It's Raining in Paris

Been to la tour Eiffel, walked down L'avenue des Champs-Élysées, and visited L'Arc de triomphe de l'Étoile. Too bad about the rain, however.

In Gay Paris

Arrived safely after one of those all-night flights.  Slept little, so am very tired.  Can see the Eiffel Tower from the window.  So far, my French training has paid off.

One More Thing

I am trying this email posting option again.  Last time I tried it, it did not work.  So, here goes...

Heading for Europe

The flight is today. I might try to update the blog from time-to-time, but I am making no promises. I'll be back in three weeks.

Still Alive

Yeah, I am still around, but busy with work and the like. You may hear even less from me for the next month, as I am leaving for Europe for three weeks one week from today. Tomorrow, I am off to a conference (one day), and I have a few other things to take care of before then, like getting Euros. Also, I am desperately in need of a haircut, but my hairdresser has gone to Korea for a month. What to do? What to do?

...been distracted

by lots of things, like work, swine flu, new music...

Tasty!

I just ate half of one of those damned stickers on fruit. I guess I forgot to remove it and suddenly, only half was left. I am thinking about starting a petition to eliminate these annoying things. After all, most cashiers already know the codes for common fruits and vegetables. Why do we need stickers on fruit and vegetables!

Damn those Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses

I feel like I am being pursued by troops of religions zealots everywhere I go recently. They come to my door; they accost me on the streets; they interfere with my life. At least I get to direct some hostility towards them when they attempt to capture me in their tentacles.

Like the other day, when it was clear that I was busy doing stuff at the front of my house and was engaged with the coming and going of people. Two brain-washed instruments of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints interjected themselves into my personal space, asking if they could talk to me about shit. No way, dudes. I should say that I appreciate what the Mormons have done for Genealogy, though I disapprove of the reason behind these initiatives.

On the weekend, while walking away from a birthday party with les enfants, three well-dressed Mormons set upon me. Being someone that does not carry a gun, I had to try to talk my way through it, trying my best not to get them angry, lest they attack. I considered playing dead, but I couldn't remember if that worked for Mormons or the Jehovah's Witnesses. I also considered making loud grunting noises, hoping that such an action might scare them off. One has to be careful, for I have heard that they can spit venom into your eyes.

And then, this morning, on my way to work, an ancient pair of Jehovah's Witnesses approached me. It looked like the pathetic duo was simply lost and needed directions. I am happy to give directions, or make up something that sounds plausible, but then, the geriatric man unfurled his copy The Watchtower, like he was trying to interest me in illicit pornographic materials. Sadly, it was a copy of something that is not good enough to grace the bottom of a lizard cage.

So, now, I am considering compiling a list of the most offensive things I could say to these and other religious groups. If you know of any, please tell me. In the meantime, the next time I am offered a copy of The Watchtower or Awake!, I am going to reply with one of the following:

"Why, thank you very much! I am out of toilet paper!"
"Sorry, I gave all of my money to the Mormons."
I will utter the name Jehovah 237 times.

Of course, if it's the Mormons, I will have to say something like:

"When will incestuous lovers Donny and Marie be promoted to Sainthood in your church?"
"Orgazmo was the best movie ever made!"

Loblaws is not Green

I am ready to ditch Bell Mobility because it is over-priced and unfriendly. I looked around at tons of plans, both prepaid and monthly, and my conclusion is that they all suck. Canada is probably the most expensive place on the planet for cell phones plans. There should be a new carrier in Canada, hopefully by next year, so I decided to stay away from monthly plans that tie you down for 2 to 3 years. The good thing about monthly plans is cheap phones; the bad is the monthly costs. The good thing about pay-as-you-go is all of the free stuff, like voice mail, call display, etc. The bad news is expensive phones. So, I had an idea.

President's Choice Telecom (Loblaws, in other words) has a very cheap pay-as-you-go option. It is operated by Bell Mobility. A light bulb went off in my head. "I'll switch to PC, keep my cell phone, and keep my eye out for future deals." Foiled again.

It seems that one must purchase a new phone to use PC Telecom. I had a circular argument with the Customer Service person about this. She insisted that the phones are different. I insisted that the Bell network protocol is CDMA, or Code Division Multiple Access. If that describes the Bell network, it also describes the PC network because, as it says right on the page: "Services provided in PC mobile coverage areas by Bell Mobility."

The turnover in cell phones is insane. People keep upgrading and chucking the old ones into landfill sites. This makes no sense to me. Surely, if Loblaws wanted to be a good corporate citizen, it would permit the use of compatible phones. But, we really know that it is all about profit.

I rarely shop at Loblaws because it is expensive and inconvenient, but I think I might change the rarely to never, if they can't accommodate a simple request. I am awaiting a reply to a message I just sent, but I have no expectations of success. Too bad for them: they have lost a potential customer.

Trapped

in a meeting all day :-(

Facts on Farts

After yesterday's lengthy post, what else could I post but something about flatulence? Facts on Farts is funny. It has well-written answers to several of your burning questions about farting. I realize that I promised never to write author post on this topic, but shit happens.

On Jacket Holding, Photography, and the AGO (very long)

Imagine being told that you are holding your jacket improperly while perusing the art on display at an art gallery. That happened to me on Saturday, when I finally managed to check out the renovated AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario). But first, this other AGO story:

I knew that I wanted to take photos of the Frank Gehry makeover, so I made sure that I familiarized myself with AGO's revised photography guidelines. My reading of this policy boiled down to this: you can take photos of lots of things, as long as it is not an installation or piece of art. Let's avoid, for the moment, the crazy and indefensible argument that there are copyright restrictions that prevent the gallery from permitting photography of its exhibits. Wait, let's not avoid that. Let me say that the AGO has no idea what it is talking about. Photos of exhibits for personal use or for criticism or study cannot be restricted by the copyright act and it is clear that this policy is really concerned with profit-making motives, from sales of postcards, etc. I have taken photos in the Met and MOMA with no problem at all. Clearly, there needs to be a no flash and no tripod rule.

Maybe this is a good place to mention that the current admission costs are crazy. $18 for an adult? I think that if the AGO lowered admission prices, they'd get more visitors. I might go more often.

But, back to the story. I took photos of the barnacle staircase, Walker Court, and the Galleria Italia, as permitted, even though the latter contains exhibits, which contravenes AGO's own policy! Whatever. After peering out a window, I turned around and saw a colorful wall. Here is part of it:


A security guard ran over to tell me that this was off limits to photography. Now, I took the photo because I thought it was an interior design element. Turns out, it was art. Who knew? After all, it fit the wall perfectly, and even continued into that little space above a door frame. In other words, it looked like wall paper. Which leads me to wonder why so many installations at the AGO are designed to perfectly fit available space. As such, some seem like artificial creations. I wonder about the idea of creating a piece of art to fit a gallery space exactly, like this one.

Anyway, Mr. Security gave me the lecture, which I already knew, but the dude wouldn't accept my explanation. He just kept going over it and over it. When he finally stopped talking, I ran ahead and to catch up with my two friends. Imagine my surprise when I saw people snapping photos left, right, and centre of all manner of exhibits, throughout our stay. The difference is that they all had point & shoot digital cameras or cell phone cameras. No security intervened. I even saw people in tour snapping photos with not a single word from the tour guide. These days, if you have an SLR, you are either a terrorist or some sort of copyright pirate.

I guess I should also point out that I had no intention of running around photographing every piece of art, but I would have taken shots of two or three things, if I could have, but that's it. I was there to look at the art, not photograph it. By the way, have you seen that advertisement for Prince Edward Island (or some other Maritime province) on TV that features the interior of AGO in contravention of AGO's stated policy? I guess if you have the cash, then copyright really doesn't mean anything.

So far, not so interesting, right? Well, two hours later in some other part of the gallery, a different security guard informed me that I was carrying my jacket improperly and in such a way that might "impact the art." Jesus! I passed numerous security personnel and no one had made such a comment. This guy clearly has issues. Besides the fact that I had never ventured close enough to accidentally come into contact with any art, I am a grown man and quite aware of my personal space. I considered insulting his shoes, but decided to continue on my way to a section with less anally-retentive, less authoritarian security guards.

But, back to photography. I would have thought that the AGO would relish the idea of someone posting a story on the web about a recent visit to the gallery, maybe with a few images, to show the world how wonderful it is. That would be good (and free) publicity. Instead, the AGO just makes a few people angry, who then write posts like this, which is bad (and free) publicity. If you follow the link to the photography guidelines, you will note that many of the comments are from people pissed off by the policy.

I am not sure what was worse: the restrictions on photography or the ludicrous jacket carrying policy. Whetever the case, it will probably be a while before I am ready to return and confront the praetorian guards.

(Oh, and I didn't mention the other incident, mostly because this is way too long already).

One-Day Conference

I guess this is a good thing to do on a rainy Friday. The bad news is that I am all wet, because of my lousy rain gear. I hopped on my bike in the light rain, and, a few minutes later, it felt like I was riding in a shower, albeit a cold one. All of my clothes were completely soaked when I arrived and I spent some time using a hand dryer in a washroom in an attempt to dry myself out, but to no avail. It had no effect at all. Yet, slowly, I am drying out. I hope this does not lead to a cold or something worse, like death.

Now, I guess I should pay attention.

Two Funny Statements

1) From the almost-four-year-old:

I dreamed I ate a fly's nose last night.

2) From the almost-eight-year-old, upon seeing a cartoon featuring an old white man as American President:

They have some old strange white guy as president! Change it Barack!

Roasted Baby Hippo

During my undergrad, we joked that the "Hip of Beef" served in the cafeteria was really "Hip of Beast" or Hip o' Beast." I have learned that this curious label is ubiquitous. Students far and wide use an identical nomenclature. Hilarious. But, enough of that.

Imagine being served a plate upon which stood a tiny roasted hippopotamus! It measured no longer than seven inches from tip to tail with, perhaps, a two inch inseam. As for height, well, I would guess six inches at most. Nothing else was on the plate, just a tiny hippo that was able to stand, despite having been roasted. No veggies, no potatoes, no rice: just a tiny semi-aquatic even-toed ungulate.

Now, I am not one to panic at the prospect of undercooked food, but my hippo looked a bit rare. The hippo served to C, beside me, looked similarly undercooked, but C did not seem to mind. She prodded it with knife and fork, looking for convenient points of cleavage, and I believe she found one, though the caudal.

Rewards offered for dream-interpretation.

Why?

Does he really think this is going to keep his ass safe? The bigger question might be why the dude decided to leave his artwork behind. Is he that proud of his creation? At least he flushed, unlike the dude who used the adjoining stall. That one was ripe. Sadly, this is the closest john to my office, one that I am forced to share with the unwashed public, and I use that term loosely, as the sinks here double as foot-washing fixtures. (I know, certain cultures place great value on regular foot washing, but it doesn't please me to see a man with one foot in the sink, soon to be followed by the other).

And then there's the spitting. The sinks are often coated in it. No one flushes the urinals and the toilets are often not flushed, so it usually stinks. There is always toilet paper on the floors. Many men seem to prefer peeing in the privacy of a stall, and I have yet to encounter a single man in this bathroom who has the courtesy to lift the seat. As a result, the seats are usually covered in piss.

Naturally, I normally travel to a different floor to use a bathroom. What I really want to do is post a Bathroom Etiquette sign. Even the staff bathroom on a different floor has sign above the urinal asked the men to flush after use. If you have to ask staff to do this, you have a problem. Public washrooms are disgusting, but you didn't need me to tell you that, did you?

Je suis très occupé

Super Happy Jen a suggéré that it's about time pour une new post. "Time for a new post, Z" she says. OK, so how about this? Pendant Monday's class de français we all had to do a short présentation. No problemo, as Bart would say, or, pas de problème, as I now say.

Aside from not even recognizing some de the people who have been dans cette class pour weeks, I really had a chance to écouter to the wide range of French language skills. En général, tout le monde did a good job, mais j'ai été étonné at some of the accents. Une femme en particulier, spoke like she had quelque chose lodged in her mouth. When she a dit "je peux" it sounded comme "je purr." Maybe elle est half chat.

Le chatty Cathy, who parle tout le temps en class, was not so happy to donner sa présentation. Je pense that elle est très shy, ou quelque chose. Je ne sais pas.

Later, we have l'examen orale et l'examen written.

King Missile

I was reminded of King Missile last night when the concept of a detachable penis was raised, but I can't for the life of me remember why that topic came up. The embedding function has been disabled for this song, but you can still watch the video at Youtube, although I am not sure that this is the real video. Of course, this reminds me of:

Jesus was Way Cool



and, I am a Sensitive Artist



Whatever happened to King Missile?

Reading Update

Darren Greer - Still Life with June: Two words describe this book: disappointing and unbelievable. The BIG BAD thing made me grimace, the characters' motivations are largely not believable, some plot threads are abandoned part way through, and the whole book has an air of falseness to it. Greer is not such a bad writer, but this novel just does not work. It's a mystery how it found a publisher. Even more of a mystery is how I managed to fight my way to the end.

Ken Kalfus - A Disorder Peculiar to the Country: This might be the first novel I have read that features 9/11. Kalfus places a married couple going through a protracted and painful divorce in the midst of destruction and national confusion. The result is unexpected, humorous, and deeply troubling. I found the story to be gripping and real. Clearly, Kalfus has confidence in his writing and has created a well-paced book with not a single wasted word.

Ian McEwan - On Chesil Beach is a perfectly-written novella. It's supposed to be a novel, but novella is a much better word. In fact, it's more like a long short story. Part of me wished McEwan would have added 50 pages, but then that would take away from the central story, an interesting newlywed encounter gone wrong.

Pink

Last week, the student sitting behind me in French class was wearing a pink shirt with a tie.

Since the time I finally finished University, after three degrees, I have taken a few night classes. Currently, I am nearing the conclusion of my third French class. I have taken 4 or 5 writing classes, and a bunch of photography classes, mostly so I could get access to darkrooms, before I went digital. Dylan went electric; I went digital, and one person even called me Judas.

Last night, the student (a different one) sitting in front of me was wearing a pink shirt. I believe that he is the source of the noxious gas. It makes me wonder if he saves it up for our class. Why, I want to ask, but I am not really sure if he is to blame.

As an aide, I look back on my early days at University and wonder where the energy came from. I procrastinated then, but not as much as I do now. I am unrepentant. But then, I could procrastinate and then stay up to 3:30 AM writing about early modern political theory. Don't ask me to do that now. I can stay up for nothing.

There was a brief period of time when I wore pink. I had a pink golf shirt (collar down, if you must know) and a pink dress shirt that I often wore with a tie and sometimes a jacket. I often felt that my rugged masculinity contrasted nicely with the soft pink - the whole combination making the ladies swoon.

Test number two was last night and I had a strong nostalgic feeling. I had no panic, mind you, just a feeling like I had never left high school. I cleared my desk of all books, but retained two pens. I watched our prof hand out the test. Then, when the word was given, I scribbled my name and proceeded. I am not convinced that a test-based curriculum is the best way to instruct adults in learning a second or third language.

Tim was probably the first man I knew who felt that he was manly enough to wear pink. After a week at the construction site, he could break free on weekends: pink shirt, tie bar, shiny shoes, too much after shave, and a bit of classic rock (which, in his definition, was Phil Collins and Queen). It may have been his gay-positive side leaking out, but I am sure he would deny it. Oh, and there was Bill, too. I think he wore pink to reaffirm his masculinity, but we all knew he would eventually come out. Not that's there's anything wrong with being gay.

I have no plans to bring back the pink. As I get older, my wardrobe gets darker and darker. I must be in mourning.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.