To address the other possibilities: physical activity would work for a few days then the depression would hit worse and getting up the onus to continue the activities would sap all remaining energy; socializing was hit and miss, sometimes making things better, sometimes worse.

I want to address the problem with social activities for a moment.  By itself managing our emotions is tiring at the best of times, but for someone with depression holding one’s run-amok emotions in public can be, and often is, nothing short of a nightmare.

If I extend this theorem towards ADHD and these kids’ behaviour, is it any wonder they lose it.  By and large children don’t have the finesse to manoeuvre the social reality around them.  So what if 3 or 4 out of every 100 stand out against the crowd? (I know, I know, I just quoted a stat, argh!)

And so I point back to our olden times.  When classes were smaller, you’d have the one kid who gets on everyone’s nerves, robbing the attention away from his classmates.  It was a harsh life, but the teacher could handle it, and still feed some 20 kids with the requisite value-add.   It’s simple math.  4 kids in 100 makes for roughly one problem per class of 20, and sometimes not at all.  If your class is 40?  Holy shit… You are almost guaranteed 2 problems and twice the clamour for attention anyways!

Solutions?  We can’t be reducing the number of heads to teach down to a decent number… no business case there.  Pump the drugs, it’s definitely more cost effective.  Or if we can find enough basket cases within the school, fire up a subsidized special-ed class for the hyperactive (or deaf) morons!

And then it’s the parent that wonders what’s wrong with their child?!?

Excuse me it's for the children

2006-06-14T12:49:00.000-04:00

This past week has seen a plethora of ideas for me to blog, unfortunately, I didn’t write them down straight away, so now I forget what they were.  Argh!  Nevertheless among those that I do remember, they can all be related to manipulation…

I’ve talked about kids being the free-pass to the world in the past.  Using kids is the ultimate weapon to subjugate others to one’s will.  It is the second most powerful vehicle to impose upon others.  What’s the first you ask?  Coercion.

Using kids is second only to blackmail or threat of death.  Pretty scary huh?   While coercion is immediately the most powerful, it is also quite clear and easily identifiable.  So the ultimate weapon remains kids.

On to the examples:

Porn:  this is one of my favourite round-about examples of government subjugation.  It starts innocently enough with terrorism.

Prez. Bush, may the Lord have mercy on his soul, declares war on terrorism, and commands law that demands access to personal records.  This opens up the internet to scrutiny by the FBI and HS (Homeland Security).  Furthermore, the U.S. systematically applies pressure to other countries, read Canada, to release and make available private internet records.

I’m not sure of the validity of such espionage upon the populace at large, but I’ll go along with it, for the sake of discussion.  I have seen no evidence that terrorism was quashed by anything other than excellent police investigative works.  Not much about internet use per se, but then do terrorists have internet access?  Do they have phones?  Cell-phones? Text messaging? Do they have mail?  Uh oh!

The obvious conclusion becomes that all phone-calls and mail also need to be scrutinized as well.  If the movie Enemy of the State is to be believed the so-called NSA – National Security Agency already records phone calls.  (This is an excellent movie by the way, starring Will Smith and Gene Hackman, two of my favourite actors.)

So the internet vs. terror gambit doesn’t really take by itself, so the powers-that-be sprinkle some kids into the mix to legitimize trampling all over privacy.  Isn’t it a strange coincidence, the data monitoring can be used to track other criminals and low and behold, child molesters?  This is the angle being sold nowadays.  There really isn’t anything anyone can say against such argument.  Protesting, even on the basis of freedom and privacy will get you lynched, or worse, branded as a potential molester who is avarice of kiddie-porn, or at the very least aiding and abetting molesters!  WTF?

So the invasion of privacy law stays, instead of being used against terrorism, it is used to monitor all who use the net.  Nabbing terrorists becomes incidental.

Firearms: yeah, you knew that was coming.

This is easily the worst case.  The debate for or against firearms will rage on forever, granted.  Yet the favourite ammunition used by the anti-gun lobby is: “oh my god, have you ever seen a dead child riddled with bullets.”   I really feel bad for Wendy.  Really, I do. No fooling.

It is disingenuous at best.  Utterly stupid at worse, and doesn’t hold any logical water whatsoever.  Her entire equation rests on the fact that children can get hurt or killed with firearms.

So what?  This isn’t the issue, it has never been. The jackass pulling the trigger is the problem, but throw a dead child into the fray, and all of a sudden, her issue, while still false becomes totally unassailable.

And I do mean totally:  Imagine for a minute if I was a newspaper reporter and brought to light that Wendy’s argument was asinine, in a column, right beside a picture of a bullet-riddled dead kid.  Can’t be done.

Back to Sex: public nudity

This is a completely subjective moral imperative.  For one, everybody is more or less naked in African tribes; of course the sheer heat might have something to do with it.

So why is it then that women in Ottawa aren’t allowed to go topless?  Social mores for sure, but the most common excuse: what could I tell my kids?  What example does it set for them?  They shouldn’t be subject to this.  Once again, this is an unbeatable position.

Cussing:

Not that I go out of my way to swear, but a few profanities escape my lips from time to time.  It is cyclical.  When I pay serious attention to my speech patterns, I will notice and try to diminish and even eliminate cussing from my vocabulary.

I do admit that I often slip back into the bad habit, before focusing on fixing it again.  I am conscious of this, and try my best, but like I said, it is cyclical.   But I have gotten a mother’s ire on a few occasions when I let slip an unseemly word in presence of a child.

I such cases, I have a choice, either tell mom to fuck-off, or I can leave, or I can stop talking.  I will slip again within minutes if I do keep talking.  These are my only options, since it’ll take at least a few weeks to completely eradicate cussing - yet again.

All for the sake of the kid… With mom’s few words, I have become mute, until the offended is out of earshot.  I’m not saying mom was wrong, I’m just saying the levelled weapon is very effective indeed.  Is it not?

I see examples of using kids to controlling individuals at large every single day.  I have noticed that it is so prevalent that whenever a child is present in a general situation or sentence, I immediately look for and find, the hammer wielding control freak alongside.

Adding a child’s welfare into any conversation will not only tug at heartstrings, it’ll chain-block the mess with a 10-ton hydraulic winch.

So now you know...  If you want to control someone else’s actions unequivocally, simply find, or invent, the kid-angle and have at it.

Closing TV Shows

2006-06-02T09:50:00.000-04:00

The TV season has come to a close for the summer, but there were some casualties and some survivors.

Fortunately for us, we will still have a steady flow of TV series for the summer.  I have subscribed to zip.ca  This is an on-line DVD-rental store.   I could not find Charmed anywhere in town, so for my wife’s birthday, I subscibed to zip and ordered the back epsiodes.

We’ve been hooked ever since.  I added Angel and Buffy in the zip-list (that’s what they call it) and we started watching those as well.  Good stuff really.  Joss Whedon and his writers are amazing.  Smart quips and one-liners abound.

And speaking of another Joss Whedon creation: Serenity (sci-fi movie) gave us a taste for the original Firefly too, so I added that to the zip-list as well.  An added bonus that I don’t have to wait 3 years to see how it turns out.

Watching Firefly would have driven me up the wall.  It orginially aired in spurts and starts over a two year period.  But never gathered a following despite being a fantastic sci-fi genre.  Geez, I wonder why?

So we have become addicted to renting DVD series, as if we really needed to watch more TV.   Fuck the networks and their ignorant and inconsistent scheduling practices!

I’ll probably add 24 to the zip-list next.

Anyway, the final update on this TV-year’s entries:

The officially R.I.P.ed first:
Alias
eRing
Commander in Chief
Hot Properties
Invasion
Killer Instinct
Night Stalker
Surface
Stacked
Threshold
Wanted
West Wing (The)

The Keepers:
Cold Case
Criminal Minds
CSI: Las Vegas
CSI: Miami
CSI: NY
House
King of the Hill
Las Vegas
NCIS
Nip/Tuck
Numb3rs
Prison Break
Simpsons (The)
Supernatural
Without a Trace
The Added:
Close to Home
Unit (The)
Stargate Atlantis

And the dumped and semi-dumped (we just no longer watch):
Bones
Ghost WhispererSG-1
Shield (The)