Instead of a Year-End Top 10 List: 7 or 8 Ho Hum 2012 Things

'Tis the season to commemorate the passing of 2012 with a Top 10 list of some sort. But I choose not to do that. Too radical, too political, too polarizing, too much effort...I'd have to go out on some sort of limb and make choices.

So, in keeping with the apolitical, safe, middling spirit of my blog (and in truly Canadian fashion) I offer 7 or 8 ho hum things that happened in 2012. Neutral stuff; okay stuff; stuff that's not great, not bad, and somewhat forgettable; stuff that earns a C+ or a B- at best in the grand scorecard of life.

I'll use bullets instead of numbers since sequence is irrelevant:

• Ho hum film: The Way. I watched it last night so I haven't forgotten it yet. Not great, not bad, but I knew nobody would be mad if I watched it without them, so I watched it. Never heard of it until it showed up on Netflix. I'll be 30 minutes into it next time I watch it before I remember seeing it and turn it off. But not bad.
• Ho hum television: Revolution. Concept is okay and execution is mediocre. The acting is generally adequate, with occasional bouts of poor. I watched it because...well, I don't really know why. I think it's still on if you want to catch up, but maybe not.
• Ho hum technology: eBook Readers. In 2012 this unexceptional technology became even more so with great new features like...new sizes. I still believe that using an eBook Reader is sometimes slightly better than reading a book in print or on some other technology. And it continues to have a clear advantage when you need to read something using only your feet.
• Ho hum book: It's a tie amongst everything that's available for $3.99 or less for your eBook Reader. When I'm finished with one of these titles, I file them away in my "Read" (past tense) folder. Problem is that "Read" can also be interpreted as present or future tense (as in "To Read"). When I make that mistake I open the folder and see a whole bunch of titles I don't recognize or remember.
• Ho hum key on my keyboard: 'K'. An uncommon letter sitting under one of my most powerful fingers. Only the 'J' occupies a better spot and is less frequently used. Although this seems to have nothing to do with 2012, it never gets mentioned so I just did.
• Ho hum moment: 6:16 am on December 21. It could have been a big moment, but it wasn't. It definitely played second fiddle to the big moment at 6:17 am when the world continued.
• Ho hum person: I have to go with the cashier at Toys 'R Us who helped us out the night we bought my 3-year-old's bike. She did a fair job at check-out. A little slow, a little angry, but nothing to worry about. Sorry lady at the cleaners - there's always next year.
• Ho hum sporting event: I think I have to go with the Rams and 49ers 24-24 tie on November 11th. It says a lot that this game beat out the entire 2012 portion of the 2012/13 NHL season. But given that this game happened, it gets the nod.

There they are, all (counting...counting) 8 of them. Since there is no such thing as more ho hum, there's not really much point in arguing about this list. K? (Sorry, my finger slipped).

Theory: The World DID End on Dec. 21

It's just a theory, but I'm beginning to believe that the world did end on December 21st after all. (Aside: the term "after all" is pretty cool when you're thinking apocalyptically).

I don't mean this in the way that some Apocalypse apologists might (i.e. 'the world ended as we knew it'); I mean that it is becoming apparent to me that the world did end for real on December 21st 2012 as predicted. Since that day, we have all been living in a very convincing replica of the world we knew. Someone is trying hard to cover-up the Apocalypse!

But the evidence is out there. Look at your life, think of your life before - like me, you'll see signs of an Apocalypse cover-up. Here is mine (or should I say "Mayan" - ha ha):

(The rest of this post will be written in giant blue font because it seems appropriate to do so.)

Since December 21st 2012, I have not been to work. Not even once. Going to work was a daily occurrence pre-Apocalypse.

I remember distinctly that two of my daughters used to be away at school. Suddenly, they're here again - like University never happened. And they still don't clear their dishes after they eat. Like they'd be away at University, take care of themselves for all that time, then come home and stop doing it.

It snowed today! Snow! In Canada! Who are they trying to kid??!?

On December 21st 2012, one of my daughters got her driver's license. Apocalyptic? I THINK SO.

Last night we played Scrabble and I used all 7 of my letters THREE times. That never would have happened if the world had continued. Suddenly good letters come out of the bag?? (Of course, the 2 daughter replicas who are at home with me might think otherwise - but this is my post-Apocalypse rant, not theirs)
 
Pre-Apocalypse I used to have funny things to say on my blog. Not anymore.
Whoever is perpetrating this hoax, I'm onto you. Try harder! Or, send pistachio ice cream and lots of it and I'll keep quiet (the real stuff, not spumoni).

The Genie in the Market (Another Parable)

Once upon a time there lived a sweet, beautiful, smart, funny, creative, happy, generous girl whose only flaw - if one could even consider it a flaw - was her inability to arrive places on time.

One day she found herself in a street market standing in front of a table covered with rusty old household items and - untroubled by the fact that her parents were waiting for her at a prearranged meeting spot - she examined item after item on the table. As her hands grazed a fancy old bottle, she was amazed to see a hazy mist rise from the bottle and slowly take the form of a great and powerful Genie. In a roaring voice, the Genie said "I am a great and powerful Genie and I've been trapped in that bottle for thousands of years. Thanks to you, I am now free, save my one final obligation to grant my rescuer three wishes. The only catch is that you must tell me all three of your wishes right now and I'll deliver them to you when the time is right."

Nearly overcome with excitement, the girl quickly made her wishes:"Oh great and powerful Genie, my first wish is to marry the man of my dreams. My second wish is to find a meaningful career that enriches me. And my third wish is that we live together in a wonderful home."
 
Jotting down the three wishes, the Genie explained: "I will send you instructions when the time has come for each of these wishes to come true. Follow these instructions with care." And with that, he vanished in a puff of mist.

Years passed, until shortly after the girl turned 18 she received a note from the Genie telling her to be in the Sandbag Bar at exactly 4:48 that afternoon to meet the man of her dreams. At 4:11 she started to get ready. At 4:43 she grabbed her coat and ran to the front door. At 4:46 she ran back upstairs to change her sweater. By 4:51 she had chosen her shoes. And at 4:59 she arrived at the bar. By that time, the man of her dreams - never knowing he was destined to meet his life-long mate that day - had left the bar. But when the girl flew through the doors, there was a man sitting alone at a table in the back corner. Believing he was the man of her dreams, she sat down and struck up a conversation. He wasn't particularly attractive, she didn't like his laugh, and his breath smelled a little, but she was blind to these things because of the magical circumstances of their meeting. She dated him and they wed soon after, despite her serious misgivings.

The girl wasn't thrilled with her marriage, but she knew in her heart that she could still find happiness if she followed her passion and became an actress. A few months later, after several unsuccessful auditions, she received a second note from the Genie: "Go to the War Memorial Statue in the Town Square at exactly 11:31 tomorrow morning. Wear your finest clothes, do your hair, and bring your resume." Fully intending to follow the instructions to the letter, she got her resume ready, chose her clothes and her shoes, and did her hair that night so she could arrive at the statue in plenty of time the following morning. But her husband kept her up half the night with his incessant snoring, and it was 11:22 am when she finally opened her eyes. Realizing what had happened, she quickly ran to the door, threw on her clothes, her coat and her shoes, then ran back upstairs to straighten her hair after catching a glance in the mirror. She finally arrived at the statue at 11:54. By that time, the owner of the Town Theater had already wandered off (he had been leaning against the statue, trying to figure out how he was going to replace his injured star). The girl, meanwhile, stumbled upon a different person at the statue: a serious-looking man who was cleaning pigeon droppings off of the statue's shoulder. "The Genie must know something I don't", she thought, as she offered to help him, handed him her resume, and quickly took a job with him maintaining all of the statues around town.

Weeks later, she received a third note from the Genie, wrapped around thousands and thousands of dollars. It said: "Be at the foot of Longfellow Avenue, cash in hand at precisely 7:37 tonight to buy the home of your dreams". The girl would have been there on time, but she met some friends on the way there and got caught up in a conversation. She arrived at Longfellow shortly after 8. In the intervening time, the 'For Sale' sign on the beautiful house at the foot of Longfellow came down (reluctant seller finally pulling it off the market). But as she stood there trying to figure out what to do next, a man in an RV pulled up to ask her for directions. She offered him the money the Genie had given her in exchange for his RV, thinking "Trust the Genie" as she completed the transaction.

The girl went on with her life, married, cleaning poop from the statues around town, and living out of an aging RV. Until much, much later she got a final message from the Genie: "Meet me at 9 tonight in the market where we first met."

When she arrived at 9:24, she stormed over to the Genie and before he could say a word, she let him have it: "I followed your instructions each time you sent me a note, and all I got was the wrong man, the wrong career and the wrong home! You have some nerve summoning me to meet you here after ruining my life. Stupid Genie."

Carefully controlling his temper, the Genie said: "Young lady, you don't see that this is all your fault? If you had been on time, even once, your life would be everything you dreamed. But you were late to meet your soul-mate and instead you met the wrong man. You were late for the theater audition I set up, and you took the wrong job. You missed a great opportunity on your dream house and spent the money I gave you on an RV instead. And even tonight, you've arrived late and missed the chance I was going to offer you to make it all right. I'm done with you." And he wandered off a free Genie with a clean conscience.

The girl, meanwhile, after having successfully covered up her real reason for being in the market, wandered over to the wonderful man with whom she had been having an affair for years. The owner of the Town Theater took her in his arms, whispered in her ear "You're going to love the role I've picked for you in the upcoming theater season", and they started back to his house on Longfellow under the cover of dark.

They never made it there because they were hit by an RV driven by a sad little man who had been instructed by a misty figure to "be at the market at precisely 9:24". He had come on time.

(Author's note: Sorry for the dark ending. The original parable had our time-challenged girl being surprisingly happy with the man she married, living in an RV, and working outside in the fresh air all day. But that didn't seem to teach anyone a lesson about being on time so I changed it. If you don't like the ending, write your own stupid parable.)

A Birthday Gift from Me to You

Because it is customary in some cultures for the person celebrating their birthday to be the one who gives out gifts, I thought I would give all of you a gift this morning by mentioning each of you in a special birthday song ('each of you' only includes my Facebook friends - to be included in next year's song, friend me).

It is sung to the tune of "I am the Very Model of a Modern Major General":

My online friends are Adam, Adam, Alan, and Vincenzo

Amy, Amy, Angie, Ari, Avi, Beth, Damiano

Anthony, Annette, and Barry, Barry, Billy, Carl-o

Carol, Carrie, Cheryl, Cheryl, Sheryl, also Mo and Moe            

I’m very well acquainted, too, with Danny, Dan and Daniela

Daniel, David, David, David, Dave and of course Dahlia

Claire and Dawn and Deborah and Deborah and Diana

Dom, Ellaine and Elliot I haven’t yet forgotten ya.

There’s Ellen, Ellen, Erika - Eric, Frank and dear Gramma

Gary, Gary, Harold, Hartley, Heidi, Hershel, Ludovica

Howard, Ian, Jack ‘n James, Janice, Jay and Jennifer

Jacob, Jacob, Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, Judy, Judy, Lucia.

I know some more – there’s Jim and Jim and Lynda, Kelly, Ken and Ken

Jordan, Julie, Larry, Larry, Linda, Karen and Kathrine

Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Marc, Marc, Marc, Mark, Mark, Karin

Luke, Maria, Melanie, Marisa, Rachele and Sharon

Mendy, Michael, Michael, Miriam and Ora all know me,

Michele, Paul, Paul, Pete, Rob, Ron, Phil, Ruth and Roger too, Shirley

Peter, Peter, Rachel, Randa, Rhonda, Richard, Rick, Sissy,

Ruthanne, Sandford, Scott and Scott and Seth and Seth are quite friendly.

Samantha and Samantha’s names use up a line themselves you see

So Shelly, Steve, Suzy, Ted, Ted, and Tina on one line must squeeze

Tobiah and Tamara and 3 Stevens and a Vicki

I’d invite you all to edit this but then I’d need a Wiki.

Happy my birthday everyone!

On Giving and Receiving

(Wow. The silence was deafening after my 'I am not a nerd' post. I can only conclude that you all agree. Thank you.)

With my birthday coming up and various other gift-giving events impending - or just past - I want to take this opportunity to talk about the phrase "it is better to give than to receive". In fact, I'll make a case for the position that receiving can be just as good as giving.

Logically, giving must be a selfish act. If giving really is better than receiving...far better, some would say...then the logical implication is that giving favours the giver. A give/receive exchange involves two parties. The giver forces the other party into the receiver role. Since giving is far better than receiving, the giver gets more out of the exchange by a wide margin.

I know I'm playing with words, but there's certainly truth in saying that giving can be a selfish act. Consider how easy it is to give selfishly - even without intent - by:

• Giving without thought
• Giving without grace
• Giving with motive
• Giving while refusing to receive
• Giving with strings attached
• Giving grudgingly.

Receiving is a gift. The very first gift I ever gave has been the source of family ridicule since the moment I gave it, but I can still feel the grandeur of the moment for the 5-year old that I was (or 6, or 4, or whatever). I had bought my mom a green juice glass with my own money, and I gave it to her bursting with pride. The important act in the exchange, though, was its receipt - and specifically how my mom received it. I don't remember the details, but to this day I can still remember this shining moment and the amazing feeling my mom gave me by the simple act of receiving the gift well. It was worth the lifetime of mocking and derision from the rest of my family that I have since endured.

When you receive a gift well, you are giving the giver far more than you received.

It's the thought that counts. This phrase is overused and under-practiced. There are 2 ways to give gifts well (in my opinion):

• The completely spontaneous, genuine act of giving - not planned, not required, not expected, not considered and re-considered - something that wells up from the purest, most pristine corners of your being. In this case, thought does not enter the equation.
• The obliged act of giving, but executed with careful thought.

Somehow "it's the thought that counts" has come to mean "this gift sucks, but that's okay". But if you don't view it as an excuse for a bad gift, it can actually shed light on how to give well: THINK.

• Think about the person for whom you are buying the gift. What will delight them enough to overcome the giver/receiver deficit?
• Think about your unique relationship with that person. What gift reflects that relationship? What gift could only you have given? What gift will remind them of you?
• Think about the circumstances surrounding the gift. Could you inadvertently be making the receiver feel bad, or embarrassed, or out-done?

Giving a good gift takes time, because thinking about it takes time. And even when you find yourself giving a gift card, use that otherwise unspent thinking time to write a really good personal note to wrap around the card.

Give well and receive well this holiday season. Neither has to be better. And this year, I will try to follow my own advice.

(PS - Gift cards with wrap-around personal notes can be sent directly to the author on the occasion of his upcoming birthday. He also likes cash, pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain).

I Am Not a Nerd

As a result of a few conversations I had with family and friends this weekend, I've realized that there's a gross misconception out there that I'm a nerd.

Imagine my shock as that revelation slowly took hold. People think I'm a nerd? Me? A nerd? Me? ME???!?!?

I will admit that when I was much, much younger - like in early- to mid-childhood - somebody who knew me only casually might have reached the conclusion that in some small ways, my appearance and behaviour was somewhat nerd-like. Blame my mom for dressing me in polyester pants, and my sisters for being so numerous and stifling, and my dad for wearing horn-rimmed glasses and an abacus in his white shirt pocket (and for teaching me backgammon and ping pong instead of fishing and hunting). But appearances can deceive, and I think the fact that I was a kick-ass jacks player and hopscotch king should be taken into consideration before passing judgement.

(In the absence of a real picture from my childhood, I include below a representative likeness as an illustration of what I kind of, sort of, might have looked like back then).

Anyhow, that was then and this is now. I am decidedly not a nerd and I can prove it:

• Yes, I'm a math grad from Waterloo, but I only took the cool math courses AND I also took non-math electives like Forms of Fantasy, Arthurian Literature, and Future Studies
• Alright, I used to play Dungeons and Dragons...but my character was always a thief - the least nerdy character you can choose
• Sure, two of my favourite novel genres are Science Fiction and Fantasy, but I also read a lot of Historical Fiction. (I should mention that my recent foray into Scott Sigler's Galactic Football League series further illustrates how completely cool I am)
• I run - and not just from bullies
• Given that nerd-ism is an inherited trait, if I were a nerd, you'd expect my daughters to also be nerds, and they're not (I know this because we talked about it over a recent game of Settlers of Catan and they told me they're not)
• Despite having read all of the Game of Thrones books (so far) and watched both seasons, I don't own any paraphernalia (unless you count my "Winter is Coming" Stark mug at the office)
• While I watch Walking Dead religiously, I have never once watched Talking Dead or Comic Book Men (they're on after my bed time)
• And if all of that's not enough, consider this: Nerds constantly make stupid puns and have a really nerdy laugh. My laugh isn't nerdy at all.

QED

A Letter from the Dentist Triggers Pointless Meandering

My 3-year old received the following letter in the mail yesterday:

Dear Micaela,

 

This is a friendly reminder that you are overdue for your recall appointment. We value you as a patient and would like to encourage you to keep up with regular check-ups. We feel we can help you attain optimum dental health, which will allow you to require less overall treatment. We believe you are an asset to our practice and look forward to seeing you again.

 

After Micaela read the letter, she got quite upset.

 

"Dad," she said, "how did we let so much time pass since my last visit to the dental practice? I remember that we agreed to keep up on both the frequency and regularity of my appointments. Now there's a good chance that my dental health is sub-optimal and my treatment regimen is going to become quite onerous. What's worse, I feel like I've let everyone down. They value me, they believe I'm an asset, and now look how we've betrayed their team."

 

I love our dentist and his entire team. I recognize that I'm being completely unfair in singling them out for the very common crime of trying to communicate in a personalized way, while in fact doing the exact opposite. (I've heard some great stories about what can go wrong, my absolute favourite of which was from a work colleague who made some sort of complaint to a hotel manager and received a 'personalized' letter in response which had been photocopied with an attached post-it note saying "Send him the cockroach letter.")

 

But I'll use this letter to illustrate a few points:

 

Point 1: (The obvious one) If you are trying to send out a mass communication with a personal touch, try really, really hard to get it right, or don't bother at all. If your patients are valued, if they are an "asset to your practice", communicate with them in a genuine way. If you're just sending out an automated reminder, make it an automated reminder:

 

Dear Patient,

This automatic reminder has been sent because you are past due for you next appointment. Please call us.

 

Point 2: Don't pull out the big words when you're trying to send a simple message. Without being blatantly impersonal as in Point 1, this letter could have said:

 

Dear Micaela,

Where are you? It's time for your next appointment. In fact, you're a little late. Please call to set something up.

 

Point 3: When people get older, they like to get irate about really unimportant stuff. It makes them feel good to shake their cane at the world and say "In my day, ..." I feel like it's time I join their ranks:

 

In my day, this letter would have been delivered by a postman (yes, a post"man") dragging himself up to our front stoop with small dogs gnawing on each of his legs and a big friendly smile on his face, saying "Mornin' Hank - here's the post". (In my day, men called each other Hank).

 

Letter in hand, I would have summoned the whole family to the sitting room to open the letter together. Having heard their father's summons, all 3 of the girls would have come running in from the field - where they were busy doing their morning chores - kissed my cheek and sat dutifully, faces alight with anticipation at what the letter might say. They most certainly wouldn't be away at University getting an edu-m'cation.

 

In fact, instead of just the 3 of them, there would have been a whole brood gathered around - 14 kids in all - as we read the letter. And it would have said something like:

 

Dear Henrietta, (because that's what we called girls back then)

Now that you are 3 years old, we wanted you to know that one day soon it will be time for you to start coming to the dentist. For now, you can eat all the sweets you want because your teeth are going to fall out anyways.

 

 

 

 

Assorted Things - from Asparagus to 'Z'

Ah, what to make sense of today?

How about a few assorted things that have crossed my mind over the last couple of weeks? (And yes, I realize it's been that long since my last post.)

On life in general...

• Asparagus - I just think it's the coolest vegetable for all sorts of reasons. A great conversation starter, especially with people who haven't tried it before. If you're looking for a green to start kids on, what other vegetable can offer such a cool result? (If you don't know what I'm talking about, too bad - I refuse to get more explicit). First runner-up is beets.
• The magical combination of British television, an iPad, Netflix, and a Treadmill - never before has cardio been so easy and so pleasant. I'm working(-out) my way through Misfits now.
• The word "misnomer" - I'm hearing more and more people using this wrong (I think they think it means "misconception"). Given what it actually does mean, it's almost ironic that people use it wrong. As an aside, I learned this week that "sleep clinic" is a misnomer.
• Thank-you cards - In my mind, my nephew/newest niece have set a new standard for thank-you cards. We received it in the mail (the real mail), it was personal, the words of thanks were specific and filled the card, it made me laugh, it made me cry - but most importantlly it made me feel genuinely thanked. Good job. 
• US Elections - who won? Or is this one of those situations where they all won because they got to participate?
• Zed - I believe that in Canada, we call the last letter in the alphabet "Zed" (at least nobody's told me otherwise yet). I know that "Zed" doesn't rhyme with G, P or V so it kind of messes up the whole alphabet verse thing that they teach in school. But still, my 3-year old shouldn't be telling me I'm wrong when I correct her. Let's consider changing the pronunciation for G, P and V to "Ged", "Ped" and "Ved" respectively and then the problem simply goes away. At least that's my POV. 

On the Toronto sports scene...

• The Toronto Blue Jays - no matter what happens as a result of AA's big moves, it's nice to have some north-of-the-border swagger in the AL East again.
• The Toronto Argonauts - since I didn't care beforehand, it would be wrong to claim the Grey Cup as any kind of victory for me personally. But yay.
• NHL lock-out: Everyone seems to be skating around the real issues. What's the ultimate goal here? How many shots at a settlement do they get? At this point, both parties seem off-side. They should just put everything else on ice, and get a deal done...even if it means working overtime. Um, Zamboni.
• The Toronto Raptors - my fearless prediction from an earlier post still stands: They are not bound for great things this year. The rest of what I said in that post was nonsense.

How I Met Your Mother

(Before I get on with my post, one of you lucky readers today will be my blog's 1000th page view. Congratulations. The prize is a coupon for deep-fried butter at next year's CNE. Congratulations!)

Gather around kids and I'll tell you the story of how I met your mother 28 years ago today.

It was November 16, 1984. John Lennon was about to release "Every Man has a Woman Who Loves Him". The 14th Shuttle Mission Discovery 2 was scheduled to land at Kennedy Center. America was mourning the death of trombonist Vic Dickenson. And the landmark films Night of the Comet, Missing in Action, and Nightmare on Elm Street were freshly arriving in theatres.
But the story actually begins a few weeks before with one of my university roommates (you know who you are) telling me about a girl - roommate of his friend - who needed some math help. I said she should call me and I would give her some tutoring. She finally got around to making that call on Thursday November 15th.

A short phone call to set up a tutoring session became a long conversation as I condensed all of my charm and wit into a tiny little ball and squeezed it through the telephone wire (that's right, telephones had wires back then). I liked this girl; mostly because she laughed at everything I said. You see, kids, lasting relationships don't have to start with physical attraction. A voice, a laugh, an ego stroke now and then, and a prolonged dating slump can set the wheels in motion long before you've seen what someone looks like. I know, Daddy's deep.

We ended the call with an appointment to meet tomorrow (Friday the 16th) at the math library after classes. In one last flurry of whimsy, I sealed the date with "I'll be wearing a pink carnation." Ha ha.

That day I could barely concentrate in my classes - my mind wandering to my imminent mystery date / tutoring session; my heart palpitating with anticipation - but I somehow made it through. When classes were finally over, I rushed to the elevators and made my way to the library. The doors opened. And no one was there... (Or maybe I got there after she was already there. Who remembers? It was 28 years ago.)

I scanned the scene outside the library. Who was this algebraic femme fatale? Meanwhile, she would later tell me, she too scanned the scene looking for someone - anyone - with a pink carnation. 

Our eyes finally met. We introduced ourselves. And then we crossed the threshold of the library, books in hand, hearts in throats, ready to talk...math. I remember soft lighting, ambient music, wisps of smoke, and nuanced math exchanges about multiplication, integration, shapes and forms. She remembers me not being very helpful. But she also remembers knowing - KNOWING! - that I was the one she was going to marry.

When it was over, I walked her home, said goodnight, and made my way back to the school to get my bike. We had one more tutoring session before we started calling them dates. And the rest, my sweet daughters, is history.

David Feels a Little Mall-ancholy

I like going to the mall. I like shopping. When I was young, I used to like shopping with my mom and sisters. Now, when I'm less young, I like shopping with my wife and my daughters. I like helping them with their shopping, and I like shopping for myself.

I always thought my dad was weird because he never liked going to the mall as much as I did. Then, when I got older, I thought my male friends were weird because they hated the mall. Then my male work colleagues were that way too. And my brother-in-laws. And then one day when I was at the mall I took a look around and - lo and behold - most of the men who were there didn't seem to be happy about it.

And that's when I realized that the vast majority of men are weird and don't like the mall. Huh.

If I hadn't logged the hours and hours of mall time with my mom, sisters, wife and daughters, I'd have missed so much great stuff. Oh sure, we'd still have the times we spent shooting hoops on the driveway, or passing the day on the dock waiting for the fish to start biting, or the early morning hockey games warming our hands around a cup of Tim's, ... but what of the mall times?

Some of my favourite scenes from the mall:

• Walking across what's now the DVP, and what was then a muddy field, to get to the brand new Fairview Mall - where a mountain covered in diamonds awaited. My mom eagerly buying us a glass of coke as a special treat on every trip.
• And, those times when my Dad was along for the ride, leading us through ridiculous games that made shopping even more fun (like "pricetag bingo").
• My wife spontaneously breaking into hormone-induced tears when she was 9-months pregnant with our first and found out that the sale on the very important baby item we were trying to buy didn't start until (what was then) tomorrow.
• The many, many hours we spent shopping for the girls' clothes, accessories, toys, school supplies, ... and talking about why each item was important to them and how they'd use it. Then patiently waiting while they tried things on and waited for Dad's judgement on how it looked.
• Sitting in a mall restaurant after an afternoon of shopping and telling my two older daughters that we were expecting a third. And the unabashed joy of the moments that followed.
• And the one constant from every mall and every time...the wishing fountain. My Mom reaching into her change purse to give us pennies so we could make our wishes. My older daughters as little girls using my hard-earned change to make their wishes. And this Saturday at the mall, my 3-year-old making her wishes too. (With one of her sisters home for the weekend and at the mall with us, her first wish was that the other sister could be here with her as well.)

I know I'm supposed to hate shopping and - in particular - hate the mall. I don't. It's been my personal experience that being a patient and attentive mall companion has been a big asset in my life-long pursuit of good brother / son / boyfriend / husband / father status. I might as well enjoy the enormous chunks of time I spend there. Right?

Don't Become Emotionally Attached to a Balloon (and other mistakes wecan all learn from)

We all make mistakes: We do or say things that hurt others; we mess something up at work; we slice a finger when we're supposed to be slicing bread; we throw to the wrong base with the game tied in the bottom of the ninth; we buy the wrong kind of milk.

If we're smart, we learn from our mistakes and the mistakes of others and become a little better at navigating our day-to-day as a result. (In fact, I'd say that it's a big mistake not to learn from your mistakes and you shouldn't do that more than once.)

In the spirit of giving back, here are some mistakes that you now never have to make:

• Never buy a bathroom scale as a gift for someone you love. Even if they asked for one.
• Never attend a time-share presentation because of a promised free gift. I don't care what the free gift is, it's not better than the gift of not having ever attended a time-share presentation.
• <This item was removed because it would have been a mistake to include it>
• Don't ever run down a staircase with a low ceiling. And if you're the spouse of someone who is splayed out on the floor after having run down a staircase with a low ceiling, ask them if they need medical attention before you start laughing hysterically.
• Don't ever tell someone that you really, really liked something they cooked for you if you didn't.
• Don't become emotionally attached to a balloon.
• If you have a mother who worries about things, it's not funny to lie down on the icy sidewalk at the bottom of the front-door p and writhe in feigned agony.
• Don't wash giant centipedes down your shower drain. And if you don't want your wife to know that there are spiders in the basement that you're not killing, don't talk about it on Facebook.
• Sometimes the best answer is to pretend you didn't hear the question (like when someone asks you if a dress makes them look heavier, or if Simba's daddy is dead).
• Always re-read your e-mails and blog posts before you send/publish them (see item 3).

I hope these help you. I'd be interested in your list, but I know that nobody ever responds to my posts so I expect nothing. Sniff.

Halloween 2012 - David Loses His Mind Once Again

As some of you know, every Halloween we go a little bit over the top in our decorations. It has become a (now 10 year) tradition to create a Halloween scene in our garage. It takes a bit of work but is always worth it when we hear kids saying things like "Oh! It's THIS house - it's always the best house". Or their parents saying things like "We had to come all the way over here because we never want to miss your house".

This year, after going down the path of doing a cave scene (I was literally in Home Depot a few weeks ago with a cart full of lumber, foam insulation, and insect screen when I stopped and asked myself what the hell I was doing) we ended up with a monster Day Care. Here are the pictures.... (imagine you're here at night, with special-effect lighting, sounds of moans and evil cackles, and eerie music.)

 

Welcome to Devil Day Care...

    

...where you'll find our kids learning their letters...



...taking a stroll...

  



...having a snack...





...or just sitting around.

 

We provide a warm and welcoming environment...





  



   

...with pets...



....and other playthings.

 

 



You'll find our staff is attentive andloving...



...and even our retired staff continue to hang around to spend time with the kids.



Yes, your child belongs with Devil Day Care (but please, no cute bunny suits).



Go Leafs... I mean Raptors... Go!

I wasn't always a basketball fan. Despite having a natural inclination and the physical tools to play basketball, I never did. When the Raptors were born, I was very dismissive about the sport and hadn't ever watched. Then my dad told me that he was a fan and that I should try watching a few games... I did that and quickly got hooked.

Here are the myths that held me back that were quickly dispelled by giving the sport a chance:

• You can watch only the last minute of the game and not miss anything. I now understand that that's kind of like saying you can watch the last 10 minutes of any movie and you haven't missed anything. It's all about the drama, the build-up, the in-game stories...and then - very, very often - a nail-biting conclusion. Not running out the clock. Not playing the trap to preserve a lead. Not taking a knee and letting the time run out...
• NBA players are rich, pampered, ill-behaved, and generally bad people who you wouldn't want your daughters to date. Maybe - but how is that different from the other sports? And...it wouldn't be a complete disaster for my family to get an infusion of height in the gene pool.
• The formula for success in the NBA is ridiculously simple: get one or two star players and you're there. If only that were true (as Miami showed, you probably need three). The really good thing about this is that in any given off-season a team can go from the absolute dregs to having a legitimate playoff shot (particularly in the East). The Maple Leafs, on the other hand, are so deeply mired in (at best) mediocrity - that even I, the eternal optimist, can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

If you are a sports fan and you are not (yet) a basketball fan - watch 5 Raptors games and see what happens. I think you'll realize that you've been missing something. And - thanks to the NHL lockout - you've been granted some extra time to try it out.

Which brings me to tonight - the start of a new Raptors season. I am very, very excited about this year's team. Not because I naively believe that the team is bound for great things this year; but because I believe it's bound for good things. Wouldn't good be great in this barren wasteland we call Toronto's professional sports franchises???

I only know what's been fed to me by the media, which in turn has been fed by the hype that every sports franchise produces before a season starts - but what I (want to) believe is:

• This team is on the rise. There is nascent talent here that in future years may be good enough to compete for championships. In contrast, the current Leafs' talent pool - if it ever realizes its potential - is only good enough to be a playoff team or maybe an overachieving conference finalist.
• There are a lot of likable players on the team. Again, I don't know that. But I like the number of core players who are Europeans and are humbled by the experience of adjusting to a new continent. They don't seem to be the same strutting, entitled American stars around whom other teams are built. There's something Canadian about that.
• Management seems to have a plan and know a thing or two about how to implement it. I like the GM. I like the Coach. I like the emphasis on defense. I like the acquisition of players who fit the team's direction.
• The team got better during the off-season. Even last year, the team was showing signs of real progress. Then in the off-season they weren't idle - and that in itself is incredibly refreshing.
• The competition in the East is pretty thin. It won't take much to make the playoffs this year (as usual) and yes, this is the year where I'd love to see a Toronto team play a playoff game - even if it isn't part of a championship run. (Sorry for ignoring the Argos - that's just the way I roll).

I have hope. In fact, I haven't been this hopeful about a Toronto franchise since - well - the start of the baseball season way back in April.

The Disney Catalogue Through My 3-year-old's Eyes

We've been making our way (back) through the Disney catalogue with the 3-year-old. Believe it or not, we're watching most of the movies on video cassettes left over from the older girls. For what it's worth, here's a somewhat paraphrased set of movie reviews through her eyes:

• Little Mermaid - Good movie. The witch is too scary so I won't ever watch it again.
• Lion King - Is Simba's Daddy DEAD? I don't ever want to watch that again. (Note - Daddy advises me to not watch Bambi either, so I haven't).
• Tarzan - I don't get why baby Tarzan's Mummy and Daddy left him on the island and my Daddy doesn't know either, but still a good movie. Monkeys were too scary, so I'm not sure I'll watch it again.
• Hercules - Saw the picture on the video cover - not interested.
• Peter Pan - The best. Peter is so hot. Why doesn't Tinkerbell ever talk? Hate the crocodile.
• Tinkerbell - Where's Peter? Maybe if I watch it a few more times he'll show up. He's so hot.
• Fox and the Hound - What's a hound? Why doesn't the big dog like the fox? Why are the fox and the little dog friends? Is the big dog dead? Why are the two friends fighting? This movie is way beyond me. Who can watch it when I've got a question that needs answering in every single scene? And the bear is too scary.
• Finding Nemo - Don't really get what happened at the beginning (and again, Daddy doesn't know either). Fun after that.
• The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh - So good. I understood everything; no questions. Filmmaking at its finest. Christopher Robin's kind of hot too. And the bear's name is poo - that never stops being funny.
• Pocahontas - Lot's of questions on this one too. Biggest question - why is Princess Tiger Lily an "Indian" in Peter Pan, but Pocahontas isn't? The John Smith character was pretty 2-dimensional and I found the tree's motivation confusing.
• Tangled - This was my first movie in a theatre. Great hair. Loved the popcorn.
• Brave - Another theatre movie. Went with Daddy and my sisters. Brave's Mummy turns into a bear. My big sister cried and then hugged Mummy when we got home. Does that mean my Mummy is going to turn into a bear?
• Aladdin - Kind of liked it. Aladdin's cute. I want a magic carpet. 
• Jungle Book - Good, but now I'm confused. Are tigers good (Aladdin) or bad (this movie)? Are bears good (this movie) or bad (Fox and the Hound) or both (Brave)? And why do the vultures sound like the Beatles? 

At the time of this writing, we still have many, many Disney movies to go. I know some we haven't watched will be favourites (Beauty and the Beast, for one). But for her, it always comes back to Peter Pan. This girl is very, very, very in love with him. That said, she's dressing as a pirate for Halloween. Go figure.

Making Sense of Rock, Paper, Scissors

Here's the thing: Rock breaks scissors - I get that; scissors cut paper - yes to that too; but paper covers rock? That's where I take issue.

Imagine you're a rock. "Ooh. I'm a rock. I'm so scared that I'm going to get covered by some paper. Not that! No! Don't cover me! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." I'm sorry it just doesn't work.

Rock totally kick paper's ass every time. Rock rips through paper. Rock causes paper to lose its shape and get all crinkled. Rock pins paper down while someone goes to get some matches. See what I mean?

I'm sure this is old news to anyone who's ever lost something important in a rock-paper-scissors match. You've got to think about it when you've just lost your car, right?

What I propose is a re-thinking of the objects used in rock-paper-scissors, and I've got a few suggestions:

1. rock / time / scissors - time erodes rock; rock breaks scissors; scissors are used to kill time by cutting things. Simple change - and the hand symbol for time can be looking at the back of your wrist. What's even better is that the symbol for time looks a lot like the symbol for rock - so imagine the opportunities to cheat and to fight about the outcomes. Now that's fun. (It gives me great delight knowing that you just tried both the symbols for rock and for time to see what I mean. Thank you.)
2. chicken / spiders / David - chickens eat spiders; spiders terrify David; David cooks chicken. I've got the hand symbol for spiders worked out. It's a downward rotation of the five-finger waggling motion that my Sister and Brother-in-law use on the rare times they win a hand in euchre. For chicken, you just make your hand look like a beak. Not sure what the hand symbol for David is yet - and I'm not looking for suggestions.
3. technology / human interaction / nerds - it probably goes without saying, but technology undermines human interaction; human interaction frightens nerds; nerds command technology. Here you use the scissor symbol for technology (scissors are technology, let's remember), the paper symbol for human interaction (you know, like when we used to send each other letters), and the rock symbol for nerds because the bunched up fist represents how frustrated they get when you ask them for their homework, again.

Author's note: I have been called a nerd by my daughters and a few other people. While it's a completely unfounded accusation, I nonetheless use the term 'nerd' with affection and consider others who've been labeled that way to be kindred spirits. I'm sorry if I offended anybody. Human interaction does not frighten me. Spiders do.

Author's note part deux: My Sister and Brother-in-law probably win in euchre quite often. Just not when I'm playing them.

The Three Sleepers (a Parable)

The following is pure fiction. None of the characters are real. The story is in fact derived from a joke that I love. Any resemblance of the sleeping women/girls to either of my older daughters or my wife is strictly a coincidence. The witch in the park is real.

There was once a very happy family - a father, a mother, and three daughters - who lived a very happy life. One fateful day, the family went on a picnic and bought some apples from a withered old lady who had a fruit cart in the park. Little did they know that the old lady was a nasty witch and that the apples were poisoned. The father and the youngest daughter didn't eat the apples, but sadly the mother and the two older daughters did.

After each taking a bite of their poisoned apples, the three women/girls fell immediately into a deep and uninterruptible sleep. They felt no distress and in fact looked to be enjoying a very satisfying and relaxing slumber, but no matter what the remaining two family members did, they could not rouse them. They slept and they slept and they slept. As day turned into night, the father and daughter carried the three sleepers back home and put them gently in their beds.

Once home, they continued to try everything they could think of to awaken their family members: They brought in medical specialists; they brought in herbalists and naturopaths and acupuncturists; and they brought in handsome princes. They made lots of noise, they poked them, they prodded them, they kissed them, and they shook them. They prayed and they cursed and they cried, but nothing worked, and the three sleepers slept on - breathing deeply, looking beautiful and peaceful, but never waking up.

Days passed and then weeks passed. Months passed and then years passed. The three sleepers never woke, nor did they ever age. The father and the youngest daughter gradually lost hope and tried to move on with their lives. They kept their three sleeping kin nearby, though, in comfortable beds with dim lighting and visited them all the time...

The story would end there but for a wondrous miracle. One day, many years later, the father and his (not-so-young) daughter traveled to a distant land and quite by chance came upon the same nasty witch who was then working in a shoe-repair shop. They confronted the witch, and begged her to tell them why she had poisoned their family members and how to break the spell. She happily admitted to the deed, she claimed no reason beyond feeling "rascally", and she told them that to awaken the three sleepers they simply needed to say the words "arise my lovelies".

With tears of joy and frustration streaming down their faces - the answer was so simple after all - the two rushed back to their distant home, ran into their house and sprinted up the stairs to where the rest of their family still slept, as beautiful and young as on that fateful picnic day years ago. The father and daughter stood over the beds, held each other's hands, and solemnly said the words that would break the spell: "Arise my lovelies".

The three sleepers started to stir. Their eyes fluttered. One of them mumbled barely audibly: "What time is it?" The father gently answered: "It's about 9:30, but you've been under a witch's spell and you've all been sleeping for 37 years now."

Another of the sleepers groaned and spoke for the three: "Wow, that's a long time...can you just give us 10 more minutes?" And with that, all three of them rolled over, pulled their covers over their heads, and went back to sleep.

The End.

A Morning's Musings on Matters of Medium (to small) Momentousness

There are big problems in the world. There are little problems in the world.  I feel basically helpless to do much about the big ones, and I feel like I do my part on the small ones that are within my reach. The same is probably true for most people like me.

But give some thought to the medium-sized problems - those that we could be doing something about, but generally overlook. Too small for the true activists (we need them on the big problems anyways) and too big for the lazy. If we really want to fix the world, shouldn't we also be worried about the stuff in the middle?

Here are a few things on my list of medium-sized problems that need fixing (in diminishing order of importance):

• Smoking. I have strong feelings about this (because in my life, this is actually more of a big problem than a medium one) and yet I believe that everyone who smokes today should be left alone to make their own decisions about it. But surely with a little more effort we could ensure that the current generation of smokers is the last?
• Food and Nutrition. See smoking. Just because we haven't yet made a big deal about how fat and salt kill doesn't mean they don't.
• Labour strife. I don't take sides (because I'm not directly involved), so whether there's a strike or a lockout going on I take it as a given that both parties involved are both right and wrong. That's not what I take issue with. It's the process of negotiating a settlement that needs attention. It's not usually negotiating at all...it's bluster, it's bullying and it's all about winning. Take the current situation with the NHL. I firmly believe that both sides in the 'negotiation' could have pretty accurately documented the agreement they will eventually reach long before the lockout started. But it's not about constructively and quickly finding the obvious deal. It's about winning and beating the other side into submission. It's about suffering and making the other side suffer even more. It's about not being weak. We accept that it's just the way these things are, when there's no way it has to be this way.
• Daylight Savings Time. With 'fall back', we gain an hour's sleep. Yay! But with 'spring forward' we lose it. Boo! Yes, it's a small problem, but the solution is so simple I include it here. Move 'spring forward' to the afternoon so we lose an hour's work. Yay!
• Graduation Ceremonies. The blueprint for better grad ceremonies exists. It's just a matter of implementing it.
• Cats. Horrible things. Surely they can be made to be more dog-like with a little genetic manipulation? (I guess you'd call this a pet peeve).
• Children. Where's the loyalty? Where's the respect? Where's the slavish devotion? Surely they can be made to be more dog-like with a little genetic manipulation?
• University Students who like to draw attention to themselves in lecture halls by asking lots of questions that nobody else cares about. You know who you are. Stop it. It's been almost 25 years since I last experienced this, but my daughters' recent complaints have brought it all back.
• People who don't read to the end of my posts. Thankfully, you're not one of them.

Childhood pleasures seemingly gone forever

I'm not that old, but things are moving so fast these days (technologically speaking) that many of my childhood pleasures seem completely obsolete. Sadly, I bet my 17 and 19 year daughters could say the same thing about their own childhood.

Here's some stuff that I loved as kid that seems unimaginable today:

• After waiting a week, opening a package of newly-developed pictures from the camera store
• Bringing the arcade home by making a pinball machine out of wood, nails, elastic bands and a marble
• Coming downstairs Saturday  morning - Mom and Dad still in bed - to watch the only available cartoons of the week
• Finally getting a chance to see a movie on TV, three years after I missed it in the theatre
• The sound of the mail dropping through the slot in our front door, and the anticipation of receiving a letter from a distant friend
• Enjoying a peanut butter and jelly sandwich at school
• Buying treats in the States that you couldn't get in Canada
• The satisfying click of the high-tech cable box while surfing our 13-channel universe
• Talking to EVERYONE about what happened last night on the TV show du jour
• Going to Ontario Place for free
• Playing outside unsupervised until long after sunset
• Being the first on my street with Pong - and later, Mattel handheld electronic football, featuring single-pixel dots as the players.

Of course, I'm not remembering:

• How crappy my pictures were
• How my home-made pinball machine didn't work at all
• How totally awful Saturday morning cartoons were (H.R. Puff n Stuff and the Banana Splits, for example)
• The constant interruption of commercials when watching a TV movie (especially a major one)
• Never getting any mail
• Getting tired of PB&J day after day after day
• That US treats tasted no sweeter than Canadian ones
• That nothing was ever on in our 13-channel universe
• That the TV show du jour had a laugh track
• That there really wasn't that much to do at Ontario Place - until they started adding attractions and charging admission
• That I didn't play outside that often because I far preferred watching TV.

All that said, Pong and Mattel Football are still the greatest electronic games ever.

Reader Mail - Part 1

Today, I thought I'd go to the mail bag and answer some of the questions from my loyal readers:

Reader: Where do you get your ideas for your blog?
David: Funny you should ask. It's usually just a spur of the moment thing, although sometimes I'm struck by an idea in the middle of the night and lie awake for hours composing just the right words in my head. Other times, I open the screen to write a post without any idea whatsoever what I'm going to do. Usually, a gimmick of some sort comes to mind and I just go with it.

Reader: Are you as egocentric as you sound?
David: Yes. Though I think you'd find that face-to-face I hide it well and come across as very caring about others, even to the point of being selfless. At least that's what I think.

Reader: Why do you seem to write more about your youngest daughter than the other two?
David: That's a common misconception. I try to make sure I give them each an equal amount of ink. I just think about her more.

Reader: Sometimes you post things daily. Other times I have to wait a week to hear from you. Are you going to settle into any sort of pattern re: when you write your posts?
David: No. I'll do it when I want and how I want. If you want consistency, eat oatmeal.

Reader: If you're as clever as you think, why do you only have 2 followers?
David: I really see that as a sad reflection on others, not me.

Reader: When are you going to start writing about substantial issues like politics and the economy? It would be interesting to hear your thoughts on things that matter.
David: I distinctly remember writing a post about my favourite movies, and I've done several on sports. I've covered food, family, kidney stones, and bacon. I don't understand the question.

Reader: Aside from commencements, you seem to like everything. You seem way too happy and optimistic. It sickens me.
David: As the old chestnut says: "If you have nothing nice to say then don't say anything at all" (my Mom, "the old chestnut" as I like to call her, raised me well). I believe that's the way to go. So I push all my sad and dark feelings deep down inside and hold them there for as long as I can. Layers and layers of the stuff collect in my kidney over the years and form a perfect, hard little stone. When it gets too big, I simply pass it.

Reader: You can't really be a Leaf fan, can you? You seem like you're too smart for that.
David: Truth is, only the smartest people can be Leaf fans. If I have to explain that to you, then you're obviously not a Leaf fan.

Reader: Can I ask the last question?
David: No.

A Long-Overdue Diary Entry

Dear Diary,

As you remember from my last entry, it used to seem like every time I wrote you the Leafs would lose - so I promised that I wouldn't write again until after the Leafs won the Cup. It's 35 years later (2012) and now I think that they might be losing because I stopped writing to you, so I'm going to break my promise.

This year it's the 20th anniversary of my beloved Leafs almost making the Conference finals. Those were heady days. I was 26 or 27, my first daughter had just been born and had already seen the Blue Jays win the World Series, I was just starting a promising career with IBM, and the Leafs had Doug Gilmour. It seemed like the start of a glorious time to be a Leaf fan. Now it's a lot later and I don't see much chance that the drought will be ending soon - especially because they're not even playing hockey this season (a lockout, again).

So let me change the subject and tell you about other things in my life. My eldest daughter is in third year at University, my second daughter just started her first year at my alma mater, AND I've got a third daughter who's just 3. Yes 3. No, she wasn't an accident. (Why do people always ask me that?)

I'm 47 and still quite fit. My hair might be showing some very early signs of gray around the edges, but I think I still look quite youthful. My youngest sister just turned 50 and she looks like she's in her 30's. You should remember her - she's the one I told you used to trick me into doing things for her by saying I was way better at it than she was.  Oh yeah, you know who she married? That camp counsellor I told you about (the one who used to give me wedgies and throw me around the cabin). The nightmares have stopped now and the analyst says they're probably gone for good because he's back in my life.

My other sisters are also married and happy. I've lost track of how old they are.

I'm married too. I married a girl who I met in University. She's really hot. (I won't say anything else because I think my daughters might one day read what I'm writing here.) Speaking of my daughters, they are absolutely the best and I love them each deeply and equally.

As you can see, I'm running out of stuff to tell you. I guess 35 years isn't as long as I thought it was. But there are a few more quick things I can think of telling you before I go. Remember I had that idea to build a global system of interconnected computer networks (private, public, academic, business, and government) that would serve billions of users worldwide? Well somebody else did it and called it the Internet. Also, somebody else invented deep-fried butter.

That's all diary. I'll write again soon. Thanks for listening.

David

How I Would Fix Commencement / Graduation Ceremonies

I attended my middle daughter's commencement ceremony last night.

When she was born, the attending nurses said "Oh, isn't she beautiful." I said "No, she's misshapen, red, and covered with guck." She later became beautiful, but at that moment she sure wasn't.

My point isn't that last night she was beautiful and I was so proud, and all that stuff. Instead, I'm trying to say that sometimes I think it's more fun to tell the truth about how you feel about something than to say what you know people want you to say.

I hate commencement ceremonies. They aggravate me. They're long, boring, uncomfortable, and they push just about every one of my buttons. I hated my own. I hated my wife's. I hated my sisters'. I hated my eldest daughter's. And about 15 years from now, I will hate my youngest daughter's - unless somebody finally wakes up and radically re-thinks how they work.

(Aside: as commencement ceremonies go, last night's was even longer than I have come to expect. BUT the speeches were far better, the band was far better, the venue was very comfortable and spacious and properly climate-controlled, the parking was adequate, and there was food afterwards. Kudos to those involved for making hell more tolerable).

(Another aside: what a luxury it is to be able to text with my graduating daughter during the ceremony. And I hope I didn't just get her in trouble by revealing we were texting.)

So how would I fix commencement ceremonies? Thanks for asking:

1. Move the ceremony back to June/July when the rite of passage actually happens. In June/July I was very emotional about my daughter graduating. Last night, not so much. Imagine if Olympic Medals were handed out 3 months after the conclusion of the event for which they were awarded.
2. Have the graduates attend a separate ceremony that's just for themselves - where the Mayor and the Trustee and the Principal and whomever else wants the spotlight can all give the kids the benefit of their years of wisdom. I'm not impressed by your years of wisdom people - just bored. But by all means record it so that if somebody is interested in hearing all the drivel, they can.
3. Having dispensed with most of the speeches, do away with the band. Play a recorded version of the processional and recessional. When my kid was still in school, I might have cared to hear the school band and take pride in how well their music lessons were coming along. Three months after my kid's graduated, let's all just move on.
4. The awards. Ah, the awards. Frankly, I don't really care who won what award if it's not my kid; and if it is my kid, then I don't need everybody else to know it and to give them applause. Why do we have to propagate the myth that awards are only meaningful if they come with applause? Give the awards out in a private ceremony. If you want to show an edited film of that ceremony (like they do with technical awards at the Oscars) then I'll concede 2-minutes or so of my time to view it.
5. That leaves the diplomas and the Valedictory address. In other words, the meat of the ceremony. Start the night with the Valedictory address - and like they did last night, let the grads choose a natural entertainer with good grades to do the speech. This will put everybody into a great frame of mind - you know, warm up the crowd.
6. And when it comes to the diplomas, while I'm very happy for all of the graduates and their families. that does not mean I want to sit through the big moment for each one of them. After the Valedictory Address (and maybe the clip from the awards ceremony), do a quick group congratulation and let the grads throw their caps in the air - after a proper countdown so all the parents can be ready with their cameras. Then release everyone into a reception. Set up 20 to 25 different diploma stations and schedule the grads into them in 5 minute intervals. Parents, families and friends go the appropriate station at the appropriate time. Somebody reads the kid's name and their future plans, hands them the paper with cameras flashing, parents hand the kid some flowers and do the requisite posing, and then move off to a designated and well-appointed area for further photos with other grads. Each station can process 12 grads per / hour so we're done in an hour or 2 - and because people can go home after their own kid's appointment, many people are gone long before that. So the parking lot empties gradually, not all at once.

There you go...30 minutes or less in the large group "assembly" - Processional, Valedictorian, Awards Clip, Group Congratulation / Cap-toss, Recessional - then a 90 minute reception, and we're done. Better photos, more meaningful diploma ceremony, and happy parents and kids. Is David making sense, or what?