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...