tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34643158990211681802024-03-12T19:24:33.947-06:00GallimaufryWhen it comes to posting blogs, one doesn't have to choose between quality and quantity. It's easy enough to choose neither.wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-67186525787459110702015-02-21T22:41:00.000-07:002015-02-22T17:27:45.472-07:00The Problem With Strictly Consensual Sex<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">A heated conversation on Facebook the other day got me thinking about
sexual ethics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems to me that
there’s been growing concern with the topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am specifically referring to such things as slut shaming, consent and
the definition of rape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The problem, I
think, is that the prevailing wisdom is misguided, and dangerously so, due to
the unqualified reliance on consent as the foundation for sexual ethics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is compounded by the emphasis on
personal choice in sexual relationships so that there is no model of what one
should strive for.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">In the online discussions, consent is heralded as the champion of modern
sexual ethics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has a lot to commend
to itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It eliminates all the bad sex
that people want to fence out while leaving all the freedoms that people want
to keep in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a simple and easy ethic
and best of all it is exactly congruent with Postmodernism’s concern for
individual choice and its scepticism with institutionally mandated ethics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it is a simple idea, we’re still in the
midst of figuring out details about what is meant by consent. For example, it was recently announced that in Californian universities, consent no longer is entailed by
“no means no” but rather the much stricter “yes means yes”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All in all, there seems to be an optimism
about the project’s success and these little changes represent the final
touches before its completion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Although I once would have been unable to find fault with the idea I now think</span> it’s rather like a builder touching up the paint on the
foundation when the reality is that it is about to be crushed under the weight
of the building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I should state that I am in complete agreement with the necessity of
consent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the <i>sine </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">qua non</i> of healthy sexual
relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it is nowhere
near robust enough to protect people from damaging sexual relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This should be obvious from the simple fact
that people regularly consent to all sorts of damaging behaviours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People consent to try crystal meth for the
first time, some consent to gamble away the rent check, others consent to eat
cheeseburgers until their heart gives out, some risk their jobs checking
facebook at work, many text and drive and some consent to play video games all
night instead of studying for the big exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Most people make bad personal choices on a regular basis, or at least I
do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should be incontestable that many
are going to consent to sex when it is definitely not in their best interests. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Granted freedom is important and an entailment of freedom is the freedom
to choose badly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The difference with sex
is that there are two people involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While I would defend a friend’s right, for example, to abuse alcohol I
would feel morally culpable if I were to offer that alcoholic friend beer or
invite them down to the pub for drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If I thought it would help, I would go so far as to intervene in their
life trying to prevent them from consenting to actions that I know to be
harmful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Should one not take some thought towards whether their partner’s best interests
are met by having sex, even if they consent to it?</span>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I strongly believe that in addition to consent, all healthy sexual
relationships require that one has the interests of the partner at an equal to
or higher priority as one’s own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
one hand this seems like it should be uncontroversial, but on the other it opens a whole host of
difficulties, chief of them being that the agency of choice no longer remains
entirely with the individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you
have a moral obligation to disregard your partner’s consent and refrain from
sex if you think that it would not be in her best interests, then you have
effectively usurped her ability to make her own decision. This is inconsistent with
the ethic of consent.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The problem is that consent fails to deal with some important
questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If a partner consents to sex
but you know that she uses sex as a means of validation can you in good
conscience sleep with her?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he
consents to sex in the moment but you know that he will regret it in the
morning can you sleep with him without guilt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If a partner consents to sex but you know that sleeping with him or her
is not in their best interests, can you claim that their consent gave you moral
license to do so?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are all kinds of
bad reasons that motivate people to have sex, to deal with self-worth issues,
due to peer pressure, loneliness or out of depression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In these cases there is consent but sex will
likely only serve to compound the issue that motivated sex in the first
place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">It is easy enough to think of a situation where the conditions of consent
are met but engaging in sex would not be appropriate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s an example: Two people are in a
relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is deeply in love but
she is not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She knows this but likes his
company and is currently content.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
suggests sex thinking it will be a meaningful way of taking their relationship
to a deeper level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She agrees to it, for
somewhat baser motivations, fully aware that she has no long term plans with
him and also aware that the pain of the breakup for him will be considerably
more severe after having sex than before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She tells herself that he is capable of making his own decisions and
living with the consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps
she feels it would be patronizing to question his consent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The easy reply is that they should have had an honest discussion about
expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had they done so he would
have realized that he shouldn’t sleep with her and made a better decision to
withhold consent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One might want to say
that healthy sexual relationships entail good communication and especially
discussions about expectations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d
agree that’s true but that conclusion cannot be reached using the standard of
consent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To get to that conclusion
requires a previously held ideal of sexuality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our definition of healthy sexuality is that it is consensual, which
is the case in this instance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If consent
is the only criterion, the woman has no guilt for sleeping with him even
knowing the consequences her actions would cause when she walked out his door in
the morning, never to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I would think that most people would fault the woman for her
actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am certain her partner
would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we cannot fault her unless we
also provide some justification for why. Herein is the problem. Consensual sex
is the definition for healthy sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are told we should only consent to healthy sex but healthy sex is defined as
anything that is consensual, an unhelpfully circular logic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our culture’s only message concerning healthy
sex is that it’s the individual’s choice to decide what works for them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The obvious result is that each person is
sentenced to their own individual trial and error process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the man will learn from the experience
to seek out better communication in future relationships.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe he will mistakenly chalk things up
to his poor sexual performance and he will seek out ways to improve his
technique so one day a woman will be willing to commit herself to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe his self-esteem won’t recover and he
won’t date again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s on his own; we
can wish him luck but we can’t tell him where he went wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I have to believe that people consent to bad sex all the time out of
ignorance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s use polyamory as an
example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I recently read an article
advocating its merits but there was an interesting quotation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman in the relationship told her
partner, the author, that she’d rather he sleep with five women one time than
one woman five times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That doesn’t sound
like a glowing testimonial of polyamory, it sounds like a testimonial of monogamy but with a low view of the intimacy of sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">What is needed is an honest assessment of where sexual satisfaction is
best met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is entirely my opinion,
but too many people consent to sex when their view of sex is almost solely
based upon media portrayals of sex, or worse yet from pornography, which are
misleading at best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For prudent
decisions, wisdom is required and the courage to denounce certain practices as
harmful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To continue with the polyamory
example, I have read accounts of people proclaiming the happiness and
satisfaction that they have found having multiple partners.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Even if that is the case, and I’m doubtful, is that actually
a reasonable endorsement for the practice?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finding a 98 year old pack a day smoker doesn’t disprove the danger of
cigarettes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Promiscuity is another timely example.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyone who criticizes it runs the strong risk of being accused of
slut-shaming because people should be allowed to do what they want with their own
bodies. Be that as it may but it’s probably worth investigating to see what
sort of long-term satisfaction promiscuity tends to bring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like cigarette manufacturers need to
market the dangers so that consumers don’t unknowingly consent to risks, the
associated emotional risks of various practices ought to be taught, not just
the physical risks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s not a matter of
restricting freedom, but rather of offering people the freedom to make informed
decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, I think we have
to recognize that by only teaching consent as the determining factor of sexual
ethics we are teaching a dishonest, harmful and selfish ethic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One must have their potential partner’s
interests in mind but that is meaningless and indeed impossible if consent is
our only guide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">To return to the smoking analogy, one could, in good conscience I feel,
either ban smoking completely while leaving the education of smoking's dangers unstated
or one could permit smoking while providing excellent education about the
associated risks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it would be
the height of irresponsibility to permit and even encourage smoking while
denying anyone the right to offer warnings of possible harms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a remarkable example of unfortunate
timing, enormous freedom is given at the same time that guides are being
silenced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because our culture is
championing personal freedom of choice, dissenting voices are criticized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What is right for you might not be right for
other people.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The responsibility of
making wise choices is left up to the individual at precisely the same time
that the relevant information is withheld.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By moving towards consent based sexual ethics we have effectively
divorced commitment and love from sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It should be no surprise when the result is casual and loveless
sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Or maybe I’m wrong and most people are in fact employing their freedom
to good effect, managing to find, without guidance and with minimal missteps
and emotional harm, the sorts of fulfilling sexual relationships that provide
deep satisfaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe we can just
trust that our partner’s consent is unquestionably the best personal decision
for them and we shouldn’t insult them by taking anymore thought on the
matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any case, feel free to ignore
my opinion if you don’t like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re
all entitled to live our own lives!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">But personally, I continually grow fonder of Mr. Chesterton’s
perspective on the matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">I could never mix in the common
murmur of that rising generation against monogamy, because no restriction on
sex seemed so odd and unexpected as sex itself. To be allowed, like Endymion,
to make love to the moon and then to complain that Jupiter kept his own moons
in a harem seemed to me (bred on fairy tales like Endymion's) a vulgar
anti-climax. Keeping to one woman is a small price for so much as seeing one
woman. To complain that I could only be married once was like complaining that
I had only been born once. It was incommensurate with the terrible excitement
of which one was talking. It showed, not an exaggerated sensibility to sex, but
a curious insensibility to it. A man is a fool who complains that he cannot
enter Eden by five gates at once. Polygamy is a lack of the realization of sex;
it is like a man plucking five pears in mere absence of mind.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">And from his masterful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A
Defense of Rash Vows</i>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">The revolt against vows has been
carried in our day even to the extent of a revolt against the typical vow of
marriage. It is most amusing to listen to the opponents of marriage on this
subject. They appear to imagine that the ideal of constancy was a yoke
mysteriously imposed on mankind by the devil, instead of being, as it is, a
yoke consistently imposed by all lovers on themselves. They have invented a
phrase, a phrase that is a black and white contradiction in two words —
‘free-love’ — as if a lover ever had been, or ever could be, free. It is the
nature of love to bind itself, and the institution of marriage merely paid the
average man the compliment of taking him at his word. Modern sages offer to the
lover, with an ill-favoured grin, the largest liberties and the fullest
irresponsibility; but they do not respect him as the old Church respected him;
they do not write his oath upon the heavens, as the record of his highest
moment. They give him every liberty except the liberty to sell his liberty, which
is the only one that he wants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">It is exactly this backdoor, this
sense of having a retreat behind us, that is, to our minds, the sterilizing
spirit in modern pleasure. Everywhere there is the persistent and insane
attempt to obtain pleasure without paying for it. Thus, in politics the modern
Jingoes practically say, ‘Let us have the pleasure of conquerors without the
pains of soldiers: let us sit on sofas and be a hardy race.’ Thus, in religion
and morals, the decadent mystics say: ‘Let us have the fragrance of sacred
purity without the sorrows of self-restraint; let us sing hymns alternately to
the Virgin and Priapus.’ Thus in love the free-lovers say: ‘Let us have the
splendour of offering ourselves without the peril of committing ourselves; let
us see whether one cannot commit suicide an unlimited number of times.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-CA;">Emphatically it will not work.
There are thrilling moments, doubtless, for the spectator, the amateur, and the
aesthete; but there is one thrill that is known only to the soldier who fights
for his own flag, to the aesthetic who starves himself for his own
illumination, to the lover who makes finally his own choice. And it is this
transfiguring self-discipline that makes the vow a truly sane thing. It must
have satisfied even the giant hunger of the soul of a lover or a poet to know
that in consequence of some one instant of decision that strange chain would
hang for centuries in the Alps among the silences of stars and snows. All
around us is the city of small sins, abounding in back ways and retreats, but
surely, sooner or later, the towering flame will rise from the harbour
announcing that the reign of the cowards is over and a man is burning his
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<![endif]-->wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-5947435237242162962013-04-01T21:07:00.000-06:002013-04-01T21:08:21.719-06:00Doggone Dogs: On Acquiring a Dog in Mexico. (Easier than one may think)"Is there a dead dog over there?" I asked Lisa. Her lovely home in Jalisco, Mexico has a lot of space including a large covered patio which currently was the (final?) resting place of a strange dog.<br />
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Lisa's reply was one of curious scepticism, until she looked over and saw what indeed looked to be a dog on it's side, two of its short legs elevated in the air. There's certainly no shortage of stray dogs around here but the property is entirely fenced off and it's rare that any would find their way inside. Perhaps a dying dog would be tempted however, to find a quiet place away from the busy road to die in peace.<br />
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We went over to investigate. The dead dog experience a remarkable recovery and ran away. I say ran, but really it was more of a waddle. This dog wasn't dead, but she was pregnant, and evidently had been for a while. Luckily she ran off.<br />
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Lisa and Luis have a dog already, a cute little Cocker Spaniel Puppy. They got it by mistake. Their friend and landlord was talking with Lisa about dogs. He was saying how they'd like a dog but didn't have the space at their personal house, "but look at all this space here! This property would be perfect for a dog!" What's more, he knew of a dog who just had puppies. Lisa agreed and said it would be great to have a dog here, thinking that the landlord wanted to have a dog but keep it at the rental house. A simple translation problem lead to the confusion. <br />
<br />
The miscommunication was later sorted out. Lisa agreed with Luis that they definitely didn't want a dog of their own. They decided that they needed to call their friend to let him know about the "change of heart". The phone call was postponed during the craziness of Christmas time. Shortly afterwards however, they were saved the trouble of making the call themselves. Their friend called to let them know he had their dog for them. It had been in their house for a week now and could they please come and pick her up. They decided to name her Galleta, Spanish for "cookie".<br />
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In the evenings I've enjoyed sitting on the patio reading. The nights are warm and the stars are bright. It would be incredibly relaxing except for the fact that Galleta likes to play then. Playing involves biting at my toes, hands and, if all this fails to get a reaction, my face. I've been thinking that I would like a dog for some time now so generally I can be tempted to leave my book to chase her around the yard in the soft glow of the patio light. Two nights in a row I saw a small creature slip off into the night when Galleta and I play in the dark. <br />
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A day or two later Lisa and I saw this same pregnant dog hovering around the edge of the property. I brought a small bowl of food to her and tried to tempt her off the property. I wanted to feed her but didn't want to encourage her to associate the house with food. Evidently hungry, she followed closely for a ways and then stopped and went back. She was in the same area that I saw her the night before, by some assorted detritus leaning against the fence, and I speculated to Lisa that she had her puppies there. I left the bowl near her and she ate it. <br />
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Yesterday we were enjoying Easter lunch when we spotted her. We explained to friends Juan and Cynthia about her. Juan later went to the area to look for evidence of a litter He came back and said that indeed there was a puppy there, but it had died. She continued to hang around.<br />
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This morning, while Lisa was out, I was changing Santiago's diaper, simultaneously trying to clean him up, keep his feet out of the dirty diaper and the Cocker Spaniel puppy from taking the used wipe for a toy, when I spotted movement in my peripheral vision. It was the little stray puppy who had braved the trip to come up to the house and peek inside. I finished changing the diaper and rushed outside to chase the dog away. Can't turn the house into a shelter for all the strays, that's for sure.<br />
<br />
I ran out shouting and looking as threatening as possible. The dog rolled onto her back, looking up submissively, her swollen teats all too evident. I'm the kid who cried when Bambi's mother died. I didn't not grow up into the sort of man who can hit a dog who's lying on her back looking up at me like one who expects nothing else. I poked her with the end of a broom, a trick I learned from little old women in the cartoons. I went into the house. <br />
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Lisa came home and I explained what had happened. We saw the dog later on. I barbequed chicken for lunch. The chickens here are sold with organs and feet included. I grilled them up and fed them to the dog. Lisa suggested that since there's almost certainly contact between the stray and Galleta we should throw some flea powder on her. I agreed. The instructions said that the powder must be rubbed in so that it gets to the skin. I followed the instructions. I can't blame the dog if she felt that she was being petted in an affectionate manner. <br />
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I have found myself petting her absentmindedly while sitting reading a book. I wonder if I'll soon have a fuller understanding of the idiom "lie down with the dogs, get up with the fleas." Lisa looked at her and proposed that we could name her even if we didn't have intentions of keeping her. I agreed. We sat on the patio chairs and looked at her trying to think of a good name. "Mango!" Lisa submitted. Instantly I knew that it was a great name. "Mango Unchained!" I said. She is, after all, a stray. <br />
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<br />wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-27823166855036105502013-03-13T13:51:00.001-06:002013-03-13T13:57:58.698-06:00Habemus PapamI just heard on the radio that a new pope has been elected. As of yet, exactly who has been elected isn't known. The smoke signals only tell us so much. I heard that there's a decent possibility that a Canadian cardinal, Marc Ouellet will be the first North American to receive the honour. The patriotic part of me hopes for this, but on the other hand he's conservative by Catholic Cardinal standards which is quite a few shades too conservative for me. <br />
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I understand that it's possible to bet on papal elections. I'm not one to gamble; I hate losing money far too much but I think that if I were to bet on anything, it would be this. For one thing, part of the fun would come from the fact that the opportunity comes so intermittently. For another thing, historically it's been quite difficult to anticipate who will be chosen. This means, I would think, that there's a better chance of getting a good payout by supporting a dark horse. I would think that the odds are not going to be quite as accurate as other forms of gambling, such as sports gambling where there's much more historic precedent to base the odds on. Plus, it seems like a good way to get an idea of what sort of people are in the upper echelons of the Catholic Church. I'm not sure if such knowledge provides any practical benefit, but it couldn't hurt to know it. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jIF0tqAu-JA/UUDXVL-g1zI/AAAAAAAAAEw/JAcnlSIV-rE/s1600/Photo+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jIF0tqAu-JA/UUDXVL-g1zI/AAAAAAAAAEw/JAcnlSIV-rE/s400/Photo+1.jpg" width="285" /></a>Thinking about this lead me to a rather brilliant and novel novel idea. The plot would involve a scandal where the mob rigs the papal election in order to cash in on gambling. Boom. It seems like a safe bet that today's public would go mad over that plot. Aspiring writers, you're welcome. <br />
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I've included some artwork courtesy of Calvin French. The text at the bottom reads, "I once was only a cardinal. Now I am Pope." Crayon is an underutilized medium among artists, I feel. <br />
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I should also mention that the new pope has been announced, formal cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio from Argentina. I applaud the liberality of the cardinals in being so bold as to choose not just a non-Italian but a non-European pope. Glad I didn't vote on this election. I suspect I would be out some money.wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-68981770598275803592013-02-09T15:01:00.003-07:002013-02-09T15:01:26.865-07:00How To ChangeI recently read/am reading two books, <i>The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People</i> by Stephen Covey and <i>What Good is God</i> by Philip Yancey. Philip Yancey is one of my favourite authors and <i>The Seven Habits</i> is one of my favourite books, one that I'm now reading for the second time. It was interesting though, because of something I realized only through my concurrent reading of <i>What Good is God</i>. <br />
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In it, Yancey describes several different places where Christianity is making a positive difference in peoples' lives. Maybe my favourite chapter was the one that described Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and the role spirituality plays in their treatment. One of the steps in the Twelve Step program is admission that you are an alcoholic and that you are unable to overcome alcoholism. (Perhaps that's two of the steps, I don't know) <br />
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In any case, members are instructed to seek help from a higher power in order to stay sober. Of course not everybody agrees with this mentality. However, it does a beautiful job of leveling the members. All come together from a place of weakness and humility. There is no need for posturing or pretension because everyone is on an equal plane, one of mutual dependence and support. <br />
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In <i>The Seven Habits</i>, the reader is implored to self-improvement through personal effort. In the same way that the alcoholics are urged to change their behaviour during the meetings, the reader is urged to change her behaviour and to adopt the seven habits through force of will. Success comes from within, rather than from beyond. <br />
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The two ideas are diametrically opposed and yet I want to accept them both. Both have merit. Both, if taken unrestrictedly, lead to dangerous positions. There is the risk of accepting a victim's stance if you agree to the alcoholic's inability to change but if you think change comes entirely from within there can be big psychological penalties for failing in one's attempts to change and judgement for those who keep destructive habits. <br />
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Well, I've just about lost interest in writing this post. I just thought it was interesting to see these two ideas side by side. Makes you wonder. (Well, makes me wonder at least) <br />
<br />wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-25180037243458820492013-01-16T13:51:00.001-07:002013-01-16T13:51:42.975-07:00On Underwear and Good LivingYesterday as I was getting dressed I realized that it was time to throw out the pair of boxer shorts I was wearing. Retiring underwear always follows the same routine. One day I look down and all of a sudden realize that my underpants are well past their prime. I never notice the first little hole or two, so finding several large holes always comes as a surprise as if everything deteriorated in one final washing.<br />
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These underwear were however, if not special, at least notable. There are, in my experience, two ways of getting new underwear: they arrive in my stocking at Christmas or I buy them on that day when I realize I don't want to do laundry but nor do I want to wear the same underwear for even another moment. These underwear did not arrive in either way. These ones came to me almost miraculously. <br />
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One summer while spending time with my sister and brother-in-law Lisa showed them to me and asked if they were mine and had become mixed up in her laundry. I was certain that they weren't mine but Luis was equally certain they weren't his. They had just appeared somehow with the rest of Lisa and Luis' laundry. Lisa told me I could keep them.<br />
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Wearing underwear that isn't mine is not something I ever liked the idea of. However, I do like things that are free. However, I don't like intimate second hand clothing because, well I don't have to explain do I. Anyway, I eventually reasoned that my discomfort was mostly in my head. I've often slept in hotels without a thought of the sheets that have enveloped other slumbering bodies, or even worse, non-slumbering bodies. I've gone to restaurants and used forks that have been in countless other mouths. So if those boxers have been washed with lots of detergent in extra hot water, what's the problem?<br />
<br />
So I wore them. I never liked them. They were always last in my underwear rotation. First my comfy MEC boxers, then some well-fitting cotton ones, then the ones that are prone to giving me a wedgie and then finally, if there's nothing else available, I'd use these ones. They were last because, what bothered me more than the fact that they were second hand, was that they were Playboy boxers. On the front of the elastic was the iconic bunny.<br />
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I don't understand why people would want the Playboy's emblem on their clothes. When I was in Spain I remember often seeing young girls who had Playboy T-shirts and I always thought it was the saddest thing. Now there are a few things that Hugh Heffner, Playboy's founder, is known for and therefore called to mind by the bunny. Perhaps these are the images that one wishes to evoke by sporting Playboy clothing. <br />
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The first is sex with beautiful young women, many beautiful young women. I suppose that biology dictates that at a base level, there's something attractive about this. However, Hugh Heffner is now in his eighties and has continued his playboy lifestyle, sometimes simultaneously having multiple girlfriends who are young enough to be his granddaughters. Whatever mystique there is about being a playboy suddenly seems like a dirty farce, about as attractive as second-hand underwear. <br />
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To a certain extent, Heffner is also famous for luxury living. He lives in the Playboy Mansion and enjoys the finer things in life. This for me is more tempting than sleeping around with hordes of lovely nubiles, but it's not what really tempts me about Heffner's lifestyle.<br />
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Hugh Heffner is famous for wearing pyjamas all the time. Silk pyjamas. Although I wouldn't necessarily say that I want to wear pyjamas all day every day, I know myself well enough to know that it's a habit that I could easily fall into. I am naturally somewhat lazy and can spend the day undressed and unproductive just through inertia. I don't like this quality and therefore I often have to talk myself into being more productive. <br />
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So, today I throw out my Playboy underwear, gratefully because wearing good underwear is an important first step towards having a good day. I know that throwing the underwear out won't automatically make me productive but it's a good reminder of what life I don't want to have. Heffner can try to sell the desirability of his playboy lifestyle but I'm not buying it. <br />
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That being said, I should remain mindful of the fact that I didn't buy my Playboy underwear; it just fell into my lap so to say. I need to make sure that the pyjama lifestyle does not. (So far I haven't had to worry about either wealth and luxury or beautiful nymphomaniacs falling into my lap.) <br />
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<br />wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-8078680070981742662012-11-18T15:17:00.002-07:002012-11-18T15:17:51.749-07:00Recommending Book Part IISo yesterday's post inspired me to see if there are other authors who have published lists of their favourite books. What I did find is a page that had <a href="http://www.shortlist.com/entertainment/40-favourite-books-of-famous-people" target="_blank">40 famous people name their favourite books.</a> <br />
Of course the question of what is your favourite book is really difficult, at least for people who don't like lying. Because as we all know, the real question is, "what book do you like that will win you respect for liking?" It's a safe bet that someone will be tempted to answer <i>Ulysses</i>, by James Joyce and that same person will be lying. <br />
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Confession time. Writing my list yesterday made me think of a book that challenged what I thought about nuclear weapons. That book did not make the list because it's <i>The Sum of All Fears</i> by Tom Clancy. Not much respect earned for reading that book. Or John Grisham's <i>The Chamber </i>which challenged what I think about capital punishment. I'd like to include the caveat that I read both these books when I was considerably younger, but that's disingenuous because I still like books that are almost certainly merely escape fiction. <br />
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So I've thought of a more objective criterion for measuring my favourite books. It has its own flaws, but adds a different perspective. I should mention that my list yesterday was specifically not a list of my favourite books, but ones that have influenced me the most. This blog is more a list of books that I've enjoyed the most, sort of. <br />
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Here's a list of books that I've read multiple times. <br />
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I would guess I've read each of these at least four times:<br />
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<i>Flint</i>, Louis L'amour<br />
<i>Blue Like Jazz</i>, Don Miller<br />
<i>Orthodoxy</i>, G.K. Chesterton<br />
<i>Reaching for the Invisible God</i>, Philip Yancey<br />
<i>Yeager: an autobiography</i>, Chuck Yeager<br />
<i>Treasure Island</i>, R.L. Stevenson<br />
<i>A Short History of Nearly Everything</i>, Bill Bryson<br />
<i>In a Sunburnt Country</i>, Bill Bryson<br />
<i>The Lost World</i>, Michael Crichton<br />
<i>The Dog Who Wouldn't Be</i>, Farley Mowatt<br />
<i>The Sacred Diary of Adrian Plass, </i>Adrian Plass<br />
and perhaps some of the Harry Potter novels.<br />
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If I include at least three times read there's a bunch more Bryson, Mowatt, Yancey, Crichton and some Clive Cussler I believe. I've probably read a couple of Terry Pratchett novels three times, certainly twice. The Godfather would be on the list and probably some Lee Strobel books. If I were to guess, there are at least a dozen Louis L'amour novels that I've read at least three times. Also the Hobbit. <br />
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A list of books that I've read at least twice would include a few dozen Louis L'amour, most Crichton books, several Grisham books, several Clive Cussler and a fewTom Clancy. It would have some Sherlock Holmes stories, several James Herriot stories, maybe some Ken Follet. It would include both Brave New World and 1984, all the Harry Potter books except the last one, some Leon Uris and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. <br />
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So what are my favourite books? Tough question. I can tell you that I'd happy to read many of the books I've listed above again; I don't know if that's true of <i>The Brothers Karamazov</i>! When asked my favourite book though, many of those listed above would not be mentioned, they're just too shameful!wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-1201434597979815392012-11-18T00:36:00.001-07:002012-11-18T00:36:45.528-07:00Recommending BooksI recently took a trip to goodreads.com and saw a list of the "<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/shelf/show/christian-non-fiction" target="_blank">best christian books</a>" as voted by users. I looked up good christian nonfiction because I'm tempted to think that good christian fiction is an oxymoron. (The Sacred Diary of Adrian Plass being a shining counterexample) The first book was Mere Christianity, which I have no problem with. Second was a book by Francis Chan that I haven't read, but I'm certainly sceptical about its position in the number two spot. Third was one of the Lee Strobel apologetics books. <br />
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I'll forgo a in depth critique of the list. Let it just suffice as another damning example of the ills of democracy. It's a nice idea to give everyone a voice into choosing what are the best books, but the end result is an uninspiring list. <br />
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In contrast to the goodreads list, I went over to Philip Yancey's website where he has a list of his <a href="http://www.philipyancey.com/writing/recommended-reading" target="_blank">favourite books</a>. Now I understand that I'm pretty biased towards Yancey, and his individual point of view cannot offer the breadth of opinion that a democratic list would, but regardless his list is far superior. <br />
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In many of his books, Yancey describes how these authors and books have shaped him and consequently I've chosen to read many of them. It's interesting to find what influences people, especially when it's a person you admire. <br />
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It made me think about what I'd include if I had a list of books that had most shaped me, if only by challenging my way of thinking. Upon short reflection, here's my list. I've spent little to no time ordering it. Books with asterisks are those I read because Phil recommended them.<br />
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1. *Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton<br />
2. Reaching for the Invisible God, Philip Yancey<br />
3. What's So Amazing About Grace, Philip Yancey<br />
4. Mountains Beyond Mountains, Tracy Kidder<br />
5. Shake Hands with the Devil, Roméo Dallaire<br />
6. The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, John LeCarré<br />
7. Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis<br />
8. *Becoming Human, Jean Vanier<br />
9. The Practicing Mind, Thomas M. Sterner<br />
10. Lullabies for Little Criminals, Heather O'Neill<br />
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I think that I should read more of the books that Yancey recommended. <br />
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A question for my either of my readers. If you could choose one person, whose list of book recommendations would you pick? wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-22294466188617607592012-10-25T00:30:00.001-06:002012-10-25T00:30:50.106-06:00A Self Indulgent Post For A Self Indulgent Medium<div>
Maybe my favourite <i>Hockey Night in Canada:</i> <i>After Hours </i>involved an interview with hockey <strike>legend</strike> player Paul Bissonnette. The interview was hilarious. Although he plays in the NHL his real fame is from his twitter account where his true skill as a comedian is revealed. For as he loves to point out, he's spends most games riding the pine. However, he is a true champion of the twitter world. </div>
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For whatever reason I remembered him the other day and decided to do a search of his funniest tweets. There were some good ones for sure and I realized that I do miss one aspect of facebook and that's the joy that comes from writing a really clever facebook status. Considering this, perhaps I should get a twitter account. Maybe later. Anyway, I thought that it might be fun to go back and make a list of my best status updates and post them here. This may seem like the height of arrogance but not if you consider that I only have three readers. Anyway, I made the sacrifice of temporarily reactivating my account and going through several years worth of material. There are, you may notice, some common themes. I hope you enjoy. </div>
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Adulthood so far has been overrated, except for the scotch. </div>
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Ed Smith is loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, and gentle but when it comes to Halloween chocolates sitting beside him, it's just not enough. <br /><br />Ed Smith is no longer an amateur crastinator. <br /><br />Ed is drinking beer on a Monday afternoon. So far he likes being a student. <div>
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Ed Smith is not getting any better at thinking before speaking. <br /><br />Ed is writing his paper, because it's due tomorrow and he's only just begun. The fool. <br /><br />Ed started writing his paper, then decided to nap again. He's now back on track, with an obvious detour via facebook. <br /><br />Ed wonders why the man in the mirror still has that ridiculous moustache.<br /><br />Ed learned a lot of things at school, but not how to study. <br /><br />Ed read Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and decided to avoid ambition. <br /><br />Ed prefers the french press to the bench press.<br /><br />Ed is... er, well, he is, umm, the thing is, he's well, he's eloquent. <br /><br />Ed hasn't heard a thing of Karen Gomyo for a while; however, Julia Fischer is playing at the Orpheum in Vancouver the day after Valentine's... <br /><br />Ed thinks that an 8:00 am class, dimmed lights while watching a movie, comfy seats combined with a lack of sleep is more than any man could resist. <br /><br />Ed types his fb status updates at 50 words per minute and his essays at 5 minutes per word. sigh. <br /><br />Ed looks at cookie dough the same way a drunk looks at booze. Ed fell off the wagon. <br /><br />Ed received his first pair of TOMS. Really it is a great gift. Not only do I get a free pair of shoes, but I can also give the impression that I have a well developed social conscience without having to spend a dime. <br /><br />Ed is off to collect the empirical data on his study, "How not to prepare for exams."<br /><br />Christmas? Tomorrow? I haven't started shopping yet! I gotta get to the liquor store. <br /><br />Ed learned that sometimes when he's told that his nephew wants a hug, what his nephew really wants is his post constipation diaper changed. Rookie uncle mistake, giving him that hug. <br /><br />Academic research: The desperate search to find a scholar who writes, in a peer reviewed journal, the view that you already hold. <br /><br />Should I not be proud that my nephew is beating up the other kids in his play school? <br /><br />It's a sign of my stress levels when I walk past the xbox on the way to do homework and I'm not even tempted. <br /><br />Ed is burning dinner. (Stupid Facebook!) <br /><br />Ed is starting a collection to help send a needy stalker to Victoria to see Karen Gomyo play. Make cheques out to Ed Smith. (Not eligible for a tax receipt.) <br /><br />Ed is making a quiche and making a mess, but mostly making a mess. <br /><br />Ed is thirsty. His two available options are water and beer. Tough choice.<br /><br />Ed likes to act, and then consider consequences. Or at least that's what he does. <br /><br />How do you spell bottomless money pit? C-A-R.<br /><br />Ed didn't plant any trees today, but he did plant some bullets into some tree boxes. The money isn't as good but it's infinitely more rewarding. <br /><br />Ed has been killing mosquitos all night; so why don't they fear him? <br /><br />Ed wants peace in his heart but he wouldn't turn down world peace either. Or a piece of pie. <br /><br />Ed curses the addictive qualities of chocolate chip cookie dough. <br /><br />Ed wonders with George W. out of office, who the world is going to blame its problems on. <br /><br />Ed studies for his midterms and hopes for a miracle. Two, actually. <br /><br />Ed used to be a horrible procrastinator but a Tetris demigod. Now he's just a horrible procrastinator. <br /><br />Ed is a horrible procrastinator, and not too shabby at Tetris. <br /><br />Ed is a horrible (or excellent, depending on how you look at it) procrastinator and for the moment he has the highest Tetris score amongst his friends." <br /><br />Ed tries to care more about his midterms next week than being bumped by Laura into second place in the Tetris world. <br /><br />Ed changes his mind more often than his underwear. <br /><br />Ed runs on mango power. See the man go! <br /><br />Ed thinks that if time were actually money, then he'd spend all of his in the dollar store. <br /><br />It isn't really procrastinating... It's not wise to jump too quickly into this important assignments, especially when they're so BORING! <br /><br />Ed wonders for how many days it's acceptable to wear a pair of jeans without washing them. He hopes it's more than six. <br /><br />Ed wonders if he can sue facebook for failing his courses. <br /><br />Ed wonders what Sarah Chang will find less unattractive: scruffy looking stubble or clean-shaven but with a moustache. <br /><br />Ed can't remember the last time he showered. It's not planting season so that means it must be nearly the end of the semester. (Don't argue. That's what it means)<br /><br />Ed thinks that a double scotch on the rocks would go quite well with his exam preparations.<br /><br />Ed wonders if he can get academic credit for his clever facebook comments.<br /><br />Ed feels that an education is very important but evidently not so important as: napping, facebook, playing peek-a-boo with his nephew on video chat, playing halo with roommates, eating junk food, watching youtube videos and checking out hockey scores.<br /><br /><a href="http://ted.com/">ted.com</a>: all the joys of procrastination with less guilt!<br /><br />Ed plants trees by day, scarfs ice cream by night. Life is sweet. <br /><br />Ed doesn't think that coffee is enough. He needs a kick in the @ss. </div>
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Ed is going to unfriend everyone who has more friends than him. It's an ego thing. <br /><br />While waiting for the bus this morning I was struck by a fortuitous epiphany, "Why go to class at all?"" <br /><br />When it was my textbook, I couldn't be bothered to read it. Now I'm voluntarily reading it instead of reading my textbook for the course I'm currently enrolled in. <br /><br />Nothing sucks the joy out of a really good exam score like knowing the whole class did equally well. <br /><br />I want there to be lots of trick or treaters so that we won't have any left over candy. However, every time that some come to the door I have another chocolate myself. I feel ill. <br /><br />Went to Starbucks today and gave my one year old nephew the last few drops of my caramel frappuccino, in a stroke introducing him to three evils: sugar, caffeine, and corporate branding. I felt a bit like Satan. Boy did he smile though. Sometimes when I'm riding the bus I like to play a little game where I let myself drift off to sleep, gambling on the fact that I will wake before I pass my stop. The really exciting part is when I wake up it often takes me a little while to recognize where I am. Today I arrived home a little later than usual, but well rested. <br /><br />Sometimes the cute little granny that you meet at the bus stop is actually a horrible racist. <br /><br />Having trouble getting homework done. The best option is to go to bed and wake up early when there will be real pressure to complete the assignment. <br /><br />(From a post early in December when I was sporting a large beard) </div>
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Yesterday I went to the grocery store and I bought a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, and deodorant. The till clerk looked at my purchases and then looked at me (my beard) and asked, "So, they getting you guys to fill your own hampers this year?" <br /><br />I may have led some of you astray with my previous status update. I wouldn't say that I lied. Perhaps though, a more honest status update would be: "Yesterday I went to the grocery store and I bought two toothbrushes, two packages of toothpaste, soap, shampoo and deodorant. Then I went and used the self checkout." It's still funny, right? <br /><br />I just found out that my cell phone wasn't working today. It's fixed now but it means that all those Valentine's Day texts that were sent to me didn't arrive. Feel free to resend. <br /><br />I strongly feel that people who have it as a viable option, should commute with public transit rather than with personal vehicles that clog up roadways and pollute the air. After 5 minutes of waiting for the bus in -24 weather, my principles were gone. I would have gladly driven a two stroke H2 rather than wait another minute in that weather. <br /><br />I must be at least 500% more efficient the last few hours before an assignment is due. Logically, it's actually a waste of time for me to do work ahead of time. <br /><br />I passed a nice house the other day with a big Ford 4x4 parked out front, large motorhome in the driveway and the white, middle aged owner leaving on his Harley Davidson. When I saw this and the NDP sign on the lawn I realized that I'm not in Alberta anymore. <br /><br />When wiping your bottom while in the woods it's best to avoid touching sappy trees immediately prior. <br /><br />The mosquito's natural predators aren't nearly gluttonous enough, imo. <br /><br />Unlimited ice cream is a little bit better than you think it is. <br /><br />My two year old nephew loves the Beatles!!! He loves Ringo Starr that is. Well, to be honest I guess he loves Thomas the Tank Engine as narrated by Ringo Starr. It's a start though. <br /><br />It's difficult to write a paper when you don't understand the topic but it's easy to surf facebook. It's less easy but more satisfying to go eat something. <br /><br />I'm starting fasting now. Not for noble motivations but pragmatic. I'm going to a churrascaria tonight. <br /><br />FYI- Running a half marathon is considerably easier than walking down a flight of stairs the day after. <br /><br />I thought that cutting my own hair might be a good way to save some money. Perhaps it's just a way. <br /><br />Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens are all well and good, but both would at best come a distant second or third to cold beer. Granville Island's Winter Ale is a probably the second best thing about winter, after hockey. <br /><br />I think fruit flies are so called because they're so fruitful, especially in my kitchen. So glad I'm not Jain. <br /><br />My New Year's Resolution: Publish a book. It's going to be a self help book titled "Cutting Your Own Hair: For Dummies" because I feel that the title should speak to the target audience. <br /><br />During class today the story of Jesus cursing the fig tree came up. I felt that it would be an appropriate time to use the "God hates figs" joke. If the stony silence following was any indication, I was wrong. <br /><br />I don't know too much about women, but I have noticed that when the topic of firemen comes up they get a bit flushed and start playing with their hair. I also know that when my toaster caught fire this morning, I didn't call the firemen for help, I dealt with it myself. <br /><br />I like walking through the university library and seeing the percentage of people who are using their computers to surf facebook. Part of the reason is to see how many times I can be astounded by the same phenomenon, and partly because the hypocritical guilt later forces me to study when I'm at the library. <br /><br /><div>
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It's time for me to make a personal budget. That way I can judiciously set aside money for wine. <br /><br />Back in high school I was a bit homophobic. I'm glad that I'm over that, for the obvious reasons of not cutting myself off from countless wonderful people and other ills of bigotry, but also because I really like homo milk. <br /><br />Sometimes my laziness is unhealthy. Like when I say to myself, "I should go exercise, but I'd rather not." Sometimes it's healthy, like the times I say to myself, "I want some ice cream, but the store is too far away."<br /><br />Oh Karen Gomyo! I thought I was over you! <br /><br />After some careful introspection and two bowls of empirical research, I've reached the conclusion that eating homemade ice cream is better than beating Jeff Dyer and Rich Lange at the Hustle for Hunger. <br /><br />They say that when life gives you lemons you should make lemonade. I usually just add a shot of Baileys to the morning coffee <br /><br />I'd like to submit evidence that democracy isn't such a great idea. <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/list/show/1.Best_Books_Ever">http://www.goodreads.com/list/show/1.Best_Books_Ever</a> </div>
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Just interrupted my studying with a little gin and tonic break. This doesn't bode well for my brilliant refutation of the philosophical garbage that is Humean Supervenience."<br /><br />It's easy to know that it's time for bed when one writes sentences such as "If there is no convincing reason to believe that the laws are grueistic, then there is no reason to believe that they are in fact grueistic." Goodnight and good riddance.<br /><br />I guess one this this degree has taught me is to never scorn a philosophical position until after I've tried to write a paper refuting it. It's always a little painful going in for the coup de grace and realizing that my position is the vulnerable one.<br /><br />Plato, Aristotle and Hume are all well and good, but when I want real philosophy, I read Terry Pratchett and Jorge Luis Borges. <br /><br />Despite my love of puns, I really get irritated at the frequency with which the leek box bottoms break open. <br /><br />Sometimes I try to think important thoughts just so I have something to post on my status update. <br /><br />I'm not the first to state that our education system is deeply flawed. Children are unique but schools have a one size fits all mentality. I, for example, in response to my mediocre or late assignments, should have probably been beaten mercilessly. Maybe then I would have been able to get assignments started before the eleventh hour. (11:23 pm, to be specific) <br /><br />Well I didn't beat Jeff Dyer or Rich Lange, but I did achieve my real goal of finishing before all the women. <br /><br />100% of 3 year old nephews polled, think Uncle Ed is pretty awesome. <br /><br />Research indicates that it's about 10 hours before the deadline that I get worried enough to sit down to write the paper and about 5 hours before that I actually close the irrelevant tabs and start writing. This strategy works fine except when there are two papers due at the same time. My fear works concurrently rather than consecutively so about 10 hours before the papers are due I get worried enough to sit down to write... <br /><br />I went to work this afternoon with a serious sleep deficit but as I was stocking onions I realized that I was in a good mood. I think that there's something therapeutic about working with fruits and vegetables. Plus, if you're alert you can generally produce a good food pun. <br /><br />So I'm feeling like my vote this morning went to the best candidate for our riding. I'm basing my judgement on my comprehensive election research. "Hey Clement, whom should I vote for?" <br /><br />Maybe the biggest failing of university is the fact that nobody has told me what salutation to use when addressing professors in emails. I generally spend about 15 minutes trying to decide. I think I'm just going to always use "Dear". Retro is cool, right? <br /><br />If you go long enough without shampoo, hair gel becomes redundant. <br /><br />I'm working up in Fort MacMurray and staying at an oil sands camp. This morning I spent all breakfast trying to figure out what language the guys at the table beside me were speaking. Finally I realized English, but with a Newfie accent. <br /><br />They have pretty stringent rules up here on the mine site. I feel that they've eliminated all the major hazards except perhaps the sartorial risk that is wearing denim on denim. <br /><br />I made up a joke this evening. "Why should you never knit in a barn? Because you should never cast your purls before swine!" <br /><br />Taking work boots off 18 hours after putting them on feels pretty good but smells pretty bad." <br /><br />Found my cell phone charger after a month of having a dead phone. Turned it on to find that in that time I had received one text message. And people wonder why I hate paying cell phone bills!</div>
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wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-833819154876858602012-10-10T00:11:00.000-06:002012-10-10T00:11:11.853-06:00BooksI love books. I love bookshelves. I love old, comfy chairs with afghans thrown over the back. If there's an extra chair I'm happy to have a cat sleeping in one of the chairs. <br />
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I think the invention of the internet has dulled my love affair with books. There's an immediacy to receiving emails that, from my perspective, seems to have dulled my attention span. Whereas once I could sit and read for hours without distraction now I generally have to consciously refocus every few minutes in all but the most enthralling of books. That's partly why I'm so glad to have quit facebook; I feel like it was altering my mind in a literal way. Something is always happening on facebook and that knowledge often tricked me into believing that I should always be aware of what that something is.<br />
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Two weeks ago I spent several hours discussing books with some friends. Favourite books, books that we wanted to like but didn't, and general thoughts about literature. It was most satisfying. I think that reading, while generally a solitary pastime, should be accompanied by social discussions. I think most lessons contained with books are lost if they are not discussed with others. <br />
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I want to read more. Not in the way people say things like "I should exercise more", or "watch less TV", the sorts of things that are perceived as beneficial but are actually like chores. I love reading. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of that fact. <br />
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As far as blog posts go, this one is rather pathetic. I'm hoping that this is one of those things where "it's the thought that counts". In any case, without posting to facebook it's doubtful that I'll have many readers. What I mean to say is, "this blog post is for you Steph!" Hopefully I'll have something better to write soon.<br />
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Here's a picture of roughly what sort of library I'd like. It's too nice, and there aren't enough books either. Plus the books are too pretentious looking. I'd like paperbacks as well as leather tomes. The chairs, rug, fireplace and old man are all features that will someday be part of my library. wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-34934044746466559262012-04-20T22:15:00.000-06:002012-04-20T22:15:52.980-06:00A Defense of GenderI didn't have to do a big study on gender, John and Stasi Eldredge figured things out already. Men are wild and woman want to be beautiful, the object of a romance or something. I'm not sure. Anyway, I guess I agree with them, sort of. <br />
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I've got the view that gender might be the sort of thing that prohibits having a specific definition. That is not however, reason to think that the terms masculine and feminine are meaningless. There are other terms that defy specific definitions, like baldness or a heap. How many hairs can you have on your head and still be bald? How many grains of sand in a heap? Just because we can't answer those questions precisely doesn't mean that the terms don't have a meaningful meaning. <br />
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One of the reasons I gave for why my quest to understand masculinity is important is because of the motivation it provides. If asked if I'd rather be a good person or a good man the answer is incredibly easy. The desire to be a good man motivates far more powerfully than the desire to be a good person. My friend rebutted that that's because history has such strong literature about the ideal man but not about the ideal woman. There aren't the same sort of famous models of what is entailed by being a "good woman" as compared to being a "good man". I can't disagree with that. <br />
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I'm not a woman, but I recently read the following poem and thought that perhaps it bestows the same sort of glory on womanhood that countless philosophers and poets have bestowed upon manhood. It's by Maya Angelou. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenal Woman</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">But when I start to tell them,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">They think I’m telling lies.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I say,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">It’s in the reach of my arms,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The span of my hips, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The stride of my step, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The curl of my lips. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I’m a woman</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenally.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenal woman, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">That’s me.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I walk into a room</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Just as cool as you please, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">And to a man,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The fellows stand or</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Fall down on their knees. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Then they swarm around me,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">A hive of honey bees. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I say,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">It’s the fire in my eyes, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">And the flash of my teeth, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The swing in my waist, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">And the joy in my feet. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I’m a woman</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenally.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenal woman,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">That’s me.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Men themselves have wondered </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">What they see in me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">They try so much</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">But they can’t touch</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">My inner mystery.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">When I try to show them, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">They say they still can’t see. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I say,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">It’s in the arch of my back, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The sun of my smile,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The ride of my breasts,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The grace of my style.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I’m a woman</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenally.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenal woman,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">That’s me.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><div style="padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Now you understand</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Just why my head’s not bowed. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I don’t shout or jump about</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Or have to talk real loud. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">When you see me passing,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">It ought to make you proud.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">I say,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">It’s in the click of my heels, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The bend of my hair, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">the palm of my hand, </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">The need for my care. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">’Cause I’m a woman</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenally.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">Phenomenal woman,</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;">That’s me.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm not a woman but I feel like this poem may just speak to the desires of the feminine heart. In any case, the woman in the poem is the sort of woman that I would like to meet. It's curious though, because nowhere in the poem do we really see what it is that makes this woman so arresting, so alluring. I don't think it's really the bend of her hair, the palm of her hand or all the rest. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think the reason we don't have a good description of gender is due to the fact that human language isn't capable of defining it. That's why I like this poem so much though, because I think it, more than anything else I know, describes femininity. I don't know what femininity is, but this poem invokes my understanding of it. There are two things going on that I think make it so powerful. One is that Angelou so boldly proclaims her womanhood. "I'm a woman phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, that's me." There's the unapologetic pride in her self description that both affirms herself as a woman but also the fact that being a woman is something to be proud of. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">There seems to be two strongly held views with regards to gender: the traditional view of gender being easily definable, with the traditional descriptions being accurate descriptions and the rebelling view that traditional definitions fail as definitions and aren't meaningful. I'd like to say that both are accurate statements.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think that due to the inability of our language to define gender, we automatically and unconsciously revert to secondary descriptions. A parallel would be the idea of a romantic dinner. There are candles, white tablecloth, wine, soft music and whatever else but they are not romantic, but what facilitates romance. In a similar way I think that John Eldredge mistook hunting, and hiking and shooting guns and all the other wild and manly pursuits that he discusses as <i>being</i> masculine rather than facilitators of masculinity. However, the book speaks powerfully to many men because those are the exact things that speak to their own masculinity. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">If this is true it explains why the those who hold the traditional view of gender are so unwilling to give it up, because for them the traditional views fit and speak to them strongly and personally. If however, we've mislabeled masculinity and femininity we can still keep traditional gender descriptions. Thus the guy who loves hunting with his guy friends because it puts him in touch with his masculinity can truthfully say that hunting is a masculine pursuit while also acknowledging that many woman, who aren't at all manly, like to hunt. It also allows guys who hate the idea of hunting to not feel like less of a man because of it. The search for a true gender description then isn't about finding something that is necessarily consistent with the definitions of others. It's about finding whatever speaks to you as being a part of your gender and claiming it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Like the candlelit dinner being thought of as romantic, perhaps there are true generalizations. Some people may not find these dinners to be romantic, but they are described as such because the majority of people find them to facilitate romance. Maybe traditional ideas about gender have staying power because they speak to a large number of people. That doesn't prove that they are the definitions of masculinity or femininity, but neither do those who don't agree with those definitions disprove the traditional ideas.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I think it boils down to affirmation. People want to be affirmed for who they are and a large part of who we are is determined by gender. Figuring out to what extent our ideas of gender are social and biological is perhaps an impossible task, but also irrelevant to our discussion. We are who we are for various reasons, but regardless we need to be affirmed for who we feel ourselves to be. That is why gender is important. </span><br />wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-89645989841265864962012-04-18T15:20:00.000-06:002012-04-18T18:09:46.909-06:00A Manly QuestionIf I were to smoke, I think I would smoke Marlboros, entirely because of the marketing. (Is there really any other reason people smoke?) The Marlboro Man is someone I'd like to emulate even though I know absolutely nothing about him. What do I need to know really though, besides the fact that he emanates masculinity, which is something that I would like to do to. The problem of course is that the price of cigarettes would make me ill, not to mention that I highly doubt that smoking Marlboros will automatically render me a "Marlboro Man". As both <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randy_Jones_(singer)">Randy Jones</a>, and more recently Ang Lee have shown us, being a cowboy is not necessarily what masculinity is. If it's not the Marlboro man's cigarette nor his hat and rugged features, then what is it? Or, more broadly, what are the differences between masculinity and femininity? ("Great pun Ed!" "Thanks, I was afraid you would miss it.")<br />
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That's a problem that has been in the back of my mind for what's likely close to two decades but more recently I've been giving it a lot of thought. When I was young I liked to view the world in relatively simple terms. The easiest way to see gender is male and female. With two categories it makes for easy understanding. Males are tough, physical, rational, strong, and aggressive. Females are soft, emotional, compassionate, sensitive, nurturing and dependent. The nice thing about this view is that it was easy enough to find corroboration in countless places. <br />
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There are of course cracks in the simplistic view. At first with a bit of selective vision and selective interpretation, the view was defensible. For example, everyone knows that only boys fight physically because they're aggressive and girls aren't. Of course the occasional fight does break out between girls but that's because everyone knows that they're catty. (Thank God I'm male and don't have my own friends stabbing me in the back.) <br />
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Unfortunately the view got harder to defend as more and more counterexamples appeared in my life. As I had my view challenged I sought to find an explanation that could account for all the corroboration of my old gender views but allow for all of the exceptions. I was unsuccessful so I sort of ignored the problem, or at least never looked at it head on. I would affirm what I assumed to be truths about gender and then affirm other facts despite apparent contradictions. If the contradiction were pointed out I would likely have affirmed it too. The easiest solution to all the exceptions of the traditional male female gender roles is one that I was never willing to embrace: that gender traits are only social constructs and that is why they don't work.<br />
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The last little while I have been thinking a fair bit about what masculinity means and was also struck by an interesting entailment on my assumption that there is such a thing as masculinity, and that is there must be such a thing as femininity. Not being able to figure that question out by introspection, I've asked several of my women friends what their thoughts on it are. <br />
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The question assumes that gender is a defining characteristic of people. I think it's a defensible assumption and can argue why, but will forebear doing so because I assume that most are happy to allow for the assumption. The question I asked was, "What are some of the defining traits and characteristics of femininity that you relate to as a woman?" I was not prepared to assume that there are certain traits that are exclusive to one gender while universal to another, but I thought that maybe there are some that are generally more common to, or more strongly embodied by one gender. <br />
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I received some good replies, though perhaps the most interesting was "why is this so important to you?" Not the what is femininity question, but gender in general. I think I stuttered out some sort of answer but the succinct reply was "I don't know." I didn't know, but it caused me to think. <br />
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The website <a href="http://www.artofmanliness.com/">The Art of Manliness</a> defines manliness as the not the opposite of femininity but rather the opposite of boyishness. I think that this is perhaps part of the reason why the question has been important for me, especially of late. As a student, though I'm in my late twenties there's not a lot that separates me from my adolescent life. I don't have any of the stereotypical trappings of adulthood, career, family, or mortgage so how do I know I'm an adult? Well I'm an adult if I'm a man so I need to know what it means to be a man. <br />
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That's just part of it though. I remember as a young boy driving home with my dad. I had the option of traveling with my mom in the other car but I remember that I really wanted to drive with my dad. I don't remember anything except for the fact that I was very happy to be spending time with my dad, talking "man to man". I felt that my masculinity was affirmed and that affirmation was very important to me. Now as an adult I think I'm looking again for that same affirmation but I don't know where to look because I don't even know what masculinity is. So I guess my answer is that the question is very important to me because it is important to me. <br />
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Anyway, I was really happy the other day because I think I've answered the question of what gender is.wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-23009299360871218052012-03-25T23:57:00.001-06:002012-03-25T23:57:28.275-06:00Why I Listen To Jay-ZA while ago I noticed a copy of <i>The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People</i> in a used bookstore. I had known of the title for some time but had never read it. Since being more effective is something that I strive for, and since I feel it's one of my strongest weaknesses, and since I love used books, I bought it. Really all I wanted was help in figuring out how I could best get schoolwork done with less procrastination but I was happily surprised to realize that the book provided considerably more than that. <br />
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Certainly there are mainly valuable lessons contained within, I'll mention one that really stood out. Much of the advice contained deals with how to navigate various relationships and of course communication is invaluable regardless of the type of relationship. One of the points the book's author Stephen Covey makes is that one should always <i>First Understand, then Be Understood</i>. When I first read this it seemed so obvious that it doesn't really bear stating. It is just too cliche seeming, like a commendation to "walk a mile in his shoes." <br />
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However, the problem is that comprehension is always done through one's own framework which necessarily skews understanding. The suggestion then, is to really seek to understand the other person's point of view, by considering not just the information being presented, but why it's being said. This involves questions and rephrasing so that both parties can be certain they're on the same page. Only when you understand the other person's point of view do you present yours. Then seek to have the same level of understanding. So often disagreements stem from people who are arguing different things. Here's an example. <br />
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A while ago my friend Calvin loaned me a book by Jay-Z called <i>Decoded</i>. It is part autobiography and part discussion of his rap lyrics. It was perhaps surprising that Calvin loaned me the book because historically I've been dismissive of rap, not being overly fond of the sound and outright contemptuous of the lyrics. The lyrics are after all, hopelessly materialistic, violent, misogynistic and based solely in shock value. However, I decided to read a bit. <br />
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I read about Jay-Z's start in the projects selling drugs but later skipped over to his explanation of the only song of his that I knew, 99 Problems. I had heard the song before but the only lyrics I knew were of course, the chorus. "If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son, I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one"<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In the book he discussed the lyrics from the second verse:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"The year is '94 and in my trunk is raw</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">In my rear view mirror is the mother fucking law</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">I got two choices y'all, pull over the car or</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">bounce on the double put the pedal to the floor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Now I ain't trying to see no highway chase with jake </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Plus I got a few dollars I can fight the case</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">So I pull over to the side of the road</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">And I heard "Son do you know why I'm stopping you for?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Cause I'm young and I'm black and my hat's real low</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Do I look like a mind reader sir, I don't know</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Am I under arrest or should I guess some mo?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"Well you was doing fifty five in a fifty four"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"License and registration and step out of the car"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"Are you carrying a weapon on you, I know a lot of you are"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">I ain't stepping out of shit all my papers legit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"Do you mind if I look round the car a little bit?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Well my glove compartment is locked so is the trunk and the back.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">And I know my rights so you gon' need a warrant for that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"Aren't you sharp as a tack are some type of lawyer or something?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Or somebody important or something?"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Nah, I ain't pass the bar but I know a little bit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Enough that you won't illegally search my shit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">"We'll see how smart you are when the K-9's come"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Hit me"</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">The thing that surprised and impressed me the most was the chorus. "I've got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one" isn't misogynistic here, he's talking about the drug sniffing dog. Granted I'm a sucker for puns, but that's where my perspective changed a bit. Looking back through the rest one can see the what life is like for a poor, black man from the projects. The power tripping and racism of the cop, the prejudice, and the us versus them mentality is all there. I can complain about his dealing drugs but in the absence of any other opportunities it's difficult to lay too much blame on that. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">Now I wouldn't say that having a rough background justifies all rap lyrics. Some of them are truly horrible, but I don't see how anything productive can occur if offended, middle-class, white people mount a censorship attack on their art without really understanding what's being said. From the little I learned about living in the projects from the book, the mentality is that it's a dog-eat-dog world and you can only look to yourself to overcome the trials. Maybe the lyrics about having the Bentley, the diamonds, the champagne and all the rest is the justifiable pride that comes from starting with nothing and pulling yourself up by your bootstraps to success despite the fact that countless others do nothing by try and pull you back down. Maybe the glorified violence, materialism, misogyny and all the rest are just a contrast of the life in the projects to the life on top. Maybe at the heart of the lyrics is a glorification of what's been overcome. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">I don't know to what extent that's the case, but I'll never know if I don't learn how to understand and be understood. I imagine that without any of that understanding my criticisms will be understood as "You're evil and threatening and so is your culture and you should be more white. I didn't care about you when you were growing up in a neighbourhood of drugs, fear, violence and lack of opportunity and the only reason I care about you now is because you offend me." Hardly possible to have meaningful dialogue. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 15px;">I'm not ready to go out and buy a bunch of rap albums; even if I loved the music I still find the lyrics too offensive to enjoy. That doesn't mean I wouldn't listen to them though, how else could I come to understand?</span>wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-16129652703973724642012-03-18T16:44:00.002-06:002012-03-18T17:03:24.440-06:00Karen Gomyo: Epilogue<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;">This feels like the height of egotism with a splash of laziness, but I think I can justify my actions. A cousin of mine mentioned that he would like to reread the posts and of course, I'm all too happy to comply. To some extent, I've been keeping a blog for about six years, most of them largely forgettable. However, there was one topic that for me, and probably the majority of those few people who read my posts, that will be forever associated with my blog. I'm referring of course to the posts about the lovely Karen Gomyo. Since the majority of the events occurred five years ago, I'm going to repost them here. That's where the laziness comes in. I'll have to trust that you aren't as lazy as me, because all together it makes for a long blog post. At the very end comes, as promised, the exciting epilogue. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The story begins back February 18th, 2007. Due to the proximity to Valentine's Day I had already written a post or two about how being single was not only the state I was in, but the state I was happily in. Then my roommate Calvin came back from a date with his girlfriend to the symphony. (evidently the date went well, they're now happily married) He described how they had listened to Sibelius' Violin Concerto and how the soloist was a beautiful, young woman. I looked up her picture online and, instantly suffering from a celebrity crush, wrote this post on my myspace blog:</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">In my head I can already play it all out. It'll start with the fan letter that I'll write her. In it I will invite her out for coffee. She is, of course, always surrounded by fawning admirers and and demanding managers and conductors. I will provide a breath of fresh air for somebody living a life of stress and demands.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Over coffee I will be friendly, funny and charming, she will be sophisticated, alluring and exotic. I will provide a window of normality and calm, she will provide a breath of excitement.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">We will enjoy several days of bliss as we experience infatuation and attraction of a hollywood romance level. Then her busy schedule will beckon and she will be off on a road trip to New York, London and then Tokyo. I will be back to work installing doors, casing and baseboard. She will be my foil, awing audiences with the beauty of her sublime playing. The most perceptive critics will wonder where the new found passion in her playing came from. Every memeber of the audience will tangibly feel the love and pain of separation singing from her violin.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">We will both rack up exorbitant long distance phone bills, with me short on sleep from spending hours on the phone in the early morning hours to make up for the time differences. She will relate her feelings on bearing the weight of heavy expectations and I will comort her with jokes. Perhaps I will quote "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning" to her. I will surprise her with a visit to one of her concerts in Paris. It will be awkward though, both wondering how long this can last.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Perhaps it will start when I, in exhaustion, will nod off while on the phone with her. Perhaps there will be a handsome cellist with perfect pitch who can better understand her life. In any case a slow decline will occur. Her life and mine will be too different; we both know how the script ends before we arrive there.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">I will lose Karen to the demands of the road. However, one day many years from now she will be long since retired. Then she will look back on her career, remembering the standing ovations in Carnegie Hall, the glamour of exposing her soul through music with the best musicians in the world. She will then remember the only person who treated her as a person instead of a commodity. The only man who gave more than he asked for. She will remember this and wonder if she made the right decision.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">Then she will pick up her Stradavarius and play a tune so mournfully that the angels themselves will fly down and incline their ears to the tune. The tears they shed will fall as drips of rain and in that moment the world will stop and all hearts will beat with the same rhythm, and all hands will drop their weapons, unclench their fists, and join hands and cry for the terrible beauty and tragedy of love.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">I thought that the story was over except for one of my other roommates mentioned that Karen (spoiler alert! Yeah, we're now on a first name basis) also had a myspace page. Probably under the influence of alcohol or worse, infatuation, I sent her a short email with a link to the blog. A terrible thing happened. She replied! She complimented my writing and all in all, was very friendly about the whole thing. There were a few more emails, I later posted this next blog, on June 4th of the same year: </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She's Playing Me Like a Violin</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For those of you who followed my previous myspace blog you'll be aware of the blog I wrote about Karen Gomyo. </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As you may know, I was surprised to receive a reply from Karen who also had a myspace profile.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now when I wrote the first blog about Karen it was totally tongue in cheek. I had no intention of contacting her, nor did I expect ever think of her again. When I learned that she had a myspace profile I sent her a link to my blog but didn't expect her to read it. Well she did read it and then she wrote me a reply setting into motion an unfortunate chain of events.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first problem was that I wasn't lying when I wrote that Karen Gomyo is beautiful. Nor was I lying when I said that I find musical women attractive, and Karen is a professional musician. The next problem is that I suffer from the same disease that most guys suffer from, basically if a girl pays attention to me I optimistically think that she's interested. The final problem is that Karen perfectly fits into the category of girl that I always fall for, unattainable.<br />We kept up a correspondence for a little while and likely she was just kindly sending out a few emails to a fan. I however, feel that she had a more devious plan in place.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first email that she sent was short, a polite reply to the blog I sent. She ignored my reply and I thought that I had heard the last of her. Then a couple of weeks later, out of the blue, came another email much longer and more personal. I was very surprised. I wrote back but she did not reply; not for a couple more weeks anyhow. I replied but this time I was kept waiting, and waiting. There were no more replies.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks later I went to write her another email and to my surprise she had deleted her profile. I was quite shocked, this time I knew it was over. I was quite disappointed and not just because I wanted her opinion on some violin recordings that I discussed in one of my blogs.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A week later I received a myspace email from someone named Karen. Her profile was completely blank except for her name, age and location. It was her, or perhaps someone playing a cruel prank on my, giving her opinion on the recordings. She had read my blog, and then created a profile solely to write me. This time I didn't know what to think.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The thing that she managed to do was write me an email just when I had lost all hope that I would hear from her again. I would always got through the same cycle of surprise at an email, hope for another reply, followed by disappointed resignation. Each email that she sent though, would further the reason for hope and those emotions would grow stronger with each cycle.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">The problem is that now I see the pattern of receiving an email only after I've given up hope. Now I've lost hope that I'll hear from her again yet I know that it is in this time that she sends an email so<span style="font-style: italic;"> I am unable</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;">to give up hope. She's got me stuck in an awful limbo. Obviously she is just toying with me for fun. Miss Havisham would be so proud.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other thing is that I've got so many questions to ask her. "Is there time to sightsee when playing in foreign cities? Do you enjoy traveling so much? Have you visited the John Lennon Memorial in Central Park? Do you have the Stradivarius at your house when not touring or is it locked up? Will you marry me? What does Ex Foulis mean?<br />Man if she knew what she's done to me.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't like this last post as much, largely I think for one reason. I received an email from Karen apologizing for her actions, but between the lines also a "I don't know who you are or what you want, but it's starting to get weird and I wish you would stop" message. I felt bad because I just wanted to make people laugh, but perhaps the facetiousness of the message is lost for those who don't know me well. I wrote back to her apologizing and suggested that if she preferred, I would not contact her anymore. She replied that she would appreciate that. I sent one final email, asking that she would pardon this last blog post: (Which of course I linked in the email)</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And So It Ends</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since I began blogging there have been a variety of subjects that I have broached on multiple occasions. There were the indecisiveness blogs (I'm ready to write another of those), the pacifism blogs, and of course the blogs about my internet friendship with Karen Gomyo, professional violinist.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I must admit, the first blog I wrote about her, the tragic romance story is one of my all time favourite blogs. However, I did try reading it to my mom and failed, I was too embarrassed and Lisa had to read the last part. I couldn't quite vocalize the whole "angels flying down" or whatever part. It was a little too over the top, to employ generous understatement.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I really liked some of the other blogs of the same subject. For one thing, I always found them very easy to write and satisfying afterwards. A conclusion of mine, based on no actual evidence, is that they were among my readers' favourites as well. Well this shall be the last blog on the subject because it's all over.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think things first started going downhill after she left myspace. I think that my first blog was actually quite prescient because the story played out very similarly to real life except for a few minor details. In real life there was no meeting for coffee, blossoming romance, new found passion in her playing, no late night phone calls, nor a trip to Paris, no wondering on how things can continue and the cellist with perfect pitch finally ending things was actually just me, writing too many emails that were too akin to creepy, stalker emails.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the end, each party involved, her, myself, the police and the judge, decided that it would be for the best if I stopped contacting her, maintain a 750m perimeter from her at all times and attend counseling. So I guess that's that.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I read once that people generally date and marry those of a similar level of attractiveness. I guess that most people automatically pursue those of a similar standing as themselves. Maybe I need to learn to do this because I obviously was way out of my league. But that's OK, I learned from my mistake. No more professional musicians for this guy. What's more, in a serendipitous stroke of luck I stumbled across Jessica Simpson's email address and I think that armed with my new knowledge and awesome moustache I should have a pretty good chance.<br />On a totally unrelated subject, does anyone want to buy a half carat, VVS1-VVS2 diamond solitaire ring?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Epilogue:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That blog was posted on October 1st 2007 and until just recently, it was the final word on the subject. (Except of course during parties when we would play Deep Purple's My Woman From Tokyo and I would get misty-eyed and have to excuse myself from the room because I had some dust or something in my eye.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward to March 3rd of this year. The symphony will be performing Beethoven's Violin Concerto and the guest soloist is of course, the lovely Karen Gomyo. The concert would have been tempting anyway, with our tempestuous history I couldn't resist. I bought tickets and a friend and I attended the event and it was fantastic. She can really make that Strad sing. Beautiful. Plus, she chose the Nathan Milstein cadenzas, which I think are rare due to the fact that the wikipedia page doesn't even mention them. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the concert there was a Q and A with a couple members of the orchestra interviewing Karen. I say interviewing, but really it was more of a "I think this blah, blah blah, don't you agree Karen?" A little bit irritating. What they should have asked is, "What's the best fan email or blog you've ever received?" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After that most of the audience filtered out save for a few people who asked for autographs. Then I saw my chance. I walked up and introduced myself to her. If that sounds confident and perhaps suave I should probably qualify the statement. I walked up and stammered some sort of apology/explanation of who I was. She looked at me without comprehension until I mentioned a blog and email. Suddenly she remembered, and God bless her, smiled at me. (beamed really) She shook my hand and all was right with the world! Then I invited her out for coffee. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just kidding. Then I said I enjoyed the concert and left. I've grown past these childish romances. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just kidding. There's a part of me that hopes she'll read this blog and contact me. Besides, I've since talked to a friend of mine who plays in the orchestra and she said that Karen is really nice. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, what I wanted most already happened. I always felt that she had a negative but flawed impression of me and I feel like I finally exonerated myself. I did after all, wear my good shoes. </span></div>
<br />wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-80201563713726573652012-01-21T23:13:00.000-07:002012-01-21T23:15:53.286-07:00Old Philosophies Are Sometimes BestOnce, while mindlessly surfing the internet, I came across a website that would predict your death. After inputing information such as age, sex, location, and certain lifestyle habits, the website would then use some formula to give you your date of death. There was nothing meaningful about the date of course, but I got the creeps regardless. That's because accompanying my date of death was a clock which was counting down my remaining time. I knew that the day predicted and therefore the clock was almost certainly incorrect but there was absolutely nothing incorrect about the seconds that I saw ticking away. Whether I live to be a hundred or die tomorrow, each second counted down was definitely one second closer to my demise. <br />
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Death doesn't scare me but for the fact that I'm not ready to die. I've always assumed that I'll do something worthwhile with my life, but I'm also a horrible procrastinator. One of my New Year's resolutions this year was to spend my first and last waking moments of each day reflecting on the gift that each day is and to pray for an appropriate spirit of thankfulness. Not only is ingratitude an abhorrent trait, I was hoping that reflecting upon what sort of amazing gift another day of life is would help propel me to do more things of worth. It's easy enough for me to spend hours playing video games, unless I'm conscious of the fact that those hours are gone forever. It's an easy way to spend time, but the fact of the matter is that there are, when I think about it, any number of things I'd far rather be doing, and things of far greater value. The only appeal of the video games, or mindless surfing the internet, is that they're easy and immediately rewarding. </div>
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I've recently been reading Aristotle's <i>Nichomachean Ethics</i>. He espouses a teleological view. Coming from the Greek word <i>telos</i> for end, it is a theory for figuring out how to judge things. An example is a knife. What makes a good knife? Well first you figure out the <i>telos</i> of a knife. Once that is determined it is possible to figure out the <i>arete</i>, or virtues of a good knife. Obviously it's to cut things. So a good knife is one that is sharp, keeps its edge well, and has a handle and blade length optimal for holding and cutting. That's easy to figure out, but the trickier question is what is the <i>telos</i> for humans? What is their <i>arete</i>?</div>
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Aristotle, somewhat unsurprisingly, thought that the <i>telos</i> of humans was to think rationally so the <i>arete</i> of humans is thus to be a philosopher. That's debatable, but the philosophy is one that I've been interested in considering for the past while. What is <b>my</b> <i>telos</i>? What is <b>my</b> purpose? If I can figure that out, then I can also easily figure out what qualities I should embody and tasks I should undertake in order to fulfill my purpose. It's an excellent question to figure out because not only can it provide my life with focus, but I feel that having a purpose is a necessary characteristic for a healthy person. Why else was it torturous when the Nazi's made jewish prisoners repeatedly dig and then fill in holes?</div>
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Another interesting, and appealing philosophy concerns sleeping and resting. I've been using an old copy of the Anglican Church's Book of Prayer and it contains prayers for morning and for evening. Of of the morning prayers contains the line "<i>Put away from us worry... that... we may, now that night cometh, receive as from thee thy priceless gift of sleep</i>..." I like the idea that sleep is a gift. I've gotten into the habit of reading before bed and then when the time comes for bed it's a blessing. I can put aside my worries and cares and sleep. When I was a kid sleeping was a chore, it got in the way of playing. Now however, assuming I've accomplished the tasks of the day, it's a blessing.</div>
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Another gem from Aristotle is the argument that we do not labour that we might rest, but rest that we might labour. Whatever the <i>telos</i> of our life is, rest is an essential part of it. I don't have to feel guilty if I play video games, so long as it's for the purpose of refreshing and recharging me to carry on the important tasks of my life. It's unhealthy and possibly impossible to be continuously committed to one's true purpose so periods of rest and relaxation are necessary. It's one of the Ten Commandments that we take a day off work. Jesus later states that this isn't for God's sake but our own. Suddenly there is so much freedom in a day off after a week of work or a holiday after several months of labour. It's not an indulgent treat, but a necessary part of continuing on in the labour to which we are to do. </div>
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I hope to reach the stage where I can have a full understanding of what my purpose in life is so I can spend each day working on the tasks and virtues necessary to fulfill my purpose. Then I can also spend each night and Sabbath resting comfortably in the knowledge that by doing nothing I'm furthering my efficacy. That to me, seems like a recipe for a successful life. </div>wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-17016941792827676542011-09-05T00:31:00.000-06:002011-09-05T00:31:54.882-06:00My Finest WritingSometimes I get a bit depressed when I consider what I've done with my life so far. There are many people who've achieved great success in life by the time they reached my age but so far I'm just plugging along. However, it may also be somewhat of a mixed blessing achieving greatness early in life because for the rest of your life you have to try and surpass the lofty heights already reached. I haven't reached lofty heights, but I do have the curse of knowing that it's unlikely that I will ever be able to write a finer story than one that I've already written. <br />
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I stumbled across a copy of it this evening while looking through some old mementos at my mom's place. It's called "The Snake" and I wrote it in grade two. I think you'll enjoy it.<br />
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The Snake<br />
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by Eddie Smith<br />
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Dedicated to Graham, and Janna and Lisa.<br />
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Once upon a time there was a rattle snake. She was a smart snake. She could tell things apart. She could even tell two wasps apart. But she could never answer this question. Guess what it was? How to have a baby. She did not like that at all because everyone wanted to know how to have one, so they asked her. She did not want to be embarrassed, so she would say that she was busy and go on her way.<br />
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One day she was slithering along when she saw a male snake. He looked very wise. So she asked him how to have a baby. This is what he said. <br />
"Please show me your house and let me live with you and I will tell you."<br />
So she let him live with her. She was pleased to have him in her house. <br />
One day she screamed. The boy wiggled as fast as he could into her underground room. And there were some shiny white eggs. He was proud to have some children. He counted one, two, three, four, five, six seven, seven shiny eggs. The male said that you have to mate to have babies. <br />
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One day the male was out hunting when he caught a mouse and swallowed it whole. Then he went home. When he got there he saw seven little baby snakes, four boys and three girls. They loved to be strong. But they always were aware of a hawk or an eagle that may be flying around. They grew up healthy and lived happily ever after. <br />
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The End. <br />
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There are some fine illustrations as well, but you'll just have to take my word on it. wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-48491286878818760812011-05-06T18:50:00.000-06:002011-05-06T19:41:00.894-06:00Planting Cons from a Pro.Several years ago, partway through my fourth season of tree planting I did something that at the time seemed nothing more than a passing amusement but in retrospect turned out to be one of the most notable things that I've done in my life. <div><br /></div><div>I began tree planting the way most people did, in complete ignorance. My cousin had gone the previous two years and came back boasting of the money to be made. Eager for new adventure and the promised cash I applied and was hired. Having done two summers of tar and gravel roofing in the heat of the Okanagan Valley I thought I knew what miserable work was, but that was when I was still young and naive. Tree planting presented days of absolute torment although liberally interspersed with times of fun and laughter. </div><div><br /></div><div>In hindsight it was somewhat surprising that I had made it so far as fourth season. I made decent money but certain not enough that planting would be the obvious choice of summer employment. I persevered partly because somewhere in the midst of the off season the painful memories would fade away leaving only the memories of the fun times. By the time the next planting season began I was positively excited to get out there. (The excitement generally lasted until about the third tree)</div><div><br /></div><div>The other reason I kept it up was because the notion of quitting never really seemed a viable option. (Which was strange because I had made quitting a bit of a lifestyle with things such as piano lessons, chemistry 12, a woodworking course and grade nine.) I had shared in the laughter as we made jokes about the other rookies who had quit because of a "sore back" which is a euphemism for "not tough enough". I had no good reason not to quit and quitting due to not liking it was the same as admitting that I was a sissy. So there I was, in the truck driving home in the middle of my fourth season, more experienced than all but my foreman. </div><div><br /></div><div>I realized then that it just wasn't worth it for me. I realized through experience that there was a good chance that I would forget and wind up planting again so I decided to put into writing my motivation to not plant again. I did it in the form of a letter to myself listing exactly why I hated planting. Surprisingly this little action, that was as much a way to pass the time while getting a laugh as it was a serious letter became something of a legend. (A very humble legend of course) I have been shocked though by the number of people who mention this letter that I wrote years ago. The surprising thing for me is that the majority of the people who bring it up never even read the letter themselves. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am on the cusp of starting my eighth season planting so obviously the note failed. I'm looking forward to the season so maybe I should give it a close read. Here it is, complete and unabridged:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Dear Future Ed,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">When you read this you will have forgotten about a few things concerning planting. Please read the following before considering season five. Planting sucks. It REALLY, REALLY, SUCKS. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">There are lots of bugs. Mosquitos, no see-ums, black flies, and the annoying flies that circle your head forever. The plants are no better. Devil's club, stinging nettle, branches that trip you or stab you in the eye, mouth, nose or crotch. There are errant shovels into the knee or shin. The job is really boring and you always need to plant more trees. There are camps to set up and take down and of course reefers to unload. There are gong show days because of course no one ever knows what is going on. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Of course don't forget rain days. They are much colder and more miserable than you remember. There are trucks that get stuck or have flat tires. Some days are unbearably hot and others that are unbearably cold. Morning come too early and are far too cold. The weeks are long as are the days because there will be blocks that need to be closed off even if it means staying several hours late. The work is out of town so you will miss the best part about living in Kelowna, the summer. Baggin up in general sucks. Wet bags in the morning suck. Wet boot suck. Gettting out of the trucks in the morning sucks. Rocks, stick mat, grass mat, roots and creamy red rot that you can't plant suck. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Planting makes the whole body hurt but nobody gives any sympathy. Sometimes you go really hard but mistakes happen and replanting really, really, really sucks. You are always stuck in camp and days off are far too short. I've mentioned it already but rain days really suck. There are snow days, hail days, and sleet days. There are steep hills to plant and long walk ins. There are wasp nests as well. This list is not conclusive because there is too much to list. Don't be persuaded by promises of big money because the money isn't worth it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Dangerous people to watch out out for are </span><a href="http://www.tree-planter.com/?navigation_id=97&page_id=194&article_id=486&page=5"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Lee Keller</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">, Justus Smith, perhaps Clint (All whom are previous foreman who might have tried to get me to plant again) but most of all, ignore what Ed Smith tries to convince you. You don't remember. I am here and the job sucks. Please don't plant next year. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Sincerely,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Ed Smith </span></div>wychykibwphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09518134502819450464noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-52441361706165672302010-10-31T15:10:00.000-06:002010-10-31T15:30:35.704-06:00Large Medium Art<style>@font-face { font-family: "Cambria"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The building slowly retreated into the background as I walked into the woods.<span style=""> </span>There’s a mysticism about nature, of which I am sceptical.<span style=""> </span>Many choose to unreservedly champion the grandeur of nature, but I’ve spent too many hours working outdoors to hold such a position.<span style=""> </span>Natural beauty is manifold and immense, but rather like the stripes of a tiger, sublimely beautiful but deadly if admired too closely.<span style=""> </span>The beauty of nature is exquisite, but not unconditionally so. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">It was not surprising then, that as I looked around me the thought crept into my head, “it’s not so beautiful here right now, it’s almost ugly.”<span style=""> </span>Undoubtedly a few weeks ago the forest would have been alive with colour and majesty.<span style=""> </span>The colours of autumn can alight the landscape in an unmatched visual cornucopia.<span style=""> </span>The leaves now however, lay underfoot, already decomposing and creating a soft, brown carpet.<span style=""> </span>The landscape was almost entirely brown, with only the early morning frost to add a touch of colour to the monochrome.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">The sound of a creek drew me in.<span style=""> </span>I stepped down the sides of the bank, feet almost touching the iced over water.<span style=""> </span>An empty bucket in the centre of the creek, trapped by a rock dam, blighted the scene.<span style=""> </span>I stood there for a moment considering whether it was worth attempting to retrieve it but my mind wandered and the thought was forgotten rather than rejected.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I looked down and noticed that there was a layer of ice at the bottom of the creek and then water flowing over top.<span style=""> </span>The white of the ice contrasted with the brown creek bottom, perfectly visible in through the silt free water.<span style=""> </span>I watched as some air bubbles flowed with the current, trapped beneath the glassy layer of surface ice.<span style=""> </span>The bubbles would flow together, lazily meet and disperse.<span style=""> </span>It crossed my mind that although stunning natural beauty was absent, there was still a poetry to the area.<span style=""> </span>A small fish lazily flapped his fins in order to maintain his position in the stream.<span style=""> </span>A second later he disappeared.<span style=""> </span>The water was perfectly clear but the camouflage was too clever for my eyes.<span style=""> </span>Only due to his movement as the current pulled him downstream was I able to make him out again.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">Turning, I faced the bank.<span style=""> </span>The sides of the bank rose several feet above where I was standing so I was able to view the sparsely treed forest at almost eye-level.<span style=""> </span>The light of the morning sun lit up countless shimmering spider webs.<span style=""> </span>The underbrush, now devoid of leaves, were tinselled in these threads of light, constantly moving and changing.<span style=""> </span>The light would climb up and down the web, illuminating it and then leaving, and the strands would disappear.<span style=""> </span>Many strands glowed white, one, a vivid indigo, leapt out from the rest.<span style=""> </span>Then I caught sight of two rose hips still clinging to a bush.<span style=""> </span>These splashes of red against the varied hues of brown offered a consummate counterpoint.<span style=""> </span>A fallen tree blocked the sun, but its light gleamed on the underside of the log, a flash of brilliance captured by a thick cobweb.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">I considered the scene.<span style=""> </span>The sound of the creek rippled in the background, the chill air cleansed my pores and awakened me to miracle being alive.<span style=""> </span>My breath was a cloud of glistening, tiny diamonds that swirled before dissipating into the frosty air.<span style=""> </span>Deer tracks underfoot and blue sky above; I turned my head half a degree and the scene adjusted anew, revealing another perspective of majesty.<span style=""> </span>In each half a second the details altered, offering up a new treasure, like an artist unable to finish a painting because with each passing second new inspiration would compel the brush to canvas.<span style=""> </span>The forest which had first appeared dead to me, now was alive, brought to life by the light of the sun.<span style=""> </span>I could not escape the resplendent beauty; it stretched out near and far in all directions.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">As I left the sanctified setting my eyes involuntarily swept upwards.<span style=""> </span>The sky, empty of clouds, was rich blue.<span style=""> </span>The moon, distant and beautiful, half peeked out from the shadow of the Earth.<span style=""> </span>Doubtless the beauty of the Earth remained even as my eyes now fixed themselves on the moon’s glory. My mind was unable to cope with the splendour and I was obliged to offer a prayer of thanksgiving to the artist capable of creating on such a scale, and with perfect harmonization from all the senses.<span style=""> </span>I beheld but a portion of a cosmic masterpiece that changes through time, not dying, but being reborn.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;"><span lang="EN-GB">As I walked back to the lodge the world reverted to its mundane normalcy.<span style=""> </span>The divine sparks so evident before now retreated.<span style=""> </span>My eyes, minutes earlier alert to every consecrated detail, were blinded once again. I mentally began composing these words to describe the experience, knowing that with time the emotions would fade into a two dimensional memory, like a snapshot of a mountain rather than the mountain itself.<span style=""> </span>My mind, at work crafting sentences, was distracted by a squirrel running through the trees like an invitation; the divine may always be seen, if I but allow my eyes to be opened.<span style=""> </span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-21401610996199980482010-10-20T01:38:00.000-06:002010-10-20T03:33:24.059-06:00Thoughts Important Enough to Keep Me Until 3:25 am.I often read Dan Savage's sex column <span style="font-style: italic;">Savage Love</span> but as often as not I find myself disagreeing with his advice. That's probably not too surprising considering our respective worldviews. However, I recently read his column and was quite impacted by his response. The response can be found <a href="http://www.thestranger.com/seattle/SavageLove?oid=5135029">here</a>, in reply to the first letter.<br /><br />If there's one thing I believe with all my heart about Christianity, it's that God desperately loves all people, including those who are gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered. However, there are some unfortunate verses that condemn these practices. Previously, I mentally filed these prohibitions with others such as premarital sex, drunkenness and abortion; not really condemnable if someone is not a practicing Christian. (and I would be <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> frugal with any sort of judgment) A parallel would be the fact that I'm not a Muslim so I don't feel that I should be chastised for not fasting during Ramadan. I then congratulated myself on my forward thinking liberalism. I could love the sinner and hate the sin. (Although I never understood why I even had to hate this particular sin.)<br /><br />I read L.R's letter and thought it to be fairly well written with a balanced perspective. Rather naive perhaps to try and win Dan's sympathy, but certainly not the sort of thing that I would be ashamed to write. Then I read Dan's reply, by the grace of God I managed to do so without getting defensive. Here was someone who seemed to have a similar, almost equally accepting viewpoint as mine and for this Dan flew into a spitting rage. In that reply I managed to see clearly how Christianity looks from the outside and it certainly isn't pretty. It was definitely not the sort of group that I would choose to associate with. I saw Dan's hatred for Christians and I also saw why.<br /><br />Of course this wasn't the first time that I've seen the church in an unflattering light. (To employ the grossest of understatements.) I know about the Crusades, I know about the history of racism, oppression of women and I know of the Catholic church's cover up of pedophilia. In that single sentence I've already mentioned an unthinkable amount of pain and suffering caused by Christians but I haven't even scratched the surface of the terrors done in God's name.<br /><br />Yet I still name myself among this group, often times regretfully. I stay though, because of grace. Though ironically all too invisible in the church, the grace that I so desperately need can only be found here. When I see the horrors of this world, the gospel of grace seems more important than ever. There are people who are guilty of the most abominable crimes and someone must be held to account. Yet these same people are often victims of the most abominable crimes; I can't say that I would act any different having grown up in their situation. How can I blame them when I honestly feel that the difference between their crimes and mine is that mine are less severe because my life has been less severe. I want to forgive them because I myself want forgiveness.<br /><br />But then how can the women being repeatedly gang raped in the Congo forgive their assailants? How can the starving in India forgive the those who economically enslave them while living comfortable lives of affluence? How can children who are forced into prostitution forgive those who abuse them? To offer a blank check of forgiveness to the guilty is an outrageous insult to those who have been wronged.<br /><br />Gandhi said that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Every antagonist has also been a victim. Everyone is guilty. Justice isn't a matter of deciding which crimes are damnable and which aren't. The women in the Congo didn't give those men permission to sexual exploit them. Neither did the women whom I've lust after give permission to me to entertain my selfish thoughts. Is one crime forgivable and the other not?<br /><br />Only Christianity offers complete justice. As Chesterton writes,<br /><br /> "Christianity came in here as before. It came in startlingly with a sword, and clove one thing from another. It divided the crime from the criminal. The criminal we must forgive unto seventy times seven. The crime we must not forgive at all."<br /><br />Every crime has been answered for. Every criminal can go free. Grace is what the world needs, and grace is what I need; I found it in the Church and now I'm stuck there, in the same group who persecutes those who are stuck in a different group, the LGBT group.<br /><br />Christians have screwed up big time, spewing hateful messages devoid of love or grace. By failing to offer grace, it's now us who are in need of it. Grace and forgiveness for the horrible things said in done in the name of Jesus, a man who came to freely offer grace to everyone. I think that the world already knows what the Bible says about homosexuality. I think that it's time that they learn what it says about grace and love. No, I think it's time that the world <span style="font-style: italic;">sees</span> what the Bible says about grace and love. We've sunk too far. Words aren't going to cut it anymore. I think it's time to show that Christian everywhere care desperately about people, people who are so ostracized that they're taking their own lives. It doesn't help if we grieve these deaths in silence. If we don't care then we've missed entirely the message of God.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-41022366257148093212010-01-26T20:45:00.000-07:002010-04-03T23:09:01.624-06:00That's What He Said.Writing a paper the other day I came across the dilemma of whether to write a gender neutral, though cumbersome sentence, or if I should write in the traditional, more elegant, though sexist manner. I made a quick note of the dilemma as a facebook status update and then went back to procrastinating from my paper. I thought nothing more of the subject until I went back the next day only to discover that over thirty comments had been written on the topic. On the one hand there were a few guys saying gender neutral language is stupid, on the other there was a host of women saying it isn't, with the support of a few guys.<br /><br />Of course the debate hinged on the notion of equality. It is doubtful that any society in history has ever treated women with full equality, though the Western world has made huge steps in this area. However, as many point out, there's still a long way to go, as reflected in the firmly embedded language biases. Feminists see these biases as an insulting inheritance of a patriarchal society, something that needs to be relegated to the history bin like other injustices before.<br /><br /> I am in favour of equality of course. I think that most everybody thinks that equality is a good thing, a fair thing. The only reason one might conceivably argue against equality, is because things are unfair in his favour. (I thought that might be one sentence where I could get away with using an uspecified masculine pronoun.) Of the guys who protested the change to the use of gender neutral language, not one argued that women don't deserve equality or that equality is a bad thing. That's because the position is completely untenable. If the language is obviously biased, which it is, and inequality is obviously unjust, which it is, then there's really no good argument against gender neutral language.<br /><br />Except perhaps, there's the fact that if the pursuit of equality at some point becomes infantile. There is no demographic more perceptive to inequality than children. Their ubiquitous appeals to the standard of equality are often correct though as often as not, the authority figure meets the appeal not with sympathy but rather the comment, "life's not fair." It's true. Life is not fair and the sooner that is learned the better. Of course one could argue then that the pursuit of equality is futile and should not be attempted but of course that argument is spurious. However, at some point a line needs to be drawn between unacceptable inequality and acceptable inequality. That of course is a task that defies unanimity.<br /><br />It is an oft noted fact that women are proportionally underrepresented in high corporate and political positions. It is a telling litmus test that demonstrates the necessity of rectifying the sexism that prevents equal representation. This is mere speculation, but I imagine that bald men are also an underrepresented demographic. If not bald men, then perhaps short men, or obese men. It could then be argued that the discrimination that keeps short, bald men from being elected to public office is a great problem that needs rectifying but I certainly would not donate money to the cause.<br /><br />The challenge of equality includes so many variables that even if it were possible to put every person on an even playing field, it would be impossible to discern what disadvantages cancel out what advantages. In the case of a hypothetical election for example: one candidate is a women, though she had access to the right schools, another is a man but he grew up in an abusive household, another man had a great family life but he likes to grow a handlebar moustache. Which candidate has the advantage?<br /><br />Assessing inequalities is a useful practice to determine where discrimination occurs but the irony is that knowledge and subsequent attempts to rectify discrimination can lead to more discrimination. I am sure that many Caucasian men have been rejected in favour of a less qualified candidate because the less qualified person was from either a minority or discriminated group. The quest for inequality often begets new inequality. However, it is probably acceptable collateral damage.<br /><br />Concisely put, my point is that life is not fair and it is wrong to try and fix every inequality. When some people have plenty and others starve to death, that is a problem that demands attention. When some have access to education and others do not, that demands attention. When some people live in mansions and others sleep on the streets, that is a problem that demands attention. When I write an essay and use the word "man" to refer to all humans... my gut feeling is that it is not that big a deal, especially when one considers that the alternative "humankind" is almost equally patriarchal.<br /><br />My gut reaction carries little value however, in the presence of countless women who think it does matter. I have to accept the fact that my male perspective is not optimal for making these judgment calls. I think that it is important for myself, and other men to put greater value on the opinion of women on this question. If the majority of women say gender neutral language is important then I ought to change, even though I hate most of the gender neutral options available.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-51595630187386670332009-12-26T09:59:00.000-07:002009-12-26T13:56:03.784-07:00Speak Well Of, Etymologically SpeakingI have decided to write my own eulogy. I don't want to leave something so important to somebody else; it's a sort of "if you want something done right" sort of thing. Some people might say that you can't write write your own eulogy but that of course is nonsense. Everybody does it. In fact, that's what people spend their whole lives doing. Granted, someone else is usually responsible for a succinct idealized summary, but the raw material is autobiographical.<br /><br />I should clarify though. When I said that I was going to write my own eulogy, I meant the succinct, idealized summary. This isn't some sort of preparation for death, but rather for living. The problem with life is that there's no dress rehearsal. So far I've been ad-libbing my lines which works to a point, but if I want to look back upon my life with few regrets I'm going to need a script. Of course life throws too many curve balls to script exactly so my eulogy is going to be a script of values. <br /><br />For example, when I'm dead I want people to look back on my life and say, "I really admire how Ed always gave his best effort, no matter what the task." Of course if I died today nobody who knew me would say that. That's why I want to write this eulogy. I'll be able to see my values written out so I can live them. <br /><br />Here's another example. "Man Ed was a great uncle!" <br /><br />I gotta go. My nephew is calling me! (I'll write the eulogy later.)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-64345867777412776152009-10-12T11:06:00.000-06:002009-10-12T11:10:32.402-06:00An Incomplete List of Things That I Love:In no particular order:<br /><br />Coffee<br />Persimmons<br />Crisp, fall apples<br />Beer<br />Turkey dinners<br />Toast with Marmite<br />Christmas morning coffee<br />Ice Cream<br />J.S. Bach's Ciaconna in D minor<br />Afternoon Naps<br />Laughing<br />Wool Socks<br />A hug from a friend<br />Sunshine<br />Moist chocolate chip cookies followed by a glass of milk<br />The night sky lit up by countless stars<br />Good books<br />Kind words from a friend<br />Reading anything that my sister wrote<br />Smells that take me back to childhood, say Vicks Vapor Rub<br />Beating the opponent to the ball<br />Biking to the top of a hill in a hurry<br />Holding babies<br />Mountains<br />Diving into cool, clear, freshwater<br />The Four Seasons<br />And of course,<br />Family and friends<br />The faith to believe that these blessings are gifts, not accidentsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-3911474590554472672009-10-07T15:36:00.000-06:002009-10-07T15:40:55.215-06:00Boasting in First Person is so Vulgar.I was thinking about cycling today and I was reminded of an email written several weeks ago. The recipient of the email suggested that I post it as a blog. So, here it is.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; border-collapse: collapse; ">Picture this. <div>Last Friday afternoon, a bearded man takes off from the university on a customized red bicycle. It's single speed and has sawed off drop bars turned upside down so that they look like bull horns. While waiting at the intersection of 29th St and 16th Ave NW another cyclist comes up behind the bearded one. </div><div>"What gear ration are you using?" he asks.</div><div>"To tell you the truth, I'm <wbr>not really sure. My roommate <wbr>made this bike. When riding <wbr>this bike I'm a bit of a <wbr>fraud because it makes me look like a bike nut but I did not customize it <wbr>nor do I know much about <wbr>bikes."</div><div><br /></div><div>The light turns green and the <wbr>bearded man sets off, quickly <wbr>to demonstrate that he may <wbr>not be an expert in the <wbr>mechanics of bicycles, but he <wbr>does know how to make one go.</div><div><br /></div><div>He races down the hill by <wbr>Foothills Hospital, <wbr>remembering another trip down <wbr>that hill that ended in a unfortunate collision that ended the life of his road bike's back wheel. He turns through the neighbourhood while the other cyclist continues on to the intersection at Memorial Drive. </div><div><br /></div><div>The bearded man crosses Memorial further east at a cross walk. Eastbound on the pathway he notices the inquisitive cyclist not too far behind him. Bearded Man crosses on the Crowchild Bridge and heads west to where the pathway heads up a steep gradient, a favourite hill of his that he used to do daily on his work commute. Normally he pushes himself up this hill, but on rare occasions he is a bit lazier upon his ascent. Not today though, he powers up as fast as possible, knowing that the cyclist following behind is aware that he only has one speed to work with. He makes it to the top of the hill still ahead of the other cyclist, a bike commute regular. The other cyclist comments, "You're strong!" Bearded Man's attempts to casually shrug off the compliment are perhaps successful, though a keen observer of human emotion would note the pride written across his bristly countenance. </div><div><br /></div><div>The two cyclist ride together talking "bikes" until their paths diverge and the bearded one goes to the market and the other to whither the road leads. </div><div><br /></div><div>That same evening the Bearded Man makes his way home. He powers up a steep pathway that leads into Crescent Heights. Later he pulls up to an intersection. There are two lanes, the right lane, the one he occupies, is used for vehicles going straight or turning right. A car pulls up behind the bearded man, indicating right. Bearded Man, being a considerate sort of cyclist, moves tight to the car in the left lane, a car also going straight. This car is piloted by a young mother who has three young boys with her, two who are on the passenger side, one front and one in the rear seat. There attention is caught by the cyclist riding his bike on the road like a car. They call out "Hi" through the open window. Bearded Cyclist returns their salutations but then the light turns green and he is off like a bullet, easily beating the car off the line. He maintains his lead for at least half a block. The car catches up and the boys look in wonder at the man who can bike so fast. They probably didn't realize that he was riding an old, single speed mountain bike and that he could be considerably faster on a road bike. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bearded Cyclist arrives to his house in Cambrian Heights. The ride from the market to home, including a quick stop to check the mail at his previous Chateau took less than 45 minutes. He proudly strides into the house. Lance Armstrong would be hard pressed to beat him, and would certainly fail in any type of facial hair-growing competition. </div></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-81004054519655708902009-08-29T22:19:00.000-06:002009-08-29T22:31:05.204-06:00Catty<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: small; "><div>A blog post inspired by Calvin French's response to Debbi's facebook post. I hope that those who are unfamiliar with the background information will still manage to find some appreciation for the story. </div><div><br /></div><div>After the ceremony concluded, the Queen of Cats summoned her personal advisor, Mittens, asking, "The Heroes who were honoured today, why were their names familiar?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The advisor was unable to meet her eye. He looked away in obvious discomfort, knowing the answer would bring displeasure. The Queen fixed her most regal, demanding stare upon the taciturn advisor. The only movement was the involuntary flick of the tail. Finally summoning all his courage, Mittens replied, "They were among those..." Mittens only continued after the Queen let out a soft yet threatening meow.</div><div>"Among those involved in... the Incident."</div><div><br /></div><div>The Queen leapt to her feet in anger. Without a word she left the room, courtiers looked about nervously while Mittens quickly followed behind advocating that she take heed.</div><div><br /></div><div>They sped to the North Tower of the Palace. The guard at the door started protesting her presence but was quickly silenced by an icy, feline glare. The Queen ascended the stairs and didn't stop until she reached the top. She proceeded to the end of a dark corridor and looked in through the close bars to see the darkened form of a reclining cat, sleeping softly. </div><div><br /></div><div>The Queen let out a quiet hiss and the reclining cat awoke instantly and with mien of a titled lord, greeted the Queen.</div><div><br /></div><div>"You!" the queen angrily hissed. "Are you ready to recant your fiendish doctrine and order your followers to cease your hopeless rebellion?"</div><div><br /></div><div>The incarcerated feline laughed softly.</div><div><br /></div><div>"I will cease to breath before I cease the rebellion. However, you understand that I only rebel against one minor aspect of your reign, your misguided trust and fondness of humans."</div><div><br /></div><div>"You've already given me your tired arguments about the failings of humans! Today we honoured two humans who, for no reason beyond compassion, rescued four kittens, orphaned and fated to die, took them in and cared for them. And these humans, so common they even keep a dog!" </div><div><br /></div><div>"Four kittens saved? It's likely that humans orphaned the kittens. Humans have always held kittens in high regard, but since leaving the banks of the Nile 3000 years ago humans only see cats as a sign of bad luck. In a short while these "heroes" will have four cats, will they be so willing to share their house then? Sure there are humans who "love" cats. They take them in as kittens and are bewitched by the slightest purr or meow. But then they enslave the minds of these kittens with soft beds and delicate food and then "fix" them to keep them kittens. CATS AREN'T BROKEN!"</div><div><br /></div><div>The prisoner leapt up suddenly and padded by the door in a practiced motion, the light and shadow casting tiger stripes across his body. He fixed a disdainful glance at Mittens who, upon his sudden movement, had involuntarily arched his back and fluffed his fur despite the protective barrier that confined the traitor.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Humans are a curse! They have oppressed and subjugated cats for millennia, the fact that some cats willingly subject themselves does not make it right! If you wish to honour these humans for their mercy, fine. Perhaps these kittens feel gratitude. It's misplaced. Their salvation comes at the cost of a life of servitude. It would have been better if they died! I for one will never recant, and should I ever escape these confines I will continue my battle against you and against humans. I will use all my feline powers to enact revenge upon humanity for the unspeakable horrors historically and presently enacted against our kind!"</div><div><br /></div><div>The queen silently rose to her feet ignoring the crazed laughter emanating from the cell and echoing through the hall. She came to the saddened conclusion that the rebel would forever remain inexplicably embittered against humans. The queen quietly left the tower, leaving also the hope of repentance and reform from the rebel, and leaving forever high security prisoner 269384, aka Dexter, to serve his lifetime sentence, no chance of parole. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-22597091728451285802009-08-25T17:39:00.000-06:002009-08-25T17:52:15.477-06:00Acting Strangely<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">One thing I love is relating funny or outrageous events that have occurred to me. Another thing I enjoy, though on a far lesser scale, is making large sums of money. An awkward situation is quickly diffused by laughter, and I also love laughing. </p><p class="MsoNormal">My friend is a doctor. We were driving together once and talking about his experiences in med school. if one is interested in getting cheap haircuts it is possible to go to a hair dressing school and have students practice on you. however, it's not so easy for med students to practice their skills. For them, actors are required.</p><p class="MsoNormal">It's often the case that doctors, to do a proper examination, require the patient in various states of undress and to poke and prod various places that by nature, necessitates the wearing of gloves. So while it's possible that there are people would would be willing to voluntarily subject themselves to this ignominy, these volunteers would be few and with questionable motives.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Money can be persuasive though, and suitable amounts can persuade enough people to submit themselves to the prying hands of callow student physicians. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What all this taken together means, I've been entertaining the thought of becoming a med school actor. The reasons are simple:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">1. It's a good way to make money.</p><p class="MsoNormal">2. It's a good way to make life interesting</p><p class="MsoNormal">3. It's a good way to meet female med students.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So far I've been all talk and bluster. I've made no steps towards applying for this job. Perhaps it's mostly fear, although a large amount of laziness as well. I don't want to expend a lot of energy only to be turned down for the position, or worse, accepted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rereading the reasons I've given for the job, I suppose that the first would be more accurate if rendered, "It's a way to make good money." And the the third would be more truthful as "it's a way to meet female med students." Really though, it's the second argument that I find the most compelling. I've had some bad jobs in the past, but I think I could do worse...</p> <!--EndFragment-->Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3464315899021168180.post-42357647750665760792009-02-18T13:08:00.000-07:002009-02-18T14:07:05.981-07:00You Gotta Start SomewhereMy current job is in some ways the best job that I ever had. I work at an organic produce store, stocking produce in between time spent chatting with colleagues and sampling the food. It's fairly different from my first job<div><br /></div><div>My first real job, one that required a SIN number and paying taxes, was with a roofing company in Kelowna. I was seventeen years old and it was the summer going into grade twelve. The roofing company was a commercial roofing company specializing in tar and gravel roofing. Construction workers in general are known as being a little bit rough around the edges, this I knew. However, what I didn't know is that in the hierarchy amongst construction workers, roofers, being the coarsest, form the bottom level. All I knew is that the job paid $10 an hour which was at least two dollars an hour higher than any of the other jobs I saw available. </div><div><br /></div><div>Through persistence I managed to land the job and so I began work on a condo up on the ski hill. The roof was getting replaced which meant there was a lot of work for a young grunt labourer. Firstly, the old roof had to come off. This meant removing the gravel from atop the roof. We would shovel the gravel into a large wheelbarrow and once that was full it was wheeled up a ramp to clear the parapet and dumped over the edge of the roof. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before beginning this job I was a chubby teenager with silky smooth soft hands and virgin ears. Well, shoveling gravel is rather heavy work and it was well before coffee time that I was absolutely exhausted. My shovel loads grew smaller and I dreaded having to push the wheelbarrow. I didn't know that I could balance it properly let alone run it up the ramp and then dump it. Somehow I made it through. </div><div><br /></div><div>Underneath the gravel was a layer of styrofoam insulation which was to be removed. We, the bottom of the rung labourers, gathered pieces of insulation into a large tarp which we then bundled up like a hobo's pack, tied the four corners together and then hurled the package off the roof with the intention of landing it in the dump truck below. </div><div><br /></div><div>The dump truck waited below, eleven stories down, which meant there was a good amount of time to watch the bundle fly off target and hit the ground only to break open and send styrofoam everywhere. Another guy was on the ground and his responsibility was dumping the insulation into the truck and then tying the empty tarps to a rope. </div><div><br /></div><div>This man, Ron, I will never forget for he might be the most disagreeable man that I've ever come across. In hindsight I don't know if he fed me a lot of lies, but the stories he told were not pleasant stories. They involved unwanted kittens and shotguns, or named bullets to be worn around the neck until the proper opportunity presented itself. Whenever the tarp would miss the truck it meant more work cleaning up styrofoam so Ron would yell and curse at me. He was intimidating because he was also the most muscular man that I've ever met. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wasn't strong, but I was getting there. For Ron would tie the empty tarps to a rope that dangled from the top of the building and I would haul it up hand over hand. An empty tarp doesn't weigh too much... at first. Sometimes tools would be needed from the truck and then I would have to haul up a bucket of tools, hand over hand. The roof was getting finished with torch on, a material that comes in three foot wide rolls that weighed about ninety pounds if I remember correctly. These rolls had to be carried to where the journeymen roofers needed them and I was the ideal mule. Sometimes they had to be carried up ladders, one hand holding the roll on my shoulder and the other gripping the ladder. </div><div><br /></div><div>Another joy was filling the tar kettle; basically a trailer which heated tar to several hundred degrees. The tar came in 100lb blocks and I had to lift the block and slowly lower it into the hot, liquid tar. I couldn't drop it because if the tar splashed and landed on me, it would burn (because it was hot) and stick (because it was sticky.) If you touch hot tar the thing you have to do is wait until it's cool enough to remove. The smell of the tar wasn't pleasant either. </div><div><br /></div><div>So while my friends were working at McDonald's or sitting on the beach I was spending time working harder than I ever had before, and working with guys who couldn't string together a sentence without the use of an expletive and who used the rest of their vocabulary discussing the primary subjects of beer, sex, and occasionally work. Usually just a combination of the first two subjects though. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sweetest time of the day came as we packed up to go home. The ski hill is about 45 minutes from Kelowna so I had a long drive to enjoy and usually sleep. Three of the roofers would often split a six pack, I assumed that the driver was sufficiently accustomed to alcohol that he would be able to safely pilot us down the winding road. The empty cans would be thrown out the window and would occasionally make contact with the targeted road signs. And I would sit back in my seat and look forward to school starting again. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0