My Hero

Krzysztof is my hero. He has a charmingly inept way with words. The power to halt a conversation dead in its tracks is an ability I've been honing for the past 15 years, and it's something I've become rather good at, if I do say so myself.



SETTING: My cubicle
TIME: Friday, November 17th; 2:47 PM

DENISE (a mid-level manager): Hi George! This is Mark. He served in Afghanistan with the troops that our packages went to.

I stand up from my desk to face Mark. We shake hands.

MARK: Hello. Nice to meet you.
ME: (quickly) Hello. Nice to meet you.

Long, expectant pause. I attempt a smile but it looks like a grimace.

DENISE: Umm, George is really technical and a whiz with computers. Whenever there's a problem we go to him first.

I give a feeble smile in acknowledgement. Denise shifts her weight.

Another long, awkward pause.

Denise starts walking away.

DENISE: OK! Well, over here is my office...
MARK: It was nice meeting you...

Mark walks away.

ME: Yeah. Me too.

I sit back down.




SETTING: Shared cubicle space with Claire
TIME: Thursday, November 23rd; 3:57 PM

Winston, a senior executive, walks by our office space.

CLAIRE: Hey Winston. I saw you at Indigo during lunch.

Winston stops.

WINSTON: [joking tone] You didn't say hi?
CLAIRE: [smiles] You looked preoccupied. I didn't want to bother you.
WINSTON: I've been daydreaming all day. It would have pulled me out. [pause] Did you get something?
CLAIRE: I usually don't buy books from Indigo. I'll browse and then buy from BMV or a used bookstore.
WINSTON: Yeah, I seldom go to Indigo. Usually I order from Barnes & Nobles or Amazon, 4 or 5 at once. It costs the same and it's less trouble. Do you read a lot?
CLAIRE: I try to. How about you?
WINSTON: Yeah, I'm a big reader. We have T.V.s all over our house, but I hardly watch any. My brothers and sisters are the same way. I guess it's the way our father brought us up. He had shelves and shelves of books. [matter-of-factly] I read four papers a day.

ME: [enthusiastic] Hey, that's good!

Silence fills the air.

WINSTON:... Yeah.

Winston walks away.

Half an hour later, Winston's resignation was announced to our floor.

Soon I'll be able to make people physically ill with my powers of Awkwardness.

George "Just-Call-Me-Brick" Tamland

Hundred Beast King GoLion

I love Voltron. He fights for great justice, carries a big sword, and doesn't talk much. He has all of Teddy Roosevelt's best qualities, the greatest American president of all time, but without the baggage of Manifest Destiny or conservationism. Voltron equals AWESOME.

As a kid, I watched the show after school whenever I got the chance, which wasn't very often. My babysitter and nemesis, a cruel hag whom we shall call Gina, was obsessed with watching her nefarious soap operas, and Voltron was on during the same time slot as Y&R. I hate Y&R A LOT...

Nevertheless, when I watched Voltron it was pure bliss. I would really get into the show, and I would scream at the television, "Form VOLTRON NOW!" Sadly, Voltron didn't obey my desperate pleas, and I had to repeatedly watch the Lions get their asses handed to them before they would remember that Voltron even existed. Keith was such a lame leader...

Despite my fanaticism for Voltron, I only had one lion: the yellow one. Play time consisted of running around with the Lion and, when things got tough, forming a massive leg that was totally ineffectual and clumsy. Battles generally ended in defeat because the lone leg was unstable and would fall over without support. When my "friends" came over they would ridicule my incomplete Voltron, and I remember many nights when I cried myself to sleep. I can still feel those hot bitter tears on my cheeks.

Voltron, wherever you are, know this: You were a source of much childhood joy and agony! I salute you!


Caution: This is not your parents' Voltron!


Voltron is a SELL OUT!

From the archives...

I was going through some boxes in my basement and I found this:

FALCONS - by George Lee (artwork by talented friend)

Falcons RAWK. They fly around and eat other animals all day. They make loud screeching noises when they're mad (which is all the time). When a falcon is REALLY mad it will puke bones and feathers in your face. A fully grown falcon is 5x stronger than your dad and 10x meaner (Never hide your report card from a falcon. This makes them truly furious!). I love falcon with all of my heart.

The End

Human doorstop

If you've walked around the Toronto underground, it's a near certainty that you've encountered the human doorstops strategically positioned in high traffic areas. If you don't know what I'm referring to, a human doorstop is a man (I've never seen women serve this function) who performs the service of holding the door open with one arm while extending an empty coffee cup in the other.

I have mixed feelings about these human doorstops. The indignity of being reduced to a mere doorstop is sad, but it's also absurd. About three months ago, as I passed by a human doorstop positioned at the Queen subway entrance to the Eaton Centre, I was drawn into the absurdity. On this occasion I opened an adjacent door of my own instead of using the held door. As I walked past, the doorstop fumbled and dropped his cup. Loose change flew out of it and was strewn on the ground in front of him. The doorstop looked frantic and bewildered. Seeing a fellow human being in need, I leapt into action and bent down to help him retrieve loose change and put it back in the cup. Throughout the whole exchange, as we worked together to pick up the pennies, nickels and dimes, the man never relinquished his other arm's grip on the doorhandle. The door stayed open; nary a soul passed through it. With the clean-up task completed, we stood up together, I dropped the last coins into his cup and awkwardly said, "Here ya go. I, uh, guess you got your job to do." Our eyes met and he nodded silently.

Since that life changing event, I've altered my attitude towards human doorstops. I now take the offered door; it seems like such a waste to squander their hard work.

I don't pay though.

The Joys of Public Transit

On this morning's commute I unwittingly jostled a young woman (actually, she bumped into me from behind). My honed Canadian reflexes immediately came to the fore: I apologized (That's what it means to be Canadian: We apologize. We apologize to panhandlers, we apologize when we're jostled, we apologize for everything). Normally that'd be the end of it, but this lady took umbrage at her own clumsiness and exploded, "OH GAWD!"

WTF.

I was taken aback, and so, summoning up my best tactics from my playground playbook I flung my arms up in the air and yelled out, "OH GAWD!" Instant victory.

Yes, I think I'm becoming an elitist, because I've come to loathe the whole public transit experience. I was on the RT two weeks ago, and I sat down next to an overweight woman who had her fat legs sprawled into MY space. Being a good Canadian, I said nothing. Canadians don't confront. They use subtlety and guile. I refused to yield my space and fought off her invasive thighs by pressing back. My reward? A couple of dirty looks and the sweat off her thighs. The moral of this story: Don't use passive aggressive techniques to combat fat women. You'll only hurt yourself in the end.

Potluck Politics

Overheard at a recent potluck:
"He brought cups the last time. Frickin' Cup Man."
"Hrmmph. Going back for thirds... And she only brought carrots and dip."
"Those temps shouldn't be here. They only contributed $5 each... For Popeyes' chicken."

I whipped off the poster on the right for an office raffle held on Friday. I'd originally planned on drawing a poster, but years of disuse have left my drawing arm weak and withered. I got most of the images from PastPresent Gallery. "Happiness for Sale" is from a real Westinghouse ad that ran in 1938. I guess those were happier times... Beyond the camp value, the gallery has some great reference material.

I entered the raffle and won the Musical Recliner named on the poster. I entered the raffle with the express purpose of getting the chair. I proud to say that I won it out of spite. My friend kept talking about how hideous and absurd the recliner was, so I was determined to win it, and win it I did. She was thoroughly disgusted. When I get a digital camera, I will post pictures of the abomination.

Saw The Departed on Friday. Scorsese was in fine form, and I definitely prefer his version over Infernal Affairs. All of the principal performances were great and the final bloodbath was wonderful. Definitely worth a look if you like Scorsese's gangster films.

And now for a Bollywood Intermission...

The Automotive Ecosystem

Went to Kingston to play squash against my uncle today. I got demolished; I'd like to blame my safety goggles that kept fogging up (I normally play without them, and my uncle was non-plussed when I told him this), but the truth is he made me run the court like crazy. It's humbling to be owned by a guy in his fifties, with a bad foot, no less. I managed more points when we played with the beginner's ball (9-15). The low bouncing regulation ball was hard to retrieve and I wasn't used to it.

On the drive back from Kingston, as my step-dad took the Kennedy offramp, the Ford Tempo died. It's fortunate that it died where it did and not in the middle of the highway. We sat for a couple of minutes, hazards blinking as he tried the ignition, but the engine wouldn't turn over. In no time at all a silver tow-truck appeared, manned by a couple of guys dressed like twins (both had shaved heads and grey pullovers). Their quick arrival, the vulture like appearance of their shaved heads, and their efficiency at hitching the Tempo's lifeless chassis to the tow truck evoked thoughts of Mad Max and scavengers.

Riding in their truck cab was interesting. Four different police channels were blaring simultaneously, and the shorter twin riding shotgun got very excited when a pursuit was announced on the scanner. Both twins grabbed CB transmitters and started barking details of the pursuit to their dispatcher. All this activity made the truck ride seem frenetic and exciting (they later explained that a police pursuit often ends in one of two ways: either the speeder crashes or they're rammed off the road, which is where tow trucks enter the picture). I've never given tow-truck drivers a second thought, so the brief exposure to their culture was new and colourful for me. In a funny way, they're part of an automotive ecosystem with cops playing the role of predators, speeders acting as prey, and tow truck drivers swooping in to complete the picture as scavengers.

I've now decided that I'm going to quit my job and become a tow truck driver. But first things first: I'm still determined to fulfill my vow to become a champion stacker, the world's best speed drinker, and master falconer. A man's gotta have priorities...

Skip to my Lou my Darlin'

Over the last eight years my fitness levels have been in a steady decline. And things got worse after I started working at the office. Sitting in front of a monitor for most of your day and eating McD's Extra Value Meals for lunch does wonders for your body. A couple of months ago I joined a health club with a friend, and now we play squash every week. I've also been moderately successful at keeping up a fitness routine. The result: I've been feeling less lethargic and my mood's somewhat improved.

This week I bought a chin-up bar and a skipping rope, and I've discovered that I'm pretty pathetic at both. I struggled to do eight chin-ups today, and I have a hard time skipping longer than five minutes. I guess it's partly a matter of pacing, but I find skipping a lot harder than running the treadmill. One of the cool things about skipping is the variety of ways you can mix it up. Check out these slick moves:

1) The Giddy Schoolgirl
2) The Village Idiot
3) The Leprechaun
4) The Monkey
5) The Yogic Flying Master

But as awesome as skipping is, it's merely a means to an end. When I get fit enough, I plan to take the sport of stacking by storm, then speed drinking, and finally the world. That's my five year plan in a nutshell.