Getting Down in Second Life
Warning: Contains some adult content.
My foray into Second Life has been fairly uneventful, unlike a colleague. Within ten minutes of logging in, he was hit by a car and propositioned by a Japanese avatar, who uttered a phrase like: "you wanna sucka me?" Sure, a female avatar asked if she could hug me, but she was not in control of her gestures, and she failed to execute the maneuver. I have no idea how to do that either. And so, I wondered on, and then sat on a bench by a strangely calm sea and stared off into the cyber distance.
Later, I ended up in an adult orgy room. I am not sure how this happened, but my search for a night club went awry and I found myself suddenly surrounded by naked avatars, some of them getting it on. I have no doubt that first lifers look nothing like their sexy pieces of anthropomorphic code. So, I wouldn't say that there was anything especially sexual about the place, unless one is into low-grade anime. By the way, why are there no ugly avatars?
I have to admit that the one thing I had been curious about since joining Second Life was what my avatar looked like without clothing. Most of the places I had visited before had strict rules about nudity, and so I had never been able to take off my clothes. I decided, after a few minutes of virtual voyeurism in this club, to take my pants off. I thought that I would just blend in.
This is where the shocking thing happened. Oh, the horror of it all. I discovered that I had no penis! My avatar looks like an anatomically-correct Michael Jackson doll! Why do female avatars have breasts and male avatars lack penises? This is a serious oversight. But, this lack of appendage explained the advertisements for penises on the walls. It appears that they can be purchased from the Second Life penis makers. I have only earned $4 (Lindens, actually) from my modeling job, and I am fairly sure that this is not enough, especially for a big one.
But, I have a fear of getting a penis, because I am not sure I will know how to operate it. I might end up disappointing some cute Japanese avatar - or her 350 lbs male first-life-counterpart. That would be sad for both of us.
And, speaking of penises, I posted a photo of a naked man on my Flickr account taken after the Toronto Pride Parade. This photo has been viewed more than 1100 times in 24 hours, making it second in rapid view accumulation just ahead of a lingerie-clad mannequin and behind a slaughtered pig. What's wrong with the world?
Technorati Tags: Second Life, penises
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Endings/Beginnings, part three (see parts one and two)
What does a father say when his 18-year-old daughter announces that she is planning to move in with her boyfriend, a man of 31 or 32 years? On the one hand, he probably wishes that he was the man hooking up with a young woman. On the other, this is his daughter. I guess to preserve family harmony, my dad didn't forbid it, not that he could. "She'd do it anyway," he said to me. And, he was right.
For me, it was a chance to get my own room, and so I was overjoyed when she moved out and I could escape from the room I shared with my brother. My parents awarded me the room, even though I was younger. It was a prize for staying is school while my brother dropped out at age 15
I try to imagine how my sister must have felt when she discovered her boyfriend's secret life, 14 years down the road. He always left early for work, managing some sort of poorly-functioning renovation business, where I once earned a pittance for a summer of labour. He always arrived home very late. It translated to a mere five or six hours of sleep each night. What my sister learned is that much of his time away was spent with his other common-law wife.
He had two places to sleep and eat and shower. His had two lives, opposite, and yet bizarrely the same. He bought two identical Christmas presents each year. I suppose it was easier to remember what he gave if he just bought the same thing twice. He'd buy two bathrobes, two bottles of perfume, two pairs of slippers, two push-up bras, probably in different sizes.
And then she met the women, described as T's wife, a title she claimed for herself. Soon, my sister learned that there were three mortgages on her house; that this woman's father held the third; that a lawyer had perjured herself to implicate my sister; that this women - the other wife - had embezzled money from her own father; that the business was a thin operation, barely holding on, but with big dreams it could never hope to achieve; that someone else held a mortgage on the restaurant and T was just a figurehead owner, not the real man, hardly a man at all.
My sister lost the house. She didn't get a cent from the sale after foreclosure. And who knows where he is now. Part of me wants that information; a part does not.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, relationships
What does a father say when his 18-year-old daughter announces that she is planning to move in with her boyfriend, a man of 31 or 32 years? On the one hand, he probably wishes that he was the man hooking up with a young woman. On the other, this is his daughter. I guess to preserve family harmony, my dad didn't forbid it, not that he could. "She'd do it anyway," he said to me. And, he was right.
For me, it was a chance to get my own room, and so I was overjoyed when she moved out and I could escape from the room I shared with my brother. My parents awarded me the room, even though I was younger. It was a prize for staying is school while my brother dropped out at age 15
I try to imagine how my sister must have felt when she discovered her boyfriend's secret life, 14 years down the road. He always left early for work, managing some sort of poorly-functioning renovation business, where I once earned a pittance for a summer of labour. He always arrived home very late. It translated to a mere five or six hours of sleep each night. What my sister learned is that much of his time away was spent with his other common-law wife.
He had two places to sleep and eat and shower. His had two lives, opposite, and yet bizarrely the same. He bought two identical Christmas presents each year. I suppose it was easier to remember what he gave if he just bought the same thing twice. He'd buy two bathrobes, two bottles of perfume, two pairs of slippers, two push-up bras, probably in different sizes.
And then she met the women, described as T's wife, a title she claimed for herself. Soon, my sister learned that there were three mortgages on her house; that this woman's father held the third; that a lawyer had perjured herself to implicate my sister; that this women - the other wife - had embezzled money from her own father; that the business was a thin operation, barely holding on, but with big dreams it could never hope to achieve; that someone else held a mortgage on the restaurant and T was just a figurehead owner, not the real man, hardly a man at all.
My sister lost the house. She didn't get a cent from the sale after foreclosure. And who knows where he is now. Part of me wants that information; a part does not.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, relationships
Thursday, June 21, 2007
The Ice Cream Truck
How many ice cream tucks are there in Toronto? There would have to be hundreds, because the mobile soft-serve ice cream people always show up at dinner, with that infernal music that scrapes against my brain. Years of planning with Euler graphs and computer simulations must have taken place for this to happen in such an orchestrated manner. But, if the mobile soft-serve ice cream people are always at someone's house at dinner, where are the mobile soft-serve ice cream people just before they arrive and where do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people go right after? Does this mean that the mobile soft-serve ice cream people know when everyone eats, and can, therefore, time arrivals accordingly? Where did the mobile soft-serve ice cream people acquire this knowledge? Why is it that when we eat later, the mobile soft-serve ice cream people still manage to arrive when we are eating?
What do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people do in winter? It makes me wonder what the profit margin is in this business.
Technorati Tags: questions, ice cream truck
How many ice cream tucks are there in Toronto? There would have to be hundreds, because the mobile soft-serve ice cream people always show up at dinner, with that infernal music that scrapes against my brain. Years of planning with Euler graphs and computer simulations must have taken place for this to happen in such an orchestrated manner. But, if the mobile soft-serve ice cream people are always at someone's house at dinner, where are the mobile soft-serve ice cream people just before they arrive and where do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people go right after? Does this mean that the mobile soft-serve ice cream people know when everyone eats, and can, therefore, time arrivals accordingly? Where did the mobile soft-serve ice cream people acquire this knowledge? Why is it that when we eat later, the mobile soft-serve ice cream people still manage to arrive when we are eating?
What do the mobile soft-serve ice cream people do in winter? It makes me wonder what the profit margin is in this business.
Technorati Tags: questions, ice cream truck
Monday, June 18, 2007
Jerk
I saw it as though it happened in slow motion -- a cyclist, two cyclists ahead of me on College Street, hitting the ground after being struck by a car door. The good news is that no cars were beside him. The other cyclist and I helped him up, made sure he was alright. The driver got out of his car and was seemed relieved that the cyclist was OK and not angry.
The truly strange part is that the driver was perplexed. He repeated over and over that he did not see the cyclist in his mirror, and he wondered where he came from. Of course, we all told him that he needs to shoulder-check because he has a blind spot, the same way you need to shoulder-check when you change lanes. The driver just could not understand that and it seemed to me as if he was angry at his mirror for letting him down. I believe that the concept of shoulder-checking was completely new to him.
I wonder what box of cereal this guy got his driver's license from.
Technorati Tags: cycling, Toronto, jerks
I saw it as though it happened in slow motion -- a cyclist, two cyclists ahead of me on College Street, hitting the ground after being struck by a car door. The good news is that no cars were beside him. The other cyclist and I helped him up, made sure he was alright. The driver got out of his car and was seemed relieved that the cyclist was OK and not angry.
The truly strange part is that the driver was perplexed. He repeated over and over that he did not see the cyclist in his mirror, and he wondered where he came from. Of course, we all told him that he needs to shoulder-check because he has a blind spot, the same way you need to shoulder-check when you change lanes. The driver just could not understand that and it seemed to me as if he was angry at his mirror for letting him down. I believe that the concept of shoulder-checking was completely new to him.
I wonder what box of cereal this guy got his driver's license from.
Technorati Tags: cycling, Toronto, jerks
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Endings/Beginnings, part two (read part one)
My father took refuge in his darkened room after my mother was taken away to the psychiatric hospital. Later, we ate in silence in the dim dining room and I remember struggling to see the food on my plate. Perhaps he did not want me to see his face. Days later, my mother returned, for a short time, long enough to celebrate Christmas, and then she fled in my dad's car, heading north to the cottage. She stayed there until the money dried up and the car, neglected and abused, died a slow death, but not before her boyfriend stole it and abandoned it in Rexdale.
My dad is no philosopher, though I think he wishes he was. He has opinions. He offers advice, in a fatherly way. But, it's easy to reject advice when it is steeped in conservative dogma and dispensed far too rigidly. Occasionally, the advice is offered up almost as a plea. "Don't work in a factory," he once advised. That was good advice, but I am sure he felt it might be unavoidable for me, the fourth child in a working class family raised in a small town where the majority of the work is the endless tedium of the factory, the only antidote being cases of beer and liquor.
My mother did not return. She found her way into her mother's house, perhaps the only one who would offer her shelter. Ten years on, she works on an endless stream of seek-a-word puzzles and juvenile crosswords while smoking a chain of cigarettes. Her hair is gray-yellow, a shocking change from the deep black she died it for most of her life.
After some time, my father began to speak with mercenary zeal about dating and meeting someone. He announced that he would not be alone by the same time next year. He was confident. He practised driving to a few restaurants in a neighbouring city, something he had never done before. He has been married to his second wife for 18 years now.
Years later, when A. and I split, turning away from an ill-advised union of the young and the younger (I was the younger), my dad had no advice; instead, he blamed himself and I have never been able to figure out why.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, dad, relationships, endings, beginnings
My father took refuge in his darkened room after my mother was taken away to the psychiatric hospital. Later, we ate in silence in the dim dining room and I remember struggling to see the food on my plate. Perhaps he did not want me to see his face. Days later, my mother returned, for a short time, long enough to celebrate Christmas, and then she fled in my dad's car, heading north to the cottage. She stayed there until the money dried up and the car, neglected and abused, died a slow death, but not before her boyfriend stole it and abandoned it in Rexdale.
My dad is no philosopher, though I think he wishes he was. He has opinions. He offers advice, in a fatherly way. But, it's easy to reject advice when it is steeped in conservative dogma and dispensed far too rigidly. Occasionally, the advice is offered up almost as a plea. "Don't work in a factory," he once advised. That was good advice, but I am sure he felt it might be unavoidable for me, the fourth child in a working class family raised in a small town where the majority of the work is the endless tedium of the factory, the only antidote being cases of beer and liquor.
My mother did not return. She found her way into her mother's house, perhaps the only one who would offer her shelter. Ten years on, she works on an endless stream of seek-a-word puzzles and juvenile crosswords while smoking a chain of cigarettes. Her hair is gray-yellow, a shocking change from the deep black she died it for most of her life.
After some time, my father began to speak with mercenary zeal about dating and meeting someone. He announced that he would not be alone by the same time next year. He was confident. He practised driving to a few restaurants in a neighbouring city, something he had never done before. He has been married to his second wife for 18 years now.
Years later, when A. and I split, turning away from an ill-advised union of the young and the younger (I was the younger), my dad had no advice; instead, he blamed himself and I have never been able to figure out why.
To be continued ...
Technorati Tags: family, dad, relationships, endings, beginnings
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Randomness
One item in the following list is NOT true.
1) What did I have for breakfast today: gluten-free Mesa Sunrise cereal with soy milk and then two or three rice cakes with jam. When one has celiac disease, one eats many many rice cakes.
2) What am I wearing: jeans and a t-shirt. Yesterday was far more interesting because I was wearing a shirt that is often mistaken for a table cloth. If I were to lie down on the grass while wearing that shirt, people would have a picnic on me and then the ants and pigeons would show up looking for crumbs.
3) What am I reading: Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family.
4) What is the last CD I bought: Yesterday, I grabbed a some CDs from Sam the Record Man's 99 cent bin, as the store is closing soon. I got: Jon Gibbons - In Good Company; Black lab - Your Body Above Me (not so sure if I like this); and The X-Files: The Album - Fight the Future (just for the Dust Brothers' version of the X-Files theme).
5) Last thing I did to piss someone off: I submitted a formal copyright complaint to Facebook for copyright violation in one Facebook group. Someone uploaded one of my photographs without permission. It even had my copyright statement right on the photo. The photo has now been removed. I would gladly have permitted the upload if permission had been requested in advance. What is really troubling is that the person who did is a librarian and should be aware of copyright law. Incidentally, a photo of mine will appear on an upcoming University of Toronto brochure.
6) Last thing I took a photo of: My penis.
7) A random thing on my desk: An article entitled: "Fetishes and their Associated Behavior," Sexuality and Diversity 20(2): 2002, p 135-147.
8) Strangest reference question I had yesterday: "If I put a stamp on this," said patron holding up one of those large inter-office envelopes riddled with symmetrical holes, "will Canada Post deliver it?" I thought not, but replied "I'll have to plead ignorance on that one." To which he replied, "do you have any envelopes." I sent him to the bookstore. Five minutes later, I was asked for an envelope by another patron. This may seem minor to you, but we are constantly asked for envelopes, tape, glue, scissors, staplers (which we provide), three hole punches (which we provide), telephones, paper clips, liquid paper, post-it notes, paper, pens (which we provide), pencils (which we provide), directions (which we provide), band aids, hand sanitizer, proofreading of essays, correct spelling (which we provide), help in interpreting essay questions, etc. Occasionally, we get a few reference questions.
9) Last TV show I watched: The final episode of the Sopranos.
10) More horrific sight I have ever seen: My dad sunbathing is a thong.
Technorati Tags: randomness, sort of memes
One item in the following list is NOT true.
1) What did I have for breakfast today: gluten-free Mesa Sunrise cereal with soy milk and then two or three rice cakes with jam. When one has celiac disease, one eats many many rice cakes.
2) What am I wearing: jeans and a t-shirt. Yesterday was far more interesting because I was wearing a shirt that is often mistaken for a table cloth. If I were to lie down on the grass while wearing that shirt, people would have a picnic on me and then the ants and pigeons would show up looking for crumbs.
3) What am I reading: Michael Ondaatje's Running in the Family.
4) What is the last CD I bought: Yesterday, I grabbed a some CDs from Sam the Record Man's 99 cent bin, as the store is closing soon. I got: Jon Gibbons - In Good Company; Black lab - Your Body Above Me (not so sure if I like this); and The X-Files: The Album - Fight the Future (just for the Dust Brothers' version of the X-Files theme).
5) Last thing I did to piss someone off: I submitted a formal copyright complaint to Facebook for copyright violation in one Facebook group. Someone uploaded one of my photographs without permission. It even had my copyright statement right on the photo. The photo has now been removed. I would gladly have permitted the upload if permission had been requested in advance. What is really troubling is that the person who did is a librarian and should be aware of copyright law. Incidentally, a photo of mine will appear on an upcoming University of Toronto brochure.
6) Last thing I took a photo of: My penis.
7) A random thing on my desk: An article entitled: "Fetishes and their Associated Behavior," Sexuality and Diversity 20(2): 2002, p 135-147.
8) Strangest reference question I had yesterday: "If I put a stamp on this," said patron holding up one of those large inter-office envelopes riddled with symmetrical holes, "will Canada Post deliver it?" I thought not, but replied "I'll have to plead ignorance on that one." To which he replied, "do you have any envelopes." I sent him to the bookstore. Five minutes later, I was asked for an envelope by another patron. This may seem minor to you, but we are constantly asked for envelopes, tape, glue, scissors, staplers (which we provide), three hole punches (which we provide), telephones, paper clips, liquid paper, post-it notes, paper, pens (which we provide), pencils (which we provide), directions (which we provide), band aids, hand sanitizer, proofreading of essays, correct spelling (which we provide), help in interpreting essay questions, etc. Occasionally, we get a few reference questions.
9) Last TV show I watched: The final episode of the Sopranos.
10) More horrific sight I have ever seen: My dad sunbathing is a thong.
Technorati Tags: randomness, sort of memes
Monday, June 11, 2007
Launch
On Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending the launch of Sandra Kasturi's book of poems, The Animal Bridegroom. It was a well-attended event at The Central on Markham Street. Unfortunately, it was hotter than hell in there, even before the readings began. I saw a few people I hadn't seen in years, most of whom are on Facebook (like, who isn't?).
Sandra published my first poem (two, actually) about 13 years ago. I had two more published in another journal that same year, and then I gave it up and have only written a handful of poems since then. I am not really sure why, but I think that fame was getting to me.
I kept getting demands for autographs and invitations to events I had no interest in attending. I had to retreat to the sidelines. Otherwise, I would have had a Paris Hilton lifestyle, and who wants that? I took a poetry workshop a couple of years ago with Rhea Tregebov, and that was fine, but it did not kick start anything. I have been sticking to prose.
Happy Monday.
Technorati Tags: poetry, launches, books
On Friday night, I had the pleasure of attending the launch of Sandra Kasturi's book of poems, The Animal Bridegroom. It was a well-attended event at The Central on Markham Street. Unfortunately, it was hotter than hell in there, even before the readings began. I saw a few people I hadn't seen in years, most of whom are on Facebook (like, who isn't?).
Sandra published my first poem (two, actually) about 13 years ago. I had two more published in another journal that same year, and then I gave it up and have only written a handful of poems since then. I am not really sure why, but I think that fame was getting to me.
I kept getting demands for autographs and invitations to events I had no interest in attending. I had to retreat to the sidelines. Otherwise, I would have had a Paris Hilton lifestyle, and who wants that? I took a poetry workshop a couple of years ago with Rhea Tregebov, and that was fine, but it did not kick start anything. I have been sticking to prose.
Happy Monday.
Technorati Tags: poetry, launches, books
Friday, June 08, 2007
Back in the Day
Do you remember the good old days when I had lots to say, some of it even funny or interesting? Those days might be gone.
I think I might be getting another cold. The non-stop cold syndrome is the worst thing about being surrounded with children. At least it's Friday.
Technorati Tags: blogging, colds
Do you remember the good old days when I had lots to say, some of it even funny or interesting? Those days might be gone.
I think I might be getting another cold. The non-stop cold syndrome is the worst thing about being surrounded with children. At least it's Friday.
Technorati Tags: blogging, colds
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Social Etiquette
Caution: this is a boring post, but here it is anyway:
I think that if there's anything that I have perfected, it is standing in a line (or a queue, if you like). There is a delicate balance to be achieved. A socially-appropriate distance must be maintained between you and the person in front. One must be aware of the line as it moves, so as not to leave gaps that are too big, lest someone join the line in the middle. In summary, after so many years on this planet, I know how to stand in a line.
When making purchases, the job is somewhat easier, because one generally has a burden, be it a bunch of bananas, sausages, caviar, or champagne. And yet, when I was in line recently with a container of Baba Ghanouj and two bananas, waiting patiently to pay, an old shriveled woman came up and yelled "are you in line!" at me. She sounded like a pissed off drill sergeant.
I was startled at the volume of the question and because I was clearly in line. I am not sure if it was possible for me to be any more in line. I was as in line as I could be. Any more in line, and I would be in danger of sodomizing the person in front of me. My hands were full, and I had my wallet out, ready to pay. I was in line.
Despite all of the visual clues, this woman had no idea, or perhaps she was trying to force me out of line, maybe make me feel sorry for her and let her in. But, shortly thereafter, I realized that she was a mean old cow.
I was mid way through my transaction when I heard her yell "do you have a smaller bag!" like it was an accusation, that the clerk was holding back the small bags or that she deliberately placed her produce in an over sized bag, just for gags. She probably imagined that the clerks would all laugh at her as she left, and mutter things like, "wow, you really gave her a big bag" and "you win: that's the biggest bag I've ever seen for such a small purchase."
For some reason, the cashier missed the question and the woman let her have it with "did you hear me! I asked if you have a smaller bag ..." She then went on about the size of the bag compared with the size of her purchase.
I hope I don't end up like that.
Technorati Tags: etiquette, shopping, elderly
Caution: this is a boring post, but here it is anyway:
I think that if there's anything that I have perfected, it is standing in a line (or a queue, if you like). There is a delicate balance to be achieved. A socially-appropriate distance must be maintained between you and the person in front. One must be aware of the line as it moves, so as not to leave gaps that are too big, lest someone join the line in the middle. In summary, after so many years on this planet, I know how to stand in a line.
When making purchases, the job is somewhat easier, because one generally has a burden, be it a bunch of bananas, sausages, caviar, or champagne. And yet, when I was in line recently with a container of Baba Ghanouj and two bananas, waiting patiently to pay, an old shriveled woman came up and yelled "are you in line!" at me. She sounded like a pissed off drill sergeant.
I was startled at the volume of the question and because I was clearly in line. I am not sure if it was possible for me to be any more in line. I was as in line as I could be. Any more in line, and I would be in danger of sodomizing the person in front of me. My hands were full, and I had my wallet out, ready to pay. I was in line.
Despite all of the visual clues, this woman had no idea, or perhaps she was trying to force me out of line, maybe make me feel sorry for her and let her in. But, shortly thereafter, I realized that she was a mean old cow.
I was mid way through my transaction when I heard her yell "do you have a smaller bag!" like it was an accusation, that the clerk was holding back the small bags or that she deliberately placed her produce in an over sized bag, just for gags. She probably imagined that the clerks would all laugh at her as she left, and mutter things like, "wow, you really gave her a big bag" and "you win: that's the biggest bag I've ever seen for such a small purchase."
For some reason, the cashier missed the question and the woman let her have it with "did you hear me! I asked if you have a smaller bag ..." She then went on about the size of the bag compared with the size of her purchase.
I hope I don't end up like that.
Technorati Tags: etiquette, shopping, elderly
Monday, June 04, 2007
Endings/Beginnings
Endings are also beginnings. I've often thought that when reading novels or watching films. I believe this because endings are not always satisfactory, especially those children's books that conclude with the cop out "they lived happily ever after." If endings were really endings, we'd have no sequels or prequels or television shows made into films or films made into television shows. The end would be the end and that would be that. In life, the end comes in death, I think. There could be something after that, but I remain to be convinced. For me, that this is the only attractive part about dying: we get to see if there is anything after this life. I suspect that there isn't, but I am not sure I want to delve into religion right now.
There are endings and there are beginnings.
To be continued...
Technorati Tags: life, endings, beginnings
Endings are also beginnings. I've often thought that when reading novels or watching films. I believe this because endings are not always satisfactory, especially those children's books that conclude with the cop out "they lived happily ever after." If endings were really endings, we'd have no sequels or prequels or television shows made into films or films made into television shows. The end would be the end and that would be that. In life, the end comes in death, I think. There could be something after that, but I remain to be convinced. For me, that this is the only attractive part about dying: we get to see if there is anything after this life. I suspect that there isn't, but I am not sure I want to delve into religion right now.
There are endings and there are beginnings.
To be continued...
Technorati Tags: life, endings, beginnings
Friday, June 01, 2007
A Quote
Been a lazy blogger this week, so just a short quote today from Quare Dewd: "Librarians should always get lots of sex, hot chocolate, and cash!"
Technorati Tags: librarians
Been a lazy blogger this week, so just a short quote today from Quare Dewd: "Librarians should always get lots of sex, hot chocolate, and cash!"
Technorati Tags: librarians
Monday, May 28, 2007
A Shoplifter Goes Down
The guy looked like he was moving in slow motion, and I wondered if he was ill, about to have some sort of seizure or simply crumble and roll down the stairs. And then, I realized that the two people behind him on the stairs that ascend from Dollar Rama in the Dufferin Mall had a good grip on his shirt and were holding him back. It made me think of those dreams where all you can do is run in slow motion. Despite his weight, which I estimated to be around 257 lbs, he was unable to free himself from the two female store clerks.
Security had been called, and, seconds later, I watched as two mall security guards sprinted down the hallway and took him down. I turned the stroller away so that my son would not witness the altercation. But, the boy kept craning his neck to get a good look. We strolled past a women with a four or five year old who scooped up her child and said something like: "look, ____, let's go see the guy in handcuffs." She ran over to the growing crowd of spectators, the kid bouncing in her arms. She was unwilling to miss any of the excitement and I wondered if this was an attempt at imparting some sort of life message.
By this time, the perp was face down on the cold and dirty Dufferin Mall floor, his hands locked behind him in silver cuffs. Soon, security had him on his feet and they led him to the interrogation room, probably room 101.
The thing that continues to perplex me is why steal from Dollar Rama?
Technorati Tags: Toronto, Dufferin Mall, Dollar Rama, shoplifting
The guy looked like he was moving in slow motion, and I wondered if he was ill, about to have some sort of seizure or simply crumble and roll down the stairs. And then, I realized that the two people behind him on the stairs that ascend from Dollar Rama in the Dufferin Mall had a good grip on his shirt and were holding him back. It made me think of those dreams where all you can do is run in slow motion. Despite his weight, which I estimated to be around 257 lbs, he was unable to free himself from the two female store clerks.
Security had been called, and, seconds later, I watched as two mall security guards sprinted down the hallway and took him down. I turned the stroller away so that my son would not witness the altercation. But, the boy kept craning his neck to get a good look. We strolled past a women with a four or five year old who scooped up her child and said something like: "look, ____, let's go see the guy in handcuffs." She ran over to the growing crowd of spectators, the kid bouncing in her arms. She was unwilling to miss any of the excitement and I wondered if this was an attempt at imparting some sort of life message.
By this time, the perp was face down on the cold and dirty Dufferin Mall floor, his hands locked behind him in silver cuffs. Soon, security had him on his feet and they led him to the interrogation room, probably room 101.
The thing that continues to perplex me is why steal from Dollar Rama?
Technorati Tags: Toronto, Dufferin Mall, Dollar Rama, shoplifting
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Meme Friday (borrowed from Anna May Won't)
Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be. (And the older you'll feel.)
I don't think anyone in Canada uses the term senior year. For me, the last year was Grade 13, which has now been abolished and left to the history books.
1. Who was your best friend? - Keith O. & Stephen G.
2. What sports did you play? - Track (100 M, 200 M, 400 M, hurdles, relay); also cross-country team for a while.
3. What kind of car did you drive? - my dad's LTD, when he let me; my sister's boyfriend's for several weeks.
4. It's Friday night, where were you? - party, or at a friend's house with beer and movies.
5. Were you a party animal? - I guess so: there were always parties when you come from a small town.
6. Were you considered a flirt? - I have to say no.
7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? - not in grade 13, but I was in the Jr band in earlier years.
8. Were you a nerd? - Jesus, I hope not.
9. Did you get suspended/expelled? - Never. I was never in any kind of trouble. I was a model student, obedient and respectful.
10. Can you sing the fight song? - What is a fight song?
11. Who was your favorite teacher? - Johnny L. He made me love history; it's probably fair to say I would never have gone to University if I hadn't taken his course.
12. What was your school's full name? - Well, that's a secret.
13. School mascot? - Falcon
14. Did you go to Prom? - Now, maybe my memory is fading, but I am not sure we had a prom (and, that is a term that is not used as much as it is in the USA). There was some sort of formal dinner, I think, but I am not sure it was school-sanctioned. I recall a formal prom-like dance at the end of grade 12. I went with Lisa K.
15. If you could go back and do it over, would you? - Yes, and I would be much better at it.
16. What do you remember most about graduation? - I remember that it was odd seeing all of these people that I hadn't seen for months at the ceremony. I recall that after the ceremony, we went to J.B.'s for a party. But, after I graduated, I remember feeling like I was broke, knowing that my parents would not or could not not pay for my education. That summer, all I could get was a job planting trees, until I got a job tending bar at a local dive.
17. Where were you on senior skip day? - What the hell is Senior skip day? I remember going to the beach one day when we all should have been in math class. Is that what this means?
18. Did you have a job your senior year? - No, and I didn't want one.
19. Where did you go most often for lunch? - Cafeteria. I ate (a packed lunch) and then played euchre.
20. Have you gained weight since then? - I weigh exactly the same now as I did then.
21. What did you do after graduation? - 1) A summer of bad jobs; 2) University, intermingled with summers of bad jobs; 3) worked for MasterCard; 4) MA, mixed with being a TA and an RA; 5) worked for MasterCard, and then the University of Toronto; 6) Master of Library Science degree with summers of mediocre jobs; 7) employment; 8) I will die some day.
22. When did you graduate? - In October
23. Who was your Senior prom date? - see question 14
24. Are you going to your 10 year reunion? - I don't think my class has ever had a reunion, but I would go if there was one.
25. Who was your home room teacher? - I have no idea.
26. Who will repost this after you? As Anna May said, "Anyone who wants a walk down memory lane."
Technorati Tags: memes, school
Fill this out about your SENIOR year of high school! The longer ago it was, the more fun the answers will be. (And the older you'll feel.)
I don't think anyone in Canada uses the term senior year. For me, the last year was Grade 13, which has now been abolished and left to the history books.
1. Who was your best friend? - Keith O. & Stephen G.
2. What sports did you play? - Track (100 M, 200 M, 400 M, hurdles, relay); also cross-country team for a while.
3. What kind of car did you drive? - my dad's LTD, when he let me; my sister's boyfriend's for several weeks.
4. It's Friday night, where were you? - party, or at a friend's house with beer and movies.
5. Were you a party animal? - I guess so: there were always parties when you come from a small town.
6. Were you considered a flirt? - I have to say no.
7. Were you in band, orchestra, or choir? - not in grade 13, but I was in the Jr band in earlier years.
8. Were you a nerd? - Jesus, I hope not.
9. Did you get suspended/expelled? - Never. I was never in any kind of trouble. I was a model student, obedient and respectful.
10. Can you sing the fight song? - What is a fight song?
11. Who was your favorite teacher? - Johnny L. He made me love history; it's probably fair to say I would never have gone to University if I hadn't taken his course.
12. What was your school's full name? - Well, that's a secret.
13. School mascot? - Falcon
14. Did you go to Prom? - Now, maybe my memory is fading, but I am not sure we had a prom (and, that is a term that is not used as much as it is in the USA). There was some sort of formal dinner, I think, but I am not sure it was school-sanctioned. I recall a formal prom-like dance at the end of grade 12. I went with Lisa K.
15. If you could go back and do it over, would you? - Yes, and I would be much better at it.
16. What do you remember most about graduation? - I remember that it was odd seeing all of these people that I hadn't seen for months at the ceremony. I recall that after the ceremony, we went to J.B.'s for a party. But, after I graduated, I remember feeling like I was broke, knowing that my parents would not or could not not pay for my education. That summer, all I could get was a job planting trees, until I got a job tending bar at a local dive.
17. Where were you on senior skip day? - What the hell is Senior skip day? I remember going to the beach one day when we all should have been in math class. Is that what this means?
18. Did you have a job your senior year? - No, and I didn't want one.
19. Where did you go most often for lunch? - Cafeteria. I ate (a packed lunch) and then played euchre.
20. Have you gained weight since then? - I weigh exactly the same now as I did then.
21. What did you do after graduation? - 1) A summer of bad jobs; 2) University, intermingled with summers of bad jobs; 3) worked for MasterCard; 4) MA, mixed with being a TA and an RA; 5) worked for MasterCard, and then the University of Toronto; 6) Master of Library Science degree with summers of mediocre jobs; 7) employment; 8) I will die some day.
22. When did you graduate? - In October
23. Who was your Senior prom date? - see question 14
24. Are you going to your 10 year reunion? - I don't think my class has ever had a reunion, but I would go if there was one.
25. Who was your home room teacher? - I have no idea.
26. Who will repost this after you? As Anna May said, "Anyone who wants a walk down memory lane."
Technorati Tags: memes, school
Burning Outhouse?I think that the political correctness movement has gone too far. Whatever happened to the Burning Schoolhouse?
I mean, this was a feature of back yard fireworks for years, the final event, the thing that all the kids waited for. They wanted to see the schoolhouse go up in flames. It capped a great evening of amateur fireworks, like nothing else.
A burning outhouse conjures up the horrible realities of burning shit (if you'll excuse the grammar).
This was taken in my neighbour's backyard last Sunday night. Canada is the only commonwealth nation to celebrate Victoria Day, and it has nothing to do with Queen Victoria. It's all about marking the day when we can go crazy with gardening, and camping, and opening cottages.
Technorati Tags: Victoria Day, fireworks
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Found Money?
Fading memory irritates me more than my generally aging body. The weakening back is predictable as are the occasional aches and pains that arrived unannounced when I passed 30. I am sure that my brain will be spared the ravages of Alzheimer's, but I get concerned when I forget minor and sometimes major things.
I can usually remember how to get home on my bike. And, I park my bike in the same place everyday, so that habit will lead me there. I recall once, when returning from lunch, a feeling of panic when I noticed that my bike was gone, and then I remembered that it was in the shop for repairs. I still expect it to be stolen, 'cause that's just what happens in these parts.
I once posted on the virtues of a fading memory (a guest post on Mister Anchovy). It seems that there are other benefits that I forgot.
So, the other day, I shoved my hand into my pocket and found a $5 bill! I exclaimed to the person next to me something like, "Look, 5 bucks! I love it when that happens. It's like free money." And then, reality set in when I realized that I had worn these pants the day before and it was change from some sort of purchase.
But, this reminded me that I used to hide money in books on my bookshelf when I lived at home so that my thieving, high school drop-out brother wouldn't steal from me. The only book he ever read was the Guinness Book of World Records. I just assumed that he was looking for a record he could break, like the most uninterrupted hours of farting, the longest belch, worst breath in the western hemisphere, and the longest time spent straining on the toilet.
Once, I did find a twenty tucked in the pages of my copy of Marx's Communist Manifesto. It was just the thing I needed on a Friday night with the essay done, and a crew of people waiting for me at a bar, back in the day when a bottle of beer was under $2.
Technorati Tags: aging, memory, money, family
Fading memory irritates me more than my generally aging body. The weakening back is predictable as are the occasional aches and pains that arrived unannounced when I passed 30. I am sure that my brain will be spared the ravages of Alzheimer's, but I get concerned when I forget minor and sometimes major things.
I can usually remember how to get home on my bike. And, I park my bike in the same place everyday, so that habit will lead me there. I recall once, when returning from lunch, a feeling of panic when I noticed that my bike was gone, and then I remembered that it was in the shop for repairs. I still expect it to be stolen, 'cause that's just what happens in these parts.
I once posted on the virtues of a fading memory (a guest post on Mister Anchovy). It seems that there are other benefits that I forgot.
So, the other day, I shoved my hand into my pocket and found a $5 bill! I exclaimed to the person next to me something like, "Look, 5 bucks! I love it when that happens. It's like free money." And then, reality set in when I realized that I had worn these pants the day before and it was change from some sort of purchase.
But, this reminded me that I used to hide money in books on my bookshelf when I lived at home so that my thieving, high school drop-out brother wouldn't steal from me. The only book he ever read was the Guinness Book of World Records. I just assumed that he was looking for a record he could break, like the most uninterrupted hours of farting, the longest belch, worst breath in the western hemisphere, and the longest time spent straining on the toilet.
Once, I did find a twenty tucked in the pages of my copy of Marx's Communist Manifesto. It was just the thing I needed on a Friday night with the essay done, and a crew of people waiting for me at a bar, back in the day when a bottle of beer was under $2.
Technorati Tags: aging, memory, money, family
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Monday, May 14, 2007
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
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
Friday, May 11, 2007
Dreaming of Drugs & Getting Stuff Done
Imagine drug dealers showing up with a dump truck filled with pot. I guess they overestimated the demand, and were quite put out when their buyer only wanted two or three ounces, and not several garbage bags of the stuff. There they were, two dudes in overalls shoveling weed into large bags, like it was cattle manure.
No one could have missed the huge truck stopped in the middle of the street, with these guys offering to sell Mary Jane to anyone passing by. I watched the guys do their business and then noticed a cop heading towards me. I took off and found myself in an appliance store (probably Sears) where I nonchalantly began appraising and comparing refrigerators and stoves.
Mr. Cop started to harass me and grabbed my arm tightly. I protested that watching a drug deal is a sociological event - something anyone would watch - especially given the scope of the operation. I didn't purchase any, never spoke to anyone, and only fled because I felt I had been mistaken for a buyer or seller. This cop had it out for me, and clearly wanted to take me downtown to book me on something or other. The dream ended there.
Clearly, I think the possession and sale of smallish amounts of marijuana should be decriminalized. One ought to be able to cultivate it for one's own use. Forget the wasted time and effort prosecuting small time users. That is crazy.
Work
It's Friday and I have finally finished preparing for my presentation next Tuesday. Next week is conference craziness. I have one conference on Monday and Tuesday, and another Wednesday to Friday evening.
I have almost finished a short opinion article with a co-worker. Hopefully, that will go out soon, and then a co-worker and I have to start preparation for a major presentation for a conference taking place in a few months.
I'll be mostly away next week, so updates may not happen for a few days. Have a nice week. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Catch you on the flip side.
Technorati Tags: dreams, drugs, work
Imagine drug dealers showing up with a dump truck filled with pot. I guess they overestimated the demand, and were quite put out when their buyer only wanted two or three ounces, and not several garbage bags of the stuff. There they were, two dudes in overalls shoveling weed into large bags, like it was cattle manure.
No one could have missed the huge truck stopped in the middle of the street, with these guys offering to sell Mary Jane to anyone passing by. I watched the guys do their business and then noticed a cop heading towards me. I took off and found myself in an appliance store (probably Sears) where I nonchalantly began appraising and comparing refrigerators and stoves.
Mr. Cop started to harass me and grabbed my arm tightly. I protested that watching a drug deal is a sociological event - something anyone would watch - especially given the scope of the operation. I didn't purchase any, never spoke to anyone, and only fled because I felt I had been mistaken for a buyer or seller. This cop had it out for me, and clearly wanted to take me downtown to book me on something or other. The dream ended there.
Clearly, I think the possession and sale of smallish amounts of marijuana should be decriminalized. One ought to be able to cultivate it for one's own use. Forget the wasted time and effort prosecuting small time users. That is crazy.
Work
It's Friday and I have finally finished preparing for my presentation next Tuesday. Next week is conference craziness. I have one conference on Monday and Tuesday, and another Wednesday to Friday evening.
I have almost finished a short opinion article with a co-worker. Hopefully, that will go out soon, and then a co-worker and I have to start preparation for a major presentation for a conference taking place in a few months.
I'll be mostly away next week, so updates may not happen for a few days. Have a nice week. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Catch you on the flip side.
Technorati Tags: dreams, drugs, work
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Ezekiel Klaar
Well, it's been a busy week. I attended a conference on Tuesday, followed by some free food, free wine, and socializing. It was cool. Last night, I went to an association dinner with awards, free food, free wine, and socializing. Next week is conference week. I am presenting at conference that runs on Monday & Tuesday. Another conference takes up the remainder of the week. There will likely be free food and free wine and socializing - at least I hope so.
You might be interested to know that many librarians are early adopters of web 2.0 technologies. Library 2.0 has been a buzzword for a while now. This might explain why so many librarians have blogs, wikis, and are Flickr and Facebook users. Lately, there has been great interest in online virtual worlds, like Second Life. Finally, I have bent to pressure from all sides and joined Second Life. Ezekiel Klaar was born on May 8, 2007. I am not happy with my avatar by any means.
So, to begin with, I visited the McMaster University Library, but the Second Life Librarian was not in. I did access some online resources in this virtual world, which was odd, to be honest. Somehow, I ended up in some sort of adult club, but, with no virtual money, it seemed pointless, so I fled to a beach, and then to some sort of dance club, where some scantily-clad and decidedly curvy female avatar walked up to me, stood silently next to me for a few seconds, and then walked away. A friend here pointed out to me that this was just like real life.
I am not sure that I need another web 2.0 distraction, so my visits will probably be few and far better, but if you are a member, feel free to friend me. I need a tutor, badly.
Technorati Tags: websites, work, Second Life, web 2.0
Well, it's been a busy week. I attended a conference on Tuesday, followed by some free food, free wine, and socializing. It was cool. Last night, I went to an association dinner with awards, free food, free wine, and socializing. Next week is conference week. I am presenting at conference that runs on Monday & Tuesday. Another conference takes up the remainder of the week. There will likely be free food and free wine and socializing - at least I hope so.
You might be interested to know that many librarians are early adopters of web 2.0 technologies. Library 2.0 has been a buzzword for a while now. This might explain why so many librarians have blogs, wikis, and are Flickr and Facebook users. Lately, there has been great interest in online virtual worlds, like Second Life. Finally, I have bent to pressure from all sides and joined Second Life. Ezekiel Klaar was born on May 8, 2007. I am not happy with my avatar by any means.
So, to begin with, I visited the McMaster University Library, but the Second Life Librarian was not in. I did access some online resources in this virtual world, which was odd, to be honest. Somehow, I ended up in some sort of adult club, but, with no virtual money, it seemed pointless, so I fled to a beach, and then to some sort of dance club, where some scantily-clad and decidedly curvy female avatar walked up to me, stood silently next to me for a few seconds, and then walked away. A friend here pointed out to me that this was just like real life.
I am not sure that I need another web 2.0 distraction, so my visits will probably be few and far better, but if you are a member, feel free to friend me. I need a tutor, badly.
Technorati Tags: websites, work, Second Life, web 2.0
Monday, May 07, 2007
Happy Monday & Stuff
I have no plan for this post. It will be truly extemporaneous. It reminds me of the impromptu speeches we had to deliver in public school. I hated speeches and was quite relieved to be free of them, until grade 10, when our aged, decaying, and cranky teacher made us all deliver speeches. There was a mini rebellion along with a petition. But, it did no good. She even rolled out spelling tests, like we were back in grade 4.
Of course, now when I think of school, I think of Facebook, that addictive crack-cocaine site. I have some advice for the women out there: don't change your names when you get married! It makes it impossible to figure out who you are, especially when you use such crappy profile pictures. How am I supposed to know that Deb X is now Deb Y?
And another thing, I am not so sure about the choices Facebook offers to describe friendships. What does "they hooked up" mean? It sounds sexual, but who can be sure? I wish it would provide a fill-in-the-blank option, like: "They had a one night stand in Poughkeepsie 6.2 years ago;" or, "they met when he ran over her cat with his new Volkswagen."
And now, I am off to do some work. Thanks for listening.
Technorati Tags: facebook, school
I have no plan for this post. It will be truly extemporaneous. It reminds me of the impromptu speeches we had to deliver in public school. I hated speeches and was quite relieved to be free of them, until grade 10, when our aged, decaying, and cranky teacher made us all deliver speeches. There was a mini rebellion along with a petition. But, it did no good. She even rolled out spelling tests, like we were back in grade 4.
Of course, now when I think of school, I think of Facebook, that addictive crack-cocaine site. I have some advice for the women out there: don't change your names when you get married! It makes it impossible to figure out who you are, especially when you use such crappy profile pictures. How am I supposed to know that Deb X is now Deb Y?
And another thing, I am not so sure about the choices Facebook offers to describe friendships. What does "they hooked up" mean? It sounds sexual, but who can be sure? I wish it would provide a fill-in-the-blank option, like: "They had a one night stand in Poughkeepsie 6.2 years ago;" or, "they met when he ran over her cat with his new Volkswagen."
And now, I am off to do some work. Thanks for listening.
Technorati Tags: facebook, school
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