My Top Moments of 2014

Instead of lamenting the passing of Old Man 2013 and - in obituary-like reverence - cataloging the top accomplishments he takes to his grave, I choose instead to celebrate what could be in 2014.

So here are a few of my Top Moments of 2014:

1. Bacon Found to be a Miracle Food. In 2014, a team of researchers from some University somewhere release compelling new evidence that bacon is a "miracle food" that lowers cholesterol, regulates blood pressure, prevents disease, and eliminates acne. Sadly, it remains unkosher.

2. Toronto Gets a New Mayor. Finally, (finally!) residents of Canada's biggest city get their act together in ousting their scandal-plagued incumbent Mayor and choosing their new one, Pinball Clemons. Within 6 weeks of election, he is already on his way to fulfilling his campaign promise of hugging everyone in the city.

3. Hollywood Apologizes for Delivery Man. A spokesperson for Hollywood explains that the remake never should have happened, given that the source film - Starbuck - was "quite excellent". Furthermore, having decided to film a remake, "Vince Vaughn should not have been cast in the titular role - we should have used Jason Segel instead, and the title of the film should have been given more thought". Finally, the spokesperson explained that "next time, we'll give Americans some credit for being able to read subtitles and leave well enough alone." 

4. The Maple Leafs are Named Toronto's Professional Sports Team of the Year. The Leafs, 2013/2014 Stanley Cup Champions, beat out the other 5 Toronto-based professional teams, all winners of their respective championships during the calendar year.

5. New Legislation Means Discourteous Drivers May Lose Their License. Drivers committing previously unpunishable offenses - like blocking the right-turn lane at a red light, and speeding up to prevent someone from merging into your lane - can now be charged with "being an asshole".

6. 50 is the New 25. What with the health benefits of bacon and all, public health officials release the shocking news that 50-year-olds are basically just entering their youthful prime. In related news, PEOPLE selects "All non-kosher 50-year-old-men" as their 'Sexiest Man Alive' for 2014.

7. Oakville Man and His Dad Share Long-Overdue Activity Day. In one of the most heart-warming news stories of the year, an Oakville man and his London-based father finally make the time to go out together for a day of kite-flying, fishing, and catch.

Note: While I recognize that the above 'moments' aren't all that likely, where's the sport in predicting things that we all know will probably happen? For example, I could have written #2 based on what I actually believe (see below), but where's the fun in that?

2. Toronto Gives Another Term to Incumbent Mayor. In a stunning upset, the underdog incumbent battles back against his mud-slinging opponents, winning over the hearts and minds of a majority of voters with his understated down-home pragmatism and 'high-road' tactics. One voter, explaining the city-wide rush of emotion that sweeps him back to power says "Everybody deserves a zillionth chance."

'Twas the Morning of Boxing Day

(With sincere apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)

'Twas the morning of Boxing Day, when all through the land
The shoppers all lined up, Tim Horton's in hand.
Down side walks and parking lots crusted with ice,
In hopes that the retailers would give their best price.

Their children were there too, dragged from their beds,
With candy hangovers still clouding their heads.
And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my hoodie,
Had just settled in queue, awaiting the booty.

When through the door of the store there arose such a din,
That the folks in the line pushed forward to get in.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Pressed my nose to the glass and pulled out my cash.

The last of the moon on the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a teenaged Store Manager, with eyes full of fear.

He unlocked the door, so lively and quick,
Then dove away from the mob, which was frantic and thick.
More rapid than eagles, in the people all came,
And they whistled, and shouted for door crashers by name!

"Now iPhones! Now iPads! Now, Cameras and Lenses!
And Juicers! Game Consoles! And TV Credenzas!
To the top of the shelf! To the back of the store!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away with some more!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the store-top the buyers all flew,
Seeking ever more stuff, and the Manager too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The stomping and stamping of each shopper's hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the ceiling collapsed and they all hit the ground.

There the Manager lay, amidst ceiling debris,
And his clothes were all tarnished with blood stains and pee.
A pile of smashed goods on his body, unsold,
He looked like a boxer, who had just been knocked cold!

His eyes-how they fluttered as softly he sighed!
His chest barely moving, nose bent to the side!
His droll little mouth with some spittle aflow,
And the pimples on his cheek looking whiter than snow.

The stump of a smart phone lay wedged in his teeth,
And the dust it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook as he convulsed, like a bowlful of jelly!

He was no more than sixteen, an accomplished young elf.
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!
When his eyes finally opened and he lifted his head,
I knew then for sure that he wasn't near dead.


He spoke not a word, as he lay there inert,
With shoppers around him, some also quite hurt.
But laying his finger aside of his nose,
He managed a nod, and finally he rose!

He staggered to his feet, to his staff gave a whistle,
And to him they all came like the down of a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, ‘ere they fled with some wine,
"Good Boxing Day to all! Next year please shop online!"

Faye and Her Planner

Troy started his career in the late 80’s, around the same time as Faye.

Right from the beginning, for Troy, work was everything. When he was just starting out, he always made sure that he worked harder than others around him, worked longer hours than everyone else, and always put the utmost pride in his every task. For Faye, on the other hand, work was a means to an end. She got married young (to the love of her life), started a family early, and took work where she could in order to help pay the bills. She also took great pride in the execution of her various responsibilities (in work and outside of work), but for her a happy life was about surrounding yourself with friends and family and enjoying whatever came each and every day.

Troy’s path merged with Faye’s when he hired her in the late 90’s to be his Personal Assistant.

By this time, Troy was a mid-level mucky-muck in a major company that you’ve probably heard of. Faye was already working there and had built a reputation as a solid Assistant, so Troy felt very fortunate when she became available to him.

Being who he was, and being who she was, theirs was a very cordial, very professional relationship from the day she started working for him. And from day one, whenever Troy called her into his office, or took her to lunch, or (eventually) to his client appointments, she always carried a ragged brown leather day planner with “FAYE” stenciled in small, neat letters on the front.

Whenever Troy asked her for anything, Faye would open up her planner, thumb through the pages, and somehow find the information she needed to be able to get it for him. When he needed to remember something he had said in her presence – ANYTHING he had said in her presence – she’d dutifully search the planner and be able to remind him. When he needed a name, when he needed details about a person he was meeting, when he needed ANYTHING, her planner held all the answers.

Pretty soon, Troy became very dependent on Faye and her planner - and not just within the confines of his business life. When he needed to buy a gift for a loved one; when he needed to fill out medical forms with information about his health, age, weight, and diet; when he needed to recall what he wore at last year’s holiday party – Faye was always able to find the information in her brown leather sidekick.

As time passed, Troy found himself asking Faye not only for information but also for advice: Business advice, relationship advice, what to watch on television, what wine to buy for a party, what colour shoes to buy – Faye became the person he would go to on just about anything. And she’d always thumb through her planner’s pages before answering, as if it held all the secrets of Troy’s life.

Though Troy never caught even a glimpse of the planner’s pages (it never left Faye’s side), he came to rely on the brown leather book as much as he came to rely on Faye. To him, they were his “secret weapon” in work and in life. In fact, as he became busier, as he went from mid-level mucky muck to C-level mucky-muck, with less and less time for warm ‘hellos’ and pleasant exchanges with Faye in the morning and throughout the day, she and the planner almost became one and the same to him. It was as if they were a single business application, a valuable resource, a ‘thing’ that gave him an edge. Faye, the person, really meant little to him; but Faye and her planner, were indispensable assets.

He paid Faye well. He praised her work. He bragged to his colleagues about his secret weapon. And he thanked God every day that he had Faye and her planner on his side.

Until one morning, when he came into the office and found a short and simple resignation letter from Faye tucked under the lamp on his desk. “Time for me to go” was all it said.

As you can imagine, Troy was lost. He tried hard to find her so that he could urge her to come back, but he realized that he basically knew nothing about her. She had moved from the only address he had for her, and he had no other clues that he could use to follow her beyond that. He spent months looking. He missed appointments. He missed birthdays. He never felt prepared for anything.

When he realized that Faye and her planner were really gone, he finally switched his focus to trying to find a replacement for her. He interviewed hundreds of prospects, even hired a few of them, but no one came close to replacing what he had had with Faye and her planner.

A few years later, after having placed want ads in thousands of listings across the continent – ads pleading for Faye (and her planner) to come back to him – one of the ads must have found her. He came into the office one morning, the day of his birthday in fact, and found a neatly wrapped gift resting on his desk. The simple card attached to it said “To Troy. Happy birthday. Here’s my planner. I hope you find what you’re looking for in it.”

He tore open the wrapping paper, grateful to Faye for this final generous act. And sure enough, there sat the ragged brown leather day planner with “FAYE” stenciled on the front.

When he opened its cover, he saw that its pages, from start to finish, were completely blank. And he realized in that moment, with complete clarity, that they always had been. It wasn't the planner that had held all the secrets of Troy’s life, it had always been Faye who did.

Troy sat down in his chair and he cried for what he had lost.

The End.

MORAL (and clever pun, for those who didn't get my joke the other day): It's not Faye's Book that you should treasure; it's the friends with whom you share it that matter.

A Joke

A man went away on a business trip.

After the first day on the trip, he got back to the hotel and called his wife. When she answered, he asked: "How are things at home?"

The troubled voice at the other end of the phone alarmed him:"Well...the truth is that things aren't so good. Billy got in trouble at school today. Right in the middle of class, he stood up and started pantomiming that he was guzzling booze and driving a car. When his teacher told him to sit down, he said 'I'm the Mayor of Toronto and I can do what I want'. When the teacher sent him to the Principal's office for his outburst, he squeezed her backside as he left the classroom."

The man was stunned and said, "That doesn't sound like Billy. Can you put him on the phone please?"

But his wife said, "Wait, there's more. On the way to the Principal's office, he was apparently shouting how the school was out to get him and that he didn't do anything wrong, and when other kids ran out of the other classrooms to see what was going on, he yelled 'I'm the Mayor of Toronto you can't do this to me' and started spewing profanities and threatening them with violence."

"Wow," was all the man could say to that. "Get him on the phone right away I need to deal with this."

"I'm not done yet," she said. "The Principal told me that when he got to her office, Billy pulled a straw out of his pocket, shoved it into the back of his pants, and told her that it was his crack pipe. When she ordered him to sit down, he said 'You can't make me, I'm the Mayor of Toronto' and he started staggering around, ranting gibberish and gesticulating wildly. She finally had to call in the Librarian and the Gym Teacher to subdue him, and then called me at work and asked me to come get him."

"This is horrible," the man said, "I can't believe you had to deal with this while I'm away. What did you do?"

"I went into the school, of course. When I got to the office, Billy was sitting calmly and immediately apologized to me for his behavior. He said that he must have been in some kind of stupor and that he might have done some of the things that his teacher and the Principal said he did, but he couldn't remember. The Principal suspended him for a week and sent us home. When I took his arm to drag him out to the car, he started crying. He cried the whole way home, complaining about how the school was being so unfair to him and that he refused to stay away from school. 'They can't treat the Mayor of Toronto this way, they'll see!'"

"What did you do about all this?" the man asked. "Do you need me to talk to him?"

"Well... you can't, honey. Billy's not home. You see what I haven't told you yet is that he's in the hospital. They're keeping him overnight just to make sure he doesn't have Salmonella."

"Salmonella? Salmonella? What are you talking about? What does that have to do with his behavior?"

With a sob his wife answered, "When we got home, I was so mad at him that I sent him directly up to his room. A few minutes later I heard what sounded like high-pitched screaming. When I threw open his door, he was sitting on the floor eating the cat."

10 Fun Games You Can Play while Lying Awake at 3 AM

I thought I would use this morning's post to share some fun games you can play when you find yourself wide awake at 3 in the morning. Enjoy!

1. Don't Think About That! Start this game by conjuring up the least relaxing thing to think about, then try not to think about it. See how long you can keep it out of your head and then see if you can beat your record.

2. Wrong Number of Toes. In this fun and challenging game, see if you can count your toes without moving them and get a number other than 10. To win, the count has to feel real and - like I said - you have to convince yourself that you're counting the wrong number of toes. (If you've actually got more than 10 toes or fewer than 10 toes, adjust accordingly).

3. Anagram Mania. Pick a word, any word. See how many words you can form using only the letters in that word. Now try to find a different word that can be made into even more words. (E.g. In "insomnia" you can find words like "mansion", "moans", "mason", and "aims" - to name a few.)

4. Total Recall. (A variant of Don't Think About That!) Think about something that happened yesterday that really bugged you. Turn it over in your head again and again and again until you're sure you've hyper-analyzed every detail. Think about what you should have said or done differently. Think about what you will say or do differently next time the same situation arises. Consider what all of the possible implications might be and how they will likely play out. See how long you can keep this up (tip: repeatedly check the clock by your bedside to accurately track your time).

5. Sports Team Snakes and Ladders. Start at the number 1 and work your way up, trying to name each player on your favourite sports team's current roster who wears each sweater number. If you get stuck, slide all the way back to the beginning and start over. If you make it through the entire roster, now do an all-time list.

6. Comfort Zone. Assume a sleeping position. Ask yourself if you're comfortable enough to sleep in that position. See if another position might be more conducive to sleep. Try your back. Try your front. Try your side. Try moving up the bed. Try moving down the bed. Try moving side to side. Try adjusting your pillow, where it's placed, how you're lying on it, and/or how you're holding it. When you find a good position, try not to move while thinking about not moving.

7. Is She (or He) Really Sleeping? (This game is not recommended for those who sleep alone). Listen to the steady, peaceful breathing of your bed partner. Think about all the things she or he did to you during the day that are causing you to lay awake right now. Work up a good level of frustration and then see if you can disrupt her or his sleep without letting on that you're doing so intentionally. See how loud you can sigh. Try the glancing foot graze. Pull the sheets off of her or him. Score a point every time you make her or him mutter unintelligibly or roll over. Score two points if you wake her or him up. Score 5 points if you wake her or him up, cause her or him to make enough noise to seemingly wake you up, and then convince her or him that you're angry at her or him for doing so. When she or he falls back asleep, repeat.

8. Paranormal Activity - the Home Edition. Did your sheet just slide down the bed on its own? What was that creak? Is that really your bed partner lying next to you? If there was a video camera trained on your bed all night, what would it reveal in the morning? See if you can convince yourself that something supernatural is actually going on around you (tip: try doing this just as you're feeling relaxed enough to doze off - the effect can be incredible!)

9. Out of Body. See if you can force yourself into an out-of-body experience. Can you make yourself float to the ceiling of the room and look down on your prone body? Can you leave the house in an ethereal form? Does it count as lying awake if you're out of your body? Once you've mastered this, make sure to leave the television on at night so that your spirit has something to do while it's out.

10. Time Master. Look at the clock and wait for the minute to change. Count the seconds in your head and see if you can predict precisely when the minute changes again. See how accurate you can be. When you get good at doing minutes, try 10-minute increments. Now stop counting and see if you have developed an innate sense of the passage of time. Do this by waiting for a random amount of time without counting, and then guess what time it is. If you get it right, do it again for a longer period.

While many of these games may be challenging at first, practice makes perfect - so stick with it!

Good night.

The Plant in the Shiny Brown Pot (An American Thanksgiving Day Parable)

Once there was a plant.

The plant lived in a shiny brown pot on a glass coffee table in a family room not far from where you live.

The plant had a family of people who cared for it and sat with it on evenings and weekends watching television and playing games. The plant had a few plant friends as well: A cactus on the mantle, an African violet on a side table, and a potted ficus on the floor. They didn't talk much, but they took comfort in each other's company.

The plant's life was orderly and predictable and that's the way it liked it.

That's not to say that every day was exactly the same. There were times when a family member would spend an unexpected day at home, lying on the couch under a blanket. And other times when somebody would forget to open the blinds in the morning, shutting out the daylight longer than the plant wanted. And there were weeks when everybody would just stay home. And other weeks where no one would be around except a stranger who would come in once a day to care for the plants. But on the whole, things went as they should.

The plant's favourite time of day was late afternoon. That's when the family would one-by-one return home, the sun would be shining into the family room at just the right angle, and the plant would be given a cool, refreshing drink of water. The other plants never talked about it, but the plant knew they loved the late afternoon too; there was an air of contentment that would descend on the family room each day at that time.

Once a month, cleaning people would come into the house when the rest of the family was out. They'd dust the coffee table and the side table, wipe the mantle, and vacuum the floor. It was an exciting day for all of the plants because the cleaning people would move them to the side for a few minutes while they cleaned the surface they usually occupied, and then carefully move them back to where they were. Sometimes, they would even wipe their leaves and their pots.

One day the house exploded and the plant was lifted high into the sky on a wave of blistering heat.

In the few moments that its flight lasted, the plant saw many houses and cars and people it had never seen before, a distant forest, a park, a glass house full of other plants, and a vast sky that stretched over everything. It was scared, but it was also exhilarated to discover so much of the world around it.

Alas, the brief flight came to a painful end, the plant's pot shattered, all but a small portion of its precious soil was lost, and the plant lay on its side, cushioned only by a carpet of brown grass and fallen leaves and the soil beneath it. None of its plant friends were anywhere to be seen.

Then it started to lightly snow.

As the plant lay there, it was surprisingly content. It thought about all the days that the house had not exploded. It thought about the family who had cared for it for so long and the comfort of the other plants' silent companionship. It thought about how shiny its pot had been. It thought about the joy of late afternoons, the cool refreshing water it had so enjoyed, and the occasional tender cleansing wipe it received.  And it thought about how lucky it had been to see so much of the world, even if it was only for a moment. It quietly gave thanks for all of those things, and for having landed in such a nice place.

The End.

(Epilogue: Authorities would later determine that the house exploded because one of the cleaning people had accidentally turned on the gas stove while cleaning it and hadn't noticed the resulting leak. Fortunately, they had safely finished their cleaning and left the house before the explosion. The family was also spared because the explosion happened before they returned home for the day. Their insurance enabled them to quickly relocate and get back on their feet. They bought an electric stove for their new house and did all their own cleaning. Their prized houseplants were never recovered, so they bought some new ones).  

Take My Hyper-Competitiveness (h-c) Gene Test

For those of you who know me and the rest of my family (my children, my sisters, my parents), you might be surprised to hear that we are the most competitive family ever. Bar none. Unbeaten, unrivalled, unchallenged. The Gold Medal winners.

While you might expect that hyper-competitiveness tendencies are somehow tied to participation in sports, in this case we're talking about a family that is virtually devoid of anything resembling athletic prowess.

I have no doubt that the h-c gene comes from my father's side and has been passed on to my children through me: My wife and my mother don't exhibit this trait, or at least it's so muted in them that it's virtually undetectable when they're around the rest of us. I think all three of my sisters got it (but to be fair, I'm not sure about one of them - only she and her family can comment on that.)

Now, rather than continue on and try to convince you that we're the most hyper-competitive people in the universe, I instead offer you the following h-c gene test. Do you or your loved ones carry it? Can you beat my family's high score? Go ahead and try:

1. When you aren't getting good dice rolls in Risk and it seems like that's all your opponent is getting, do you:

a) Not even notice?

b) Chuckle about your bad luck and keep hoping for better?

c) Carefully explain that you are actually winning because you are following the better strategy, even if the dice are doing their best to conspire against you?

d) "Accidentally" bump the board so that the pieces are irreparably misplaced and the game must end?

e) Carefully slide your fingers under the board, flip it in the air, shout obscenities and stomp off?

f) Nobody plays Risk with me anymore because they know they can't beat me (although they'd tell you it's because of c), d), or e) above) 

2. As a parent, when you are playing a game with one or more of your children, do you:

a) Choose games that are age-appropriate, then make sure that your children experience a happy balance of winning and losing so they learn that both are okay?

b) Put an honest effort into every game you play so that your children learn that it's okay to lose if that's what happens (and it usually does) and that it feels great to win (if and when that ever happens, which it doesn't)?

c) Put an honest effort into every game you play so that your children learn that it's okay to lose, and then celebrate your victories by stabbing your index finger at them while shouting "in your face" repeatedly?

d) Cheat, if you have to, to win?

e) Win constantly, until the first time you lose (e.g. at Ping Pong), then immediately announce that you're now too old to play the game (e.g. Ping Pong) anymore and never play again?

f) None of my children will play games with me anymore because they know they can't beat me (although they'd tell you it's because of c), d), or e) above).

3. When your favourite sports team is in the midst of screwing up the game you're watching, do you:

a) Feel mildly disappointed, but think "We'll get 'em next time guys...way to go"?

b) Without waiting for the inevitable conclusion of the game, change the channel, go outside for a walk, go to bed, or otherwise remove yourself from the situation before you yell at someone who doesn't deserve it?

c) Yell at your spouse and/or kids if they happen to ask you how it's going, then find another way to justify your behaviour without admitting that it's just the frustration related to your team's failure?

d) Yell in fury at the screen, spouting profanity even if young children are present?

e) Throw things, including a tantrum?

f) I don't really have a favourite sports team anymore. And I won't until my former favourite sports team is competitive again, or my Doctor says it okay. 

4. When you and your spouse partner up to play Euchre against superior opponents (e.g. your brother and sister-in-law), and you're in the midst of a lengthy losing streak stretching back to a game you won only because you had 2 loner-hands that "coincidentally" appeared on both of your deals, do you:

a) Enjoy the game and the company, not worrying about inevitably extending the losing streak? ("We all win when we're having fun!")

b) Celebrate small moments during the game (like coming close to euchring your superior opponents, or almost getting a chance to call trump) and find solace in moral victories?

c) Inadvertently reveal what's in every hand you're dealt because you can't hide your growing anger at how bad your cards continue to be, or (very occasionally) your glee when they're good?

d) Blame the cards. I mean, actually accuse the cards - out loud - of choosing to be bad just for you and no one else.

e) When your fatigued opponents try to end the game so they can sleep at last, say in your best Clint Eastwood voice: "Nobody leaves until I get some f***ing cards"?

f) I don't play Euchre because it's mostly a game of luck and I'm the kind of person who would win every game if it was about strategy, but when there's luck involved it always seems to conspire against me. 

Scoring the Quiz

Give yourself 0 points for any a) answer, 1 point for any b) answer, 2 points for any c) answer, and so on up to e). For each f) answer, give yourself 1,000 points.

0-2                 You do not carry the h-c gene.
3-5                 The h-c gene is present, but you are a big enough person to suppress its impact.
5-16               The h-c gene is dominating your behaviour in unhealthy ways. Seek help.
1,000+           Thanks for taking the time to read my blog Daddy.

Sombre Thoughts on Remembrance Day

I am lucky to live where I live and when I live.

I read about war. I watch war movies. I see images of war on the news, involving other places and other people. But in my lifetime, so far, I don't have a personal connection to war. And I smugly assume that I never will.

I can't fathom the courage that it took - it takes - for people to go to war, fighting for something that they believe in. People fought for me to have a place and time where I can live a lifetime without a personal connection to war. The peaceful bubble that I live in is the realization of their dreams for their descendants. I am the tree that grew because years ago they planted a seed they knew they wouldn't see grow in their lifetime.

And here are the problems that weigh me down, decades later:

• My leg is still hurting after running my half marathon a week ago.
• The Leafs lost to the Bruins.
• I still haven't found time to get my flu shot.
• My car needs new tires and brakes.
• And so on.

I live in a generation of weakness, selfishness, pettiness, and entitlement. We walk past people on the street as if they've chosen to be where they are. We read about people suffering and dying around the world, and maybe we send them a little something. We wave our fists at the guy who cut us off turning into the mall. We fly into a rage when the cable companies or the phone companies overcharge us.

And once a year, we are asked to take a few minutes and remember the people who gave their lives so we could have it this way. But I don't remember any of these people and their names mean nothing to me. I am asked to remember people I never knew. I feel obliged to try, but there's nothing emotional to draw on.

So maybe, for me, the best I can do is to Realize rather than to Remember: To spend a few minutes today thinking about the price that others paid so that I can feel "lucky" to live where I live when I live. To Realize that almost nothing about the fact that I am here, living a great life, is a result of anything I've done. To Realize that I am standing on the actions and decisions and sacrifices of people I will never know. To Realize that it is wrong to behave as if the world owes this to me.

In his introduction to "A Short History of Nearly Everything" Bill Bryson says:

Welcome. And congratulations. I am delighted that you could make it. Getting here wasn't easy, I know. In fact, I suspect it was a little tougher than you realize.
...  

Not only have you been lucky enough to be attached since time immemorial to a favored evolutionary line, but you have also been extremely-make that miraculously-fortunate in your personal ancestry. Consider the fact that for 3.8 billion years, a period of time older than the Earth's mountains and rivers and oceans, every one of your forebears on both sides has been attractive enough to find a mate, healthy enough to reproduce, and sufficiently blessed by fate and circumstances to live long enough to do so. Not one of your pertinent ancestors was squashed, devoured, drowned, starved, stranded, stuck fast, untimely wounded, or otherwise deflected from its life's quest of delivering a tiny charge of genetic material to the right partner at the right moment in order to perpetuate the only possible sequence of hereditary combinations that could result-eventually, astoundingly, and all too briefly-in you.

When I first read the book, those words blew me away. Talk about a profound Realization.

And later, those same words led me to the obvious, but not-so-obvious Realization that if I could travel back to any point in time, there would be at least one of my ancestors alive with whom I could sit down and have a tea and chat (or whatever the time, place, and species equivalent would be).

What would they think of me living in a place and at a time that so closely resembles the dreams they had for me? What would they think of me? Am I worthy of the sacrifices they made?

Not yet.

Time, once again, to try harder...

A Father and Child Discuss the News

A Father and Child discussing the news over breakfast...

C: "Daddy, what's crack?"

F: "Crack is a kind of cocaine."

C: "Daddy, what's cocaine?"

F: "Cocaine is an illegal drug that some grownups use because it makes them feel good."

C: "Does illegal mean that it's against the law, and if you use it you will go to jail?"

F: "Well...yes. But only if you get caught and the police decide that it's the right thing to do to send you to jail. Like if you do it a lot, or if you were doing something else bad when you were caught."

C: "Was our Mayor caught using crack?"

F: "Well...sort of. There's a movie that the police found where it looks like he might be using crack. And the Mayor said that the movie does show him using crack. So yes, I guess he was caught."

C: "So he should go to jail, right?"

F: "Well...no. You see, the Mayor says he was very, very drunk when he used the crack. In fact, he was in a drunken stupor."

C: "What's a 'drunk and stupid'?"

F: (Mussing his child's hair and chuckling with paternal affection) "I said 'drunken stupor' not 'drunk and stupid'. A drunken stupor is when a grownup gets very, very drunk and does stupid things."

C: "Like using crack?"

F: "Exactly."

C: "And what is drunk?"

F: "Drunk is when a grownup has too much alcohol and loses control and responsibility."

C: "So it's okay that the Mayor was caught using crack because he was in a drunken stupor?"

F: "Yes."

C: "And that's why he's not going to jail?"

F: "Yes. Well...sort of. He's not going to jail because it was all a mistake."

C: "He was drunk and stupid by mistake and then used crack and even though he was caught, it's okay?"

F: "Well it's not okay, but the Mayor is a very important man who does lots of good things for the city and he didn't really hurt anyone and he says he will never ever do it again so it's kind of okay."

C: "But I thought he said some mean things about people when he was in a drunken stupor using crack. And you told me that sometimes words can hurt people a lot."

F: "That's true."

C: (Long pause) "So the Mayor should go to jail, right?"

F: "No, because the Mayor said that it was a mistake and that he is very, very sorry."

C: "And that makes it okay?"

F: "Yes."

C: "How do we know he's sorry?"

F: "Because the Mayor said he's sorry, and Mayors don't lie."

C: "But I thought that before he said he did use crack, he said that he never used crack. Isn't that a lie? Or did the Mayor say he was sorry for lying too, so it's okay?"

F: "The lying was part of the mistake so I guess he sort of said sorry for that too."

C: "And he wasn't lying when he said sorry."

F: "Right."

C: (Longer pause) "Daddy, have you ever used crack when you were in a drunken stupor and then said mean things about people and then lied about it by mistake?"

F: "No, because I would never do something bad like that."

C: "But the Mayor did, and that's okay."

F: "Yes."

C: "Oh."

A Parable: The People's King

A Kingdom, years ago and far, far away, found itself without a King (for reasons too obscure and unimportant to explain) and after years of bitter debate and innumerable impasses, its Senior Council conceded defeat and unanimously decided that the People would have to choose their next ruler.

Many candidates emerged and made their case to the People, arguing why they would make a good King (or Queen) - but they all sounded too much like past Kings and Council Members, and the People wanted change. The People liked the idea of choosing their own ruler and wanted someone who spoke for them, who wanted what they wanted, who represented the Common Folk and would remain Common even with a Crown perched on his or her head.

Finally a Common Man came forward and said "If someone must wear the Crown, let it be me. I'm as Common as they come, I know what the Common Folk want, and I will change the Kingdom to reflect the spirit of the People."

Finally the People had found their man and with One Voice they proclaimed him King.

True to his word, the new King didn't behave like other Kings and didn't turn his back on the People. In fact, he became even more endearing to the Common Man as he made change after change as he had promised. Some of the Senior Councillors tried to stop him when they felt he was going too far, but others understood in which direction the winds of popular opinion blew, and put their own misgivings aside to support the new King.

The People loved their King. Many Councillors supported him. And the King ruled for many years.

During his reign, the King - being a Common Man - occasionally got caught breaking the rules, behaving immorally, and even treating others unfairly. But such was the love of the People for their King, that each new report only strengthened their affection: "He's one of us - warts and all."

But there came a time when the Senior Councillors had had enough of the un-kingly behaviour, and some of them began to speak out: "He is the face of our Land and he is shaming us." Others joined the wave of criticism - Philosophers, Chroniclers, Historians, and Moralists added their voices - and soon the quiet dissent became a vocal outcry. Evidence of wrong-doings was gathered and presented in Public Forums. (Note: spellcheck doesn't like the word "fora" so I've gone with the wrong word in the spirit of speaking for the common people).

The King shrugged his shoulders and said: "I am who I am. I am imperfect. And that's why I was chosen by the People." And then, just to be sure, he surrounded himself with Local Toughs who pressured the Philosophers, Chroniclers, Historians, Moralists and Dissenting Councillors to stop causing trouble. Those who didn't stop, were vilified, bullied, and ultimately exiled from the land.

Finally, the King was caught doing something that everyone knew could not be tolerated. There was no doubt anymore that the King's reign should end. His loyal Councillors joined the ranks of those calling for his removal. His Toughs fell under heavy scrutiny and disappeared into the shadows. Until finally - with the exception of some members of his family and a few of the People - the King found himself alone.

Confronting the bitter truth, the King spoke to the People, saying "I am sorry that I let you down. I tried to be the King you wanted. I was imperfect, as you always knew. But you deserve a better Ruler."

And with that, he exiled everyone from the Kingdom so they could have a better King elsewhere.

He ruled the more-or-less empty Kingdom for years more, until he tripped over an anvil and broke his collarbone.

The End.

Halloween 2013 - Your Bedroom's a Hellhole!

For Halloween 2013, I was inspired to turn my garage into a warm and comfortable child's bedroom with the unfortunate and uninvited addition of one standard-issue hell mouth.

 

----

 

Imagine it's Halloween and you've gone to sleep after a satisfying night of trick-or-treating. Around midnight, your clock radio suddenly turns on... as does your bedside lamp, now flickering. Is that the sound of something moving behind your walls, straining to get out?

 

Covered in goose bumps, you pull your pillow over your head. But that doesn't stop you from hearing your horrid wallpaper being ripped open (from the inside), skittering insects crossing your floor, and a moan of pure evil.

 

In a moment of foolish bravery, you hazard a peek and see a hell mouth has opened in the corner, oozing hot lava and filling your bedroom with a fiery glow, wispy smoke, and hosts of creepy crawlies. Is that something under your bed? Is that something on your bed? 

 

Up comes the pillow once more. In shock and fear you try to wake yourself up. Is this a dream? It has to be a dream? Wake up! Wake up!

 

 



----

Well, that's what I was going for.

The neighbours loved it. We had people driving up and letting their kids out just so they could see our house (and take our candy, of course). The biggest compliment I got was on the hell mouth itself. Nobody - including the sister with whom I grew up - believed that I built it from scratch.

And despite all of my work, the last minute addition of a jumping spider was the biggest hit. As I mentioned on Facebook, it scared a Boxer out of his wits. Another canine visitor - this one more like a small horse than a big dog - arched his back and nearly jumped over the fence to take on the spider. But it was the teenagers who were the most impressed. One 14 year old boy said: "You scared a 14-year old boy. Congratulations". Another teen said "I'm so happy people still do this kind of stuff. Thank you so much" (like he was hearkening back to the good old days - when he was 9 - and life was so much simpler).

(In case you're wondering about the spider...in front of the garage door was a mat for people to stand on as they looked in. The trigger for the spider was under the mat. For some, the sudden jump of the spider was a complete shock. Other, more savvy trick-or-treaters knew there was a trigger under the mat but thought - for sure - that it would make the person in the bed rise up. So they were looking to their right when suddenly a spider lurched at them from their left. Got them too.)


  






Much fun was had by all. Thanks for all of your great suggestions for this year's garage theme...I used none of them, but was inspired by...none of them. Better luck next year. And thanks for all the help from my wife and three daughters. I couldn't have done it without you. (My youngest positioned the cat, my wife otherwise kept her out of my hair, and the older two daughters encouraged me from afar - so yes, I was being sarcastic).

The Ten Reasons it Was Brilliant to Start All Over Again with a Third Child

Since the birth of our 3rd daughter after a 14 year hiatus in daughter-making, the question my wife and I get most frequently is probably "Are you crazy???!!?!?!" (The second most common question is "You're crazy, right?") (And, as an aside, I will add that last week I got the following question from two different people: "You have a 20 year-old? How is that even possible?")

Four-and-a-half years after the fact, I can tell you now that no, we were not crazy. And to prove it, I now offer you the...

IN-RETROSPECT, TEN REASONS IT WAS BRILLIANT TO START ALL OVER AGAIN WITH A THIRD CHILD.

10. It's really nice to meet new people my age at my daughter's school when dropping off or picking up the little ones (I mean the grandparents, of course).

9. It deeply saddens me to see the empty houses of the people my age who no longer have children at home (the houses are empty, of course,  because those people are off in Europe, or on Cruises, or at Mardi Gras, or spending the weekend in New York, or sipping martinis out back in their Jacuzzi, etc. etc.)

8. Having the little one at home is like having my own personal sunbeam that lights up my life every day. Those words are from my own Grade 1 report card, but they still resonate all these years later. Thanks Mrs. McLeod!

7. On Halloween, I'm not the creepy old guy who goes over the top decorating his house every year for some creepy reason; I'm the cool Dad who goes the extra mile to bring joy to his little daughter.

6. It's nice to have someone in my life again who believes I'm all-knowing, all-seeing, tall, strong, and just generally perfect in every way. I'm going to really enjoy the last few months of that.

5. Somehow, in my first pass at parenthood, I missed "I Lost My Bear" by Jules Feiffer. Best. Book. Ever.

4. If I didn't have a young one again, I might never have seen all of the amazing sequels to the Disney Classics. Would my life have been complete without the opportunity to cuddle up with a four-year-old and watch Bambi II, Cinderella III: A Twist in Time, Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp's Adventure, and 101 Dalmatians II: Patch's London Adventure? (By the way, we have not watched any of these and don't plan to. That's why I italicized "the opportunity").

3. Nothing in the world is better than the 15 minutes at bedtime spent reading story books and singing lullabies. Now I don't have to do it alone any more.

2. A walk at dusk can be a) old people exercising in the only way they still can, or b) a Dad and a daughter out on a Hundred Acre Woods adventure. I much prefer the latter.

1. When we have a fourth child, he will have three great big sisters just like his Dad.

October is "My Phone is Just a Phone" Month

Imagine for a moment that you woke up today to discover that all of the smart phones on the planet had suddenly and permanently stopped working. We still had (ordinary, not-smart) phones and computers and televisions and portable music devices and portable gaming devices and calculators and flashlights and wallets and maps and books and newspapers...just no more all-in-one smart phones.

Now ask yourself what would be wrong with that.

(I'll give you a moment for quiet contemplation - "the Girl from Ipanema" playing in the background while you think...)

Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, each one she passes goes - ah
When she walks, she's like a samba that swings so cool and sways so gentle
That when she passes, each one she passes goes - ooh
(Ooh) But I watch her so sadly, how can I tell her I love her
Yes I would give my heart gladly,
But each day, when she walks to the sea
She looks straight ahead, not at me
Tall, and tan, and young, and lovely, the girl from Ipanema goes walking
And when she passes, I smile - but she doesn't see (doesn't see)
(She just doesn't see, she never sees me...) 

OK. What did you come up with? Me...I'm having trouble seeing how my world would be worse without smart phones. A little less convenient, yes. But worse?

Now, how would my world be better?

• Drivers would once again be focused on driving their cars, and they'd be fully attuned to their surroundings.
• Pedestrians would once again walk down the street with their eyes looking forward.
• Restaurants would once again be the scene of many happy people enjoying each other's company, talking, laughing, and looking at each other.
• People wouldn't be equipped to play photo journalist, expert commentator, or celebrity unless they'd earned the right to do so.

And how would I be better?

• When out for a walk, or at a movie, or relaxing in front of the TV, my phone might not be in my hand quietly whispering "play with me".
• When my young daughter asks me a question, like "why is grass green?" I would be forced to be a Dad and a human being - giving her an answer based on what I know or don't know - rather than being a clerk who is really good at looking things up.
• When a precious moment happens, I might commit it to memory instead of digitizing it and instantly sending it out for public consumption.

On our recent trip to Mexico, we all left our phones at home (metaphorically, not actually). My wife carried a camera. That was it. And I can't remember a moment where I regretted it. Even sitting on a 2.5 hour bus ride to Chichen Itza with "nothing to do", we instead sang songs (quietly), drew pictures, read books and played games like "20 Questions" (well, those of us who didn't sleep for 2.5 hours did those things).

Again, I'm only talking about smart phones. Lose them and the world becomes a better place again. They're not guns (or they're not guns yet). They're just devices that we adopted for convenience and coolness, which are having serious consequences - car accidents, tuned-out kids, ruined lives - because we're not using them responsibly, and can't use them responsibly. Too seductive. Too powerful. Too ubiquitous.

I got my phone as a work device, for phone calls and e-mail when I'm working, but not in the office. I'm going to use it for just that for all of October and see what happens.

Donnie Booth's Tooth

The following is inspired - obviously - by "There Was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly" and - less obviously - by a good friend of mine who snapped a toothpick when trying to free some wedged-in dental floss from his teeth.

I dedicate it to everyone who has ever experienced that sinking feeling when you hear your dental floss rip.

Donnie Booth's Tooth

A boy of eleven called Donnie Booth,
Had a kernel of corn lodged in his tooth.

He went to the pantry for floss just then,
To loosen the corn and take it out again.

But the space was tight and the floss was wide, 
And a piece ripped off and stayed inside.

With a toothpick, next, pushed there and here,
He tried to force the floss strand clear.

(The floss that stuck beneath the corn
Causing Donnie grief that early morn.)

But the toothpick snapped and half got lost,
Behind the kernel and the piece of floss.

Out came some tweezers with which Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent.

(From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn
Making Donnie's mood somewhat forlorn.)

But the tweezers slipped off Donnie's thumb,
And one tweeze got wedged between tooth and gum.

So next young Don tried pliers to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease.

(They'd gotten there when Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried,
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Making Donnie wish he'd not been born.)

But just as the pliers got fastened on,
Their handle cracked on poor, young Don.

"I'll saw them off" thought Don with care,
About the broken pliers now hanging there.

(The ones he'd used to try to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease;

That had gotten there when Donnie meant
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Now long forgotten that fateful morn.)

But as Donnie tried to aim the saw,
He trapped its handle against his jaw.

At last Don knew he needed aid,
And called his Dad to free the blade

(The blade of the saw trapped near his face,
When cutting the pliers from their place;

The pliers he'd used to try to tease,
The tweezers from out his gums with ease;

That had gotten there when Donnie meant,
To grab the wood all splintered and bent;

From the half a toothpick with which he'd tried,
To free the floss from his mouth's inside;

The floss that stuck beneath the corn,
Since hours before, that early morn.)

AND his Dad succeeded in freeing the saw!
AND when out it came, so came it all!
The pliers and tweezers and pick and floss,
Without another moment's loss.
AND finally the corn, there from the first,
POPPED OUT on its own with a tiny burst.

So young Don Booth, now free for lunch,
Took another cob and began to munch...

(Knowing his Dad was there, if he needed him,
To pull out a saw should things turn grim;

If the saw got wedged in any way,
When trying to cut some pliers away;

If those pliers snapped when trying to tease,
Some tweezers out from whence they'd squeezed;

If the tweezers were jammed into a space,
When aimed at wood stuck deep in place;

If wood had splintered off a pick,
When digging at floss, shredded thick;

If the floss had ripped,
when sliding free,

A new piece
of corn...

...or 2or 3).

Making Amends

For some of us, it's that time of year where we make a point of reflecting on the good and bad we've done during the year and - where necessary - apologize for the bad. Here I go:

To the British Guy in Mexico

Sorry to the British guy sitting in front of me on our tour bus in Mexico. It might have appeared to you that the 30-minute long, unsuccessfully muted hysterics coming from my middle child and me that started at the same time as the obviously painful collision between your head and the luggage rack (and your subsequent very proper upper-crust British-accented muttering to your wife about the resulting pain) were related. Not so. We were laughing at something else entirely. But I am sorry if you thought otherwise.

To Sports Fans Who Read My Blog

When I wrote optimistic pre-season reports on the Raptors and Jays, I may have inadvertently caused some of you to share in my annual rite of self-delusion. I'm sorry for that. To make amends, I won't give you a heads up re: what could be a championship season for the Leafs. (Nay, likely will be a championship season for the Leafs. In the bag.)

To My Wife

Sorry about the spiders. Sorry that I continue to fail to buy you gifts that you like on the first try. Sorry that I write things that directly or indirectly refer to you in my Facebook and Blog posts and then don't have the courage to tell you to read them. Sorry that I'm not serious about apologizing for any of these things (including this last one).

To My Two Older Daughters

When you were little, cameras weren't as ubiquitous as they are today. There wasn't Facebook. I didn't Blog. So it may seem like I make a much bigger deal out of your little sister's childhood years than I did with yours. I'm sorry I didn't chronicle every detail of your early years. You two were also cute and clever and many of your amazing moments have been lost in the annals of time. If it's any consolation, your little sister didn't get to live through the Spice Girls years.

To My Youngest Daughter

I'm sorry that I make your older sisters so jealous and that they take it out on you. I think I may have fixed it above. If it doesn't help, let me know if they try anything. I've got your back. You know how much daddy loves you.

To Cats

You know who you are. I'm sorry you suck.

To the Readers of this Post

I'm sorry that this post isn't very good and I wasted your time just now. I just wrote it because I wanted an excuse to tell you about the British Guy banging his head. Man that was funny. I haven't laughed like that in months.

The funny thing is that it's usually my lovely wife who loses it when she sees someone hurt himself or herself. She's done it to me - laughing uncontrollably when instead she should be taking steps to save my life. And I've called her on it many times, scolding her self-righteously when she laughs - for example - at her daughters stubbing their toes, flipping over their feet, or whacking their elbows on the furniture.

So when British Guy had his encounter with the luggage rack and I lost it, I felt like Mary Tyler Moore at the Chuckles the Clown funeral.

Anyways, I apologize.

The Giving Girl (a Birthday Story)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The Outlet Mall mentioned did open recently, but the author wisely stayed away.

Not that many years ago, on this very day, a beautiful young girl came into the world with an amazing and unique talent for giving.

Even as a small child, the girl always thought of others before herself. When playing with her dolls or blocks, she would happily push the toys toward any other child who entered the room. During lunch at school, she would always scan the room for other children with less to eat than her, and offer to share what she had. When waiting in line, she would gladly step aside to let others go ahead of her (except in vaccination lines, where she would bravely go first).

As she grew, her innate generosity endeared her to everyone she met. Her family loved her dearly of course, because that's the way it always is with families, but so too did everyone else upon whom her constant attention to needs and wants was devoted. This deep connection with so many others and the delight she always felt in giving to them, cost her every spare moment of her day - a price she paid without any misgiving.

As a young woman, she met a wonderful young man and they married. Her devotion to him meant she had a little bit less to give to others, but she was happy nonetheless. They soon had 3 beautiful daughters upon whom they could both dotingly bestow their time, energy and love, and they probably would have lived happily ever after if it weren't for one small problem that dogged their marriage from the beginning: The giving girl (now woman) was tough to buy gifts for.

In stark contrast to the joy she felt in the act of giving, she was simply unable to feel good when others gave to her. This was mildly annoying to all of her bountiful friends and family, but for her husband it was a real problem. Through the years, he grew increasingly frustrated with the litany of excuses that prevented him from feeling the same joy in giving to her that she felt in giving to him and to others: "You spent too much"; "I don't deserve it"; "My skin reacts badly to anything but 925 silver"; and so on.

He knew, though, that somewhere there was the perfect gift waiting to be found - a gift so wonderful and inexpensive that his dear wife couldn't help but love it. And so he tried, year after year, to find it. At first, the quest was fun, but it soon became a dark and dangerous obsession.

One year, as the otherwise happy couple neared their 25th anniversary (and just days before the woman's birthday), a new Outlet Mall opened near their fair city . Amidst the insane crowds that flocked to the mall that opening week, one wild-eyed, bedraggled and seemingly possessed shopper stood out: Pushing his way from store to store, muttering to himself, twitching from head to toe, and casting his eyes this way and that in a frenzied search for that perfect gift. Other shoppers carefully avoided him until finally, in a seemingly endless line-up at the Coach Outlet, he collapsed and was rushed to a local hospital.

Sadly, what first simply seemed to be exhaustion, turned out to be much more serious as he slipped into a deep and abiding sleep from which the doctors soon held out little hope that he would ever awaken. His family gathered at his bedside, and day and night they prayed he would awaken. And of course, more than any other, his loving wife was by his side through it all, crying incessant tears, wondering what she might have done differently to prevent this seemingly terrible end; what more she could have given.

After months of vigil, one night she found herself alone in the hospital, her head on her husband's chest, completely and utterly spent. With her eyes clear of tears for the first time in months, she noticed that his left hand was clenched around a crumpled bit of paper. Prying his hand open, she pulled out what seemed to be a shopping list. As she scanned the list, she realized that it contained ideas for her birthday (now months past) and with stark and sudden clarity, she knew what had led to her husband's collapse.

She was beside herself (and him still). She knelt with her elbows on the hospital bed and made a heart-felt plea for something that, for the first time in her life, was what SHE wanted for herself: a second chance. Maybe coincidentally, but probably in response to her plea, the love of her life awoke at that very moment and in doing so was able to finally, finally, give her the perfect gift.

They left the hospital later that day, arm in arm, hand in hand (which is tough to do when you're also arm in arm), chatting about how all they ever wanted was each other's happiness. He gave her a kiss and she happily accepted it.

On her next birthday, he bought her a briefcase with a bunch of fun office stuff in it. She said she'd keep the office stuff but didn't need the briefcase. In a crazed and therapeutic fit of writing, he created a short-story about his misadventures, and upon its completion returned the briefcase and used the refund to buy himself a hooker.

The End.

Concepts for New Fall Shows

Remember when September used to mean something in the TV universe? Pilots of over-hyped new shows...the return of beloved and well-established shows...the resolution of months-long cliff-hangers...

These days, sadly, September is basically nothing when it comes to television. Besides kicking the networks' collective asses when it comes to original programming, Cable shows have completely re-written the calendar. And then there's the PVR and the Internet which never run out of content whenever and wherever we need our TV fix.

So what grumpy old man? Isn't this better?

Yes it is. And there you go assuming I had a complaint here. Instead, I'm just trying to explain why it is that in August I get the urge to write a post about new television offerings I'd like to see. August used to be the time when the networks would be busy hyping their fall fare and I'd be duped into believing that "When Things Were Rotten" or "Supertrain" would fill my fall with joy and wonder.

So with that dull and rambling opening out of the way, here are 10 concepts for shows I'd definitely be watching if they were premiering this fall...

1. The Walking Dexter

It's about a lovable serial killer whose "code" limits his victims to the undead only. But not just any undead - the undead who have it coming because they've done something horrible and are now beyond the reach of the law.

2. Lost Under the Shoe

One day, the residents of a sleepy little town find that a giant shoe has stomped their town. Given that they're all pinned under the sole of the shoe, they have lots of time to talk about things and speculate about whose shoe it is. One day they realize that they aren't alone and that a mysterious group of "Others" are also stuck under the shoe. And then a polar bear appears...

3. Breaking Wind

It's about a lactose intolerant High School science teacher who finds out that he's got a terminal disease, quits his job, and drinks lots of milk.

4. Shameless Mad Girls

It's a reality show that takes modern teen aged girls and drops them into a fully-rendered simulation of the 1960's. They have to compete with each other for the love of Madison Avenue Ad Men by cooking something, or cleaning something, or just sitting quietly and looking pretty. Much hilarity ensues.

5. The Hunger Games

This one's a reality cooking show. Contestants have one hour to cook great dishes using theme ingredients. While they're doing this, another group of contestants (armed only with cooking utensils) try to kill them and take their food.

6. The Amazing Race

A drama about white supremacists.

7. The Game of Chairs

Musical chairs gets the Japanese game show treatment. Contestants must hop from giant chair to giant chair while little baby dragons fly around shooting fire at them. There's also shaving cream. When the music stops, some of the contestants are unexpectedly killed and a whole bunch of new and confusing characters are added. And there's a three-eyed crow.

8. Gnu Girl

After a bad break-up, Jess, an offbeat young wildebeest, moves into an apartment loft with three single men.

9. True Blood

An alternative to human blood is invented so that vampires in Louisiana don't have to bother people anymore. Fairies, werewolves, shape-shifters, ghosts, demons and witches all join the fun. A lot of them have sex with each other. (Never mind, this one's too far-fetched).

10. Bones

This is a Star Trek spin-off featuring Dr. Leonard McCoy, years after his retirement from Starfleet. He's now a brilliant, but socially inept, forensic anthropologist working at the Jeffersonian Institute in Washington DC. The guy from Angel is his love interest.

Now back to your regularly scheduled programming...

A Day at the Zoo with a 4 Year-old

I don't know if I've ever said it here before, but I love the zoo.

Yesterday, Micaela and I went to the Toronto Zoo together for the first time. Deciding that it would be great to get a jump on the day, our plan was to leave as soon as she woke up...and that's exactly what we did (she awoke shortly after 10 and we were out by 10:45).

After enduring 401 traffic and a dirty-rotten-liar GPS, we arrived at the zoo at 12:15. Despite the slow start, for the next 4 hours we were in zoo heaven. Great weather, active animals, small crowds.

Here are a few vignettes and supporting pictures from the day...

The Map!

Micaela's first exciting moment was when we were handed a map at the front gate. She gleefully exclaimed, "I didn't know we were going to get a MAP!"

You see, as a long-time viewer of Dora the Explorer, it is a big deal to have a map in hand - especially when you're doing some exploring. So after renting a stroller (so that we'd have somewhere to store our map) we carefully charted our course towards the elephants, Micaela's pre-zoo favourite and primary destination.

Aside: This is the first time I've had a child who likes to plan things and who not only knows what a map is, but actually consults it. I've been accused of favouritism in some corners. Without commenting on that, I will say that traits like planning and map-consulting certainly weigh in her favour.

Primate Butts

Given that she's 4, it's only natural that Micaela delights in all things anal. We enjoyed encountering various primates, but especially loved when they turned around and revealed their big pink butts.

Here are a mother and son orangutan pair that we watched for a while.



For some reason, this portion of our zoo experience put me in mind of some Italian pastries that we enjoyed years ago at my niece's First Communion. I don't know what made me think of these pastries - perhaps it was the overall sweetness of the day.

I Want to Move It Move It

Shortly after the orangutans, we saw a gaggle (I think that's the word) of ring-tailed lemurs. With many, many people looking on in amusement, Micaela broke into a very loud rendition of "I Want to Move It Move It". I was so proud.

Animals Smell

One of our most profound discoveries of the day was that animals smell. All animals. When we finally made it to the elephants, Micaela learned that this sad truth even applies to these wondrous creatures. Note the face as she takes it all in.

Micaela's mom doesn't like zoos, farms, stables, or large gatherings of animals of any kind (including locker rooms) for this very reason. But unlike her mom, Micaela was able to note the smell, and put it behind her (tee hee).

A Peacock Interlude

Micaela is old enough to appreciate the beauty of a peacock, and young enough not to find the word funny. Good thing her older sisters weren't around.

Napping Animals

Despite the relatively cool weather and many of the animals being quite active, there were a bunch that looked pooped out. This pygmy hippo in particular...

Animals Aren't "Bad" or "Good"

Throughout the day, I had a dawning realization that Micaela has encountered many of these animals as animated characters long before discovering them in real life.  This led to several conversations that went something like this:

M: "What's a penguin again?"
D: "Happy feet."
M: "Where's that bird from?"
D: "That's Mufasa's helper in Lion King."
M: "What's that?"
D: "A pelican."
M: "No, that's the bird from Finding Nemo".
M: "What's that???"
D: "A hyena. The animals in Lion King that worked for Scar."
And so on.

The last question came up when we got to the hyenas, and once I identified the connection to Scar she asked "Are those animals bad?"

I patiently explained that animals aren't bad. Some are meat-eaters and some are plant-eaters. Meat-eaters aren't bad...they just eat meat to live. And that means sometimes they have to catch other animals...

Then the lady next to us said (still about the hyena) "Those things are VICIOUS!" So I stand corrected. Some animals are just bad. Hyenas in particular are exactly as depicted by Disney.

A New Favourite Animal

The highlight of the day came when we reached the penguins. We watched them outside the water. Then we watched them under the water. Then outside. Then under. And as we walked from the outside to the under and back again, Micaela adopted a penguin waddle. Again, she drew a little crowd.

At the end of the day, Micaela declared that her new favourite animal is the penguin. Get in line honey, everybody loves the penguins.

Micaela Takes a Chance

We did a great job of following the rules all day, but there was one moment where Micaela thought she'd test what happened if you did something you weren't supposed to. Luckily I stopped her in time and there were no consequences of her sticking her neck out in this way.

In Closing

A great time was had by all. The only complaints all day were about the slowness of the traffic getting to and from the zoo, and the occasionally very hot moments when the sun broke through the clouds. But Micaela ignored my complaints and had a thoroughly great time.

Thanks for joining us on our zoo adventure.

(A final thought, written after my final review / spellcheck: I have to wonder where Micaela gets the idea that bums and farts and poo are funny. I guess it's just a side-effect of being 4.) 

The Grumpy Old Man Who Just Wanted to be Left Alone

There was once a boy, a very nice and happy boy, who lived with his parents and three older sisters in a beautiful cottage by a babbling brook.

This boy's childhood was full of joy and love and play. He'd wake up happy. He'd spend the day with his wonderful family. He'd eat marvelous home-cooked food. He'd sit with his family until late in the evening listening to stories, playing games, and reading books. And when at last each day was over, he'd get into his big comfortable bed and sleep blissfully, dreaming about what tomorrow would hold.

But childhood, sadly, does not last forever and there came a day when this boy needed to make his way into the world outside of his family cottage. His sisters, having already ventured out into the world, offered him their advice and support, as did his parents, even though it broke their hearts to see him leave. But leave he did, one cloudy morning, bag on his shoulder, brook babbling a little more ominously than usual.

The boy, now a man (at least on the outside), went to school and learned a trade. He met a girl, fell in love, got married, and started a family of his own.

The man's life was wonderful - his own family filling his days with joy and love and play; his frequent visits to his parents' cottage - and to his sisters' family homes - always a blessed reminder of his happy childhood days and the happy little boy still thriving inside.

And the story would end here, with a comforting but dull "happy ever after", if it weren't for an embittered and jealous wizard who passingly knew the man and vehemently resented his seemingly enchanted existence. One fateful day, this wizard cast a spell on the man: It didn't change him at all on the outside, but on the inside the spell put the happy little boy into a deep and enduring sleep.

Slowly, the man changed. He found himself short-tempered with his loving children and loving wife. He no longer found joy in the little things; he no longer looked at the world through the naive and wondering eyes of a child. He suffered through the work that he used to enjoy so much - wanting all the people around him to leave him alone. He came home and ate his meals in silence. He lost interest in playing with his children. And even the increasingly infrequent visits to his parents' cottage left him empty and resentful - for the inner-child who called that cottage home was silent and still.

He passed his days as if living for the quiet of nighttime when he could finally be on his own - then spent restless nights tossing and turning unconsciously aware that he had lost something, but unable to find it.

Days and months passed. The seasons came and went. And the man got older and angrier and became more and more alone. The solitude that he thought would bring him peace instead brought him deeper misery.

Now as we all know, when a wizard passes from this world, the spells he cast during his lifetime - whether for good or for ill - are suddenly reversed. And so it happened that many years after putting the man's inner-child to sleep, the wizard's demise suddenly awoke the boy within. The (now fairly old) man, standing in front of the mirror shaving his gray and grizzled beard at that moment, felt the awakening and immediately saw himself for what he had become.

He quickly dressed, face half-shaved, and ran out into the street ready to re-embrace the world, where a car hit him and he was instantly killed.

His family was devastated (for they had loved him even during the years of grumpiness) and they spoke of the happy child, the loving father, and wise old codger in his eulogy. His co-workers and acquaintances came to his funeral and cried for the man who didn't want them around when he lived.

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And so, dear children, that is why you must look both ways before you cross the street.

And to you adults who find yourself passing your days in anger - focused only on work, pushing your family and friends away, and never taking the time for simple play - don't wait for an evil wizard's passing to awaken your inner-child. And you too must always look both ways before your cross the street, especially in countries where they drive on the other side of the road. And in movies, where busses are always seeming to hit people crossing the street these days.

In Tribute to the Boston Bruins

What are you doin', dear Boston Bruin, as you open your eyes on today?
The sun has now risen, as has the derision, last night's gone but the pain's here to stay.

You sure must be hurtin', almost for certain, as you gingerly pull on your socks,
And start movin' on, your precious dreams sadly gone, plucked up by those circling Hawks.

But it's not just the losin', that's done all the bruisin', much more it's the way it went down.
Mere seconds to go, a big win fo sho, at home with your delirious town.

Don't take to task, young Tuukka Rask, for those goals by Bolland and Bickell.
Don't blame the defense, or lack of offense, twas Karma that soured this pickle.

As spring turns to summer, it's surely a bummer, to end things with oh, so much grief.
You could've fallen in Round 1, for all that you've done, as did the once proud Maple Leaf. 

So we're thinking of you, are the proud White and Blue, on this sorrowfully hard morning after.
The shock that you're feeling, leaves all us reeling, but we're hiding our pain behind laughter.

Do You Want to Be a Politician? (A Simple Tool to Help You Decide)

I like to make sense of things.

Sometimes, given my background in mathematics and computer science, I rely on good old flow charts and process diagrams to sort out how things work; to make sense of them.

Politicians have never made sense to me. To be more precise, I've never understood why the pool of political candidates from which we choose our leaders seems so devoid of good and smart people (especially given how many good and smart people I encounter all the time in other walks of life).

So I have created the flow chart below to express my opinion on why only a certain type of person ends up in politics. I'm hoping it will also be helpful for anyone who's wondering whether or not they're cut out for that particular line of work. (In case you don't know how to read a flowchart, start in the upper left corner. And sorry, you're going to have to scroll).