i love the words "ping pong"

and that other similar game but on a bigger court with the fuzzy yellow ball, thwack pop. or when the ladies play it, it's called thwack pop eryah! (that'd be tennis, for those not following along at home).

i love the name 'ping pong'. it takes the language back to a phonetic simplicity that mimics aural/visual. onamatapeia is a child's playground.

"buzz" "snore" "sneeze" "barf" are all great words. short, sweet, evocative. so un-british. uncouth. uncivil. well, civilized behaviour is just putting a muzzle on the end of the shotgun you kill your neighbor with, or so it seems on bay street, so let couthness be damned.

those who try to separate themselves from animals the most end up justifying animalistic/barbaric behaviour as being the most civilized simply because they do it. like religious leaders who claim that they can kill because god told them to.

forgive me, i'm rereading the chrysalids (of chrysalis - such a good title for this book, or not? easy, or not? is easy easy or hard? it's generally hard).

anyway, maybe i'll write an entire book in onamatapeia.

toilet humour abounds - fart, wretch, puke, etc.

"so i got my dick up this chick's ass"... remember that?? damn that was funny at the time, and just stupid now.

kind of like throwing "witches" into the lake with rocks tied to their feet - if they sank they were witches, and if they somehow came free, then they weren't witches because god freed them. hilarious.

that's why a healthy dose of acknowledgement of our ignorance about everything should be at play, especially when it comes to persecuting human beings. and also why religion scares the shit out of me. anyone who claims to know something absolutely about someone/something outside themselves is not to be trusted.

we use religion to justify our evilness. further proof that the bible was written by satan as the greatest trick of all time. the 'real' bible written by god would probably read like a children's book, full of onamatapeia, and basically just say "love" "laugh at farts", "get buzzed a lot".

All your base are belong to us

more

(click photos to enlarge them - then click "back" to return here)


i've been walking along the street snapping a photo every two seconds to see what you get.

mostly, you get shit. (see photo 1, above).

but for every 75 or so pics, you get one that you will find interesting. for me, that's photo #2. it looks better on a non-white background. it's so hard to take photos of strangers on the street without a telephoto. you're basically in their face snapping a pic. if a child gets in the way of your lens, you're an instant pariah, at best. needless to say, keeping the camera in the palm of your hand and constantly snapping pics is easier than trying to stick your nose in amongst a group of people and snapping a photo - twice today, while i was aiming the camera at specific people, the flash decided that there wasn't enough light and i got busted - SO embarrassing. "whoops.. haha, went off by mistake" - did it ever.

and then, of course, you may come across an opportunity like photo 3, the self-foot-shot.


i helped an old lady find her house today. she had surgery to remove part of her brain and is now quite poor at remembering things. broke my heart. so i stole her wallet.

kidding.

but i did need to go into her wallet to find her address - and the crossing guard was giving me the dirtiest look, as though i was about to roll the old broad for her dough.

she didn't have a licence (yes, correct canadian spelling of a noun right there - license is a verb in canada, never a noun) anymore, because her son took her BMW to california. she lives in an old age home.

but we found her home. She was doing great, other than the memory thing. i felt like 9,000,000,000 dollars. at the end of the ordeal she thanked me, asked my name, and said that she was honoured to have been helped by such a man with a name as distinguished as mine. not wanting to tell her that First Wave was cancelled, i thanked her, slipped her the tongue, and left.

kidding (about the first wave part)

am i so tired that i find this funny and it's really just disgusting?

i just finished reading this book, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time , quite a good book that WAS apparantly quite popular but of which i've heard nary a thing.

before that I finished Freakonomics : A Rogue Economist Explores the Hidden Side of Everything, which had some very interesting ideas in it, but was basically three chords repeated over and over, in different syncopations and such, like any power-pop band. great at first, but leaves you feeling like you could have picked up much of the ideas from a long article in the saturday edition of the new york times... oh wait, that IS what they based the book on. worth a read, but not a purchase (it's C$50). i got my copy from the library - i put it on hold in september. i was the 1405th person in the line. yeah, it's popular.

i also finished Angels and Demons, the book before the DaVinci Code. both were very good, but in my least humblest of opinions, Code is a better book. They're basically the same book, with different good guys and bad guys.

the process of picking ones next book is one of lifes greatest teases.

addendum: i have chosen "the crysalids". i read it once, in highschool. sadly, i have to return 'the name of the rose' to nick tonight. i never finished it.

tweaker

i will add to this post tonight.

i just think that of the 78 of you that came to the site this week, you deserve to look at something different.

but i'm at work, and i don't think you're supposed to blog at work.

some pretty things

i may have a new gig writing podcasts. how strange is that - there's money in podcasts?

we're waiting on budget approval at this point, but i was quoted a price for writing each 15 minute episode. there are 15 in total. my writers-guild-of-canada writer was shocked at the lowballing. my bay-street-day-jobber was overjoyed that i could make in two to three hours what i make in 2 days of bay-streeting.

the money is secondary - at this point, it's a wonderful battle to be creative, and every time i win that battle, i feel invincible. the world cannot hold a happening brother down.

because i get up so early during the week, sleeping in on the weekend means the late and lazy hour of 8am. as repulsive as this sounds, it's actually perfect as i can write all saturday morning while waiting for la belle fiancee to awake, which is usually around 11. my kids novel, what was called "the top secret adventures of amos and emily", has turned into "the humbug trial of emily smithers", but that, too, shall change as the story rounds into form.

the hardest part of writing is not writing --- working on the outline instead of just writing the actual text, laying out the story from start to finish in advance -- for me, anyway, as i always feel EUREKA! moments and want to jump in and get dirty.

but i have to force myself to remain detached. it's like having the sexiest person in the world trying to seduce you all night, and politely telling him/her that you need to think about every possible thing you could do together, instead of just exploring those things now. Then you'll be ready. boring lover. brilliant writer.


i bought a new digital camera, as evidenced by the pic above.

i am in love with the henri cartier-bresson style of capturing the definitive moment - to crystalize an energy, to capture it in pixels, forever suspended, never losing its luster or authenticity (of which an orchid on my windowsill is not a part)

i am off to play basketball.

an addendum to ball: i am slowly returning to form. perhaps the job and my basketball career can co-exist after all. i was worried i would have to quit my job.

we're having a real estate agent come by on wednesday (we're going to try to sell him the apartment we rent). can home ownership be far away? welcome to sunny scarborough! please lock your doors upon entering.

f

in brief

it's so incredibly odd that we accept the names we are given at birth, and go through the rest of our entire lives with something as personal as a name that has given to us by people who don't know a damned thing about us at the time.

i love my name, so this isn't a personal issue.

i was thinking of people who have names that 'don't fit' them at all. or odder still would be the ones whose name DOES fit them. good guess by the parents? or do we grow into our names?

well, names make a difference. I'm sure i've always felt 'different' because of my name. my individuality was probably developing earlier than other peoples.

still, think of all those people who don't particularly like their parents, who still honour their parents by keeping the name for the rest of their lives (although i guess if one lives a life of dishonour, it could be theoretically construed as punishing the parent).

but the next time you're standing on a street corner, surrounded by humans, look around at them all, and imagine that some of them have names that fit, and some don't, and try to think of what their names are - and then think - not one of those people had a damned thing to say about that name, and yet it shapes them. it's funny to me. i'm looking at an imagined 'helga', and thinking, damn.

we could change our names, of course. and it's happening more and more. i just read somewhere how a taxi driver named michael goldberg was killed in new york city - and he was an east indian who thought that everyone in new york was jewish (as do much of the muslim world). of course, bob dylan and dustin hoffman and william morris are proof of... something. racism? or fear of racism?

it's not really worthy of a post, but i found it bizarre that there isn't more emphasis put on changing your name. why is there no business that offers to 'help you be a winner', 'get laid fast', and 'get the money you deserve' by changing your name to that winner name, statisically proven to be a high wage earner, etc. etc.

in fact... i quit my job, and dub ye all michael golbergs. you all owe me $200000, a small price to pay for such an incredibly important life factor.

is it summer?

what the fuck is going on? it's 10 degrees in the middle of january!!

wasn't there a saying or a joke back in the 'pre-global warming days' that involved the use of the words "middle of fucking january", and it was meant to denote "very very cold". the same way that saying you're in the middle of fucking nowhere when a friend calls you on your cell on a saturday afternoon, he knows you're in scarborough.

gone. it's fine for canucks (and to newfoundlanders who still have a house in "sunny sunny tourist destination, NEWFOUNDLAND!" in the year 2011). but it's spooky. i love summer, but not in winter.

when i was in LA, it was so warm and sunny every day that the relativity left. every day felt like the last. which is great, if you can afford to go to 'weather destinations' like colorado and such. maybe that's the future: "want to see snow, kids?" "yay!" Voice Over: "disneyland antarctica presents, cold things and stuffed penguins, the way life USED to be, in the bad old days" "yay!".

or, "okay class, we're going on a rain-hunting excursion to vancouver this year, so get out there and sell those sunscreen cookies!" "yay!"

in other news: there's a restaurant in the mole city (a fast foody/muffins and such kind of place) that is called RUFFAGE. i guess "food that helps you shit" didn't fit on the sign. i'm cracking myself up. i still got it!!

report from mole city

after my fifth week working on bay street, i have had the same ugly experience twice. i will recount yesterday's fact-finding mission as further evidence that the world of the working man is a sad and tragic affair:

i had to pop by a store on queen street after work and so i decided to explore the other side of the massive tunnel system (p.a.t.h. for those not in the know - toronto's massive mall system - aka - 'mole city' because you never see the sun when you go to work). i have a section that i have generally been exploring during lunch, but this other section is an entirely new beast. different architecture, open and airy, natural light. attention was paid.

so anyway, i'm walking along, i've got a heavy bag on my shoulder because it has my cordless drill in it (long story - drilled a hole in my desk at work. yes, it was odd, yes, people thought i was breaking protocol, no i don't care that much, i'm hoping to go to teacher's college anyway, so go ahead, fire me), and a tshirt i was returning to a store, and two books i'm reading, and a pharmacy (antacids of multiple varieties, lip stuff, hand cream, anti-germ stuff, etc).

so i'm moving at a clip. i generally walk very fast going to and from work, a subconscious desire to get it started and over with as fast as possible. so i'm motoring.

i'm in a 14 foot wide, long and straight corridor.

three big beefy business guys in suits are walking ahead of me and to my right.

i'm about to overtake them.

i'm about 2 feet to the right of the invisible 'middle-line'.

ahead of me, an oncoming business man. he's about my height, but chubbier (he must have quit smoking a few months before me - at one point we were probably the same size).

he's basically barrelling down the middle of the empty corridor.

he looks grumpy.

actually, they all look grumpy in mole city.

the only non-grumpy looking people are the young ones who aren't in suits.

as i'm in the overtake lane with a big bag and a big winter jacket on, motoring, i see and prepare to move.

it is custom for both people to slightly move their shoulders away so as not to hit each other. as i cannot move to my right because the 3 business men are there, i have nowhere to go.

grumpy non-smoking business man in the middle has 6-7 feet of empty space to his right (my left). and he knows it.

CAMERA CHURNS TO SLOW MOTION:

we're approaching each other, it's anyone's game. will F make it past the businessmen and into the slow lane unscathed?

grumpy business man is storming through. pedal to the medal. grumpy face on full blast.

2 feet and closing. this guy isn't looking at me, he's staring straight ahead pretending not to see. this is serious.

1 feet and closing. okay, i'll just turn sideways at the last second, cutting my girth in two.

zero. walking around bay street is now full contact.

as i turn my body at the last minute cutting my girth in half, grumpy businessman COMPLETELY turns his shoulder RIGHT INTO MY BODY.

i am watching, in slow motion, as i'm trying to avoid the contact, and he forces his shoulder THROUGH the area where contact should have occurred. fortunately, my puffy jacket threw him off about how big i was, and made him mis-time his strike; the blow was only glancing. i had survived.

so shocked was i about what had just transpired that i broke out laughing. shocked, stupendous, terrific laughter. it was preposterous that what i had just seen really happened.

i turned back to look at the little grumpy guy...





and he gave me the finger.

full joy, at this point, for me. people are crazy, and i love them!

he wasn't about to hide the fact that he had tried to randomly pop a stranger in a hallway after work on a friday afternoon in the middle of toronto. no. he was out to get someone. and that someone was, lucky for him, me.

HOW FUCKING STRANGE ARE PEOPLE!?

this is the second time this has happened.

i've only been there for 5 weeks.

my theory is that people at work feel so disenfranchised and so disempowered, they have to take so much bullshit at work every day that there is no way they're giving up what little they have left of their pride/independence/autonomy/power. that chunk of real estate, that pathway he was walking on is HIS, goddamnit, and there's no way, after all the shit he takes at work, that he's giving it up to some smiley-happy-ipod-wearing jerk off who's younger (and skinnier and handsomer... can i say that?) than him. no. not only that, but how dare that little smiley-happy-ipod-wearing-jerk-off step into my line of vision!!! i'll fucking show him!!! i'll show the world!!!!

and so it is.

the beat goes on.

in other news: i miss education. pretending to be an intellectual is so preferrable to most things.

the best thing about jobs is the way they make you realize how lucky you are/were. the cravings have returned for me - i remember art, and literature, and writing, and creativity, and passion, and drama, and freedom, and love and learning, and inhaling, and sunshine, and people, and faces, and movies, and popcorn and the perpetual dream of our lives being summer, summer, summer.

a new year

(that al waxman statue i'm discussing the pigeon problem with has bad dandruff, but i didn't say anything to him about it)

THIS IS NOT A POEM. i was writing about what new year's day meant, why we recalibrated our outlooks or our goals or our dreams or ourselves, and then i rhymed the second sentence, so i kept the flow. it's not a poem, it just sounds like one.

a time for reflection, of readjusting directions
of looking behind to make bold suggestions for the future
or maybe making none at all

carry on like you did the year before
letting golden days blossom, finding gems wash ashore
maybe life is like smoke between your fingertips
try as we may, the control always slips
away

which is fun too.
floating down a river on your back, smiling into the sun
can't fight the current, can't kick, bite or run
so you do what you have to do.


**
i'm reading a book on the subway. (yes, i've become one of those people. )
art always wakes me up to the beauty in everything. every beautiful thing, every incredible thing, is a testament to the indefatigable will of mankind, of which we are all a part, of which we all share in man's achievements, of beauty and triumph and thought.

on new year's eve day, my gal and i spent the day walking around the city. we took 97 photographs, just of each other. i think i have been using my digital camera more like a film camera - afraid i would run out of film, so only shooting 'the good stuff'. you miss so much doing that. i must have taken 7 pics of stacey just standing in line at tim horton's ordering a hot chocolate. such recording-of-history freedom!

record everything. everything is meaningful.