I had a bad sleep night last night (for no good reason - it just happens). I will be using today's post to purge junk from my fatigue-addled brain. No need to read any more, this is just a cleansing process for me.
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What did people expect when they chose a Mayor whose name hints at car theft? (And whose brother's name hints at burying the evidence?)
Let's speak frankly about something that everybody's been careful not to say: there isn't really an elephant in the room.
If there is an elephant in the room, it's that kites are really quite boring.
I have a great idea for an app: a lying version of Shazam. I would put it in my "Lying Apps" folder together with my weather and map apps.
Sure, the Leafs blew a 4-1 lead in Game 7 in an historically unprecedented manner. But it could have been worse. They could have won the game and gone on to enjoy a Cinderella playoff run...maybe even have made it to the Conference finals. That might have been the catalyst that changed the franchise into a dynasty for years to come. Imagine how sad we'd all be feeling when that dynasty is at an end. It's better that it ends now before we get used to winning.
I think you could learn a lot about a person by getting to know them.
Why aren't all the political correctness police out there objecting to the use of the word "viral" to describe things that become really really popular? Isn't it an insensitive word given the number of people who have died from viruses throughout history? It's really crazy.
Isn't it a blessing that your various senses decline as you age in parallel with a decline in how you look, how you feel, how you smell, and how interested you are in what others have to say?
My dog doesn't have fleas. I don't even have a dog. If I did, I would teach it to play the ukulele.
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Purge complete. Fatigue continues.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
An Opinion
I thought that a piece written by Mitch Potter in the Toronto Star this weekend was spot on: Tragic Cleveland Saga Often Descended into Voyeuristic Media Farce Driven by Vanity. In it, he refers to a "self-incriminating screed" by CBS News anchor Scott Pelley.
In Potter's words, the 'screed' summed it all up:
In Potter's words, the 'screed' summed it all up:
...adding up the mountain of mistakes, from the massacre in Newtown to the bombings in Boston to Cleveland, as evidence that journalism’s house is on fire.
“We’re getting the big stories wrong over and over again,” said Pelley.
He railed against “vanity” and “self-conceit,” as the drivers of a real-time scramble to be first with any new crumb of information, often lifted without scrutiny from the uncorroborated pages of social media.
Twitter, Facebook and Reddit, said Pelley, are “not journalism. That’s gossip. Journalism was invented as an antidote to gossip.”
It’s “a world where everybody is a publisher, no one is an editor, and we’ve arrived at that point today.”
Like I said, spot on.
I know a lot of intelligent people are sounding the alarm bells even as this plays out around us. But I can't tell if their message is being heard amidst the din on the web.
To whom should we listen?
Where do you go to find a good old fashioned expert opinion on something these days? Way back in the previous century, if you wanted to get an opinion on a movie, you sought out one of a handful of reputable movie critics. If you needed news, it was in the newspapers and TV news reports. If you wanted medical advice, you asked your doctor. And while the weather was always a 50/50 proposition, you at least knew where to look.
I think that those of us who grew up in that world still make the extra effort to find our own cadre of experts...but what about our children? To whom are they listening? Each other?
Who should listen to 'me'?
It used to be that the first 30 (or so) years of your life were an extended training period during which you were being carefully groomed to take your turn contributing something back to society. If you had something to say, you'd get a chance to say it once you had paid your dues. When you first entered the workforce, you spent years paying attention to the experienced folks around you and learning from them. Every now and then, they'd ask your opinion.
If you were much younger than that and you had an opinion about a world event, or poverty, or climate change, or... you would feel free to share that opinion with the people in your immediate vicinity. When you went off to University, you might have worked for the paper or the radio station and been in a position to share your opinions with a broader spectrum of people who were within your local sphere of influence.
Today, EVERYBODY can say ANYTHING about ANYTHING to EVERYBODY else. No editors. No credentials. Few rules. No age restrictions. No consequences.
So we have people barely starting out in life who feel free to speak with authority on subjects about which they know very little. They are also making mistakes that will haunt them forever because long before they've had the opportunity to develop any kind of wisdom, they are out showing their face and sharing their thoughts in front of the world.
And with so many people contributing to the din in real time on every subject imaginable, there are no experts. Our trusted institutions are crumbling. And people's lives are being ruined.
Lives are being ruined
It used to be that the mistakes you made during your volatile formative years were your own mistakes, and they made you wiser. But now it's dead easy to make those mistakes in front of everyone and never ever live them down.
It's also dead easy to take aim at someone else and destroy them. In fact, there are a small number of people who see this as a game and know how to play it very well.
So?
Society has had its "wild frontiers" before, and we always tame those frontiers by - amongst other things - establishing some rules that allow us to live together. This is what's got to be next.
In the meantime, I think we can all act a little more responsibly while the frontier is being tamed. My opinion:
- Don't just share everything you see or hear. Don't try to make yourself part of a breaking news story. Don't weigh in on things just because you can.
- Continue (or start) supporting real journalism by buying newspapers, subscribing to news sites, etc.
- Have grown up conversations with your kids about what's going on out there. At first, we were just worried about our kids being targeted by bad people online for an eventual face-to-face encounter. Now, we should be just as worried about their 'information' encounters online. As it says in the Star article I mentioned above, try to emphasize the ethics that are under siege.
- If you're young, be okay with listening to your elders on matters they understand better than you do. Believe it or not, there is some value in experience.
In case you've noticed the irony of me writing this blog post as if I'm some kind of expert, let me just say that I'm not. And I don't think I'm pretending to be. I also don't think that I have any greater right to share my opinion than anyone else does.
My opinion isn't news and it isn't fact and there's every chance it's not even right. If you don't know me, you have no reason to believe me. But for the family, friends and work colleagues who do know me, you now know my thoughts on this matter. I'd be interested in your thoughts as well. And isn't that how it should be?
Saturday, May 4, 2013
"You're Stupid", love anonymous
The Secret Admirer
A long time ago, there used to be something called a "Secret Admirer" (this was long before stalkers were invented).
Anyone could become a Secret Admirer by following a few simple steps:
- Write a love note; type it if you are worried about your handwriting being recognized
- Sign it "Anonymous" or "Your Secret Admirer" or something like that
- Put it in an envelope addressed to the Admired, leaving off the standard return address
- Drop it in the mail
- Wait 1-3 weeks and see what happens.
The Secret Nemesis
I don't remember there being a corresponding "Secret Nemesis" persona back then. That's probably because 'snail mail' wasn't (and still isn't) a suitable vehicle for anonymous and angry expression. When you're really mad do you really want to patiently wait a few weeks to vent it? For anger, it's about instant gratification, and it's also about ensuring that the arrival of your documented anger isn't out of sync with what's happened since you felt that anger (e.g. a subsequent apology or sober second thought).
In both cases, admiration or anger, the desire to express the emotion anonymously was (and still is) understandable, if a little cowardly. But when it comes to a sense of urgency, the two emotions drive us in opposite directions: With admiration, patience is reasonable and can serve a purpose; with anger, waiting doesn't seem like an option. Hence we used to have Secret Admirers using snail mail, and would-be Secret Nemeses throwing notes wrapped around rocks through windows.
Moderate and patient people used snail mail to communicate their moderate feelings, usually positive ones. They never threw stones through windows.
And what of today?
These are funny times when it comes to anonymity.
On the one hand, there are many more ways to communicate with at least superficial anonymity. On the other hand, everyone is much more exposed than ever to the risk of doing something that seems anonymous or private but really isn't.
We have more choices for anonymous communication than ever before and we are less able to act with true anonymity than ever before. It all comes down to how hard someone wants to try to discover our identity. So for acts that aren't likely to provoke an investigation, people tend to take their anonymity at face value and behave accordingly.
It used to be that to express extreme anger (or hatred) anonymously and in the moment, people had to do something blatantly illegal - skulking around in the dead of night or behind a mask to protect their anonymity. And if you weren't willing to do that (i.e. you were not that kind of person) you could either confront someone face-to-face (or by phone) with what you were feeling, or write a letter and wait a few weeks - which usually wouldn't happen because of the moderating delay that would require.
Today, anyone who gets angry - no matter what kind of person they are - has many ways to express their anger anonymously and immediately. Under the seemingly protective veil of anonymity, a relatively moderate person caught up in an emotionally-charged moment can say things they might later regret, but can never take back. And while these words might make the target feel bad, unless he or she feels threatened, nothing is likely going to come of it.
Likewise, people can (and do) say really nice things anonymously on these same platforms. These words make their target feel good, even if he or she doesn't know the source. In those situations, why bother trying to find out who's behind the kind words? A thank you is enough recognition.
Thus anonymity today depends on an implicit 'code of honour': "I won't pierce your veil of anonymity as long as your behaviour remains reasonable."
Secret Nemeses (aka "cyber-bullies", "trolls", etc.) abound because they feel safe in the conditions we've created. Codes of honour are for honourable people. Secret Admirers, on the other hand, seem nearly extinct. If they're still out there, they're using more private settings where they can voice their admiring words without risk of those words being read by the Secret Nemeses.
What's out of whack is the risk / reward equation for angry people who use their anonymous online presence to communicate their anger: There's no understood threshold of acceptable expression of anger beyond which their "right" to free expression no longer holds. And people who feel victimized don't have much they can do to stop it from happening. Right now, it's the wild frontier. Fear holds the Secret Admirers back; and we need more fear to bridle the Secret Nemeses.
What also seems to be going wrong is that smart people who should know better aren't taking their time to think before they communicate something, whether anonymously or with attribution. Who will this hurt? Will I regret this later? Why don't I wait to see if I still feel this way tomorrow?
I think I just said that we need less instant gratification and more consequences. Man, I'm getting old.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Handprint Poems for Other Occasions
Handprint Poems are a ton of fun.
It's Father's Day, or my birthday, or some other vulnerable time of year - and out comes the carefully wrapped gift from school. Is it a camera? Is it a bowling ball? No...it's my dear child's handprint carefully pressed into clay, with an accompanying poem like:
And just like that, I go from enjoying the moment to thinking about old age and death. So cute.
So why is this wonderful medium seemingly reserved for little children (and teachers) who want to blindside their parents into a state of despair? It seems like there could be so many other possibilities!
The groom has carefully pressed his hands - sans wedding ring - into clay, with an accompanying poem:
After jabbing both wrinkly, gnarled hands into cold soothing clay for a few precious minutes, the remaining imprints are given to one's grown children, with the following:
As I aged, I changed a lot,
The years certainly flew.
You can't believe how old I got,
While you've been so focused just on you.
So save these prints in a safe place
And visit them instead.
That way you can keep on acting,
Like I'm already dead.
Through tear-soaked eyes, the spurned lover has plunged his or her middle finger into the soft clay (much as their own heart has been plunged into by love's dagger). The resulting imprint is delivered secretly one morning to a certain someone's front-door with a note:
It's Father's Day, or my birthday, or some other vulnerable time of year - and out comes the carefully wrapped gift from school. Is it a camera? Is it a bowling ball? No...it's my dear child's handprint carefully pressed into clay, with an accompanying poem like:
This is the hand
You used to hold
When I was only
4 years old.
You used to hold
When I was only
4 years old.
And just like that, I go from enjoying the moment to thinking about old age and death. So cute.
So why is this wonderful medium seemingly reserved for little children (and teachers) who want to blindside their parents into a state of despair? It seems like there could be so many other possibilities!
Shotgun Wedding Day
The groom has carefully pressed his hands - sans wedding ring - into clay, with an accompanying poem:
This is the hand
That used to be
Un-held, un-kept,
and completely free.
But now because
You forgot the pill
With ring my finger
I now must fill.
Any Birthday After 50
After jabbing both wrinkly, gnarled hands into cold soothing clay for a few precious minutes, the remaining imprints are given to one's grown children, with the following:
I miss you now we're not together
You've all grown up so fast.
See how much worse I've gotten,
Since you saw me last?
You've all grown up so fast.
See how much worse I've gotten,
Since you saw me last?
As I aged, I changed a lot,
The years certainly flew.
You can't believe how old I got,
While you've been so focused just on you.
So save these prints in a safe place
And visit them instead.
That way you can keep on acting,
Like I'm already dead.
After a Breakup
Through tear-soaked eyes, the spurned lover has plunged his or her middle finger into the soft clay (much as their own heart has been plunged into by love's dagger). The resulting imprint is delivered secretly one morning to a certain someone's front-door with a note:
Your dirty little fingerprints
You've left all over me,
On my heart and soul and mind,
And each part of my body.
You've left all over me,
On my heart and soul and mind,
And each part of my body.
So here is one that won't rub off,
One last thing for us to share,
And then you can remember me
One last thing for us to share,
And then you can remember me
By sticking it somewhere.
After Months in a Platonic Relationship
When it's time to move that relationship to the next level, how about an imprinted message like:
Ten tiny little fingers, that always want to play,
That never stop exploring the wonder of today,
Ten tiny little fingers, that have been waiting patiently,
To start exploring you and stop exploring me.
That never stop exploring the wonder of today,
Ten tiny little fingers, that have been waiting patiently,
To start exploring you and stop exploring me.
To Virtual Friends
Of course the idea wouldn't be complete without speculating on what this might look like in the brave new world of social networking. So here is a final poem attached to a picture of my virtual hands pressed in virtual clay...
Here my handprints are done
For everyone to view
I had so much fun
Doing this for you.
So look upon this handprint shot
Upon your Facebook wall,
And memories will come back
Of me when I was very droll.
For everyone to view
I had so much fun
Doing this for you.
So look upon this handprint shot
Upon your Facebook wall,
And memories will come back
Of me when I was very droll.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
My Thoughts on Boston
I have never run a full marathon. It is highly unlikely that I ever will, and even more highly unlikely that I will ever run the Boston Marathon.
I have run a few half marathons, but have yet to do so in satisfying fashion. Each year that I've tried, I've run the distance during training with greater success than during the actual race, my training times being 10 to 20 minutes faster and fairly pain-free. My inability to finish a race (so far) in the time I'm aiming for and without pain has meant that the great feeling I should experience at having finished at all, has been eclipsed by a deeper sense of disappointment.
That aside, being at the finish line I get to see all sorts of great moments.
A few years ago, I finished my half at about the same time that the winners of the full marathon were done. It was truly astounding to see these athletes sprinting at the end of their race, after running twice as fast as I can and running twice as far for more than 2 hours.
It has been equally astounding to watch the 75-year olds being greeted by their grandchildren, and the young couples jumping into each other's arms after finishing their first race together, and the cancer survivors celebrating yet another victory over their disease. Those are some of the people who finish these races at the same time as the 48-year-old guys who have only done this a handful of times and are suffering from cramps as they limp across the line, let-down as usual. (Truth is, there are many more of them who have finished long before me).
No matter how I'm feeling about my personal performance though, I never fail to get a lump in my throat when I see whoever is waiting for me at the end (an allergic reaction, I think), whether it's my wife, my daughters, my siblings (and siblings-in-law), nieces, nephews, and/or running coaches and friends. Heck, I might even get emotional if I ever see my parents waiting for me there.
My point is that what makes it all worthwhile - at least for me, and at least so far - are the people who are cheering me on; the people who braved the elements and the crowds to be there for me; the people who console me and congratulate me for doing something they haven't (yet) done. I haven't let them down, even if I've let myself down. And they let me know it.
Which brings me to the moment that I decided I would give distance-running a try. My family and I were in Orlando and just happened to cross paths with the Walt Disney World Marathon. We stood waiting while a bunch of runners passed by. Standing next to us was a very young man holding a months-old, maybe weeks-old baby. We were lucky enough to be there at the moment that his wife - clearly very soon after having given birth - was approaching. The proud words he shouted to her, the sweaty hug, the tears in his eyes, the mom's kiss on the baby's forehead - were genuinely inspiring. As she rejoined the race, he shouted "see you at the finish". I turned to look at my wife and saw that she was a little blurry and that she was caught up in the moment as well.
Anyways, those are some of the people I've seen at the end of a marathon, and that's what I'm thinking about as I take in what happened in Boston the other day.
I have run a few half marathons, but have yet to do so in satisfying fashion. Each year that I've tried, I've run the distance during training with greater success than during the actual race, my training times being 10 to 20 minutes faster and fairly pain-free. My inability to finish a race (so far) in the time I'm aiming for and without pain has meant that the great feeling I should experience at having finished at all, has been eclipsed by a deeper sense of disappointment.
That aside, being at the finish line I get to see all sorts of great moments.
A few years ago, I finished my half at about the same time that the winners of the full marathon were done. It was truly astounding to see these athletes sprinting at the end of their race, after running twice as fast as I can and running twice as far for more than 2 hours.
It has been equally astounding to watch the 75-year olds being greeted by their grandchildren, and the young couples jumping into each other's arms after finishing their first race together, and the cancer survivors celebrating yet another victory over their disease. Those are some of the people who finish these races at the same time as the 48-year-old guys who have only done this a handful of times and are suffering from cramps as they limp across the line, let-down as usual. (Truth is, there are many more of them who have finished long before me).
No matter how I'm feeling about my personal performance though, I never fail to get a lump in my throat when I see whoever is waiting for me at the end (an allergic reaction, I think), whether it's my wife, my daughters, my siblings (and siblings-in-law), nieces, nephews, and/or running coaches and friends. Heck, I might even get emotional if I ever see my parents waiting for me there.
My point is that what makes it all worthwhile - at least for me, and at least so far - are the people who are cheering me on; the people who braved the elements and the crowds to be there for me; the people who console me and congratulate me for doing something they haven't (yet) done. I haven't let them down, even if I've let myself down. And they let me know it.
Which brings me to the moment that I decided I would give distance-running a try. My family and I were in Orlando and just happened to cross paths with the Walt Disney World Marathon. We stood waiting while a bunch of runners passed by. Standing next to us was a very young man holding a months-old, maybe weeks-old baby. We were lucky enough to be there at the moment that his wife - clearly very soon after having given birth - was approaching. The proud words he shouted to her, the sweaty hug, the tears in his eyes, the mom's kiss on the baby's forehead - were genuinely inspiring. As she rejoined the race, he shouted "see you at the finish". I turned to look at my wife and saw that she was a little blurry and that she was caught up in the moment as well.
Anyways, those are some of the people I've seen at the end of a marathon, and that's what I'm thinking about as I take in what happened in Boston the other day.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Making Sense of Taking Offense
As we live your lives, we develop defense mechanisms that protect us from encounters with unpleasant and even threatening things. In particular, when a specific encounter results in memorably negative consequences, we tend to learn to avoid that experience in the future. That's why most people only check if a red stove-top burner is hot once. That's why I've only bought my lovely wife a bathroom scale for her birthday once. That's why I'm hoping my daughters will always check and double-check their exam schedules from now on.
I really don't like the feeling of having offended someone. Because I have done it before, I believe that I have developed a sense for those times when offense is looming. So that's when I get careful, paying special attention to the words I'm using and how what I'm saying might be interpreted by the potential offendee. It takes me longer than it has to when I write my blog posts for exactly this reason. I also avoid some topics altogether because there's simply no way to broach them without offending someone.
I call this sense. (That's why I usually write about things like cheese, hats, and kidney stones.)
I call this sense. (That's why I usually write about things like cheese, hats, and kidney stones.)
Today, I'm going out on a limb into potentially dangerous waters (how's that for a mixed metaphor?) to explore a few examples of - and weigh in on - the giving and taking of offense.
Mattel
I don't care how hard you tried to make your new Barbie 'Dolls of the World' line inoffensive, there was just no way you were going to pull this off without offending many, many people. That said, to those who took offense at the stereotypical and insensitive design of the Mexico Barbie (for example), I assume that means you're okay with how Mattel usually depicts women?
People who are Systematically Stripping the English Language of Acceptable Words for Things
One of my daughters, upon having (temporarily) left the nest to get a higher education, reported back to me that there are a whole bunch of words that I use that apparently are no longer politically correct. I can't even list them here lest I offend someone. Suffice it to say that, for example, I no longer have a word I can safely use to belittle someone's intelligence. If I had one, I would apply it to those to whom I refer in this paragraph's title. (Idiots.)
Those who say "No offense, but..."
Do you think that saying "Don't get wet, but..." as you pour a pail of water on your friend's head would keep him or her dry? (It doesn't - trust me.) If you were in a Zombie movie, would you say "Not to make your head explode, or anything..." before dispatching the undead? I think not. But worse than that is people who get offended when told they smell bad (or whatever) after someone has just told them not to be offended. Can't you follow instructions?
Cats and Cat Lovers
In my October 19, 2012 post "A Morning's Musings on Matters of Medium (to small...", I said the following about cats: "Horrible things. Surely they can be made to be more dog-like with a little genetic manipulation?" In retrospect, I realize that my insensitive words may have offended some of you and I would like to apologize. I'm sorry you like cats.People who are Systematically Stripping the English Language of Acceptable Words for Things
One of my daughters, upon having (temporarily) left the nest to get a higher education, reported back to me that there are a whole bunch of words that I use that apparently are no longer politically correct. I can't even list them here lest I offend someone. Suffice it to say that, for example, I no longer have a word I can safely use to belittle someone's intelligence. If I had one, I would apply it to those to whom I refer in this paragraph's title. (Idiots.)
Those who say "No offense, but..."
Do you think that saying "Don't get wet, but..." as you pour a pail of water on your friend's head would keep him or her dry? (It doesn't - trust me.) If you were in a Zombie movie, would you say "Not to make your head explode, or anything..." before dispatching the undead? I think not. But worse than that is people who get offended when told they smell bad (or whatever) after someone has just told them not to be offended. Can't you follow instructions?
Cats and Cat Lovers
Americans
See above.
The Women in my Life
If I have ever said anything to offend you, I am sorry. If you have ever been offended by anything I've said, you misunderstood me. As you know, I have devoted my life to making yours just a little brighter and if I have in any way failed in this duty as your son, brother, husband, father or paramour, I apologize.
The Person Who Just Farted Sitting Next to Me in the Restaurant I Presently Occupy
Wow. But you make a good point. Why do we waste our precious time on this planet being offended by others, or being afraid of offending them? As we all sit together in life's restaurant, we should all fart a little more (and little more audibly), and inhale a little more deeply when we hear the farts of others. We're human. We make mistakes. Better to laugh at the results than to cry foul. Pull my finger, friend. Pull my finger indeed.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
I Lost My Hat This Morning
According to the Urban Dictionary the term 'I lost my hat' is used "as a general response, when a person is astounded or baffled at something, be it a person's idiocy or unwarranted self-praise. The term can also be used as a response to another person's completely lackluster news."
In literature, according to Yahoo! Answers, "to 'lose your hat' means to momentarily lose your head, like having a blond moment or going way over the top over a subject".
Here, what I mean by 'I lost my hat' is that I had my hat when I set out for work this morning, and now I no longer have it. I don't know where it is, although I'm pretty sure it's sitting on the train in the general vicinity of where I had been sitting before disembarking sans hat. It is lost. I lost it. Hence the phrase 'I lost my hat'.
With that out of the way, let me tell you about this hat.
I bought it a few months ago at Sears on deep, deep clearance. I think I paid $1.99 for it. Its original price was around $20.00. If it had been some other item and as big a bargain, its purchase might have filled me with great joy. But given that it was a fairly average-looking hat, it was one of those bargains where you say to yourself, "well, it's only $1.99 so I might as well buy it".
In fact, I bought two hats that day and I immediately put the other one to use. That hat is still in my possession and I must say it's barely functional as a hat. If I try to wear it down over my ears, it gradually slips up my head and forms a very unattractive little lump above my skull. When I fold up the bottom inch of the hat so that there's more of a grip on my head, it doesn't cover my ears. But I digress, because that's the other hat I bought that day.
This hat, of the two I bought for $1.99, played second fiddle and until yesterday sat in my closet with it's red-tag still attached. Why hadn't it become a first-stringer when the other hat turned out to be dysfunctional? Because I assumed, having been bought the same day and at the same place, that this hat would also suffer from the lumpy-skull-or-exposed-ears challenge. So despite having paid $3.98 for two new hats, I returned to my tried-and-true "Canada" hat that always makes me feel a little stupid since, living in Canada and wearing it primarily in Canada, it's little message ("Canada") seems pointless. It hadn't seemed pointless when I bought it just before a winter trip to Switzerland, but again I digress.
Yesterday, I had an appointment to get the snow tires off my car. The garage is about a 25 minute walk from the train station. It was a cold morning and I knew I'd need a hat. But the night before, I had put my regular tires into the car and in doing so I had been forced to put my rear seats in the folded-over position. Unbeknownst to me at the time I lowered the seats, my faithful but stupid "Canada" hat had become trapped in the seat and obscured from view.
So I found myself in the car - poised to drop it off at the garage and walk 25 minutes to the train on a blustery morning - without a hat. Mistakenly cursing my wife for having jumped the gun on putting away our winter wear (which, to be fair to me, she does every year), I ran back into the house to grab a hat. I looked at the other, dysfunctional hat and thought to myself: "No. Not this time." And in that moment, the third-string hat got its chance to shine. But just in case, I also grabbed my Toronto Marathon insulating headband because if the third-stringer turned out to be dysfunctional, my ears would pay the price.
The delay that resulted from having to go back into the house meant I had to make the 25 minute walk from the garage to the train in about 20 minutes (yes, it did take me 5 minutes to resolve my hat dilemma). This turned the walk into an alternating walk-and-jog. Wearing my Toronto Marathon insulating headband and my third-string hat in a walk-and-jog situation made me sweaty in the region of my head. So after I had made it to the train with moments to spare, I was forced to use the hat as a sweat towel. Imagine, after months of sitting in the closet, wondering if it would ever get into the game, this hat had warmed me and then wiped me.
And in case you were wondering, yes, it had stayed over my ears. Whether that was because it was a good hat or because it was worn over an insulating headband I will never know.
Today, the forecast called for a chilly morning again. I would need a hat. Last night, I had discovered the whereabouts of my stupid "Canada" hat when I put the newly removed snow tires back on the shelf in my garage and returned my seats to their upright position. (And yes, I did apologize to my wife for mistakenly cursing her even though she hadn't known about the curse.) But now I felt my $1.99 hat had earned the right to be worn again (despite the lingering dried perspiration it likely still held) so I chose it over stupid "Canada" - a fateful decision as it would turn out.
I wore the hat today for about 5 minutes as I walked from the parked car to the train. And then I left it on the train. It didn't deserve that.
Was about 25 minutes worth of wear worth $1.99? I don't know. My hope is that someone else will find the hat, overlook the stale smell of perspiration, and take it home. More likely, someone later today will deliver it to the train station's lost-and-found. There, I expect it will sit for a few weeks, until it makes its way to some charitable organization to be resold or given away to someone who needs a hat. I could go to the lost-and-found to recover it - but that would feel wrong (and since it was only $1.99, it's hardly worth the 8 minute walk from my office to reclaim it.)
I hope that by having shared this story, you too have now 'lost your hat' (see definitions above) and can thus feel more intimately connected to me, your friend, who suffers ever so slightly this morning. (Not because I lost my hat, but because of the Jays' home opener last night.)
And I furthermore hope that those of you who habitually tell me insufferably long and pointless stories, can learn something from this one. I will leave it to you discover what that lesson is.
In literature, according to Yahoo! Answers, "to 'lose your hat' means to momentarily lose your head, like having a blond moment or going way over the top over a subject".
Here, what I mean by 'I lost my hat' is that I had my hat when I set out for work this morning, and now I no longer have it. I don't know where it is, although I'm pretty sure it's sitting on the train in the general vicinity of where I had been sitting before disembarking sans hat. It is lost. I lost it. Hence the phrase 'I lost my hat'.
With that out of the way, let me tell you about this hat.
I bought it a few months ago at Sears on deep, deep clearance. I think I paid $1.99 for it. Its original price was around $20.00. If it had been some other item and as big a bargain, its purchase might have filled me with great joy. But given that it was a fairly average-looking hat, it was one of those bargains where you say to yourself, "well, it's only $1.99 so I might as well buy it".
In fact, I bought two hats that day and I immediately put the other one to use. That hat is still in my possession and I must say it's barely functional as a hat. If I try to wear it down over my ears, it gradually slips up my head and forms a very unattractive little lump above my skull. When I fold up the bottom inch of the hat so that there's more of a grip on my head, it doesn't cover my ears. But I digress, because that's the other hat I bought that day.
This hat, of the two I bought for $1.99, played second fiddle and until yesterday sat in my closet with it's red-tag still attached. Why hadn't it become a first-stringer when the other hat turned out to be dysfunctional? Because I assumed, having been bought the same day and at the same place, that this hat would also suffer from the lumpy-skull-or-exposed-ears challenge. So despite having paid $3.98 for two new hats, I returned to my tried-and-true "Canada" hat that always makes me feel a little stupid since, living in Canada and wearing it primarily in Canada, it's little message ("Canada") seems pointless. It hadn't seemed pointless when I bought it just before a winter trip to Switzerland, but again I digress.
Yesterday, I had an appointment to get the snow tires off my car. The garage is about a 25 minute walk from the train station. It was a cold morning and I knew I'd need a hat. But the night before, I had put my regular tires into the car and in doing so I had been forced to put my rear seats in the folded-over position. Unbeknownst to me at the time I lowered the seats, my faithful but stupid "Canada" hat had become trapped in the seat and obscured from view.
So I found myself in the car - poised to drop it off at the garage and walk 25 minutes to the train on a blustery morning - without a hat. Mistakenly cursing my wife for having jumped the gun on putting away our winter wear (which, to be fair to me, she does every year), I ran back into the house to grab a hat. I looked at the other, dysfunctional hat and thought to myself: "No. Not this time." And in that moment, the third-string hat got its chance to shine. But just in case, I also grabbed my Toronto Marathon insulating headband because if the third-stringer turned out to be dysfunctional, my ears would pay the price.
The delay that resulted from having to go back into the house meant I had to make the 25 minute walk from the garage to the train in about 20 minutes (yes, it did take me 5 minutes to resolve my hat dilemma). This turned the walk into an alternating walk-and-jog. Wearing my Toronto Marathon insulating headband and my third-string hat in a walk-and-jog situation made me sweaty in the region of my head. So after I had made it to the train with moments to spare, I was forced to use the hat as a sweat towel. Imagine, after months of sitting in the closet, wondering if it would ever get into the game, this hat had warmed me and then wiped me.
And in case you were wondering, yes, it had stayed over my ears. Whether that was because it was a good hat or because it was worn over an insulating headband I will never know.
Today, the forecast called for a chilly morning again. I would need a hat. Last night, I had discovered the whereabouts of my stupid "Canada" hat when I put the newly removed snow tires back on the shelf in my garage and returned my seats to their upright position. (And yes, I did apologize to my wife for mistakenly cursing her even though she hadn't known about the curse.) But now I felt my $1.99 hat had earned the right to be worn again (despite the lingering dried perspiration it likely still held) so I chose it over stupid "Canada" - a fateful decision as it would turn out.
I wore the hat today for about 5 minutes as I walked from the parked car to the train. And then I left it on the train. It didn't deserve that.
Was about 25 minutes worth of wear worth $1.99? I don't know. My hope is that someone else will find the hat, overlook the stale smell of perspiration, and take it home. More likely, someone later today will deliver it to the train station's lost-and-found. There, I expect it will sit for a few weeks, until it makes its way to some charitable organization to be resold or given away to someone who needs a hat. I could go to the lost-and-found to recover it - but that would feel wrong (and since it was only $1.99, it's hardly worth the 8 minute walk from my office to reclaim it.)
I hope that by having shared this story, you too have now 'lost your hat' (see definitions above) and can thus feel more intimately connected to me, your friend, who suffers ever so slightly this morning. (Not because I lost my hat, but because of the Jays' home opener last night.)
And I furthermore hope that those of you who habitually tell me insufferably long and pointless stories, can learn something from this one. I will leave it to you discover what that lesson is.
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