A Depressing Post

I logged in, planning to write, in my best Soup Nazi impersonation, "No post for you!" But, let's just see where stream-of-consciousness takes me.

I just got back from rural Ontario, which is always interesting. My father is fighting 5 types of cancer, but oddly, all of them are considered to be the least deadly types of cancer in each class. He has skin cancer, but not melanoma, for example. But, he looks pale, which makes his wardrobe choices all the more perplexing. His beige pants, beige shirt, and beige socks match his pale, ashen complexion, a complexion that would seem to demand some colour compensation. He just needed a hat to convince all of us that he was about to go on safari.

The loss of 25 or 30 pounds makes him appear completely different. His face is drawn; he has no energy; he needs to nap several times per day. For the first time, he looks old to me. He's lost something. He didn't make a single racy joke and, far more surprising, didn't offer any political commentary or investment advice. Occasionally, he stared off into the distance, and I really wondered what he was thinking about.

I wonder if having skin cancer makes him regret the hours he spent basking in the sun. Somehow, I doubt it. He loved the sun and would probably follow the same route again, given a second chance.

Time prevented an additional junket to visit my mother, now housed in a new home, close to my sister's house. It's here where she will live out her days eating meatloaf and watching her roommates die. I gather she is not enamored with the place, but that might change. At Christmas, I will have to ensure that I visit her in her new abode.

My, wasn't that depressing? I just have to add the title and hit publish.

Is your Cucumber Curved?

If so, or you have undersized melons, there's good news. The European Union is altering its fruit and vegetable policies, and will soon allow the sale of diverse fruits and vegetables, those that might deviate from the norm by being crooked, small, ugly, or asymmetrical. Look how fast the world is changing! The next American President is not on old white guy and now previously prejudiced produce will soon hit the shelves in Europe.

That's all for today. Happy Friday and have a nice weekend. I will be heading into the rural parts of Ontario, where people like the Conservative Party, Celine Dion, and bad grammar.

I'm Back, Baby I'm Back

Here's the best story from my weekend trip to Rural, Ontario to visit certain family members. While in the nursing home where my mother lives (probably for the rest of her life), my daughter decided to play the piano in the lounge area. Just then, an aged woman ambled in and said: "how wonderful." My son was trying his best to interfere with his sister's piano recital, but the old woman repeated her refrain: "how wonderful, how wonderful" even as the protests commenced and the voices of the children became louder and louder.

She went on: "I was a school teacher." I felt a bit sad for her, but also was happy that these two children, now getting seriously irritated with one another over piano access, brought her some joy. While my daughter played a lovely rendition of Doe, a deer, a female deer, the ancient women found a seat, spread out a large absorbent pad (I suppose in the event of spontaneous incontinence), had a seat, and stared out the window.

While chatting with my sister and my mother, I heard snippets of the babble coming from the old lady, such as: "a school teacher...lovely, I was a school teacher..." I suppose she had gotten lost in her reminiscences. Seconds later, without any warning, she let out a loud "bitch!"

The good news is that this caused my mother to laugh. "What's she going on about now?" my mother asked. "She's a crazy one." I laughed a bit too, and then wondered if she had been my one of my school teachers, but decided against the possibility.

***

I feel like I have been away from work for a week, mostly because I have. I was at a conference last week (sorry, no review for you today, or ever, if you are lucky). On Monday, when I should have been enjoying an extra long weekend, thanks to Canada Day falling on a Tuesday, I was at an appointment with a retinal specialist, who confirmed that I have two "potentially dangerous" retinal tears. I think half of Toronto was in his office that day. He lasered one tear after a wait with dozens of others needing similar treatments. I go back in three weeks for another laser weld job.

I have spent most of today in meetings, which is not a good thing.

On Choirpractors and Homopaths

Every time I speak with my father, I am reminded of the bizarre way in which people from my part of Ontario speak. I mentioned that in a post entitled Dropping the Dialect. In that post, I listed a few key phrases that my father uses. Since his diagnosis with prostate cancer a few years back, he has been seeing a homeopath. He believes that this treatment has helped, and I thinks that's great, even though I am not sure that the stinky tea actually does anything. After all of this time, my father (and my sister, for that matter) are unable to pronounce homeopath.

It is pronounced thusly: 'hO-mE-&-"path

In other words, is has four syllables, including a vowel after hom and before opath. My dad (and sister) continue to say homopath. I suppose that there is a very real possibility that my father is seeing some sort of practitioner with the name homopath, but what kind of medicine or pseudo-medicine this person would dispense is too bizarre to even contemplate so early in the day. Anyway, for some reason, I haven't summoned the courage to tell him that his pronunciation is off.

And this reminds me that my grandmother says sam'ich instead of sandwich. She also cannot say chiropractor. She says choirpractor, which I gather is someone who dispenses chiropractic medicine to large groups of singers.

Anyway, today is conference week. I am at a conference as I type, and will be again tomorrow, when I am presenting with two colleagues. Then, I will be attending another conference from Wednesday to Friday, so you may not hear much from me after today.

Technorati Tags: dialects, family, conferences

Dropping the Dialect

A colleague recently told me that she knew I was not from Toronto by the way I spoke. I am not sure if it is the accent or the word choice. Whatever the case, I am aware that people from my part of Ontario speak strangely. I only have to visit my rural relatives to be reminded of that.

It is not uncommon to have a conversation with my dad and hear him say:

"I done steaks on the bar-b-que last night."
"I ete an hour ago and I'm still hungry."
"We haven't ate yet."
"She don't like it."
"We have boughten bread."
"That's as useless as tits on a bull."
"I'll have a double-double"
"Let's go to Kentucky Duck" (That's KFC, or Kentucky Fried Chicken)

Listen to a few sounds files from Ontario here: International Dialects of English Archive - Ontario. They allow people to submit recordings, so maybe I will.

Also, people in my hometown are fond of the expression "fuck the dog" or "fucking the dog," which means slacking off or doing nothing. I am from Buttfuck nowhere, so I am allowed to say that.

Technorati Tags: dialects, rural Ontario, slang

Ever since I found out that Santa Claus doesn't exist, Christmas has been somewhat anti-climactic. I still remember the day my sister led me to my parents' bedroom closet and showed me all of the gifts piled up on a shelf. It was the end of the innocence.

This year, once again, I ended up in rural Ontario, where my family is from. It's so unlike the city: it is snowier and much more conservative. It's like taking a step backwards in time. I have learned to keep some opinions to myself, or risk arguments. It's a strange land out there. Some of my relatives actually said that they are afraid of going to Toronto.

I saw some films during the break.

Meet the Parents really really stinks. Who likes this kind of adolescent humour? I wanted to turn it off, but decided to stick it out until the last ridiculous minutes. If you think the name Gaylord M. Focker is funny, this film is for you.

The Treasure of the Sierra Madre is a really excellent film. It stars Humphrey Bogart and is directed by John Houston. If you haven't seen it, you should. And, I learned something about prospecting-not enough to make me rich or become the centre of attention at a cocktail party, but something.

Woody Allen's Zelig is quite ingenious and terribly funny. It's a classic mockumetary. How is it that I missed it when it came out?

Spider (not Spiderman) is excellent. Ralph Fiennes has, perhaps, the fewest lines ever in a leading role. He just mumbles. It has a plot twist that you might figure out early, but even if you do, it doesn't ruin the film. It is depressing, but quite interesting.

I really enjoyed The Decline of the American Empire, even though I had to take my suspension of disbelief to a much higher level. How is it that Remy, an obese and unattractive man, managed to have seduced so many women? It makes no sense.

The last movie I saw was televised. It was the bizarrely popular My Big Fat Greek Wedding, or, as I like to call it My Big Fat Obnoxious Unfunny Movie. Whoever said that this was a comedy? Not only is it not funny, it is boring, badly written, badly acted, and badly directed. I can't even believe that is had a theatrical release. It looks so made-for-tv. There is zero chemistry between the lead characters. I mean absolutely zero. It just looked so contrived. Not to mention that the guy (John Corbett, I think) was so miscast. He is a reasonably attractive man, but the woman just did not fit with him. I mean, she is almost cross-eyed. OK, so I am being a little harsh here. The final word is, I can't believe I wasted two hours of my life on such crap.

And, what's with the advertisements? Every ten minutes on CBC, we get a barrage of ads at a volume significantly higher than the movie. It makes me mute. If they really want me to see the ads, then they should balance the volume levels for me. On CITY TV, they do something equally hideous. At first, the movies have long breaks, just to get you hooked. Towards the end, one has to endure ad breaks every 7 or 8 minutes. It really sucks. Oh, and I think I will have to boycott Canadian Tire because of their obnoxious jingle, "I'll start with you." Yuck.

Happy New Year to you.

Technorati tags: Christmas, relatives, movies, Meet the Parents, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, Zelig, Spider, The Decline of the American Empire, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, CBC, CITY-TV

Every time someone really devout dies, like the Pope or even a Hamas suicide bomber, I have to wonder what they have found on the other side, if, in fact, there is an other side. I imagine lots of utterances like "d'oh!", or "oh crap."

We rented a car on last weekend. I have mixed feelings about that. I love driving, especially new cars, but I feel like I am always being ripped off. I am thankful for my gold card (speaking of religion), 'cause the insurance part of renting has got to be a scam. The person beside me opted for the so-called peace of mind package at $23.00 per day! They have to be kidding. These cars have to be insured anyway, so what is this? It's a scam. Anyway, I was upgraded. That is both good and bad. I like the bigger car, but then you have to face the gas mileage issues. Anyway, the Impala is a smooth drive. It's not cool in any conceivable way, mind you, but smooth. Oh, and the sound system is pretty good too.

The Impala has that radio volume system I hate. When you accelerate, the volume increases. It decreases when you brake. I hate it with a capital hate. I would never buy a car that had that feature, unless I could disable it. It doesn't really work properly anyway.

It was a weekend of visiting relatives. The less I see them, the more I can't believe that I hail from the same genes. Maybe it's just the rural-urban divide. If I have learned anything one thing, it is that once you have lived in Toronto, you can't go back to the country. Well, it might be ok to go back if you planned to die within a few months. Any longer than that and you'd die of boredom anyway.

Tags: death, driving, relatives