On Electic Bikes

But, before I get to ebikes, I have to report that I came within inches of being splattered on the asphalt on my morning commute when some numbskull in an SUV made a right turn without shoulder checking. So, I followed him into the parking lot, where he kept driving, clearly aware that I was tailing him. Finally, he had no choice but to stop, and when his passenger opened the door, I explained that he needs to shoulder check before making a right turn, after which she apologized (the driver refused to look at me), and then I said, "well look next time." And, now, ebikes...

I appeal to the lawmakers of this province to review the licensing requirements for ebikes. Currently, the requirements are:

• No driver's licence is required
• No written test is required
• No vehicle registration or plate is required
• No motor vehicle liability insurance is required

(from: http://www.mto.gov.on.ca/english/dandv/vehicle/emerging/e-bike-faq.shtml#a9)

Having been forced to share the road (and by that I mean bikes lanes) with ebikes, I'd say it's time for a review.  I realize that what I am about to say will strike some as hypocritical.  Or, what's worse is that I might end up appearing as ignorant as Jacob Richler.

If there's one thing I cannot stand it is those who argue that all cyclists are law-breakers and dangerous, and that's simply not true. I know that there are lots of law-abiding cyclists out there who stop at traffic lights and don't ride on sidewalks. And, of course, there are lots of responsible ebike riders, but many of my interactions have left me angry and feeling like I am in danger when riding my bicycle.

The aspect that most concerns me is having to share a bike lane with a motorized vehicle.  According to the website referenced above, ebikes would seem to be welcome in bike lanes:

E-bikes are allowed to travel anywhere bicycles are permitted to travel.  Any municipal by-law prohibiting bicycles from highways under their jurisdiction also apply to e-bikes. Municipalities may also pass by-laws specific to e-bikes that prohibit them from municipal roads, sidewalks, bike paths, bike trails, and bike lanes under their jurisdiction.

And, indeed, the city of Toronto bike lane bylaws state the following: "According to City of Toronto bike lane bylaws, bicycles must be propelled by muscular power."(http://www.toronto.ca/cycling/). So, if you are driving an ebike, please GET OUT OF THE BIKE LANE! You are breaking the law.

I have been honked at, passed very closely at high speeds, and cursed at by ebike riders. Last year, I had an altercation with an ebiker who repeatedly honked at me, and then sped by so close that her useless pedals almost clipped me.  I'm all for sharing the road, but bike lanes in Toronto are reserved for non-motorized vehicles.

Yesterday, on my cycle home, an ebike came screaming up beside me at what must have been the maximum 32 km/h. He cut in front of me and then drove up onto the sidewalk where he continued for about 50 to 75 feet before stopping. I worried that anyone exiting a store would have been hit.

I fail to see why these bikes are exempt from licensing laws. They are motorized. They travel at generally faster speeds that bikes. Someone will be hit and injured by one of these things in the future. That's a given.

Most of these things look like electric scooters, so even the name is perplexing. All riders ought to be required to take a safety course like those for motorcycles. I am opposed to the licensing of bicycles because they are non-polluting. Ebikes are polluting. The electricity most likely comes from coal or nuclear power, neither of which are green.

Accidents Waiting to Happen

So last night I experienced one of those infuriating dreams where the protagonist is unable to complete a task or do something that ought to be simple. In this case, I was sent back to high school (I have no idea why) and I had arrived late to school owing to the fact that my mother drove me in a rather circuitous route.

My mother, I should point out, never ever drove me to school. I should also add that she was probably the world's worst driver. The walk from our house to the high school was one kilometre, so there was no need for a ride anyway. But, we were late, I think because we also stopped to pick up my brother and then we witnessed a strange tire-changing accident near the school.

Once inside the school, I could not manage to find where my classes were, and that was frustrating. So, perhaps the interpretation is that something is frustrating me lately? Who knows?

Anyway, I was cycling to work today, as I have done for years. I see lots of screwed up things during these rides, like people applying makeup and shaving while driving. This morning, I looked to my left and saw a women in a white Smart car eating a bowl of cereal while she was driving. That doesn't seem very smart to me. Between traffic lights, she held the tupperware container in her right hand while she steered with her left. At a traffic light, she dug in, filling her face with Corn Flakes or whatever the hell it was. I once saw a guy eating cereal while walking down Yonge Street, but this was the first time I ever saw someone driving and eating cereal.

Just to review, it is now illegal to use a handheld device (such as a cell phone) while operating a motor vehicle. Someone please tell me that's it's illegal to eat while driving. It has to be. The woman is an accident waiting to happen, just like my mother, though she managed never to have had an accident, but I think she caused lots.

A look at my CD collection, part 5: the Boss

I was infatuated with Bruce Springsteen when I was a teenager.  I had all of his albums, and I went around proselytizing to anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn't.  K and & saw him in concert at the Ex in 1984 during the Born in the USA tour.

Oddly, I abandoned the Boss right after this, mostly because I was in the midst of a musical education, the likes of which brought to me to some wild and interesting destinations.  Even without the exposure to new and interesting music, I would have abandoned the Boss anyway. Although I recall liking Born in the USA upon release, I quickly tired of it.  I have a more favourable attitude to this album 27 years later, but I wouldn't rank it among my favs.

Upon hearing some tracks from Devils and Dust, I began to reacquaint myself with Springsteen's music.  Currently, I would characterize myself as a fan, but not a rabid one.  I recently picked up a ridiculously cheap copy of Tougher Than the Rest - 100 Best Bruce Springsteen Songs by June Skinner Sawyers.  I have to say that I am perplexed by some of her choices.  I really can't take anyone seriously who would compile such a book and leave out Streets of Fire or Candy's Room for example. I am willing to accept her conclusion that Jungleland is overwrought, even though it was once my favourite Springsteen song.

There are other peculiarities as well in this book.  Why include all but one of the songs from Nebraska?  If you ask me, Used Cars is a better song than State Trooper.  And, the inclusion of so many songs from Tunnel of Love, one of Springsteen's weaker albums, amazes me.  Why include any songs at all from Human Touch or Lucky Town?  These are minor albums that do not impress me at all.  And, what about "It's hard to be a Saint in the City", "Does this Bus Stop at  ....."

But, by far the most peculiar thing about this book is the omission of Long Time Coming, a song that ranks as my second favourite Springsteen song of all time, right after Backstreets.



On my CD shelves you will find lots of CDs from the Boss and if you dig into my vinyl you will also see some interesting stuff, like bootlegs, EPs, 45s, and coloured vinyl.  Perhaps my return to Springsteen says something about my age, or maybe it says something about the direction Springsteen has taken recently. I really can't say.

The Funeral

I sure hope that was my last funeral for a while. Three funerals in one and a half years is too many, especially since the last two were so close together.

I had seen my mother the day before she passed away, and so I had to make a return trip to the town of my birth the next day to meet with my sister (as co-executor) and plan the funeral, write the obituary, call relatives and friends, meet with the bank to start the estate process, order flowers for the funeral, and meet with the minister. All of this, I have mentioned before.

I went back three days later to meet with the lawyer. He was in the midst of handling my grandmother's estate, and now has this to do as well. Essentially, money is being passed from my mother's estate to hers, where it will be divided into quarters and then doled out to the four children.

My brother (the one who suffered the debilitating stroke) came with us. All of this planning and legal red taps is not fun. I will have to make three to four return trips to meet with the lawyer as the process rolls along, and to go back to the bank when we set up an estate bank account. I think I'd rather not have been named an executor. But, it could be worse: I could be much farther away. It's about a 1.5 hour drive, so I guess that's not too bad.

The cost of funerals is alarming to me. When you add it all up, we are almost at $15000. That's just crazy.  I sure hope no one spends that amount to burn me. Just give me a pine box. These elaborate caskets seem so wasteful to me, as does using arable land to bury people.

23 Days

Twenty-three days after her mother died, my mother passed away. I have lost a grandmother and a mother in the space of three weeks. I think one can safely assume that my mother gave up on life after her mother passed. She went into an immediate and steep decline, refusing food and collapsing in on herself.

It can't be a coincidence. Mother came to the funeral. She was alert, made off-colour remarks, as she has always done. True, she was confined to a wheelchair, but she looked nowhere near death, so her passing was a tremendous surprise to us all. Now, the usual suspects are gathering on Friday for another funeral, my third in one and a half years.

As co-executor of the will, I helped my sister with the funeral arrangements, flowers, announcements, etc. We also visited the bank to get the estate paperwork underway. We have an appointment with the lawyer later this week. Late yesterday, we met with the minister, the same person who did the ceremony for my father's funeral last May.

Let me say for the record that if I die after a long life, I want a party, not a solemn affair filled with references to imaginary beings, such as my mom would prefer. She was a church-goer. I suppose some of us like being told that they are sinners. I know it, but I also know that this is who were are, that this is how we evolved. Also, I have a very liberal definition of a sin, and I would prefer to use a term other than sin. Killing is not a sin - it's a crime, unless you are at war, or maybe it's still a crime, but not a sin in that case. I would like to go on record as saying that I have coveted a neighbour's wife, probably more than once. His ass, on the other hand, not so much. But, cars and houses have all been coveted by me over the years. But, enough of gods. But, wait, perhaps it would be fun to have someone presiding over my funeral  who could make references to Jupiter and Zeus. Maybe he could suggest that I angered Zeus, and he cut me down, after first summoning a thunderstorm or two to show his displeasure.

The minister asked us to come up with things that she (or one of us) can share with those assembled, With my dad, this was an easy task. When I think of my dad, I think of laughter. When I think of my mom, I think of depression, stubbornness, and a general disinterest in life. So, on some levels, it's amazing that she lived as long as she did. It's a real struggle to talk about someone whose only pleasures were Nescafe, Macdonald Menthol cigarettes, and romance novels.

I will be struggling with unearthing good memories of my mother for the rest of the week.

RIP

My mother passed away this afternoon.

14 Days

Another depressing post ...

Doctors are often wrong. There were wrong about my brother, and they may well be wrong about my mother. They give her 10 to 14 days. She is not eating and can't use her hands, so is only having water fed to her through a straw. How long can she go on with only water to sustain her? We don't know yet if she will refuse her dialysis treatment, but now that she is no longer receiving anti-depressants, this is likely.

Of course, I am left to think about my father and my mother, because I will soon have no parents. I was always closer to my father. He was the gregarious, funny, joyous one in the family. He loved to have a good time and he liked to laugh and make jokes. He liked traveling (to beaches, mostly), making wine, operating the BBQ. My mother, on the other hand, was always quiet, reserved, and--let's face it--depressed. If I try to summon up a visual image of my mother, it is this: she sits at table or in a living room chair with a cigarette smouldering in an ash tray with a cup of instant coffee, reading either a Harlequin novel or a magazine such as True Romance. 

She never got any exercise, never had any hobbies (aside from a short-lived effort at numismatics, cut short by my brother's thievery), and a brief foray into the bizarre world of liquid embroidery. She did accompany my father on trips to the Caribbean, but I really have no idea if she liked these excursions. Other than that, she was a couch potato, but she did read, unlike my father.

She once told me that she first became aware of her depression when was was a teenager, which might explain why she took up smoking at age fourteen. I have read that there is a link between smoking and depression. She also told me that she was careful never to reveal her depression because she legitimately feared that she would be placed in a psychiatric hospital, something she did have to face as an adult when I was away at University. One of the things I am grateful for is not having inherited her depression. I think I am clear of that one, but I do worry about Alzheimer's, which afflicted her mother, and is creeping into my mother's brain. I hope I dodge that one too.

Anyway, the plan is to head out to the far reaches or rural southern Ontario this weekend and visit with her. It's not going to be pleasant.

Mother

My father passed away a year and a half ago. My grandmother passed away a couple of weeks ago. Now, my mother is apparently in her last days. She has been on dialysis for years, has low blood levels, can no longer walk, and is now confined to a bed (under a restraint order) lest she should try to get out and collapse. She has a mass of fluid on her lungs that might be cancer, but the doctors fear that she would not survive the invasive cancer testing procedure.

She yells out frequently, and there is a suspicion that the drugs are contributing to this behaviour. She asks to be let out of there and howls in pain. So, the doctors are reducing her drugs: no more anti-depressants, no more meds for high cholesterol. But, she is on Oxycontin and antibiotics and a medicated inhaler.

The doctors believe she is dying and now there is a DNR order. It's odd, because she came to my grandmother's (her mother's) funeral recently, though it was nearly impossible to get her in and out of the vehicle. Her legs are useless and she screamed with pain, complaining that she was being abandoned, even as three of us were trying to stuff her into a mini van.

I know that she is lonely in that nursing home. When my dad passed, she didn't really react, but he was someone she knew for years--most of her life, in fact--and I think that had an effect. And now, her mother is gone and, although she has always claimed to have hated her mother, she must miss her. After all, she lived with her for years and years until she was admitted to a nursing home, years before her mother met the same fate. It seems like her mother was her only friend.

She mumbles nonsense in between asking to be set free from the nursing home. Perhaps she has given up? On the other hand, she may hang on for years. You never really know, I guess, but at present, it seems grim.

Sprawl II

I love this song, and I really like this new arrangement.

Occupy Toronto

I have walked through the Occupy Toronto encampment a couple of times recently. I have some sympathy with the movement, and I truly believe that the group raises important points that deserve wider discussion. The big bailouts given to major corporations and banks worldwide concerned me, especially as taxpayer money was used. No bailouts were given to homeowners facing foreclosure. As Neil Young sang:

There’s a bailout coming but it’s not for me

It’s for all those creeps watching tickers on TV

There’s a bailout coming but it’s not for me
 
Millions of people were stripped of their homes (or they simply walked away) as a result of some really disastrous banking policies that should never have been permitted. Homeowners were caught up in the middle of bad banking. On the other hand, it is clear to me that the consequences of not bailing out banks and corporations would have led to far more severe economic consequences.

The problem with Occupy Toronto is twofold. First, Canada was spared the worst of the economic crisis, so they might have difficulty achieving any more traction that they currently have. Second, they have marginalized themselves by the choice of location for this demonstration. They are clearly too far from the economic centre of Toronto. Granted, they would have had a hard time establishing a foothold anywhere near Bay street, so St. James Park it is.

I asked a person involved with the movement if she knew how many people are generally present in the park as part of Occupy Toronto. She said that there were 250 to 300 tents, and that there could be as many as 400 people camping out. She also tried to hand me a flyer for an event that happened on the 29th of October, and then asked me what the date was. I can commiserate: while camping, I often loose track of time.

I think that the 99% vs. 1% is far too simplistic.  I am not the 1%, but I am certainly not the 99%. I think that there is a middle ground, a large percentage that would not consider themselves part of the 99%, but recognize that they are not the 1% either. I don't see this as a problem.

The other thing I observed (and this might just have been a reflection of when I went and where I chose to stand), but it occurred to that the use of cigarettes by protesters is far too pervasive and indefensible. I kept having to move to avoid noxious smoke. I mean, if you are upset with multinational corporations, why smoke? Tobacco companies are notorious for destroying the health of the world's citizens, leading to escalating health and social costs.  I had to chuckle at the smoke-free area after having seen signs opposing alcohol consumption in general, as such use might inhibit revolution.  It seems to me that Occupy Toronto should be an entirely smoke-free zone. Stop giving profits to evil corporations who suck money out of the pockets of those who can generally least afford it. Do that, and you will get more sympathy from me.

Stephen Fry on the Catholic Church

This is well worth watching, as are the Hitchens segments too.

Funeral

I think one sign of aging is when you see certain people only at funerals. At my grandmother's funeral a couple of weeks back, I saw people (relatives really) whom I had not seen since my father's funeral a year and a half ago. It reminds me of younger days when I saw certain people only at weddings.

Anyway, my maternal grandmother passed away recently just short of her 92nd birthday. She lived a long life, so this was not a morbid affair, but one with humour and stories. She married at age 18, in a classic Ontario 1930s shotgun wedding, something that had been kept a closely-guarded secret for years. My grandmother refused to entertain questions about how old she was when she married in combination with the question of how old she currently was. I assumed that this was part of a larger plan to hide her age, but it was an effort to hide her shame, a shame she seemed to carry for most of her life. Once Alzheimer's crept in, I suppose she no longer thought about it.

Of course, by the time I had figured it out, pregnancy out of wedlock was no longer an issue, at least for most people. After all, my brothers had been spreading their seed far and wide with no regard for tradition, and that seemed like normal practice to me.

Alzheimer's is a horrible affliction and I hope I never have to confront it. The first time my grandmother failed to recognize me was a shock. After some time, she managed to put it all together, but more recently, she didn't have a clue, and that was very sad.

She is now resting (I'm not sure that I like this term) beside her husband who predeceased her by 29 years, and her grandson, who passed away at the age of 5. I remember him well.

RiP: A Remix Manifesto

This is awesome. Watch it.

Technical Difficulties

Epic fail on the tech front today, but only a handful of people showed up to witness it anyway.

Lulu and Blogging

I am struggling to like the new and unlikely union of Lou Reed and Metallica. In case you haven't heard, they recorded a double CD and are now streaming the tunes online. It kind of leaves me speechless, which could indicate that we are listening to genius or it might be that Lulu is the worst album ever made. It's really difficult to say.

I have been a Lou Reed fan for ages, but there is not a single Metallica CD in my collection. I think the only song I could recognize as Metallica's is "Enter Sandman". I don't hate it, but it's not really my cup of tea. I am not even going to attempt to review Lulu. Just listen to it and see what you think. I should point out that I am not afraid of heavy music. After all, I do have some Tool in my collection as well as some Black Sabbath. But, I am not a metal head.

_____

I am not sure if this post reflects a return to blogging. Occasionally, I recall with fondness some of the post I have published here. And, sometimes, I think about digital diets. Many blogs have died with the rise of Facebook, mine included. I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook for many reasons. But, I persevere mostly because I have immediate connections with family and friends and it's a great place to share family photos. It's also a huge waste of time.

I tried Google+, but aside from Circles (which is a really fabulous idea), I have little good to say about it. Generally, my friends on Google+ are the same as my friends on Facebook (though there are fewer of them), so when I realized that I was posting the same info twice, I stopped updating Google+. As for Twitter, I have had two accounts and I can conclusively say that I hate Twitter. It's truly amazing to me that so many people are addicted to it. Maybe if I liked Justin Beaver, things would be different.

The real problem, of course, it that it is impossible to keep up with everything that has been posted by friends, and if you tried, you would never get anything done. You would be reading and commenting all day long.

And that leaves Flickr, the place where I spend most of my time. Flickr is my favourite place to be. That's not to say that Flickr is not without its problems. I could name several things I hate about Flickr.

I may post again, or I may not. It's unclear.

Closing, probably for good

It's been fun, but my enthusiasm for blogging is dead.  If you want to connect with me on another network, just send me a message. I am on Facebook, Flickr, and Twitter, although I am very ambivalent about Twitter, having deleted my first account and just recently set up a new one. I am not sure if I will stay there.

Contact me here: zydecofish @ gmail dot com.

Goodbye and thanks for all the fish.

Super Bowl Half Time Show :(

I think that the word suck doesn't even begin to describe this half time mess.  Perhaps quantum sucking is a better description.  There is no way that the half time show could ever be confused with music.

The Butt by Will Self

Don't you hate it when you favourite writers write a book that irritates you?  I sure do.  Self, a writer I admire, has just done that with The Butt.  After the fist few pages, it meanders into absurdity, which I normally would quite like, especially from the likes of Self, who has penned some really fantastic and satirical novels.  Great Apes, for example, is quite excellent. Reading The Butt, however, only made me wish that the book was 100 pages shorter.  Why did it take so long to get to the end?  And then there was that overpowering sadness at the loss of so much time spent cursing this book.

The reader never knows what kind of bizarre or fantastic world is going to unfold in a Will Self novel.  Nor is s/he incapable of being in awe of his linguistic skill and vocabulary.  But, this book borders on the incomprehensible.  Sure, there are some amusing passages, and one cannot help but admire his writing, but I was left with a feeling that this wasn't really the best he could do.  I truly felt tired at the end of it, and I had no interest in recalling any part of the book after chucked it aside with considerable relief, like a cigarette butt left to slowly disintegrate over time in a ditch.  

Read Will Self, but skip this one.

Damn Spam!

Apologies if you have received spam from my email account.  Some bastards hacked in and "borrowed" my email account and posted to this blog.  I have had to change my password.  I have no idea how they managed to do it, since my password was not really a word, more like a string of letters and number.

Anyway, if you want to retaliate, feel free to email bomb them using the email addresses listed in their message. 

The hack came from IP 58.49.251.55 in China on January 18th, 2011.

On Religion

(Sadly, this blog is either dead or very close to it).

I do not hail from a religious family.  I think that this is a positive thing, and I remain thankful for that.  On the other hand, certain traditions that have currency among religious sects have invaded the cultural zeitgeist and led to travesties, such as widespread circumcision, for which I am not thankful.  But this post is not about genital mutilation.  It is about religion.

I was baptized in the Presbyterian church and, as far as I can remember, the only times I ever set foot in a church for many years hence were to appreciate the architecture or for weddings or funerals.  I was in my third year of my undergraduate degree when I checked out a Christmas sermon with a female friend (not a girl friend).  We sat at the back.  I have to say that I remember very little, but what I do remember was that I was sinner.  The message was repeated over and over again.

As a child, I was spared Sunday School, spared religious indoctrination of any kind, but knowledge of it seeps in from many places, like literature and TV and movies.  One can't really exist in our society without being aware of faith.  Nor should we.  We need to know what is written, but there is no reason to believe it.

Very early on in my life, I discovered that there were other religions.  I recently read that there could be 3800+ religions just on our little planet.  Doesn't it strike you as intolerant and chauvinistic to accept your religion (the one you were born into) and by extension reject all others?  When I first learned that there were other religions backed by legions of blind followers, I moved from agnosticism to atheism fairly quickly.  I was still in public school when I made the switch.  For me, Jesus Christ was equal to Santa Claus or a character in your favourite childhood fairy tale.

if you have spent any time reading the bible or the new testament or the Koran or other "holy" texts, you will no doubt be aware that they are filled with impossible acts and impossible-to-believe stories.  Are we really to believe that for all of human existence, god ignored us and then, for some odd reason, he decided to intervene but only to a handful of people in a remote area of the middle east?   I say no, but don't believe me.

I beg you to read god is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens.  He does a magnificent job of annihilating all religions, including Islam, the so-called religion of peace.  Islam is a violent religion.  Hitchens argues that "The real axis of evil is Christianity, Judaism, and Islam."  I agree one hundred per cent.  No educated person could ever read the scriptures and come away thinking that they are to be believed.  And, no one could come away with the belief that religion makes us peaceful.  Pick up any history book are read about the evils that religion has brought to the world.

The people who wrote the various scriptures had two goals in mind:

1) to impose a bizarre morality
2) to explain where we came from

I beg you to also read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins.  No thinking, educated person could ever read Dawkins and Hitchens and argue that there is a god watching everything we do and say and think. It's nonsense.  These "holy" books are obsolete, at least in terms of the points above.  I would never advocate eliminating these books, well, except for the Book of Mormon, perhaps.

Darwin was correct.  Humans evolved. We were not created by some dude in six days; nor did some god begin the process of so-called intelligent design (which is merely code for creationism).  Creationism has had its time.  There is irrefutable evidence that we evolved; there is zero evidence that we were created, other than the pages of a book that has no author.  There is simply no proof for anything in these religious writings.

On a different Christmas eve, many years after I ventured into a church with my friend, I was dragged to a Catholic church for an Xmas service.  Again, I was admonished for being a sinner, yet I knew that I was "created" in god's own image.  Does no one else see the problem with this or with original sin?  It's nonsense.

The world would be much better off without any religions.  It would be a more peaceful planet without Islam and without Christian sects running around Africa trying to convert  everyone in sight.  Without religion, the world would have been spared a plethora of religious wars and crusades.  Count up the wars that have been (or are) religious and those that weren't, and you will see what I mean.

We would all be farther ahead if we adopted a humanist outlook free from religious dogma and deception.  And, someone really has to bring the Pope in for questioning about child rape.  He knows more than he is saying.  What kind of a sick organization permits and enables the rape of children?

The Best Rock and Roll Band in America

I saw them in July in TO :-)

Vacation...
back later this week.

This Movie is Broken

Last night, we attended an Open Roof Films screening of This Movie is Broken in the parking lot of Amsterdam Brewery.  Prior to the film, a Toronto band called The Little Black Dress (not to be confused with Little Black Dress) played a few tunes.

I guess it's common for more than one band to choose the same or similar names.  The difference here is the definite article.  I don't like the name at all. I think both bands should give up and try a new name.  Leaving that aside, I was not terribly impressed with the band.  The sound was OK and the music was not too bad, but I couldn't get past the lyrics and the vocals.  Maybe it just wasn't my cup of tea.  Anyway, on to the movie.

I love Broken Social Scene.  I like many of the offshoots too.  So, I was happy with the live concert, documentary portion of the film.  I enjoyed that part very very much.  As for the rest of the film, well, not so much.  In fact, I felt that the film was quite boring aside from the music, at least until we got to the twist near the end.  Yes, that was surprising and it served as a wake up segment.  But, I found that scene hard to believe though well done.  Still, it was enjoyable, and then we had a leisurely bike ride home along the very dark waterfront trail.

That's it.  Have a nice weekend.

Reads

Pseudo-reviews of some of the books I have read recently...

The Zero by Jess Walter - This is the second Walter book I have read (the other being Citizen Vince).  IMHO, The Zero is better.  This book also happens to be the third 9/11 book I have read.  I'd rank Ken Kalfus's A Disorder Peculiar to the Country higher than The Zero, but I'd place The Zero ahead of DeLillo's Falling Man, a novel I did not really like, though I admit it has moments of genius.  The Zero is a kind of thriller, I suppose, and a sort of dark comedy with some noir thrown in.  It'sa good summer read.

The Grifters by Jim Thomspon - Essential Jim Thompson.

The Elementary Particles by Michel Houellebecq - I loved Platform very much. This book?: not so much.  Despite the graphic sex that should appeal to me, the book reads like a too-long essay on the social history of France told by way of biographies of two half brothers.  The trouble is that the novel is unbelievably boring.

A Partisan's Daughter by Louis De Bernieres - I am a huge fan of this writer, but I hated this book. 

Choke by Chuck Palahniuk - I really wanted to like this book, but I didn't.  I mean, it's OK, and it's certainly not terrible.  If you removed the sex parts, though, you would be left with an unreadable book.  I'd really hate to use the word stupid to describe this book, but I might have to.

The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall - I imagine that if the publisher packaged this book as a mass market paperback and placed it at the checkout at supermarkets, it would sell quite a few copies.  I fail to understand why this book is being referred to as literary.  I just don't see that.  It's a quirky sort of book that is not challenging to read.  Literary it is not.  It might pass for good.  It's not brilliant.

Ratner's Star by Don DeLillo - I'm a big fan of DeLillo. I've loved everything I had read, except for Falling Man, as I have already mentioned.  This book is great, but a bit of a chore to get through. If you are a serious DeLillo fan, you will already have read it anyway.

Kockroach by Tyler Knox - Kockroach is sort of the reverse of Kafka's Metamorphosis.  Imagine a cockroach turning into a man who gets involved in organized crime.  It's a fun read.

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon - The idea behind this novel is fascinating and I enjoyed it at some level, but I would say that it shouldn't have been a novel.  I really think that this book would have been better as a long short story or a novella.  I think it was difficult for the author to sustain the story, or maybe I simply tired of it.

The Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs by Irvine Welsh - I suppose this is a modern twist The Picture of Dorian Gray.  It's thoroughly enjoyable, but you have to accept the crazy supernatural concept.

Leading the Cheers by Justin Cartwright - Not bad, but Justin has done better.  White Lightning, for example, is better.

Señor Vivo and the Coca Lord by Louis De Bernieres - Awesome.  This is book two in the Latin American trilogy.  Book three is waiting for me. De Bernieres is a talented writer and he has a gift for comedy and political satire.

G20

Thankfully, I was unable to go downtown to have a look around the G20 protests.  If I had, I am sure I would have been arrested, probably for the crime of taking photos or simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if that place was the designated protest site.

As we have heard, the police arrested people with very little or no cause, including reporters.  I think the police ought to be held accountable for the failure to contain the violence everyone knew was coming, despite the obscene amount of cash spent on security.  The police ought to be accountable for the catch-and-release program, in which they illegally arrested people just to get them off the streets, even if they were peaceful protesters.

I am a law-abiding citizen who has never had anything but respect for our police, but I am shocked and appalled by the police tactics during the G20.  We lived in a police state during the summit.  It was like martial law without the declaration. 

We need a comprehensive and independent review of all police actions during the summit.  We also need clarity of the issue of the security fence being declared a public work.  After a brief visit to the fence to take a couple of shots, I bailed, when I saw others with cameras being searched and asked to produce ID for no reason.  

I would never have described myself as anti-police, but after the G20, I have lost faith in the police.

The Funeral

Back in May, I had the solemn task of attending my father's funeral.  Of course, it was a sad day, and yet it was punctuated by stories and laughter, as always happens at funerals when family and friends remember the lives of those who have passed.  In some ways, it was like any other funeral I have attended.  We had an afternoon visitation and an evening visitation, followed by the funeral the next day. 

Perhaps it's my age speaking, but I have to say that I was stunned by what people choose to wear to the visitations.  My cousin wore a pair of ratty old jeans, white running shoes, and a faded yellow t-shirt.  Others came in shorts and sandals, short skirts and halter tops, and garments that made it look like they had been out for a hike.  I do not think that a black dress or suit are requirements any more (though I wore a black suit), I think that people ought to make an effort to dress properly to show respect.  I think it's insulting to the family to show up wearing something you would wear to a bar-b-que or to change a flat on your car.

At the funeral home, I was greeted by an aged woman who asked if I knew who she was.  A name popped into my head immediately, but then I rejected it thinking that it was an impossibility that she could still be alive.  After a few seconds, I uttered her name at the same time as she.  I almost fainted.  How is it possible that you are still alive, I wanted to ask.  I manged to restrain myself.  My grandmother is older (now 91), but I always thought that this woman was even older, but maybe that has to do with the beard and mustache she has sported for her entire life.  And, of course, this explains why she never remarried after her husband died a very young man.

I knew the even older woman standing beside her instantly, though she was even older.  She is someone I could never forget.  Throughout the day and the next, I saw people I hadn't seen in 20, 30 or more years.  So, I guess the themes of the day were grieving, nostalgia, remembrance, and reacquaintance.

Bike Tax

What is it with all of the people suggesting that cyclists should be taxed or licensed?  You've got to be kidding me.  Stop the madness!

1) Erecting financial barriers to physical fitness is a bad idea.  We ought to do whatever we can to encourage exercise - walking, cycling, running, etc.  Imposing costs will prevent at least some from cycling, and will ultimately put pressure on our health care system.  We are getting fatter, or so I have read.  Let's all get some exercise.

2) All levels of government should do everything they can to promote green methods of transportation.  Whether you accept the theory of climate change is irrelevant.  Cars pollute; bikes do not.  I've cycled through enough exhaust to know that we need less pollution.

3) I am frustrated by those who suggest that cyclists ought to pay for the road since they use it.  By that argument, we ought to tax everyone who uses the roads and sidewalks.  This would include skateboarders, roller bladers, runners, and even pedestrians, including moms pushing baby carriages.

4) Cyclists pay taxes, despite what the anti-cyclists say.  Even renters pay taxes indirectly.  We all pay tax.  Cyclists ought to get a tax break, not penalty for helping the environment and getting some exercise.

5) Bikes do not damage the roads. Cars and trucks damage the roads, and so it makes sense for them to pay for vehicle registration and other fees.

6) Many lower-income residents (especially students) can not afford such a fee.

7) I've read long rants from drivers who complain about cyclists getting in their way, slowing them down on their way to work or to the corner store.  Drivers ought to promote cycling.  Imagine if all of the cyclists they drive past were drivers stuck in traffic in front of them.  Wouldn't it be better to get some of those people out of the cars on the road ahead and make more room on the road?

Imagine a family of four that wants to take a bike ride through some residential streets on a Sunday afternoon.  Suddenly, they have to pay for four licenses?  It's ludicrous.  And, what if you have two bikes?  Do you pay twice?

Despite what Rob Ford believes, cycling is good for everybody.  Rob Ford really needs to hop on a bike and go for a ride.

A Pause

I will probably not post anything for much of the summer.  My blogging enthusiasm has waned and I have little interest at the moment.  Maybe later this summer or fall.  Have a nice summer.

RIP

I am sad to have to write that my father passed away on Friday, May 14th.  It's been a difficult year, with my brother's stroke and my mother's declining health: she is frail and depressed and looks ten years older than she is.  I will make a return trip to the town of my birth for the funeral this week.

Sad Day

I am taking the kids to see their grandpa today, probably for the last time.  The doctors don't expect him to make it past the weekend.

My Dad & Brother

I headed out to the rural parts of Ontario last weekend to visit my father in hospital.  He has been battling various types of cancer for a few years, but the illness now seems to be taking a greater toll.  I am sure that the steady stream of pharmaceuticals are also inflicting some sort of hell on his brain and systems.  He was not vocal at all, only managing a few mumbles, though since the visit, he has been more communicative.

My step-mom fed him soup and ice cream,  I have to say that watching one's formerly vital father being fed is not a pleasant sight.  It reminded me of when I fed my children.  It's the same really: they turn their heads to refuse the offering; they decide they want more; they change their minds. He looked weak and frail, something I could never have imagined when I was young.

My dad's future is uncertain.  Doctors are reluctant to offer an estimate on his remaining time, but seeing as though the cancer has migrated to his spine, his time here would seem to be severely limited.  Even if he rebounds, he will not go home.  My step-mom can't control him.  It may have been the drugs, but he recently moved some furniture out of the house and threw a plant out the door as well. Even when he was at home, he wanted to "go home" and waited for the movers to take his stuff back to his real house, in his real town, and be with his real wife.  This may be Capgras Syndrome, wherein those afflicted feel that a family member is an impostor.

My mother has been in a nursing home for two or three years, since she broke her hip.  Her mother, now 90, is also in a nursing home.  She has no idea who anyone is anymore.  And then there is my brother.  The good news is that the doctor was proven to be completely wrong in his diagnosis.

My brother, once thought to be on his deathbed, executed some sort of remarkable recovery.  He can walk with the aid of a walker.  He can talk.  He has problems with short-term memory.  His is weaker on one side.  He remains, it has to be said, susceptible to further strokes.

My brother, should he continue to improve, will be placed in a rehabilitation facility. My dad, should he improve, will end up in a nursing home for some period of time.  Most of my family will be in institutions.

The Gum Thief

I guess I keep hoping for the best whenever I pick up a Douglas Coupland novel.  I liked the early stuff, such as Generation X and Shampoo Planet, but then I hated most of the other stuff.  Microserfs is the worst book I have ever read, and probably the worst book ever written.  It perplexes me when I note that someone has awarded it 5 stars on Amazon.

I read Eleanor Rigby when it came out.  I got an advance copy directly from Mr. Coupland.  He signed it for me too.  I hated it.  I hate The Gum Thief too.

The book has no plot.  There is a vague story with lots of his quirky pop culture references, but the book has little to keep one reading, except for the bizarre Glove Pond novel-within-a-novel sections.  To me, this is the most interesting part of the book, and it goes nowhere after its dusty beginning, except for a meandering ending.

The only real plot event is one that is telegraphed early in the book, and it follows a clichéd trip to Europe device that is disappointing and not terribly interesting.

Of course, those of you love DC will love it.  I will probably avoid Mr. Coupland from now on, but I still plan to finally visit Canoe Landing Park this summer.

A Look at my CD Collection, Part 9: Daniel Ash (and David J)

Got distracted by various things.  Life is busy, and I have been neglecting my blog. I took an extra long weekend last week and have another long weekend this weekend.  Every weekend ought to be long, if you ask me.  Anyway, because I have nothing better to write about and because blogging expectations have rarely been lower, I continue with a series of self-indulgent posts.

___

Bauhaus disintegrated into several subsequent (and less interesting) parts starting in 1983, when the band first broke up.  Bauhaus reformed many years later, but I have no idea what is happening now.  I will save my discussion of Bauhaus, Peter Murphy, Love and Rockets, and Tones on Tail for later.  But now, I have to talk about Daniel Ash and a little bit about David J, both of whom were members of Bauhaus.

I would describe Daniel Ash's first solo record, Coming Down (1991) as a mediocre affair.  I got this CD free from CFNY.  I got lots of freebies from CFNY over the years.  I was never comfortable with calling this station The Edge.  To me, this station died when it stopped being The Spirit of Radio.  Sadly, it is now owned by Corus, and has been reduced to a crappy radio station, just like all of the others.

Coming Down isn't terrible but it isn't great either.  A highlight for me is the title track.  I also like the guitar lick in Daniel Ash's This Love too.  The sad truth is that I haven't played this CD in probably 15 years, which says a lot.  Perhaps I should sell it.  Not surprisingly, I have no other CDs from Mr. Ash.

Having said that, I was less impressed with David J's solo work. I picked up the Candy on the Cross EP and was quite interested to learn that he covered one of my favourite John Cale songs, Antarctica Starts Here.  This track did nothing for me, and I think that the sad experience of listening to that EP scarred me and prevented me from buying any more of his music.  Maybe that's unfair, and I guess I ought to investigate his other music.

The truth seems to be that Love and Rockets and Tones on Tail are better than Daniel Ash of David J on their own.  The same is true of Bauhaus, a band that is far greater than the sum of its parts.

Trip Recap, Part 6

Still in Zurich...

It's funny how some individuals have problems with certain things.  Maybe you are squeamish about small birds; maybe you are scared of heights; maybe you are unable to use a cork screw; maybe you have problems opening and closing locks...well, European locks at any rate.

Imagine having meandered around Zurich, stopping here and there, checking out the scene, withdrawing funds from Swiss bank accounts, when suddenly, deep within the Zurich University Botanical Gardens, an urge to micturate overcomes you.  Naturally, you would seek out the facilities, which, in our lucky case, happened to be dead ahead of us.

So, my traveling companion heads straight for the small building which appeared to house toilets.  There were three doors.  Suddenly, I had flashbacks to Monty Hall's Let's Make Deal.  Will she take door number one, door number two, or door number three?

First, she heads of door number one and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move.  She moves on to door number two and either pushes it or pulls it, but the door doesn't move.  Note that she either pushed or pulled, rather than attempting both directions.  I was standing back, admiring the view of the city, as the gardens are raised and one got a rather good view of Zurich.  The third door had a set of keys dangling provocatively in the lock. I hadn't noticed this until I turned to see C. turning the key in the lock, back and forth, round and round.

Of course, I had seen these lock manoeuvrings during our stay in Paris, at the impossibly small apartment.  I neglected to mention that the door to that apartment had three locks.  My companion, I realized, is European-lock-challenged.  North American locks seem to pose no problems.  It's the turn-left-two-and-a-quarter-turn type of lock that seems most confounding.

Suddenly, we hear banging and clanging and panicked screams from the inside.  Within a few short seconds, she had managed to lock a workman in his office and was unable to unlock the door.  I imagined that the Swiss gentleman must have been worrying that we were locking him in so that we could make off with various botanical samples, or worse.

I hurried over the scene, and freed the man, who looked completely stunned after having been confined to his office by two strange Canadians.  His expression suggested that he needed an explanation, and my companion tried to comply, but then he looked decidedly non-impressed.  I suppressed the urge to tell him that this is what happens when you leave you keys in the lock, but I was afraid of being expelled from Switzerland.  He removed the keys from the lock and went back into his office.  I hope he learned his lesson.

After rescuing the man, I wandered over and pushed or pulled on the door (you know, like tried both directions) of what appeared to be the female can and it opened.  With her bladder empty, we were able to continue on through the foliage.

A look at my CD collection, part 8: Anjani - Blue Alert

Finally, changing topics...

Q: What kind of a 76 year-old-man dates a 51 year-old-woman?

A: Leonard Cohen

I kind of hate Leonard Cohen, with his constant cadre of women and his perfect songs.  Damn him all to hell.  Blue Alert is what happens when you pair the best song-writer of the 20th Century with a good voice.  It's a jazzy affair, but I think the lyrics are stronger than the music.  There is something not quite right with the musical direction on the album, but I can't put my finger on it.  Maybe it's that the mellowness overwhelms the lyrics to such an extent as to make the songs anemic.  But, I am not a jazz expert by any means.

Sometimes, Doctors are Wrong

Soon after visiting my brother in the hospital, he developed a fever.  This turn of events seemed to strengthen the belief that the doctor had been quite correct.  Everyone thought that this would be the thing to end it all, but then something almost miraculous happened.

After ten days of unconsciousness, he "woke up."  This is amazing, unexpected news, but it is not exactly as good as is sounds.  He cannot speak.  He can only open his eyes for a few seconds at a time.  His is so weak on the right side, that he cannot really move his right arm.  He cannot swallow, meaning that they have to keep a tube in his throat.  He cannot eat because his stomach will not function properly and nothing is kept down.  He is on oxygen.  Of course, since he cannot speak, it is unclear if he is suffering from any brain damage, aside from the obvious speech issue.  He did manage to shake his head in reply to some questions.

What lies ahead, should he continue to come out of this, is months of rehabilitation and a long, slow recovery.  I am not sure that recovery is the correct word since he will most likely have limited mobility and a poor quality of life.  The doctor emphasized that my brother remains in grave condition and that he is very ill.  The doctor is uncertain what lies ahead.  In fact, his original prognosis might still hold true.

So, again, we wait.

I Have two Brothers but I am Brotherless

My brother is going to die.

It's almost impossible to describe the overwhelming sense of sadness in that hospital room.  With my sister, step-mom, my brother's step-daughter, and her child, we stood around trying to make sense of it all.  Five days after his hemorrhagic stroke, he is still unresponsive.  The doctor described two possible outcomes. The less likely is that he will surface and, in the best possible scenario, will de disabled and have massive brain damage.  The other - more likely scenario - is that he will slip into a coma and die of something else, like an infection, perhaps pneumonia.  So certain is he of this outcome, that we all agreed with a "do not resuscitate" plan.  In short, my brother is going to die, but we don't know exactly when.  It could take hours or days or weeks or longer.  But, the timing is irrelevant: my brother is already gone.

The average hospital bed is not up to the task of containing a 475+ pound man.  By some estimates, he is over 500 pounds, but that won't last, not in a hospital bed, especially since his stomach no longer functions: the food forced into him by a tube is regurgitated immediately.  My brother fills the bed completely, like a child lying in a bed made for a toy doll.  Cables and tubes connect him to an array of medical instruments:  a heart rate monitor, a blood pressure cuff, two IVs, and a respirator with its long tube running down his throat.

Throughout the day, I experienced a deep sense of guilt and anger.  My brother is such an asshole.  It's difficult to write that about a family member, one who is on the verge of death, but he is an asshole and it has always pissed me off.  I was supposed to be his friend.  I was supposed to be close to him for my entire life.  We were both supposed to have kids who would play with each other and come over at Christmas.  We were supposed to go to the beach together.  Or, he was just supposed to be around, to be an unconditional friend, to a part of my life.  Instead, he bailed on his entire family, after being a jerk when he was an adolescent.

His three kids (the first of whom came when he was only 16) were sexually abused; the mother and step-father were sent off to prison, the kids being distributed to various foster homes, never to be seen again, though we are looking for them.  Sure, he paid some child support, but only after court orders, and then that dried up when he went on a disability pension.  He made no effort to find them.  He didn't try to obtain custody after the trial when their step-father was found guilty of sexual assault and the mother found guilty of permitting it to happen.

I am angry with my brother for ruining so much of my childhood.  From his violent behaviour toward me to the theft of family possessions, he was a complete bastard.  What can you say about someone who would steal from his own family? At least my other brother, the one who left home when I was 4 years old, never stole from us.  He sold drugs and paid the price, and then I never really saw him again. He disappeared and I have seen in a handful of times, and only twice in the past 25 years, maybe 5 times since I was four years old.  It's like he was never my brother.  He is a mystery to me and I can't even say that I know him.

In the hospital, staring at him in the bed, I was inexplicably on the verge of tears, for a man I never liked, for a man that failed to be a brother, who was a terrible son, a lousy human being, and a disinterested father.  He spent his life barely able to survive, finally ending up a on disability pension because he was too obese to work.  He has sleep apnea, hypertension, diabetes, asthma, troubles with blood clots, and a weak heart. By all accounts he ate massive amounts of unhealthy food and had an immense passion for smoking.  I still insist that this is the outcome he wanted: he wanted to be pitied, to be the village freak, and he did it.  In the end, I might compare him with Ignatius J. Reilly, but without the creativity, or maybe Homer Simpson, but a Homer without any sense of responsibility or love for anyone other than himself.

You may think this uncharitable, but it's true.  The way he spoke clearly indicated that he loved attention.   If he was sick, everyone knew about it.  Everyone knew how many pills he had to take each day because he displayed them in his apartment for some sort of pitying effect.

After a conversation with the doctor, we went to have lunch, and then drove to his apartment.  It's difficult to think about him as being dead, when his is still alive and breathing, but we were forced to investigate the bills, to pay the landlord the overdue rent, to plan for the emptying of the apartment.

The floor around his bed is scarred with burns from cigarettes that fell through his hands as he drifted off to sleep.  Miraculously, there was never a fire.  He gave up smoking six months ago when he needed oxygen.  The bedroom has six oxygen tanks; he has a night-time breathing apparatus.  Another oxygen machine sits in the living room.  I looked around the dismal place and was stunned to see a shelf of family photographs.

I didn't speak to him over the past 25 years, maybe once or twice.  I was angry with him and could never understand how my father could have forgiven him so easily.  My mother too.  But, I guess that's what parents do.  Standing there, staring at the photographs, I began to feel angry with myself for being the holdout, especially when my sister said she had been speaking with him recently.  And then, I saw two photos of me and my two kids (whom he has never met) on a shelf along with recent photos of my sister.  My sister had sent him photos and he ran out to buy frames so he could display them.

I felt like such an idiot.  In the back of my mind, I always assumed that our paths would cross, that we would speak again, that we could forget all of the garbage of the past, but now that's impossible.  He is dying in a hospital, and I am pissed off, but I am not sure if I am angry about him dying or for him failing to be a brother.  How is it that I ended up with two brothers who walked away from their family and never tried to keep in contact with any of us?

I got back in the rental car and headed back to Toronto, feeling a profound sense of loss for a brother I hardly knew.

Brother

My estranged brother has had a stroke.  This is both odd and not odd.  It is odd because he is young, only 17 months older than me.  On the other hand, he is morbidly obese and he leads a very unhealthy lifestyle.  (You can read more about my brother here and here).

He remains unresponsive in a hospital bed, about to be shifted to a different hospital where a neurologist can examine him.  Initially, we were told that the prognosis is grave.  Currently, I have no idea and am just waiting to get the updates.

The Olympics, a few words...

In the spirit of athleticism, I spent most of the last four days on the couch watching the Olympics.  Too bad I had to go back to work.  Well, there was a break long enough for a trip to the theatre to see Up in the Air.

Thank God we got a gold medal.  I was sick of hearing that we had never won on home soil.  It was as if that was all the reporters could find to talk about.  The media kind of sucks, when you think about it.  The media pumps up medal hopes to a point of hysteria.  How is that fair to the athletes?  You would have thought that gold in the men's downhill and men's 500m speed skating were guaranteed.  Give it a rest.

And, a word to Brian Williams about math.  He suggested that Canada has gone 33 years (or so) without winning a gold.  That is stupid.  The Olympics have not been running continuously in Canada since 1976.

What else?  Dale Begg-Smith is a loser, a loser who made a fortune creating malware that might have infected your computer.  I have never seen someone so upset with a silver medal.  What a suck.  Stay in Australia.

More later.

Olympics: Opening Ceremonies

Boring, boring, boring.

Olympics: Opening Ceremonies

I wonder if Ashley MacIsaac is wearing underwear.

Olympics: Opening Ceremonies

The song sung by Nellie & Bryan is lame!  It sucks.

Olympics: Opening Ceremony: Anthem

Who the hell came up with this arrangement for the National Anthem?  I think it sucks.

Trip Recap, Part 5

Skipping ahead to Zurich, here's something you would never see in Toronto: a bar under a freeway.  It worked.  It's really difficult to explain why this worked and I am not sure how such a thing would be received in Toronto. I tried to imagine such a place under the  Gardiner, and I couldn't.

A Look at my CD Collection, part 7: Aidan Baker, including ARC

Several years ago, I picked up a copy of ARC's Feral and was really impressed.  Later, I made sure that I checked them out when they played at C'est What? (on August 19th, 2003).  My CD collection contains:

ARC/Aidan Baker  -  Repercussion (Piehead Records 2002 Series – Volume 1) 

ARC  -  Feral

Aidan Baker  -  Concretion

Aidan Baker  -  Cicatrice

Aidan Baker  -  Within the Final Circle

Aidan Baker  -  Ichneumon

Aidan Baker  -  Tense Surfaces

Aidan Baker  -  Dance of Lonely Molecules

A couple of these were free downloads.  It's Thursday, but it really feels like Friday because I am taking tomorrow off and Monday is Family Day, so I am looking ahead to a four day weekend.  What I am trying to say is that I have not the energy to try to describe the music.  Also, I just got back from an hour of lunchtime yoga, and I feel all bendy and relaxed.  My fingers are not responding well to the task of typing.  But, here is a good review of Feral.

Baker likes to use looping techniques on various instruments, notably the guitar, but also the flute, for example.  If you like this kind of treatment, you might like it, but this is not the kind of music you would sing along to or dance around the bedroom to while putting away laundry.  It's more complex than that.

Oddly, everyone I spoke to at the Ambient Ping that evening assumed that I was a musician.  I am not sure why.  Perhaps ARC is musicians' music or perhaps it's that musicians seem to have more of an open mind when it comes to music than your average iTunes shopper.  It really kills me, as I have often said, that people only want to buy a song or two from a CD.  I have always been an album man.  If there are only one or two good songs on an album, I wouldn't buy it.  I still listen to albums, rather than songs, but I do occasionally put the iPod on shuffle to see what kind of magic might happen.

Why, just yesterday as I was walking with the iPod, I heard European Son by the Velvet Underground followed by Bowie's Queen Bitch and then Bauhaus covering Bowie's Ziggy Stardust.  That was quite the playlist.  Sometimes, the shuffle seems to be possessed and every other song is from the same artist, which is odd.

Baker is a poet too, and has published a few volumes.  I am not familiar with his writing.  He has an extensive discography.  Check out his Wikipedia entry for those details.

Happy Friday and have a good weekend.

ZF's Perfect Frittata Recipe

The perfect frittata starts with a chicken.  Oh, and if you don't have any idea what a frittata is, let me enlighten you. It's evidently of Italian origin and normally made with eggs and chopped vegetables or meat.  It's probably best just to look up a few recipes, and then try this one as it is the best one.

So, as I was saying, the perfect frittata recipe commences with a chicken.  So, first you buy a nice chicken and take it home.  You will want a dead chicken, unless you are fond of killing things. Slather some olive oil and sea salt on the chicken and set the bird aside.  (If you have a preferred chicken recipe, please follow it. Alert: don't put potatoes in with your chicken because they don't belong there.  If you really want potatoes, roast them in a separate pan. And, for the love of God, don't put plain white potatoes in the frittata!).

Step two: cut up lots vegetables.  And, by this I mean parsnips (remember to cut out the woody cores), carrots, sweet potatoes (yams), one or two onions, and squash.  Alert: please use butternut squash.  Most other types of squash are inferior.

Put the vegetables in a large roasting pan.  Remember I said to cut up lots of vegetables?  We need extra for part two of the recipe, so cut up lots and use a large roasting pan.  I use a pan large enough for a turkey or a medium penguin.  Throw in the vegetables along with sea salt and olive oil.

I like to give the vegetables a head start, so pop them into the oven for ten minutes or so at 375 and then throw the bird on top and cook until done.  When I was a younger man, I hated recipes that said "cook until done."  How the hell are you supposed to know what that means  if you have never cooked before?  I am so over that now, so I can say things like "cook until done" and laugh at those who have no idea what it means.

Now, eat your chicken and vegetables, but remember that we have to save some for the frittata that you will make the next day.

After dinner, go to bed.  Well, I suppose that you will have to clean up the kitchen first, and put the leftovers in the fridge.  Get out of bed the next day.  Now, you can either have the frittata for breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner. Yes, it is that versatile.  If you are having it for breakfast or brunch, start making it when you get out of bed.  Otherwise, cook up some bacon and eggs for breakfast and do this later.

OK, so here is the recipe.

Chop up some bacon.  Use half a package or a third of a package.  This all depends on how many leftover vegetables you have and how big of a frittata you plan to make.  Throw the pieces of bacon into a cast iron pan and cook until crisp. Once crisp, remove from pan and place the bacon on a paper towel.

Retain some or all of the bacon grease in the pan and add a sliced onion and garlic.  When these have partially cooked, add a zucchini (cut in rounds) and a red or orange or yellow pepper (cut in slices).  Alert: please do not use green peppers.  This is an inferior pepper.  And, remember a green bell pepper is simply an immature red pepper.  It's like eating a green banana. You want a ripe red bell pepper or its luscious cousins, the yellow or the orange.  Oh, and you could add broccoli, but I only do that if I have no zucchini. It's OK, but I think it's not as good as using a zucchini.  You could also use asparagus.

Once the vegetables are nicely on their way, add the leftover vegetables from the chicken.  Stir it up and  let it all warm through.  Beat some eggs in a bowl.  The size of your pan and the amount of vegetables will determine the number of eggs.  It could be 5, 6, or 7 or more.  Don't include the shells.  Add a bit of milk (soy milk, please) and some pepper.  You won't need any salt.

Pour this over the contents of the pan.  You may find that you will need an extra egg.  If so, beat one up and pour it in.  It's probably best to cover the pan with a lid to help it cook through the middle.  When it looks cooked on top, just stick a knife in to make sure you don't have any gooey egginess inside.

Now, you will stick the pan under the broiler in your oven.  I put in in for a short time, and then sprinkle the bacon over the top.  Some of you people who are addicted to cheese may want to add  the congealed breast milk of a hairy 2000 pound animal, or even parmesan.  Feel free to ruin it, but I would prefer if you didn't.   Don't burn it.

Cut it and serve it, perhaps with a salad on the side, if this is a lunch menu item.

And, there you have an easy recipe.

By the way, you can use the leftover chicken in any number of ways.  I like to make chicken salad.  Mmmmn, mayo...

Blogger Fail

Well, you know when you have failed as a blogger when you receive email like this:

More importantly, what has happened to your blog? It used to be hip (like the Simpsons) now it's not (like the Simpsons).  Perhaps you can inject some life into it by writing entries under a series of "guest contributers" such as "Lionel the 30-Year Old Bedwetter" or "The Fetus."  Just a suggestion.

I am not sure about writing guest entries myself, but I'd be happy to entertain posts from guest contributors.  Send them on.

Be Careful what you Ask for

The temperature in my office soared to a crazy 80.6 degrees after hovering around 61 degrees for weeks.  This, after it was fixed, and fixed a bit too well, if you ask me.  Still, I'd rather work in the 80s than the 60s.  I couldn't really type with cold hands, but in this heat, I am all limber, but craving a piña colada and wondering where my sandals are.

After leaving my office door open, and permitting some of the heat to flow out, it drops a bit, but it is still a bit too hot.  I'd hate to complain, and be thrust back into the ice age.

On the downside, the high temperatures force me to remember to put my lunch in the fridge, something I normally forgot to do, but with such cool temperatures, it mattered not.

Oh, and I think (as I crack a yawn) that the warm temps are causing me to tire more quickly that when it was cold.  I need to create space under my desk to sleep, like George Costanza.  That would be sweet.

Heat!

Finally, I have heat!  My office has been cold, very cold, as cold as 60 degrees, necessitating the wearing of a fleece.  It was so cold, I had difficulty typing.  I hated coming back to my office, preferring to stay wherever was warmer, like my bed.  But, finally, after some visits from the folks who are supposed to fix things, it is fixed.

The dude climbed into the ceiling and noted that the vent to my office was closed.  He opened it and I can actually feel the heat coming in.  It is so nice.  Of course, if it gets too warm (unlikely in this brutal building), I might need a nap.  Wait, I need a nap anyway, owing to the difficulty I had in sleeping last night.

I am generally a good sleeper, taking no longer than a few minutes to fall asleep.  But, last night, the hours ticked away and nothing.  I hate it when that happens.  So, I am yawning.  In fact, I am yawning while I type this, but at least I am warmer.  No more long underwear in my office!

A Dream

Last night, I had a dream that I was hangin' out with David Bowie.  I am not sure if we were friends, but I was in his house, helping myself to beverages from his fridge, which had doors at both front and back, I gather so that nothing got lost in the recesses of the appliance.  And, the fridge was situated in such as way so that you could approach it from two sides.  Talk about conveniences.

After eying a nice, cool drink, I suddenly was only able to find small cold medicine vials and other things that appeared to be homeopathic substances. I never did find my drink, and then Iman came into the kitchen and I decided to find out where David went.

The end.

WTF?

At lunch, I stood in line behind a youngish-looking university student as she paid for her $1.00 can of pop. I have yet to understand why people drink diet pop (or even regular pop for that mater).

I considered that topic for a moment and was then stunned as I watched her pay for her purchase.  After tax, she was looking at a massive $1.13 bill.  Out came the debit card.

Seriously?  She used a debit card to pay for $1.13!  I never use any kind of plastic if it's under $10.  I bet her transaction fee was 50 cents.  For a brief moment, I considered paying for her drink, but that feeling of chivalry (or whatever it was) passed quickly.

This was on my way back from checking out some lingering sales.  I am in a clothing crisis and really need to add to my wardrobe in a bad way.  I am not done yet, though I picked up two shirts and two pairs of pants.

On Books and Trophies

My bookcases are overflowing.  I have boxes of books in a closet that I have not unpacked since the last move because I have no shelf space for them.  I acquire new books frequently.  I may have finally figured out why I have so many books.

While watching Dexter the other day, I was hit with an interesting insight, which may or may not be original.  Dex finds his way into a serial killer's house and notes the killer's collection of trophies.  These were award plaques hanging on a wall for various projects he had undertaken that correspond with and commemorate his kills.  If you watch Dexter, you will know that Dex has his own collection of trophies.  I thought about that while thinking about the Kindle and book piracy and music downloading.

I have zero interest in the Kindle or any other eBook reader.  To me, an eBook reader is about as exciting as a lump of coal.  I have always loved the tactile experience of reading: turning the pages, holding the book, appreciating the design, deciding if the font is a good choice, touching the paper.  Much of that disappears when a book is transformed into ones and zeros.  I think that sucks and it could well mean that the end of the world is upon us.  I feel the same way about music: I like to own the CD, not an inferior digital copy.

For some reason, I do not necessarily feel this way about movies or TV shows.  These have always been disposable to me.  Although I own some DVDs, I don't have an urge to collect them, unless they are absolute favourites, like Seinfeld, or are ludicrously cheap, like Strangers With Candy (the movie), which I bought for $1.99.

I have often wondered why I like to own books.  I rarely read library books and I rarely borrow books from others.  I like to own books.  Here's another curious fact: I rarely read books twice, though it has happened (Brave New World, for example). So, why do I own them?  Well, there I was watching Dexter and then it occurred to me that perhaps I get the same pleasure from having shelves of books as Dexter does from having a bunch of microscope slides with drops of blood.  Both are trophies.

I can look at my shelves and feel a certain sense of accomplishment, a certain sense of erudition (though that is arguable), and a certain sense of my own history from what I see lined up.  Of course, if that were truly the case, I ought to eliminate the books I attempted to read but stopped from boredom or frustration.   But, I suppose they are also part of my reading history.  There are, of course, those books I have acquired but never got around to reading.  Maybe someday, my pretties, maybe someday.

A Look at my CD Collection, part 6: Apostle of Hustle

Well, I hope I am not boring you with these musical excursions.  If I am, so be it.  So, on to Apostle of Hustle (as much as I hate to link to a myspace Page; is there anything uglier than myspace?).  By the way, I am still in the A section.

Andrew Whiteman, the guy who formed Apostle of Hustle, is also the lead guitarist for Broken Social Scene (note that I opted against linking to myspace).  By the way, more about BSS later.  In my opinion Folkloric Feel, the first A of H Album, is the best one, and Folkloric Feel is the best song.  You might disagree with me.

I read somewhere that Andrew Whiteman dated Feist for a while.  I think this was before she appeared on Sesame Street.  I don't keep up with celebrity gossip as it takes too much brain power.  I walk around in a state of blissful ignorance.  I can confirm that ignorance is bliss.  I am ignorant about so many things that my life is almost pure bliss.

And now, a very weird video from Apostle of Hustle:

Church Bulletins

I don't normally post this type of thing, but I found this to be rather hilarious.  I have no idea where they came from.

Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services (Summer, 2008 Release).

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The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
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The sermon this morning: 'Jesus Walks on Water.' The sermon tonight: 'Searching for Jesus.'
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Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall. Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.
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Ladies, don't forget the rummage sale. It's a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
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The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been cancelled due to a conflict.
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Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say 'Hell' to someone who doesn't care much about you.
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Don't let worry kill you off - let the Church help.
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Miss Charlene Mason sang 'I will not pass this way again,' giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
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For those of you who have children and don't know it, we have a nursery downstairs.
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Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
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The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: 'Break Forth Into Joy.'
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Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.
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A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall.. Music will follow.
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At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be 'What Is Hell?' Come early and listen to our choir practice.
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Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
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Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
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Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
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The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.
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Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM - prayer and medication to follow.
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The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
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This evening at 7 PM there will be a hymn singing in the park across from the Church. Bring a blanket and come prepared to sin.
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Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. is done.
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The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
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The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare's Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.
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Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
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A Look at my CD Collection, part 5: Alexisonfire

Alexisonfire is a so-called post-hardcore group from St. Catharines, Ontario.  I picked up a copy of Watch Out! for a few dollars a while back.  I listen to it from time-to-time, but it's not in high-rotation because it isn't the kind of thing you would throw on while kicking back with your favourite novel or when hosting a dinner party.  But, it's rather good for the iPod.  For some reason, I prefer listening to music that has an edge on the iPod.  Maybe it gets me in motion and gets me there faster, unless I am on a train of plane.  In those cases, I usually select something quieter, like Brian Eno or maybe something like Bob Dylan.

By the way, the group is pronounced like "Alexis On Fire."

The Best of Zydeco Fish 2009 (You might also enjoy: best of 2008, 2007, 2006; 2005; 2004; 2003)

Well, here it is, my annual list.

1) Shining 'cross this dark highway where our sins lie unatoned - On music and cycling in winter, sort of.
2) Gran Torino - A review.

3) Pink - The colour, not the singer.

4) Damn those Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses - I hate religion.
5) The Numbers - The stats on the European vacation.
6) Shopping with the Ancient and the Insane - I don't think I have ever gone back on a Friday.
7) Trip Recap, part 2 - Musings about a free, but tiny, apartment.
8) C@#* Explosion! - Wifi craziness.
9) On Jacket Holding, Photography, and the AGO - No, I have not been back

Stopping to Pull up My Socks

It's been so long since I've owned a real, insulated pair of winter boots, that I had forgotten something elementary: one's socks tend to slip off inside the boot while walking and when removing the boots.  I am having flashbacks to my childhood days.  It's irritating to say the least.  On the other hand, my feet have never been so warm.  In fact, while walking in -20 degree weather this morning, my feet remained warm, almost too warm.  Is it possible for boots to be too warm?  It might be. 

So, this is the last thing I will say about these new boots.  Reluctantly, I go back to work on Monday :-(

Happy New Year

to you.