'Twas the night of Halloween

Continuing with the Christmas theme, here is a little poem I wrote for a writing class I'm taking with Patricia Pearson.

'Twas the Night of Halloween

‘Twas the night of Halloween, and all through the house,
Costumes were strewn and trick-or-treaters tuckered-out.
When all of sudden, 12:01 flashed the clock,
It gave us a fright; it was quite a shock.

The eerie howls of ghosts and goblins smothered by a scarier call,
The jingle of sleigh bells and that ho-ho-ho known by all.

Cobwebs and jack-o-lanterns disappeared into space,
Twinkling lights and tinsel appearing in their place.

As visions of Karl Marx danced in my head,
I asked myself, “Isn’t Christmas dead?”

What to get Stephen Harper for Christmas?

Worried about what to get the Prime Minister for Christmas this year? Me neither, but bear with me.

On Oct. 29th I attended a reading at the Toronto International Festival of Authors at Harbourfront Centre.

Four fabulous writers read from recent work that evening; Lynda Barry (Picture This), Nadine Bismuth (Are You Married to a Psychopath?), Dany Laferrière (I am a Japanese Writer) and Yann Martel (Beatrice and Virgil).

Martel also read letters #64 and #93 from his ongoing project, What is Stephen Harper Reading?

In April 2007 Martel launched, What is Stephen Harper Reading? as a response to the federal government’s flaccid acknowledgement of the 50 artists sitting in the visitors’ gallery of the House of Commons on March 28, 2007 on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the Canada Council of the Arts.

Bev Oda, Minister for Canadian Heritage made a brief speech, but the Prime Minister neither addressed the group nor looked up at the gallery as Oda spoke. Martel began to wonder what kind of man Stephen Harper was, and concluded there probably wasn’t enough stillness in his life – the kind of stillness brought about by reading books.

Martel vowed to send Stephen Harper a book every two weeks until the end of his term. Each book is inscribed and accompanied by a letter, and is chosen for its ability to expand stillness.

Letters #64, Carole Mortimer’s The Virgin Secretary’s Impossible Boss, and #93, Selected Poems, by Yevgeny Yevtushenko, translated by Robin Milner-Gulland and Peter Levi, make for great reading in themselves. 

Each letter describes why Martel recommends the accompanying book and neatly draws parallels to the Prime Minister’s leadership. The letters usually end with a suggestion or question for the PM to reflect on - should he decide to read Martel’s correspondence. 

For instance, Mortimer’s novel is published by Harlequin Romance – a Canadian publishing company that has sold billions of books worldwide. “The function of genre fiction is to relax and confirm, not to stress and challenge. Genre fiction seeks to deliver one thing: emotional satisfaction,” wrote Martel. “Is that such a bad thing? I don’t think so,” he added.

Clearly, as Martel points out in the letter, Harlequin knows what their readers want and they deliver it. The implication, perhaps Harper could do something similar for Canadians?

As Martel began to read the first letter I realized that although I’d heard of the project, I had forgotten all about it. It also occurred to me that I was probably not alone. Immediately I knew what to do, I’d send Stephen Harper a letter and book for Christmas, and I’d invite others to do the same.

But, which book?

Perhaps one of the four titles read that evening? Maybe, I could arrange to have one of the authors read it to the PM personally? You know, there is nothing like having someone read to you.

I think I’ll send him a copy of my favourite book, Dante’s Inferno. But not for the reasons you’re thinking. Remember, the Inferno is an allegory about redemption, emerging into the light after exploring one’s soul.

Can’t afford to send a book? Then send a card and include a reading list, to:

The Right Honourable Stephen Harper
Prime Minister of Canada
80 Wellington Street
Ottawa ON K1A 0A2

Last year, Martel published the first 55 letters in the book, What Is Stephen Harper Reading?: Yann Martel's Recommended Reading for a Prime Minister and Book Lovers of All Stripes, and maintains a blog about the project, http://www.whatisstephenharperreading.ca.

Silly Season is upon us!

The Silly Season begins at the stroke of midnight tonight.

Gone will be the pumpkins, ghosts and goblins, only to be replaced by sleigh bells, Scrooge and cellphone commercials.

Of course, this isn't my first rant on the subject of Christmas. Like the holidays themselves, I am prone to repeating myself every year at this time.

In 2007, I published a student paper in the Georgetown University Critical Theory Journal entitled "Sameness, Repetition and the Function of Christmas," (pg 30).

In the paper I refer to Christmas as a "psychotechnology," (György Markus' term) and suggest it is a form of managed behaviour. Every year we set out to have a happy holiday yet our expectations are thwarted and we find ourselves disappointed and emotionally hungover once the event has ended.

By looking critically at our habits and performance at this time of year we could learn something about the expectations we pack into our rituals and come to understand that this emotional hangover, or boredom, is a catalyst.

"Our needs and desires are ultimately liberating because they contribute to the mechanism of standardization, which in turn, can lead to an understanding of our needs and desires," (pg 36).

We can only acknowledge our predicament once we've gone through it. For some of us, we need several attempts. But it starts by realizing boredom is not something to be feared. It is the way out.

So, take care this holiday season.

Hey, you, get off of my mat!

Nothing like a Rosedale yoga class to get your blood boiling.

Yeah, I know - this isn't what you'd expect from yoga, but hear me out.

There is a core group of women who attend the class I like to take on Sundays. They seem to know each other or have come to know each other through the class.

Most people spend the time before a class begins lying on their mat, practicing their breathing and calming their minds. Not these ladies.

They show little consideration for other students in the studio and stand around gabbing to each other without a thought about the people trying to relax before the class starts.

When they get props - blocks, bolsters or straps - from one of the double closets that line the south side of the studio, they leave the doors wide open. Who cares about the person sitting near the closets?

But their bad behaviour doesn't end there. They also walk across other people's mats - mine included - on their way to-and-from the closet!

Clearly, they don't know the significance of the mat, and probably see it as mere padding for the knees.

The yoga mat is my practice space, a clearly delineated haven where I come face-to-face with my thoughts and delusions. In this way, it is a sacred space, and unlike the mat in the front foyer of one's home, it is not intended for people to trod across mindlessly.

So, hey, you - get off of my mat!

Wahoo - Jan Wong!

I just read the latest post on Lizz Bryce's blog, A letter to Jan Wong.  It seems Lizz's reply to a Jan Wong article, Get off the Road ... (September issue, Toronto Life), was printed in the Nov. issue.

I haven't read the Wong article yet, but judging from Lizz's reply and the comments posted on the TL website, it looks like Wong has drawn the ire of Lizz and a host of pissed-off Torontonians!


Stay tuned ... I'm going to read the article, see what's causing all the fuss!

Ten Ten Ten: Just another day!

Yesterday was October 10, 2010, or 10 | 10 | 10 as the news reporters and the superstitious like to say.

It is novel, but does it really make a difference that the day, month and year are all the same number? I think there are 2 more left (11-11-11 and 12-12-12) and that's if for a long time.

Some people planned the birth of their child to fall on this day (by caesarean if necessary!), City Hall even performed marriage ceremonies - unusual because they don't normally work on a Sunday.

The claim is that 10 | 10 | 10 suggests perfection, a wholeness because it contains the other numbers 1 through 9, but for me, it makes me think of binary code. On, off, on, off ...

I spent most of it walking the Waterfront Trail from Neville Park to Rosetta McClain Gardens.

I brought my camera along with me, as I usually do when I when I go for a walk. I didn't see perfection - at least I don't think I did (would I know it if I saw it?), but I did see some pretty ordinary things.

The Brothers Manning

Tonight, Peyton the elder and his Indianapolis Colts are pitted against Eli the younger and his New York Giants in what is being called Manning Bowl II.

The Brothers Manning always attract a lot of hype. They come from football royalty, both are professional quarterbacks, each sports a Super Bowl ring, Peyton has four MVPs to Eli's one. And, both have appeared in my dreams!

Yes, that's right. Last December while vacationing in Costa Rica I had a dream that Peyton and Eli needed a place to stay and until I came along and offered them lodging in my villa!

I had come back to my villa (the villa in my dreams, I wasn't actually staying in a villa!) and found the Brothers Manning sleeping on lounge chairs around the pool. Apparently, there were no rooms available anywhere in the area and the boys decided to camp out by the pool.

I think I was harbouring impure thoughts about Eli. But I digress ... we're both married and nothing good could ever come of it, sorry Eli.

So, like any football fan, whether hardcore or not, I'm going to weigh in on tonight's sibling rivalry match-up. Although the odds makers and sports prophets are choosing the Colts - some citing a need to overcome their loss to Houston last week - I'm choosing Eli and the Giants. It won't be easy, but I think they can pull it off.

Why? You might be asking?

Look at this US government photo taken of Eli. The presidential seal appears over Eli's head like a halo.  I think it's a sign. Perhaps it has something to do with a divine ability to throw a football. Maybe it says something about Eli's fans - football players are always thanking god, Jesus and their fans.

Either way, Eli is cute and I think it's a good sign. Go Giants!!

Mittengate

 It seems my friend Laura is still reading my blog! She asked me to share the following post ...

I'm still here!

I also spend a lot of time in my head, only to be "jolted" back to reality
by stark images such as the photo Kelly shared, human oddities (in
particular, subway behaviour) and the occasional request for directions.

Here is one such story.

One day while at work I went to the bathroom. I opened the stall only to see
a pair of mittens (see attached picture). I'm sure you could imagine my
shock. And the questions...why were there two mittens, one floating in the
toilet, one on the floor? How did they get there? Was it done on purpose?
Was it some kind of statement? Did one fall out a coat pocket into the
toilet during an attempt to use the washroom without removing the coat? Was
the fact that one ended up in the toilet the reason why both were abandoned?
Surely the one of the floor could be easily picked up.

I went back to my desk and sent an email to the entire office. I attached
the picture and requested that the owner of these mittens retrieve them,
after all, the mittens had been kind throughout the winter, doing their job,
protecting the hands of the owner from the cold Canadian climate. No
response but the mittens did disappear by day's end.

I received some responses appreciating my efforts. I never found out
anything more. This incident, henceforth known as "mitten gate", and their
owner was never discussed or identified.

-- Laura

The Everyday Redux

A while ago I received an email from my friend Laura. During our communication she mentioned she was following my blog. (Yeah !! A follower!)

At the time I realized two things that still hold today. The first, that I haven't been keeping up with my blog and second, that I have been living in my head again!

Again, I find myself going back-and-forth, to-and-fro without a thought to what I was actually doing.

My everyday existence has become overwhelmed by the crowd of internal gibberish.  Not a meaningful thought in the entire morass that has been the activity of my mind. I've been moving through the everyday without a seeing a thing, even though there is much to see.

This experience has reminded me of a photograph I took - the one you see here. I recall when I took this, where and why. It was in the summer of 2004, along a stretch of College St, between University Ave and McCaul St.

I was marching along in my usual manner, thinking about work, anticipating what was going to happen, planning for these imagined events and then inventing contingencies, in case things didn't go as I planned. It wasn't that anything pressing was going on that day, this was (and still is) just my mind in action.

I continued to walk along College St, my body in one place, my mind already at my destination - when suddenly out of nowhere this mass of rusty staples and bits of paper attached to a hydro pole jumped out at me.

Of all the times I walked that route, this was the first time I noticed the pattern, texture and colour that comprised this small space on the hydro pole.

In that moment I realized how often I overlook the awesome details of everyday life because I am consumed by my own mental activity.

If there is one thing this blog reveals, by virtue of the infrequent posts, is that I'm still being managed by discursive thinking and not available to appreciate the everyday.

Paralyzed by boredom

Siegfried Kracauer wrote a terrific short essay entitled, Boredom.  In it he writes, “People today who still have time for boredom and yet are not bored are certainly just as boring as those who never get around to being bored.”

If I understand Kracauer's meaning, then I was the least boring person on the face of the planet yesterday. The whole of last week - and I only worked 4 days! - passed by without incident, or much else. It was an exercise in how to look like you're doing something when you have nothing to do.

I know trying to fill time goes against Kracauer's intent, yet I can't imagine my boss would be too thrilled to find me at my desk, sitting idle, reflecting on the emptiness of the hours as they passed by.

So, I found some stuff to do. The sort of unimportant tasks you spend more time procrastinating than it would take to get them done.

Then, when a moment like last week happens, you say to yourself, "might as well." Just the thought of giving an account of these tasks, even the briefest one, causes my eyes to glaze over, so I'll leave what they were to your imagination.

Finally, the week came to a close. I arrived home on Friday around 5pm. Sat on the couch and realized I used my last ounce of energy to get there. I was now paralyzed.

My mind and body felt like an oozy, heavy mass. Quicksand. Neither dynamic or solid, just a glob of life sucking mess!

Boredom spent trying to be busy really sucks the life out of you. It's exhausting. I was more tired from doing nothing than I would have been had I been really busy.

I think what's fascinating about boredom- in the same way you can't help looking when driving by an accident scene - is it's banality. Nothing screams "mundane" like boredom - a scream that emanates from inside your body.

At first you think there isn't anything harmful about being bored. It's not like train surfing or smoking, no doubt two activities taken up to combat boredom.

Yet, believing boredom is harmless is what makes it harmful. So, next time you're bored, reflect on the experience. Believe it or not, you're lucky. Imagine being bored and not knowing it.

Where have all the birds gone?

This should be the question on everyone's minds next spring.

Last week I had the pleasure of interviewing Professor Dan Brooks, ecology and evolutionary biology at the University of Toronto.

The purpose of the interview was to discuss his book, My Brothers' Eyes: How My Blind Brothers Taught Me to See.  An homage to his brothers, Lucien and Duncan who both lost their sight at the age of four.

My Brother's Eyes is Brooks' conversation with his brothers Lucien and Duncan, both who died when they were in their twenties.  Brooks shares this conversation with his readers by recalling childhood experiences, his photography and through descriptions of the places he visits to conduct his research.

Most of all, the book is about seeing with an awareness that goes beyond sight and how growing up with his brothers taught him that.

Chapter four is about post-Katrina New Orleans and includes photographs taken in the Ninth Ward in 2007. The haunting neglect depicted in the images is startling. More so, when you consider what is happening in the Gulf today.

So, naturally, our conversation turned to the BP oil spill.

Brooks had a lot to say about the mess in the Gulf of Mexico. He talked about the American mind-set, the politics, the bureaucracy that seems to be less than helpful and the topics nobody is talking about. For instance, the annual bird migration - which happens in a few months.

The American Bird Conservancy has posted a map that shows the location of the oil spill in relation to globally important bird areas, see here.

Brooks explained that birds migrating south, the birds we see out our windows today, stop in the Gulf of Mexico to feed on their way to South America. When they arrive this year they will find little to no food and most will starve to death.

"Far fewer of them will get to the winter breeding grounds in Latin America," said Brooks. Which means far fewer will return to North America in the spring.

Keep in mind, the trip back also requires a stop in the Gulf, where again, the returning birds will starve to death. "By next May, people in Toronto are going to be saying, boy there are not a lot of birds around," he added.

I'm not so sure I believe Brooks. I don't know that most people will realize there are less birds than usual.

To notice something like that, people have to be aware of the world that surrounds them and I think that kind of awareness is a rare quality.

The things I see when I don’t have camera

This is something I should have posted a couple of months ago ... better late than never, as they say!

It was another one of the best photos I’ve never taken.

I was standing at the corner of Bedford and Bloor waiting for the light to change. I looked across at Varsity Centre; the sun was just peaking over the stadium seating. I thought to myself, “I really should carry my camera with me.” The light changed and I crossed the street, heading toward Devonshire Place.

As I made my way south on Devonshire I noticed there were several workmen on the track at Varsity Centre. I looked at the dome and it appeared to be deflating. “Oh, no!” I exclaimed, “I really wanted to write a story about this.”

Continuing down Devonshire, I thought, “Well, I’m here now. Even if I can’t get a photograph of this, I can at least stay and watch it happen.”

I managed to catch the attention of one of the Varsity Centre crewmen and confirmed that they were deflating the dome. He mentioned it would take about twenty minutes to happen and it will take a crew of about fifty to one hundred people a total of two days to pack up the dome and stow it away for the season.

I asked him how they deflate the dome, he said, we open the doors, turn off the fans and let the air out. “It’s like a big balloon.” 

So, as the dome expelled air, I watched the cables that keep it in place and give it shape start to slacken. The centre section began to collapse first, turning the dome into a marshmallow valley. As I stood at the fence on the west side of the stadium I caught a faint smell of the air being released. The polyester dome still has that ‘new’ smell, the same way a new car has its own smell.

The work crew began assembling around the doorways with what appeared to be two-by-four boards. They prodded the sides, pushing the falling fabric back, preventing it from collapsing and covering the doorways.

Sure enough, after about twenty minutes the fabric was pooled around the bottom of the doorways, the last of the remaining air had retreated to the corners and the dome lay on the field.

The next day I went by the Varsity Centre to see how things progressed and took these photo. They show part of the dome laying flat on the field (top photo) and the rest of it already rolled up and the cables sitting coiled on the track (bottom photo), waiting to be put away.

Buxton was only half right

For some reason, today I was thinking of Bill Buxton's DGPis40 talk, "40 Years: Almost Enough Time to Make a Difference."

In his talk Buxton delivered some scathing criticisms about the state of university research. The thrust of his critique was that university research is too close to corporate influence and thus in danger of loosing its creative edge.

He also touched on another topic, the one I was mulling over today. That is, he pointed out that technology rarely, if ever, undergoes a similar critical process that the various disciplines of art face. (You can watch his talk here.)

I think Buxton makes an interesting point. He suggests we deserve what we get if we don't attempt to make serious informed criticism of the things we make. Buxton mentions the "One Laptop Per Child" project, referring to it as the "most socially irresponsible" project  that he's ever seen in his life. Buxton continues, he notes that the cost per child for this laptop is almost equal to the cost of providing water for a village and then asks, "Why isn't this part of the discourse?"

Good question.

However, Buxton is missing the crucial question. Throughout his talk Buxton's criticism is mostly directed at the quality of design and the neglect to ask what happens when a new device is introduced into the culture. He says, that no matter what, a new device, even a paper clip, will change the way things are done. Thus, his comparison to the art world is but half done.

Buxton essentially covers the 'aesthetics' of technology and it's social implications, but he never asks the quintessential question that art always faces. "What is art?"

The solution to Buxton's problem of why technology get's off scott-free lies in the question, "What is technology?" Investigating this question, not as easy a task as one might assume, would lead to the understanding of why intelligent discourse around technology is lacking.

There is a philosophical theory that suggests the objects we call "technology" are merely a manifestation of our thinking, i.e., that technology is a kind of thinking, or a mind-set and the the objects we make simply reflect our state-of-mind.

Therefore, to offer real critical analysis of technology as Buxton suggests, we would need to examine what we call 'thinking' and what we call 'mind.' Which probably explains why technology does not undergo the same critical analysis as art.

Tales from the Grocery Store Part 2

If it's Friday, it must be grocery night!

Sure enough, last night Kyle and I found ourselves at the grocery store, following our usual routine through the produce area, then over to the deli and meat counters and then up and down the aisles. It's not that we buy stuff from every section of the store, it just seems easier to do it this way. Something approaching grocery store etiquette perhaps?

We arrive in the chip and pop aisle and come upon Kyle's favourite chips, Kettle brand. Specifically, their hickory, honey barbeque  flavour.

Another man is already standing in front of the chips and Kyle stops. I say to Kyle, as I continue to walk down the aisle, "You've already had chips this week - you got them when we were here on Monday."

I stop walking when I realize that Kyle isn't moving. I turn around and say, "C'mon Kyle, let's go. You don't need the chips." The other man turns to me and says, "Ah, c'mon. Let the guy have some chips." Kyle takes a step back from the shelves and starts to smile. I start to crack up! Kyle turns to the guy and then looks at me and suggests that I listen to this stranger.

The man goes to leave, he walks by me - I'm still laughing - he then turns and apologizes for being inappropriate. I turned to him and said, "No, it was funny!" Kyle and I continue to stroll the aisles. Every time the scene popped into our heads we'd start laughing.

In the end, Kyle got his chips. However, feeling that the occasion required something special, he decided to try a new variety - the buffalo bleu, krinkle cut!

Friday is Golden Beet day!

This past Friday Kyle and I went grocery shopping after work, as we usually do.

We get to the check-out and the cashier - a disinterested young man - proceeds to scan and pack our groceries.

The cashier picks up the bunch of beets I had placed on the conveyor and locates the tag. On one side of the tag is a barcode, he tries to scan that but nothing happens. He turns the tag over and discovers the PLU # and enters the number into the computer and receives an error message.

He then looks at me, still holding the bunch of beets and asks, "Do you know how much these are?" I replied, "No, but they are golden beets," thinking he would look them up on the price rolodex sitting on top of his cash drawer.

The young man pauses, looks at the beets and says, "ehhh," then he drops the beets into the bag and proceeds with the rest of my order!

You say "tomato," I say "tomahto"

So, the other day I had a hankerin' for a good ol' toasted BLT.

I looked at the tomatoes sitting on the platter on my kitchen counter and could taste the bacon! Looking at the tomato there on the plate, knowing its fate, I decided to immortalize it in a painting first! The sandwich was better for it!

This blogger is MIA

It's ironic really ... I have a blog entitled "The everyday" and I can barely get a posting up once a month. It's not that I haven't observed something funny, ridiculous or ordinarily human. It's probably because I have.

For instance, walking down Bedford to Bloor St the other morning, on my way to work. A condo building is being wedged onto the north-east corner. A sign man is on Bedford holding a "stop" sign. A forklift is moving palettes of plywood from a truck parked on the west side of Bedford, across to the building site.

The cars turning north on Bedford from Bloor are stopped. They are also honking their horns. Can't they see the guy with the "stop" sign and the forklift in the middle of the street?

Another example, on Feb. 6 I watched Sarah Palin's keynote speech at the National Tea Party convention. (What's with the sexy hair?) Coincidentally, or not, I happened to be reading Hannah Arendt's "Eichmann in Jerusalem." I thought Palin's speech, like all of her speeches, was shrill and vacant of any sense or meaning. I wonder how can it be that this woman is so popular? Maybe it's the hair?

A day or so later, as I was reading Arendt, I came across something rather revealing in her observations about Eichmann. Arendt was describing the details of a police examination transcript (see pg 48-9, 1964 ed.). In the transcript, Eichmann tries to explain something to the presiding judge and uses "stock phrases or slogans" and the judge has difficulty understanding Eichmann's meaning. Finally, Eichmann apologizes, saying, "Officialese [Amtssprache] is my only language."

Arendt continues, "But the point here is that officialese became his language because he was genuinely incapable of uttering a single sentence that was not a cliché." She later added that "... his inability to speak was closely connected with an inability to think ..."

I realized when I read these words that they provided a fairly accurate description of what I experience whenever I listen to Palin speak.

Before continuing let me say that I am not calling Sarah Palin a Nazi, nor am I trying to draw comparisons to the political scene in the United States today with that of WWII Germany.

My point is about clichés and the inability to think. Clearly, Sarah Palin suffers from both, but what I'm curious about is, why we are so many eager to believe in these clichés? In fact, we all at some point fall prey to clichés - her's just seem to me to be so obvious that I ask in disbelief, "can't they see she's bullshitting?"

Is it a matter of convenience? The banter issuing forth sounds like what we ourselves believe, therefore we just agree? Is this easier or more more convenient than thinking for ourselves?

Blue Monday

On the morning news it was reported that today is the most depressing day of the year. In fact, it has it's own name ... Blue Monday. (I wonder if they'll make this a stat holiday?)

The question then becomes, "Really, is that true?"

The anchorwoman cited the following reasons: failed new year's resolutions; credit card statements; and (at least in this country) the weather.

On one hand, I would agree with the above. On the other hand, I wonder if the mere suggestion that today is the most depressing day is enough to make us depressed? In other words, would we be as "blue" today, if we didn't know today was Blue Monday?

So, I decide to do a quick internet search for "Blue Monday" and what do I find? A Wikipedia entry for "Blue Monday."

Apparently, according to the Wikipedia entry anyway, the name was chosen as a publicity stunt for SkyTravel. In fact, they even invented an equation for it!!!

We are so easily persuaded. Time for another martini.