Thursday, January 31, 2013

Hey! Come to our Global Warming! There Will be Cake.

Let's talk about global warming.  No, I don't want to talk about "the rise in the average temperature of Earth's atmosphere and oceans since the late 19th century and its projected continuation" (from Wikipedia); rather, I want to talk about the term "global warming".

Still with Wikipedia's explanation of global warming: "Over the 21st century, climate change is likely to adversely affect hundreds of millions of people through increased coastal flooding, reductions in water supplies, increased malnutrition and increased health impacts.Most economic studies suggest losses of world gross domestic product for this magnitude of warming."

Nothing short of a global disaster that threatens the very existence of humankind, right? And what term do we use to wake people up to the threat? "Global Warming", a light and fluffy label that sounds like it would make things a little better than they are.

After all, we go to a "house warming" to celebrate when people move in to their lovely new digs. We call it "heart warming" when something really nice happens. You have "warm words" for someone you like. You feel "warm inside" when you're deeply contented. And I'm just "warming up".

"Global warming" sounds like something we should be excited about: "Let's all celebrate that our planet is becoming increasingly nice, and that as a result we will feel deep contentment. There will be cake".

We don't call a potentially disastrous influenza pandemic "world-wide time in bed"; an approaching meteor whose impact on the planet will potentially cause extinction of all that we know isn't referred to as "a great big rocky visitor"; a zombie apocalypse isn't "a planetary reunion"; and the devastation of nuclear war isn't an "earth-wide magic mushroom party".

If you think I'm now going to suggest more appropriately frightening terms with which we should replace "Global Warming" you don't know me. I'm instead going to suggest that since we're already using such a benign term, we might as well call it something with more zing, more zazz, more pop.

I propose the term: Season Surfing.

For what's been happening recently in Toronto, I think season surfing better hits the mark: In January, I've got green grass one day, a blanket of snow the next day, a muddy swamp a few days later, then even greener grass the day after that. The lovely white canvass on which we've made snow men, snow angels, a snow fort, and one kick-ass igloo has all the permanence of an Etch-a-Sketch.

And season surfing extends beyond the weather. Toronto sports fans spent November and December talking only about baseball. The stores don't seem to care anymore what time of year it is; they're always stocked with goods for events that are a whole season away (Halloween in the summer, Christmas in the fall, Valentine's day over the Christmas break, Back-to-School before school is out...?) And television, which used to follow a very orderly, seasonal pattern - September premieres, November sweeps, January cancellations, May season or series finales, and Summer doldrums - is now completely cycle-free (especially when most of us are watching whatever we want whenever we want online, using PVRs, etc.)

Yes, it seems to me that our Creator, or Mother Nature, or maybe Darwin is playing with a great big remote - flipping channels to try to find something better that's on. And as a result we, fellow humans, are living under the very dark cloud of season surfing. At least the term implies a call-to-action -- grab a board and ride-it-out!

Monday, January 28, 2013

The Underachieving Princess (Yet Another Parable)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a Princess who was beautiful, intelligent, charming, funny, kind, generous, sincere, athletic, and faithful (and overall, a person with a ton of potential to contribute to society).

Amongst all of her amazing traits, it was the Princess's keen mind that should have given her an enormous advantage in all aspects of her life. When facing a challenge at home, when meting out justice to the people of her land, when negotiating with emissaries from distant lands, when learning new things at school, - in all aspects of her life - she could bring to bear her vast intellectual power and always ALWAYS prevail.

She could, but she rarely did.

You see, the Princess found what others would call "challenges" to be not challenging at all, and for that reason, quite dull and uninteresting to her. She found it far more enjoyable to stifle her thought processes, to avoid concentrating on things, to choose instinct and emotion over intellect, and to (more or less) avoid the use of her mighty brain.

So when she was asked by her parents to do anything at home that required any thinking, she'd inevitably answer "I'm too tired. You do it."

When people with disputes came to her to help settle them, she'd simply yawn and say "You bore me, figure it out yourselves."

And when emissaries from distant lands would come with elaborate proposals, she'd roll her eyes and say "Whatever."

When the Princess did decide to apply her mental acuity to anything, it was usually in school. Year after year, she'd get new teachers speaking about new and exciting subjects, and new books to read, and new problems to solve - and year after year, the 'new' would hold her attention for a little while. When that happened, she'd rouse her dormant brain and do wondrous things - learning at a remarkable rate and quickly surpassing what any of her classmates could do. Then she'd inevitably get tired of trying so hard, she'd discover exactly what mark constituted 'good enough', and expend exactly the right amount of effort to hit that mark and not a single percentage point higher.

Doing better than necessary was boring and quite repugnant to the Princess.

As time passed, most of her family, all of her people, and even the emissaries from distant lands began to dismiss the Princess as just another beautiful, charming, funny, kind, generous, sincere, athletic, and faithful person with only average intelligence. "Shame," they'd say, "if she were smarter, she'd be quite the force to be reckoned with".

Only her parents remembered the Princess's remarkable brain. And whenever they'd try to motivate the Princess to exercise that mighty organ, she'd shrug and say "I don't wanna." So after a time, they too gave up on her.

Until the day finally came when the Princess woke up to her situation. She was older now and living a fairly average Princess's existence, when she quite accidentally met up with an old friend from school. This friend, a girl with no remarkable talents, was doing amazing things with her life - travelling, inventing, discovering medical breakthroughs, speaking in front of vast crowds on just about any subject imaginable, and regularly winning awards that should instead have been graced upon the Princess. The only remarkable thing about this friend was her work ethic - in all other respects, the Princess far outshone her.

Being as intelligent as she was, the truth suddenly dawned for the Princess while she was sitting and sipping tea with this friend: "What have I done with my life?" she asked herself. "I have frittered away my amazing cognitive capabilities, and not only have I become a completely average person, even the average people are now far surpassing what I'm accomplishing. Thinking bored me, and now I've become a boring person. I've been too lazy to expend the necessary mental effort that would lead me to a wildly successful life, and now life is passing me by."

Her friend's voice interrupted the insightful moment: "Say, I've got an idea. I remember you used to be pretty good at biology. Why don't you come back to my lab and see if you can help me with a really vexing medical problem I've been puzzling over for months?".

The Princess's mind began to race: "Is this my second chance? Can I now make a long-overdue change in my life? Is this the challenge to which I will finally rise?"

Then she remembered her plans for that evening: lying on a soft couch, listening to a little music, and watching a little television. She looked up at her friend and replied, "I think not".

And that was the last anyone ever saw or heard of the Princess.

Afterword from David: There's nothing wrong with mediocrity, and there's nothing wrong with choosing not to make use of your God-given intelligence. But if you're going to lie down on the couch with the best view of the TV, that's just not fair to the rest of the family. And delete your shows from the PVR after you've watched them. We're over 80% full.

And, oh yeah, if you read this Dawn, please tell your brother that I always think of him and his stupid joke when I hear the words "I think not".

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Reader Mail - Part 2

Because your letters are piling up, it's time to go back to the mail bag and answer a few more of them...

Reader: When are you going to do another post answering readers' questions?
David: Working on it.

Reader: I heard a rumour that your family doesn't even exist. You're some lonely schmuck in a basement somewhere pretending to have 3 daughters and all of this profound wisdom about being a family man. Is this true?
David: I can't comment on whether it's true that you heard that rumour.

Reader: I'd like to come onto your blog and confess that I was using PHDs during my stellar sporting career. I think your forum would be a great place for me to come clean. Are you open to this idea?
David: I'd be happy to do this for you, but only if you're planning on making a genuine apology; not an insincere, forced-by-circumstances, minimally apologetic apology. If what you're really after is damage control, I suggest going to a better-suited forum like Oprah or Survivor.

Reader: I've been dating someone online for years and (believe it or not) never met her. Now I've just found out that she doesn't exist. It will be humiliating for me if this ever comes out. What should I do?
David: In these kinds of situations, I always ask myself "what would a TV character do?" In this case, I think the clear answer is that you should stage her death and make it seem like you're grieving, but ready to move on. Simple and foolproof.

Reader: I'm a friend of one of your daughters. Let's call me "Josh". I'm wondering why you've never mentioned me in your blog. Is there a way you could work my name into one of your posts?
David: Sure "Josh". Let me think about an appropriate time to do so.

Reader: I really enjoyed your adventures with the kidney stone. Any plans to pass another one soon? Also, have you sold the movie rights to your fabulous Ode "The Passing of A. Stone" inspired by the experience?
David: I currently don't have plans for a Stone sequel, but at my age I'm expecting new adventures involving other parts of my body. I've already got a working title for my first visit to the Proctologist ("There and Back Again"). Yes, I have sold the rights for the Ode. After being approached by both Destination Films and Triumph Films, I finally struck a deal with Castle Rock. Just joshing.

Reader: In one of your recent posts you mentioned a 'topic roulette wheel' that you use to come up with ideas for posts. Can you tell us more about the wheel?
David: The wheel has two rings that spin separately. A small ball is thrown into the spinning wheel and based on where it lands when the wheel stops spinning, the outer ring determines content and the inner ring determines format. I believe that in the post you were referring to, for example, the content was 'cheese' and the format was 'poem'. Other items on the content ring include 'childhood pets', 'annoying traits of your children', and 'graduation ceremonies'. Other items on the format ring include 'misty-eyed remembrance', 'parable', and 'rant'.

Reader: I can't help but notice that your grammar and spelling are always top-notch. Is this by accident, or do you carefully edit everything you post? Also, I believe I was your thousandth page view and you said something about my prize being fried butter at the Exhibition this summer. When will my prize voucher be sent to me?
David: Yes I do take great pride in carefully editing everything I write. In fact, if you ever see a mistake of any kind, it's intentional. Sometimes even a slight misspelling can create hilarious results. For that reason I occasionally take a piss on fixing my mistakes. As for the stuff about fried butter, that was a typo.

Reader: You used to write lots and lots about your daughters, particularly the youngest one. Why are you writing so much less about them these days?
David: Frankly, they're pretty boring. (Editor's note: That was another of those hilarious mistakes that I left in after my editing pass. I accidentally typed "pretty boring" when I meant to say "excruciatingly dull". Funny, right?)

Final Editor's Note: I just ran spell-check on this post. It flagged "Proctologist" and suggested two alternatives: "Parasitologist" and "ignore". As a result, I have chosen to ignore the Proctologist. My hope is that in hindsight, that will be the right decision. The spell-check also revealed that I had misspelled "mispelling". I kid you not.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Leafs Miserables

The latest Leafs' season started last night. In tribute, I offer the following (still under development) script:

Leafs Miserables

Scene: 1967. Jean Valjeanny Bower steals a cup to help feed his hungry city (despite the fact that at the time the city had plenty of cups). In fact, it is an executive in the local cup factory who is doing the stealing: a sinister character named Ballard (pronounced with emphasis on the second syllable).

Scene: 1970. After several escape attempts, Valjeanny finally officially ends his imprisonment under Ballard. He's now an old man of 45 and he disappears, assuming a false identity so he can start his life anew.  In fact, Valjeanny lurks in the shadows of the factory, secretly watching and grooming a young foreman - Dareau Sittleur.

Scene: 1976. Sittleur is in his prime, carrying the factory to recently unseen levels of production (though it's no longer producing cups). One day alone, Sittleur raises factory stock by 10 points. Valjeanny sees an opportunity to reclaim his life and takes a leadership position in the factory for two years.

Scene: 1978. The factory is showing signs of its former glory, putting a rival factory in Longue Isle to shame. But Ballard feels like he's losing control and begins to reassert himself in day-to-day factory operations, focusing obsessively on cutting costs and running everything with cruel incompetence. Valjeanny slips back into the shadows.

Scene: 1978-1981. Ballard rules the factory with an iron fist. A popular factory leader - Roget Neilseau-  is humiliated by Ballard, and told he can only come back to work if he wears a bag over his head. Neilseau returns anyways, sans bag, and this infuriates Ballard. Over the next few months, the talented factory staff is systematically dismantled. Sittleur, fights on though, trying to eke out a meaningful existence and save the factory. In 1981 he finally succumbs to Ballard's cruel machinations, and with his final breath begs Valjeanny to care for his young charge, Sundine, after he's gone.

Montage: Throughout the 80's, the factory has been in a downward spiral. Nothing of note is getting produced and nothing memorable happens. Valjeanny has carefully and distantly nurtured Sundine, finally introducing him to factory work in far-away Quebec in 1989. Ballard has remained the factory owner the entire decade, until his death in 1990.

Scene: 1993-1994. The winds of change have blown through the factory. Its most productive years have returned, and a new generation of workers (Clarque, Gilmeur, Coujeaux) - who never knew Ballard - are doing wonderful things under the leadership of a kindly man (an ex-arrow-maker nicknamed "Le Fletcher") and his sidekick Quinn. After an evil worker from a competing factory in Les Anges (a talented, but evil man known simply as "The Great One") dashes the hopes of our heroes once again, the leaders make an ambitious attempt to re-fit the factory so it can return to cup production. They bring in a young and talented worker...named Sundine.

Montage: One More Decade. In the next 10 years, the factory has its ups and downs under Sundine's calm leadership, but generally seems respectable once again. No cups are produced, but a general sense of well-being settles in. Everyone is optimistic, the future seems bright, perhaps we'll see a cup again in "One more day..."

Scene: 2004. Hopes are dashed when workers across the country rise up. Factories are shut down and workers man the barricades. When resolution is finally reached (after much bloodshed and carnage), a new order is put in place. Factories are limited in what they can do to gain advantage over their competitors. Cup production becomes harder than ever. Our local factory is particularly hard-hit because its leadership can't function in the new order. In fact, its leaders seem to have resigned themselves to profitable mediocrity (producing shirts instead of cups). Years pass.

Scene: Present Day. Another worker uprising caps another lost decade for the factory. Sundine's career is done and no new workers in the factory are ready to pick up the mantle of leadership. New owners have bought the factory and are re-building it once again. It's a new day, and life continues for the factory and its workers. The factory continues to produce shirts. People like shirts. Cups seem so far out of reach, the people don't even dream of them anymore.

In a ghostly closing scene, ex-factory leaders like Sittleur, Clarque, Gilmeur, Coujeaux and others - who spent their lives fruitlessly fighting for glory - welcome Sundine into their ranks of the unfulfilled.

Denouement: It is only people like Valjeanny - still lurking in the factory's shadows - who continue to remind the people that once upon a time, long, long ago, the factory produced cups; big shiny cups. Every now and then, a child hears the story and the dream is rekindled. Maybe this year...

Monday, January 14, 2013

Reflections on a Fateful Question

I meet a lot of new people all the time. And when people first meet (at least in a business setting) there are only a handful of topics available for small talk, prompted by clever openers like:
  • "This weather's crazy, huh?".
  • "Where are you from?"
  • "What do you do?"
  • "That was some game last night, eh?"
  • "What kind of phone is that?"
  • "Do you have kids?"
  • "It's amazing the range of oral hygiene alternatives available these days, isn't it? Take this great new gum..."
But it's the "Do you have kids?" opener I want to talk about. I think in the last week, I've had the opportunity to answer that one at least 3 times. Truth is, I love answering that one.
"Do you have kids?"                 "Yes, I've got three."
"Girls or boys?"                        "Girls."
"Wow, three girls. How old?"   "20, 18 and 3."
It's at this point, that I usually volunteer the answers to two unasked questions: "Yes, it was on purpose and yes, they're all with the same wife." And from there, I can categorize the person I'm talking to based on their reaction:
  • The parent with teenagers: "What were you thinking?" or "You are brave."
  • The happy empty-nester: "Wow. I can't imagine doing all that again."
  • The less-happy empty-nester: "Do the older ones visit a lot to see the 3-year-old?"
  • The parent with young children: "That's great, the older ones must be a huge help with the 3-year-old."
  • The non-parent: "What kind of phone is that?"
Making the decision about five years ago to have a third was absolutely the right thing for us. The older two were in High School and it was clear they weren't going to stay children forever. My wife had just lost her father. We were in our 40's and still healthy, vibrant people. We had proven that we could raise good stock. And we thought there was a chance that if we had a third, it could be a boy (although my preference was always a girl).

The decision wasn't brave. It wasn't stupid. It wasn't calculating. It wasn't made in a moment of weakness. To me, it was barely a decision. (Just to be clear: This is my blog and refelcts only my perspectives. My wife might tell you otherwise).

On reflection, I wouldn't say the journey has been an easy one - especially for my wife. Today (still on the journey, but a little it down the road), we're mature parents with two girls in University and this bright, articulate, high-energy, creative, stubborn, challenging, continuous-motion little girl. I'm crawling around on the floor, playing with dolls and with cars, teaching her to read, teaching her it's okay to lose (well, planning to teach her it's okay to lose), building forts, fighting with her at bedtime, begging her to try new foods, and cherishing the few quiet minutes we have between her (actual) bedtime and mine. 

But we're also old enough and wise enough to cherish the time we spend with her. Our other two daughters have distinct, yet equally amazing relationships with her. And she is like a prism / sponge, soaking up absolutely every bit each of us gives her and bending it into beautiful new colours that are distinctly her own.

So go ahead and ask me if I have kids.Yes, I've got three. They're all girls. They're 20, 18 and 3. And no, we're not planning on having a fourth.

Sunday, January 6, 2013

A Poem about Cheese

I spun my blog post 'topic roulette wheel' just now, and it directed me to write a poem about cheese. Sorry, but I have no control over this. I must obey the topic roulette wheel.

Cheese - a poem

Stilton, Oka, Parmesan; Danish Blue, Havarti;
Cheese is loved by everyone coming to your party.
Gouda, Edam, Camembert; Cheddar, Gorgonzola;
Choose a cheese to match your drink - wine or Coca Cola.

When coming home from Switzerland I went to duty-free,
Bought myself a brick of cheese to bring back home with me.
I stowed it in the overhead (I thought I'd take my chances),
Mid-flight went up to get a pen and caught others' knowing glances.

Colby-Jack, Pepperjack; Brie or Provolone;
Shaved or melted, ground or sliced, with bread or just alone.
Feta, Cottage, Muenster; Jarlsberg, Ricotta;
If you haven't tried them all, I really think you oughta.

Growing up, my parents taught that cheese was good for you.
But later on I sadly learned that this is just not true.
It's high in fat and sodium, which can really hurt your heart.
So cut the cheese! Do it now! There's no better time to start.

(There. I kept it classy. And ended with a little health lesson.)