the daily snivel
Rob's New Year's Resolutions for 2005
With the end of the year comes the traditional airing of grievances things that we rue and lament about ourselves and wish to change in the year ahead. For myself, I'm glad to be able to say that I accomplished a lot of meaningful feats in 2004. I secured an articling position at a criminal law firm in Toronto that starts in September 2005, after I've graduated and completed the Bar Admissions Course. I've been faithfully working out three times a week all year long, I've lost weight (about twenty pounds), I've gained strength (I can lift 70 pounds more than I could a year ago) and cardiovascular endurance, and my clothes fit wonderfully. I've helped literally dozens of clients as a member of the Criminal Division at the University of Ottawa Community Legal Clinic. I'm helping more people through my enrollment in the University Innocence Project.
In a way, I'm tempted just to say that I resolve to keep up with more of the same. But I do have a few things I'd like to accomplish, in no particular order of importance:
In a way, I'm tempted just to say that I resolve to keep up with more of the same. But I do have a few things I'd like to accomplish, in no particular order of importance:
- I hereby resolve that, by this time next year, I will have had sex again. I admit, this is number one on my list of New Year's Resolutions. I've been single largely by choice, since I've been working on my body and my self-esteem, but I've been celibate for over a year now, and I've started being driven to distraction. And though it should go without saying, I mean sex in the context of dating and romantic endeavours. Anybody could just go and find pity sex. Nevertheless, I must bow down to my swell gal pal Celeste, who has my celibacy record considerably beat despite being one of the purtiest humans I've ever done seen.
- Bench press 225 pounds, as in "I can do this 10 times without hurting myself," as opposed to just getting the damn weights into the air. Currently I'm comfortable with 185. This time last year, I was benching 115. I know it sounds like an unusually testosteroney muscle-boy thing to want to do, but all this working out is doing wonders for the firmness and definition of my chest, shoulders, arms, and back, and I do like it when I'm being touched admiringly by the ladies.
- Stop adding sugar to my coffee. I've already banished most soft drinks from my life, even my beloved Jolt Cola, because they're just heaps of empty calories that could be better obtained from booze. But one thing I still tip spoonful after spoonful of nasty, fattening sugar into is my coffee, which I like "pale and sweet, just like me." I tried making up for it by switching to such chemical weapons as Splenda or Sweet and Low (which always reminds me of that Kids in the Hall sketch when Bruce McCulloch, playing Gavin, calls out his father's floozy girlfriend by calling her "Sweet and Low Mom"), but I know they're just hollow substitutes with carcinogenic baggage that'll really make you think. So while I can justify heaps of milk in my bitter, bitter coffee, I need to get away from the white powdery stuff in 2005.
- When I move to Toronto, I will find an apartment with a fireplace. Even if it's a fake fireplace. It will be a start and I will feel a bit like a grownup and finally have a mantle like a real boy.
- I will call my dear sweet mother once per week. I love my mom, and I rarely show it. And if Hollywood has taught me one thing (other than how to ride an explosion to safety or reverse the polarity on a malfunctioning futuristic gizmo or seduce a lady fair with dry wit and drier humping) it is that you'll regret not letting your mother know that you love her someday.
- I will lose, at the very least, another twenty pounds, such that my traitorous scale will finally say more than "Error" whenever I step on it. Cheeky bastard ("and besides, it's all muscle!").
- I will sigh audibly every time I use a cell phone as though I were being asked to punch myself in the testicles, and so I will only use a cell phone at those times that I absolutely have to use a cell phone. And when my future law firm forces a phone into my hand as a necessary condition of my job, I will assign to it the least obtrusive and offensive ring tone to it possible, on pain of literally being punched on the testicles any time a polyphonic abomination sounds out of one of my pockets.
- When I finally have positive income and cease to be a charity case myself, I will donate freely and happily to charities, especially food banks and animal shelters, and super-duper-especially in lieu of hated secret santa events.
- Per a solemn oath made last month, I will hold no more secret crushes. If I am interested in somebody, I will say so. If she's not interested, then that's the end of it. No more torches.
- Finally, and on a sickeningly sweet note, I will do right by my friends and those who love me. I will make sure that those I care about know how important they are. I do a pretty good job of writing (and replying to) letters and e-mails and cards, as well as just making time to go out and make merry, but it's always possible to do a better job than that.
Have you caught Rob breaking one of his New Year's Resolutions already?
Drop him a scathing reminder here.
Pussycat, pussycat, I love you...
I love my cat, George, truly I do. He was adopted two years ago from the Humane Society, and has never quite forgotten how good he now has things. He never jumps up on the counters, he keeps the house free of mice, and he likes nothing better than to be sociable and stay close by whenever you're at home. He snuggles up with me faithfully at night, and in the morning he gives me horrendous cat french kisses to remind me to get up and feed him. My dear friend Mélanie and I have joint custody of him. Mel lives in the apartment above me, and adopted him because she truly wanted a cat, but her allergies got the best of her. So, we agreed that she would pay for things like his veterinary bills and food (being a student, the one thing that precluded me from buying a cat of my own was the fear that my precarious finances would not allow me to properly care for a cat), and I would give him a home in my apartment. Mel gets to visit him whenever she likes, in turn, and he often ventures upstairs for brief visits. George is an indoor cat, and although he might like to go outside sometimes (certainly he spends much of his free time staring attentively out the window, and meows pathetically if he sees you outside, especially if you're petting a neighbourhood cat), we've concluded he's much safer and healthier indoors. Everytime I see a missing cat poster, I know it's safe to assume the worst. There are lots of cars (and fishers) out there.
Despite his indoor lifestyle, George is no stranger to wildlife. Since he moved in with me, he's broken into my terrarium and terrorized one of my treefrogs (who recovered nicely and is still with us a year and a half later), and has woken me up late at night by chasing a baby squirrel that got into the apartment and driving the horrible, screaming little thing into my room to show me what a brave hunter he is, only to have me save it from him, try in vain to trap it, and have it somehow drown in the toilet two days later. He's also caught several mice, which he loves to bring in my room as he toys with them, and while I used to trap the mice and release them outdoors, I've since given in to the reality that they just come back inside and the cat is a great deterrent who really enjoys hiscruelty to small animals work.
Last night, George caught another mouse. This was a bit of a surprise to me, since I'd thought they might have gotten the message that there's this giant cat in the apartment who shows no mercy, but I suppose one can't fault mice for their incapacity for good planning. Anyway, it was about three in the morning, and I would have none of the slaughter as he dashed through the hallways toying with the wretched thing, occasionally batting it into my room before batting it outside, so I stuffed a pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep. Eventually I did get to sleep, and George finished off the poor little rodent. Now, normally he leaves it in the kitchen for my roommates and I to find, but last night George apparently wanted a late night snack. So, he ate about half of the mouse, leaving just a bottom half, including a tail, after he'd finished munching. And George loves sleeping with me, so at some point he came back to bed to snuggle at my feet. I remember him returning and wondering to myself what happened to the mouse.
Well, I found it this morning when I got out of bed. George had brought his half a mouse into bed with him and left it at my feet. And I slept the whole night through, oblivious to the tiny bloody half-a-corpse that probably tickled my toes a dozen times. I actually freaked out when I saw it on the mattress. Whether he ate it in bed or brought it with him for seconds, I cannot say. Luckily, there wasn't mouse blood spilled everywhere, but Jesus it was disgusting. I had to flush the wretched little corpse down the toilet before I'd even had any coffee. I was not pleased. Bleah.
Oh, but I love my cat, luckily for him. I rationalize the episode with the comforting thought that at least he was earning his keep.
Despite his indoor lifestyle, George is no stranger to wildlife. Since he moved in with me, he's broken into my terrarium and terrorized one of my treefrogs (who recovered nicely and is still with us a year and a half later), and has woken me up late at night by chasing a baby squirrel that got into the apartment and driving the horrible, screaming little thing into my room to show me what a brave hunter he is, only to have me save it from him, try in vain to trap it, and have it somehow drown in the toilet two days later. He's also caught several mice, which he loves to bring in my room as he toys with them, and while I used to trap the mice and release them outdoors, I've since given in to the reality that they just come back inside and the cat is a great deterrent who really enjoys his
Last night, George caught another mouse. This was a bit of a surprise to me, since I'd thought they might have gotten the message that there's this giant cat in the apartment who shows no mercy, but I suppose one can't fault mice for their incapacity for good planning. Anyway, it was about three in the morning, and I would have none of the slaughter as he dashed through the hallways toying with the wretched thing, occasionally batting it into my room before batting it outside, so I stuffed a pillow over my head and tried to go back to sleep. Eventually I did get to sleep, and George finished off the poor little rodent. Now, normally he leaves it in the kitchen for my roommates and I to find, but last night George apparently wanted a late night snack. So, he ate about half of the mouse, leaving just a bottom half, including a tail, after he'd finished munching. And George loves sleeping with me, so at some point he came back to bed to snuggle at my feet. I remember him returning and wondering to myself what happened to the mouse.
Well, I found it this morning when I got out of bed. George had brought his half a mouse into bed with him and left it at my feet. And I slept the whole night through, oblivious to the tiny bloody half-a-corpse that probably tickled my toes a dozen times. I actually freaked out when I saw it on the mattress. Whether he ate it in bed or brought it with him for seconds, I cannot say. Luckily, there wasn't mouse blood spilled everywhere, but Jesus it was disgusting. I had to flush the wretched little corpse down the toilet before I'd even had any coffee. I was not pleased. Bleah.
Oh, but I love my cat, luckily for him. I rationalize the episode with the comforting thought that at least he was earning his keep.
Sickening
My favourite American radical cleric, raging homophobe Fred Phelps, has issued through his Church a press release thanking God for the tsunami disaster in southeast Asia because it killed, among other things, some 2000 swedes, some of whom might have been gay. You'll remember Phelps and his fellow models of Christian love from their protest at the funeral of Matthew Shepard, and again from the time that his idiotic children came to Canada to protest our tolerance of homosexuals and had to ask a Mountie for help and instructions burning a Canadian flag (which the polite Mountie dutifully provided, fearing for the safety of idiots playing with fire).
Tuesday, December 28, 2004 Things I Won't Miss When I Move Out
Most of you know that next fall I will be moving away from my ancestral home in Ottawa to start articling at a criminal defence law firm in Toronto. It will follow my summer of the Bar Admissions Course and is the final phase in my legal education, requiring 10 months of legal clerkship at a law firm, after which I will be eligible for a Call to the Bar of Ontario. I've lived in the Ottawa area my entire life, and have a lot of attachment to the city, which despite its "small" size of only a million or so people, is beautiful and resplendent with culture, music, energy, intelligence and activism. Toronto, of course, is a gigantic city that can fairly boast to be the home of far more culture, music and energy, as well as having more schools and more venues and lots and history and resources and opportunities. And, to be sure, my older sister will be there, and a lot of my good friends will be there. But my beloved friends Natalie, Mélanie, Celeste, Tara, Mike and Kari won't be there. My mother and my older brother will also be left here. My snuggly-wuggly cat, George, will also be remaining, since I have joint custody of him with Mélanie and I won't want to separate them or subject him to the trauma of moving to another city. I'm going to miss them all desperately, and it will be my mission to drive back as often as I can and keep a big enough apartment to always keep a place ready for my welcomed guests.
I can tell you, though, that there are still quite a few things I won't miss when I move away. Let me recount some of them.
Now, some people think that, once I move away, I won't come back to boring old Ottawa. But I tell you now, I'm pretty sure I will be back as soon as I can get a job lawyerin' here. After all, in a year or two, you're going to see a list about all the things I can't stand about Toronto, assuming I'm not home-invaded or pushed in front of a subway or dead from SARS by then.
[update:] Another thing I won't miss when I move out: Garbage day.
Garbage day is my most hated day of the week. Now, I can hear you saying, "You know, Rob, they have garbage day in Toronto, too." The thing is, I don't mind puttering around the house and doing the usual chores. Garbage day around my house, therefore, must be a special event to earn such a high amount of my ire. In fact, I'm the de facto garbage man around the house. According to my lease, my unit gets a modest rent abatement each month in exchange for chores around the building like shoveling snow, cutting the grass, and taking out the garbage. Therefore, every week my unit is responsible for taking out the garbage for all five units in the building. As it happens, however, I personally of mythree four roommates (including one live-in boyfriend of a roommate) end up being the one who does this every week. I also end up being the one who cuts the grass, changes the lightbulbs, and shovels the driveway and salts the steps in winter.
Today was garbage day again, and I woke up after two days of being bed-ridden with food poisoning knowing that I had work to do. But let me tell you. I was tired, only now recovering my strength and ability to stand up without getting sick, and I wouldn't have minded if one of my roommates could have taken it upon themselves to take out the trash, just once, even though I didn't (and never) ask. But no. Instead, the kitchen garbage can was overflowing, to the point where the lid couldn't even sit on it straight. People just kept stuffing the garbage further down. It wasn't a healthy rage that stirred inside me as I wrestled with the garbage bag, but the sight of grapes rolling lazily atop the vast heap of waste that tested the very limits of extra large Glad bag technology was the proverbial last straw. You know, on top of everything else in that garbage bag, someone had to throw out a bunch of grapes that had nowhere to go in the critical mass of kitchen waste, so they just rolled around as I struggled and barely managed to tie the bag closed. No one could be bothered even just to tie up the garbage and put in a new garbage bag so that it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass for me to take out today. Even that small act of not being completely lazy would have been just fine.
Then, as I was taking out the garbage for the other units around back, I noticed that someone had put three big garbage bags of their own on my back deck. That someone, I'm assuming, being one of my roommates. And I thought, okay, fine. Put them out there even though there are bins for that. But why don't you put them out on the curb on garbage day while you're at it, instead of lazily leaving them there and expecting me to do it? Gah!
I completely lost it when I took out the recycling. As I stepped out with the recycling bin onto the sidewalk, I slipped on sheer ice and flew ass over teakettle (as my sailor-mouthed mother would say) into the snow, spilling recyclables everywhere. Wearing only shoes and my robe (which made me feel a bit like a porn star), and, OK, a copious dusting of snow, I had to madly scoop paper and cardboard and flyers back into the bin as the recycling truck came closer and closer down the street. My hands are still stinging from the burn of smacking hard against snow and ice. That. No. One. Thought. To. Salt.
Yep, one more thing I won't miss when I move.
Saturday, December 25, 2004 I can tell you, though, that there are still quite a few things I won't miss when I move away. Let me recount some of them.
- Microwave popcorn. I don't have anything against air-popped popcorn or movie theatre popcorn, but the foul, unholy stench of fake butter from microwave popcorn can fill a house like mustard gas and is as stubborn in resisting attempts to decontaminate. The only thing more terrible and stubborn is the smell left behind by a decomposing body. Popcorn stank lasts for hours. And I won't miss it because, in my roommate-free apartment, I won't allow it inside.
- The pungent reek of marijuana smoke. I don't really care if people smoke marijuana, but never again will I have to put up with its acrid influence filling the building or my apartment. It's the smell of losers. Not everyone who smokes up is a wanker, but most complete wankers smoke up.
- The classic struggle of man vs. toilet paper. Namely, why it is that human nature invariably compels one to leave just one or two squares on the roll so as not to be the one to change it, and who will blink first and buy more once it runs out.
- Washing dishes that I didn't fucking use in the Augean stables known as my kitchen. Ohhh, that angers up the blood. I will especially not miss the fact whenever I need a measuring cup, both of them are inevitably filthy and soiled with some greasy, stubborn, unspeakable horror.
- Sharing the refrigerator. I have the bottom shelf of my refrigerator (ie. "the crisper") and it never keeps milk fresh in the summer, though possibly it keeps it crisp. Someday I will be able to put whatever I like wherever I like in the refrigerator and not worry about whether it's in my sovereign territory or not. I will also be able to keep more than one thing of my own in the freezer. And my ice cube tray will always be full. Full! Do you hear me?
- Not being able to walk around naked in my own home. I am a thing of beauty, dammit!
- The godawful water pressure in my apartment, and the inviolable rule of life that whenever I get in the shower, someone is going to do a load of laundry and reduce that shower to a freezing cold dribble, usually right when my hair and eyes are full of soap.
- House centipedes. They actually own the apartment. We're their tenants.
- Hair. I will not miss the ubiquitous presence of "not Rob's hair" that clogs the shower drain and sticks to the walls in the shower and to my bar of soap. I will especially not miss the bristly little hairs that are left behind all over the bathroom sink when my roommate's boyfriend shaves his head.
- The sound of my roommates fighting and/or having sex reverberating through my walls and vents. And whistling. And burping. And tickling fights. I don't really want to know what goes on behind those doors.
- By extension of number 10 above, I will not miss live-in, non-rent-paying, boyfriends and girlfriends.
- As you can tell, what I really won't miss when I move out is having roommates. The people I live with are decent enough, and I'm sure I do all kinds of things that drive them crazy, but the important thing is, when I go, I won't need to share and (shudder) compromise anymore.
- Another thing I won't miss is Ottawa winters. I hate being cold more than anything, and -40 C is not uncommon here. While Toronto is just a bit further south, its location, size and protective layer of airborne chemicals means it has far milder and shorter winters. Plus, on those rare occasions when it really snows in Toronto, they call in the army.
- Ottawa buses will most assuredly not be missed. They usually arrive late, if at all, stop running early, and will leave you behind in the cold with sadistic glee on the frostiest nights. I eagerly embrace you, oh prompt, efficient, and enduring subway system of Toronto!
- The fact that people from Toronto always get defensive when you talk trash about it and ask you "How can you hate Toronto if you've never lived there?" Well, I'm going to live in that big, terrible, crime-filled and self-absorbed city, Mr. Stupidhead! How do you like them apples?
- Idiots who talk on cell phones indoors, or smack their kids in grocery stores, or abuse helpless retail peons. Wait, what do you mean they have those in Toronto too?
Now, some people think that, once I move away, I won't come back to boring old Ottawa. But I tell you now, I'm pretty sure I will be back as soon as I can get a job lawyerin' here. After all, in a year or two, you're going to see a list about all the things I can't stand about Toronto, assuming I'm not home-invaded or pushed in front of a subway or dead from SARS by then.
[update:] Another thing I won't miss when I move out: Garbage day.
Garbage day is my most hated day of the week. Now, I can hear you saying, "You know, Rob, they have garbage day in Toronto, too." The thing is, I don't mind puttering around the house and doing the usual chores. Garbage day around my house, therefore, must be a special event to earn such a high amount of my ire. In fact, I'm the de facto garbage man around the house. According to my lease, my unit gets a modest rent abatement each month in exchange for chores around the building like shoveling snow, cutting the grass, and taking out the garbage. Therefore, every week my unit is responsible for taking out the garbage for all five units in the building. As it happens, however, I personally of my
Today was garbage day again, and I woke up after two days of being bed-ridden with food poisoning knowing that I had work to do. But let me tell you. I was tired, only now recovering my strength and ability to stand up without getting sick, and I wouldn't have minded if one of my roommates could have taken it upon themselves to take out the trash, just once, even though I didn't (and never) ask. But no. Instead, the kitchen garbage can was overflowing, to the point where the lid couldn't even sit on it straight. People just kept stuffing the garbage further down. It wasn't a healthy rage that stirred inside me as I wrestled with the garbage bag, but the sight of grapes rolling lazily atop the vast heap of waste that tested the very limits of extra large Glad bag technology was the proverbial last straw. You know, on top of everything else in that garbage bag, someone had to throw out a bunch of grapes that had nowhere to go in the critical mass of kitchen waste, so they just rolled around as I struggled and barely managed to tie the bag closed. No one could be bothered even just to tie up the garbage and put in a new garbage bag so that it wouldn't be such a pain in the ass for me to take out today. Even that small act of not being completely lazy would have been just fine.
Then, as I was taking out the garbage for the other units around back, I noticed that someone had put three big garbage bags of their own on my back deck. That someone, I'm assuming, being one of my roommates. And I thought, okay, fine. Put them out there even though there are bins for that. But why don't you put them out on the curb on garbage day while you're at it, instead of lazily leaving them there and expecting me to do it? Gah!
I completely lost it when I took out the recycling. As I stepped out with the recycling bin onto the sidewalk, I slipped on sheer ice and flew ass over teakettle (as my sailor-mouthed mother would say) into the snow, spilling recyclables everywhere. Wearing only shoes and my robe (which made me feel a bit like a porn star), and, OK, a copious dusting of snow, I had to madly scoop paper and cardboard and flyers back into the bin as the recycling truck came closer and closer down the street. My hands are still stinging from the burn of smacking hard against snow and ice. That. No. One. Thought. To. Salt.
Yep, one more thing I won't miss when I move.
"Merry Christmas"
I hope everyone had a happy and relaxing Christmas, though since the holidays seem designed to produce anything but happiness and relaxation, I regret to say most of you are instead probably tired, frazzled, and drinking. I myself had a quite nice Christmas, because my family is mostly in Ottawa and my plans normally include only my immediate family and close friends, and this year was another in a string of such pleasant gatherings.
On Christmas Day, I got together with my older sister, who is in town from Toronto where she is articling with the Crown Attorney's Office, and we attempted to go visit some relatives as per the normal holiday familial obligations. Strangely, we were not able to get ahold of anyone, and so instead we just went in search of an open coffee shop at which we could raise our respective blood caffeine contents to acceptable levels. We indulged in some savoury extra large cups of Tim Horton's coffee, accompanied by Lindt chocolates, and toured around the city in my sister's new car, and caught up on events and talked an awful lot about (of course) the law. It was kind of a weird day for her, since she was staying with her boyfriend, who had left at 11:00 am that day to see his relatives in Kanata and was going to stay the night, meaning that she was on her own and stuck in his bachelor-esque apartment, which she was attempting to air out to remove the smell of his chain smoking. You know it's bad when the smoker you're dating can't abide the smell of your heavy indoor smoking. Anyway, she was also stuck nuking herself a TV dinner, which would have made for a pretty crummy holiday except for the fact that we had plans to make this Christmas a night to remember. Meanwhile, I got to have Christmas dinner with my lovely friend Mélanie and her mother and younger sister, which was very intimate and relaxing. Even the cat (of whom we have shared custody) and her mother's dog got along over dinner, in the true spirit of the holidays.
Then it was off to the main event at the Dom.
My older brother likes to moonlight as the door guy at the Dominion Tavern here in Ottawa's Byward Market, because he gets to see his friends, have a few beers, and gets paid to do so. This means he does what he'd normally be doing on a given night out, but he makes a net profit. Every year he takes the Christmas Day shift and welcomes those weary persons who have managed to escape the stresses and internal pathologies of family gatherings and who really need something to drink. The Dominion is a great place to spend time, since it's all about cheap beer, quart bottles, rock'n'roll, and unpretentious company. It was also prominently featured in the cult classic Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter for you movie nerds out there.
There's something very refreshing about not surrounding oneself with extended relations who you really don't care for but feel obliged to see. There's something wonderful about keeping Christmas presents simple and home made and meaningful (such as simply cooking Christmas dinner for the family, as my older brother did). Christmas should be about appreciating what you have and those you love, and not about excess, guilt, obligation and stress.
Last year, my mother, sister, younger brother and I all met up at the Dominion on Christmas Day to spend time with my older brother. This year, it was just my sister and myself meeting up with Scott there, but we had a grand time. After all, the pints were cheap and flowing, and the crowds were all appreciative of a respite from the cold and the misery of awkward hours with the in-laws , the conservative relations, the fogeys, and and the crusty aunts and uncles. We skipped all of that, and simply enjoyed the good company of close family. Ands as she did last year, my dear friend Celeste joined us as well, and we exchanged Christmas presents. Thank you, Celeste, for the brilliant laptop vacuum! As Celeste knew, I lost a key from my iBook this summer when I tried to clean out my keyboard with my household vacuum cleaner, and had to order a replacement for the vast sum of $25. Now I can clean it safely. My gift to Celeste was simple but full of love. I made her some candles and bought her a hand made bracelet with mother of pearl and peridot (her birthstone). Best of all, I got the chance to awkwardly apologize for nagging Celeste about her blog, and while she said she really did want to update it more often (and had composed a special Christmas message especially for me in it), I promised to actually use human contact to stay informed about her life rather than passively and parasitically feeding on her online expression.
On Boxing Day, my brother prepared a marvelous feast for us all at the apartment upstairs that he shares with his wife. In attendance were my older sister, her daughters, and her boyfriend, as well as my mother and my uncle (who, as a bizarre result of a divorce and second marriage by my maternal grandfather, is only a few years older than I am and is a very cool guy to spend time with). My best friend Natalie came, too, and together we had a fabulous time. There was lots to eat and drink, the very mark of a wonderful Christmas (or, for that matter, any gathering) and marvelous conversation. We exchanged presents and had lots of laughs and talked into the wee hours.
What's been truly silly this year is the renewed whining of the religious right about the "War against Christmas." Supposedly, evil liberals have polluted the season with their messages of tolerance and inclusion, and nobody says "Merry Christmas" anymore, and Christmas carols are banned and Jesus is nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, this lamenting is nothing new:
The 'war' on Christmas, 1921...
With a word of sanity on the subject is Francis Volpe:
So, I'll leave you with the true meaning of the season: galactic peace and good will towards all Wookies named Itchy, as told to us in the good book of the Star Wars Holiday Special.
Friday, December 24, 2004 On Christmas Day, I got together with my older sister, who is in town from Toronto where she is articling with the Crown Attorney's Office, and we attempted to go visit some relatives as per the normal holiday familial obligations. Strangely, we were not able to get ahold of anyone, and so instead we just went in search of an open coffee shop at which we could raise our respective blood caffeine contents to acceptable levels. We indulged in some savoury extra large cups of Tim Horton's coffee, accompanied by Lindt chocolates, and toured around the city in my sister's new car, and caught up on events and talked an awful lot about (of course) the law. It was kind of a weird day for her, since she was staying with her boyfriend, who had left at 11:00 am that day to see his relatives in Kanata and was going to stay the night, meaning that she was on her own and stuck in his bachelor-esque apartment, which she was attempting to air out to remove the smell of his chain smoking. You know it's bad when the smoker you're dating can't abide the smell of your heavy indoor smoking. Anyway, she was also stuck nuking herself a TV dinner, which would have made for a pretty crummy holiday except for the fact that we had plans to make this Christmas a night to remember. Meanwhile, I got to have Christmas dinner with my lovely friend Mélanie and her mother and younger sister, which was very intimate and relaxing. Even the cat (of whom we have shared custody) and her mother's dog got along over dinner, in the true spirit of the holidays.
Then it was off to the main event at the Dom.
My older brother likes to moonlight as the door guy at the Dominion Tavern here in Ottawa's Byward Market, because he gets to see his friends, have a few beers, and gets paid to do so. This means he does what he'd normally be doing on a given night out, but he makes a net profit. Every year he takes the Christmas Day shift and welcomes those weary persons who have managed to escape the stresses and internal pathologies of family gatherings and who really need something to drink. The Dominion is a great place to spend time, since it's all about cheap beer, quart bottles, rock'n'roll, and unpretentious company. It was also prominently featured in the cult classic Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter for you movie nerds out there.
There's something very refreshing about not surrounding oneself with extended relations who you really don't care for but feel obliged to see. There's something wonderful about keeping Christmas presents simple and home made and meaningful (such as simply cooking Christmas dinner for the family, as my older brother did). Christmas should be about appreciating what you have and those you love, and not about excess, guilt, obligation and stress.
Last year, my mother, sister, younger brother and I all met up at the Dominion on Christmas Day to spend time with my older brother. This year, it was just my sister and myself meeting up with Scott there, but we had a grand time. After all, the pints were cheap and flowing, and the crowds were all appreciative of a respite from the cold and the misery of awkward hours with the in-laws , the conservative relations, the fogeys, and and the crusty aunts and uncles. We skipped all of that, and simply enjoyed the good company of close family. Ands as she did last year, my dear friend Celeste joined us as well, and we exchanged Christmas presents. Thank you, Celeste, for the brilliant laptop vacuum! As Celeste knew, I lost a key from my iBook this summer when I tried to clean out my keyboard with my household vacuum cleaner, and had to order a replacement for the vast sum of $25. Now I can clean it safely. My gift to Celeste was simple but full of love. I made her some candles and bought her a hand made bracelet with mother of pearl and peridot (her birthstone). Best of all, I got the chance to awkwardly apologize for nagging Celeste about her blog, and while she said she really did want to update it more often (and had composed a special Christmas message especially for me in it), I promised to actually use human contact to stay informed about her life rather than passively and parasitically feeding on her online expression.
On Boxing Day, my brother prepared a marvelous feast for us all at the apartment upstairs that he shares with his wife. In attendance were my older sister, her daughters, and her boyfriend, as well as my mother and my uncle (who, as a bizarre result of a divorce and second marriage by my maternal grandfather, is only a few years older than I am and is a very cool guy to spend time with). My best friend Natalie came, too, and together we had a fabulous time. There was lots to eat and drink, the very mark of a wonderful Christmas (or, for that matter, any gathering) and marvelous conversation. We exchanged presents and had lots of laughs and talked into the wee hours.
What's been truly silly this year is the renewed whining of the religious right about the "War against Christmas." Supposedly, evil liberals have polluted the season with their messages of tolerance and inclusion, and nobody says "Merry Christmas" anymore, and Christmas carols are banned and Jesus is nowhere to be found. Unfortunately, this lamenting is nothing new:
The 'war' on Christmas, 1921...
And it has become pretty general. Last Christmas most people had a hard time finding Christmas cards that indicated in any way that Christmas commemorated Someone's Birth. Easter they will have the same difficulty in finding Easter cards that contain any suggestion that Easter commemorates a certain event. There will be rabbits and eggs and spring flowers, but a hint of the Resurrection will be hard to find. Now, all this begins with the designers of the cards.
Henry Ford
The International Jew: The World's Foremost Problem
1921
With a word of sanity on the subject is Francis Volpe:
...
I'd like to say that the host of Fox News Channel's "O'Reilly Factor" really believes that Christmas is in danger of being rubbed out by, pick any three, atheists, liberals, Christian-haters, Kwanzaa celebrants, Islamofascists, secular humanists, leftist documentary filmmakers, communistic billionaires, gay decorators who are sick of all the red and green, and Jews who didn't vote for George W. Bush.
But he doesn't, really. And neither do Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, John Leo, Cal Thomas or those radical clerics Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson. By exaggerating the significance of a few odd stories from around the country, and throwing in untrue interpretations of others, they are exacerbating the skepticism of a skeptical age.
They are doing this to encourage their followers to think the worst of fellow Americans who have done nothing to them except to hold different opinions on a handful of political issues. If this is how they celebrate a holiday founded on peace and brotherhood, Virginia, you might want to hide in the basement when these guys party down for Guy Fawkes Day.
They love to tell how a performance of "A Christmas Carol" banned at a school in Kirkland, Wash., because Tiny Tim says "God bless us every one." Apparently they didn't talk to the school principal, who explains the play was banned because the non-scholastic organization putting it on intended to charge students admission -- a violation of the school's policy on outside building use.
But the first version fits the fake story line better, so that's the one you hear repeated more often than "Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer."
And did Macy's, as the "defenders of Christmas" claim, ban its employees from saying "Merry Christmas?" Decide for yourself -- the "banned" words appear on Macy's home page.
And I'll bet the store's customers have been routinely serenaded with Christmas carols since at least Halloween. Do you hear what I hear, Virginia: "We Wish You a" ... what were those two words again? I doubt any Macy's customers are busy trying to get that overplayed anthem "O Kwanzaa Tree" out of their minds.
Even if you give complete credence to the half-dozen or so shaggy-dog stories O'Reilly and his ilk are peddling, you end up with something less than the kind of groundswell it would take to overturn the Western world's most celebrated holiday. Are the British aware that Christmas is in danger? How about the French or the Germans?
Part of the alleged anti-Christmas jihad is the idea that the atheists, liberals, secular humanists, etc., see above, are trying to take religion out of the holiday. If they knew any history, they might steer clear of that particular story line.
Through most of the 17th century, Puritans in America banned the celebration of Christmas, even supporting laws that levied fines on people who stayed home from work on Dec. 25. Sure sounds like Christmas had to defend itself against Christians for a lot of years.
Virginia, from the time I was your age I was always told that the real danger to Christmas was too much materialism -- letting shopping and decorating elbow aside the spiritual meaning of the holiday.
But big retailers buy big advertising on cable news outlets, their associated entertainment networks, radio stations and websites. That's why the screaming head brigade emphasizes a fake liberal-atheist campaign to stamp out the holiday instead of the more pertinent threat posed by over-commercialism.
Indeed, O'Reilly and his fellow travelers, in their eagerness to pit Americans against each other, are turning Christmas into something that sounds a lot more like the "Seinfeld" show's "Festivus," a holiday made up by George Costanza's dad that is marked by the "Airing of Grievances."
No Christmas, Virginia? No way! It has prevailed against the Dark Ages, the Puritans, the great wars of several centuries and two terrible Ben Affleck movies based on the holiday, "Reindeer Games" and "Surviving Christmas."
...
So, I'll leave you with the true meaning of the season: galactic peace and good will towards all Wookies named Itchy, as told to us in the good book of the Star Wars Holiday Special.
The guilt-based economy
Well, in response to my wretched pestering, dear sweet Celeste did indeed feel guilty enough to update her blog after a year. I read her post, and then I felt kind of bad. The funny thing about making people do your bidding is that it leaves a hollow feeling. When you realize that people only do things because they feel they must, you end up being the one feeling guilty. Lousy double-edged sword. I know that this self-critical and soul-searching post was only written because I made Celeste kind of feel awkward, and not because she really felt like writing about herself and how she's doing. So, I rightly feel like a bit of a heel and will say so the next time I see her.
I guess for me, I love the instant gratification that comes with being able to read a friend's journal and see how they're doing each day, especially when we don't have the ability to regularly spend time together because of obligations or distance. My good friends Celeste, Natalie, Tara, Angela, and Jennifer all have journals, and it's a treat to read their thoughts and even see myself mentioned from time to time. It's a great way to check in and know that all is well in the universe. Or, if all is not well, then I can try to intervene. And since I'm so rarely in one place for very long, the internet is a much easier way to keep tabs on people than the telelphone. I refuse to get a cell phone until the firm I'm articling with next year forces one into my hands (and they've promised they will) so I'm a hard guy to get ahold of. I even enjoy reading my weird and long-since-erstwhile ex-girlfriend Adrianne's blog, and not because we have any connection after ten years, or even speak, but because she is one hilarious seething cauldron of rage and fart jokes, and I'm happy to see she's doing well. I'm also incidentally happy that:
But back to Celeste. She's an important person to me, and though she lives just three blocks away, we don't get to see one another as often as we might like. Sometimes we'll make plans that just fall through, and sometimes we'll just play phone message tag, and sometimes we live in different provinces (and next year we'll be back to living in different cities), but we've known each other through the past ten years, since I was she was just a sassy fourteen-year-old girl with green hair who borrowed my Porno for Pyros tape one fine summer afternoon at the Lois 'n' Frima's Ice Cream Stand in the Byward Market. Since then, we've always found each other again, sometimes by chance and sometimes when Celeste will just call out of the blue. I've had a serious crush on that girl more than once in my life, and she confessed the same thing about me. I think our timing was always just off. I've since gone on record as saying we'd probably make a destructive couple, though sometimes I wonder. In any case, it's a special friendship. Celeste is very sweet and helpful, despite her self-professed neuroses. She's shoveled my front steps when she was supposed to be a guest, she's helped me clean my kitchen, she's taken the initiative to clean the windows in my bedroom, and we did a wonderful purge of my excess clutter this summer. And talk about lovely. She even out-pretties the luscious and eminently touchable designs of her iBook and iPod (both of which are nicer than mine...). Mainly, though, she's just fun to talk to and spend time with. We can carry on a great political or pop culture conversation for hours but, as I said, we don't frequently get the chance to do so. So when I was leaving guilt-inducing posts to update her blog, it's just I like reading her witty thoughts and checking out her amazing graphic design. She's gone through so many brilliant websites that looked smashing, and is always whipping up clever images. That's why I came on strong with the guilt. It was meant as encouragement, but it turned out all wrong. For shame, Rob.
In other news, I'm finally finished my exams and essays and am soooo much closer to graduating. Come April I will be finished law school forever, and I cannot wait. I'm practically drooling with anticipation at the thought of articling in Toronto and getting away from essays and homework and crushing student poverty. I promise though: I'll keep the cocaine, shady deals, mattresses stuffed with money and sexy affairs with desperate clients to an absolute minimum.
On a related note, my dear and brainy bestest friend Natalie scored in the 87th percentile on the LSAT (Law School Admissions Test). This means she's a shoo-in for all of the schools she's applied to, especially the University of Ottawa, which I'm highly recommending. I'm super proud of her, and knew all along that she could do it. Her persnickety ways will take her far in the rules-based world of civil procedure.
Oh, and it's my birthday. Happy 29th to me!
Tuesday, December 21, 2004 I guess for me, I love the instant gratification that comes with being able to read a friend's journal and see how they're doing each day, especially when we don't have the ability to regularly spend time together because of obligations or distance. My good friends Celeste, Natalie, Tara, Angela, and Jennifer all have journals, and it's a treat to read their thoughts and even see myself mentioned from time to time. It's a great way to check in and know that all is well in the universe. Or, if all is not well, then I can try to intervene. And since I'm so rarely in one place for very long, the internet is a much easier way to keep tabs on people than the telelphone. I refuse to get a cell phone until the firm I'm articling with next year forces one into my hands (and they've promised they will) so I'm a hard guy to get ahold of. I even enjoy reading my weird and long-since-erstwhile ex-girlfriend Adrianne's blog, and not because we have any connection after ten years, or even speak, but because she is one hilarious seething cauldron of rage and fart jokes, and I'm happy to see she's doing well. I'm also incidentally happy that:
- I'm in no way messed up by our brief and messed up relationship;
- She's not looking back to me in regret or anger either;
- I'm not dating her, what with her rage and her copious and joyful farting; and
- She's found someone who loves her anyway
But back to Celeste. She's an important person to me, and though she lives just three blocks away, we don't get to see one another as often as we might like. Sometimes we'll make plans that just fall through, and sometimes we'll just play phone message tag, and sometimes we live in different provinces (and next year we'll be back to living in different cities), but we've known each other through the past ten years, since I was she was just a sassy fourteen-year-old girl with green hair who borrowed my Porno for Pyros tape one fine summer afternoon at the Lois 'n' Frima's Ice Cream Stand in the Byward Market. Since then, we've always found each other again, sometimes by chance and sometimes when Celeste will just call out of the blue. I've had a serious crush on that girl more than once in my life, and she confessed the same thing about me. I think our timing was always just off. I've since gone on record as saying we'd probably make a destructive couple, though sometimes I wonder. In any case, it's a special friendship. Celeste is very sweet and helpful, despite her self-professed neuroses. She's shoveled my front steps when she was supposed to be a guest, she's helped me clean my kitchen, she's taken the initiative to clean the windows in my bedroom, and we did a wonderful purge of my excess clutter this summer. And talk about lovely. She even out-pretties the luscious and eminently touchable designs of her iBook and iPod (both of which are nicer than mine...). Mainly, though, she's just fun to talk to and spend time with. We can carry on a great political or pop culture conversation for hours but, as I said, we don't frequently get the chance to do so. So when I was leaving guilt-inducing posts to update her blog, it's just I like reading her witty thoughts and checking out her amazing graphic design. She's gone through so many brilliant websites that looked smashing, and is always whipping up clever images. That's why I came on strong with the guilt. It was meant as encouragement, but it turned out all wrong. For shame, Rob.
In other news, I'm finally finished my exams and essays and am soooo much closer to graduating. Come April I will be finished law school forever, and I cannot wait. I'm practically drooling with anticipation at the thought of articling in Toronto and getting away from essays and homework and crushing student poverty. I promise though: I'll keep the cocaine, shady deals, mattresses stuffed with money and sexy affairs with desperate clients to an absolute minimum.
On a related note, my dear and brainy bestest friend Natalie scored in the 87th percentile on the LSAT (Law School Admissions Test). This means she's a shoo-in for all of the schools she's applied to, especially the University of Ottawa, which I'm highly recommending. I'm super proud of her, and knew all along that she could do it. Her persnickety ways will take her far in the rules-based world of civil procedure.
Oh, and it's my birthday. Happy 29th to me!
The Wages of Sloth
Just wanted to note that I am deep in the darkest mires of essay mode, as I have a series of journals for my Forensic Science class due today, all about the wonderful evidentiary and strategic issues of introducing and challenging goodies like DNA evidence, toxicology, forensic psychiatry, ballistics, forensic pathology, and bloodstain pattern analysis.
Soon I will be done, though, and man will that be sweet.
Meanwhile, everything is terror-ific!
Friday, December 17, 2004 Soon I will be done, though, and man will that be sweet.
Meanwhile, everything is terror-ific!
Oh Canada!
I have been rather skeptical about Prime Minister Paul Martin's willingness to take a stand on contentious issues against the petulant American President George W. Bush, particularly after Bush's visit to Ottawa last month and his nagging us over missile defence and pitching in soldiers for future combat operations. Honestly, I think Bush's shameless evocation of Prime Minister Mackenzie King and World War II was the one of worst things I've ever seen. Martin, meanwhile, has a very pro-business background, and has always curved a little to the centre-right in my analysis. To alienate the United States is to invite further trade obstacles, such as faced with cattle and softwood lumber. Martin even had to expel a Liberal MP from the party when she continually went on record as despising the United States government, and openly criticized the Liberal government when she was reprimanded. Martin's hated predecessor, Jean Chretien, was an outspoken critic of George W. Bush, and Martin and Chretien agreed on very little.
So imagine my surprise when I read about Martin's very principled stance on Iraq and missile defence. When taken along with his insistence on quickly introducing a bill to formally recognize same-sex marriage across the country, and calling this an act of courage and leadership, I feel like it's a bit of a Christmas miracle. Here's the story from canada.com
Canada has been a courageous ally in times of war, when those wars were just. I think our absence from both Iraq and missile defence are very telling for that very reason.
Thursday, December 16, 2004 So imagine my surprise when I read about Martin's very principled stance on Iraq and missile defence. When taken along with his insistence on quickly introducing a bill to formally recognize same-sex marriage across the country, and calling this an act of courage and leadership, I feel like it's a bit of a Christmas miracle. Here's the story from canada.com
Prime Minister Paul Martin said Tuesday he does not believe the U.S. ballistic missile shield will succeed in shooting down incoming rockets, as he threw up new roadblocks to counter President George W. Bush's strong appeal for Canada to join his continental defence plan.
Canada will not put any money into building the missile shield and it will not allow Washington to station rockets on Canadian soil as the price of participation in the multibillion-dollar program, Martin told Global National in a year-end interview.
In another issue that could cause friction with Bush, Martin said Canada was prepared to accept U.S. citizens who do not want to serve in the war in Iraq.
"In terms of immigration, we are a country of immigrants and we will take immigrants from around the world. I'm not going to discriminate," said Martin, when reminded that former prime minister Pierre Trudeau opened Canada's doors to draft dodgers and deserters during the Vietnam War.
'AN ILLEGAL WAR'
When asked whether the prime minister was referring to ongoing attempts by Jeremy Hinzman, a 26-year-old U.S. deserter, to gain asylum in Canada after refusing to serve in what he calls "an illegal war," Martin spokesman Scott Reid said the prime minister "was not commenting on any individual case and certainly was not sending a signal to the immigration board."
Canada will not put any money into building the missile shield and it will not allow Washington to station rockets on Canadian soil as the price of participation in the multibillion-dollar program, Martin told Global National in a year-end interview.
...
Martin has been under heavy pressure from the Liberal caucus and the party's grassroots to reject the defence shield, which he admitted may not even work to knock down incoming missiles from rogue states or global terrorists.
"Do I believe it could work tomorrow? I suspect there are very few people out there who testify that it could. Do I believe eventually technology could bring it to that point, in all likelihood, but I'm not a rocket expert," he said in another TV interview.
Martin said Canada is not even close to negotiating a memorandum of understanding with the U.S. on missile defence, but added any document must include guarantees that it would not lead to the weaponization of space.
Canada would immediately pull out of the defence shield if it were to join and the U.S. subsequently put missile weapon systems in space.
"I don't believe space belongs to any country," Martin said. "We will not engage in the weaponization of space."
Martin acknowledged for the first time that next year's budget will pump money into Canada's hard-pressed military, including funds to allow the Armed Forces to recruit 5,000 more troops over the next five years.
Martin admitted he struggled over his personal belief in the traditional marriage but finally decided same-sex weddings were a right entitled to all citizens regardless of their sexual orientation.
Canada has been a courageous ally in times of war, when those wars were just. I think our absence from both Iraq and missile defence are very telling for that very reason.
It has now been over a year
Since my wordy, purty, fascinating, and desirably readable friend Celeste updated her blog.
Just sayin'.
Just sayin'.
Robot Santa Claus Has Judged You
"Mobsters beating up a shopkeeper for protection money... very naughty.
"Shopkeepers not paying their protection money... exactly as naughty."
[audio file]
Futurama (why Fox cancelled this show and kept the clever but not-nearly-as-funny King of the Hill on the air, I'll never know) tells us the legend of Robot Santa Claus, who was invented to bring Christmas to the world, but was programmed with standards that were set too high. He invariably judges everyone as naughty, and rains death upon the naughty people of Earth every Christmas (known in the year 3000 simply as "X-Mas"). The idea kind of got me thinking about our own, very human, moral failings. Even a realistic Santa Claus would find very few people who were actually nice in this world of intolerance, greed, violence, apathy, and inequality, particularly among the "values voters" who talk an awful lot of Jesus but practice none of his teachings. But I'm not here to rant about fundamentalist Americans. They're just an easy example of moral hypocrisy, especially at this time of year.
Let's face it. People everywhere cheat on their wives and they cheat on their boyfriends. They cheat on exams. They get violent. They plagiarize essays. They sent soldiers off to war on false pretenses to fight and die and kill indiscriminately before they themselves are killed. They take office supplies. They poison the environment. They drive after having a little too much to drink. They abuse the help. They lie. They break promises. They put money above dignity, loyalty, or decency. They're two-faced. They hope the ends justify the means. And, yep, some of them are terrorists, whether they bomb abortion clinics or airplanes. I could go on, but I hope you get my point.
And talk about naughty -- I'm naughty. I don't think there are many people out there who are perfect, or who even come close. It's hard to do everything right all the time, and some things are just too easy to justify. We probably don't even realize some of the things we do are immoral or illegal.
I don't have any easy answers, but I can suggest one wholly nice thing to do this holiday season. Kill your Secret Santa. That's right, kill it dead.
Secret Santa exchanges. You know, you draw names out of a hat and you have to get that person a present, and usually everybody agrees to keep the cost of the present under $10 or $25 or whatever. Workplaces and organizations are constantly having gift exchanges at Christmastime, and they're always a frustrating pain in the ass. I've known people who've forgotten about it, and felt like shit when they got something nice and hadn't bought anything for that person on their list, or alternatively someone who spent a lot of time and energy finding the perfect gift under $25 and were so bitterly disappointed about the piece of crap present they got from that cheap idiot co-worker who just couldn't be bothered to make any kind of effort at all. But whatever happens, a bunch of people have spent not very much money on useless trinkets, chocolates, scented bath salts, or whatever the fuck, on people who don't really need them and don't really care. It's a terrible waste.
The next time your co-worker, dorm/residence advisor, fellow book club member or whoever proposes doing this, hoping it will get people in the holiday spirit and golly gee, be a swell thing to do, politely shoot them down with a better idea.
Instead of 10 people each spending $5 on meaningless doodads for each other, have everybody pool that $5 and donate the very respectable total to your local shelter, food bank, or snowsuit fund. I mean, it's fucking Christmastime for Christssake, so why not be charitable? Give something back. It's way more inclusive than buying and distributing X-Mas presents and way more in spirit with the season, and at least one good thing to do with yourself and your time this year to offset all the horrible little bad things you've done.
Oh, and when you do it, tell me about it.
Update: My friend Tara adds her own perspective on the expensive futility of Secret Santa exchanges:
5. Work: this place is a cesspool ov humanity. Having said that, it is also a black hole where all my money goes. Aside from the fact that every single breeder in the entire place has to sell shit for their fucking kid's school...we also have a work potluck and "secret Santa" gift exchange. So I have to bring food - and a gift for someone I barely know. Now, I think I spent more time shopping for this gift than for any other one I have this year CAUSE I BARELY KNOW THE PERSON.
So that brings us to:
6. The worst part ov this entire thing is that I also work with a woman named Gladys who does tonnes ov charity work. So every year she comes in with a list ov kids who aren't going to get Christmas presents because their parents are barely scraping by. Now last year, hardly anyone took kids. I took like 4 and then when we were really strapped I had my brother and my mom help pick up the slack. Through their combined workplaces we got like 20 gifts for kids. This year things are going well. I only took one kid this year and tried to get him as much as I could. The point ov this diatribe is this: why the fuck are we having a fucking Christmas "secret Santa" exchange when there are tonnes ov kids out there on this list who would appreciate the gifts sooooooo much more than we ever will? Like, instead ov taking just one kid, people could have taken 2 or 3. Chances are we are going to get enough crap from our respective families that we don't need another crappy gift from our coworkers.
FOR EXAMPLE: The first year I worked there, all the kids were taken except for one. So the last day everyone was like "Oh, ok we got them all" and so we spent our lunch hour wrapping & labeling the gifts. At the end we realized that one kid hadn't been taken. What did said child want [we get a list ov what they want]? Chocolate with nuts. So simple. So I ended up running to the closest convenience store to buy every single last box that I could find. Done and done.
...
7. All I really want for Christmas is to hang out with the people I love.
Attack of the Poor Time Management Skills 2: The Meandering
The trickiest part of the Civil Procedure exam I just wrote was simply finding the time to say it all. Normally, exams run for three hours, but for this one we were given just two to explore the exciting world of certification of class proceedings, costs, amending pleadings, and many other delights. I like the way my friend Jenn put it, when recounting her experience of today's exam in an e-mail to me. She's been working on a flood of papers this week and had to spend less time preparing than she would have liked (though she's a smart cookie and will doubtlessly surpass my grade), and says "I was literally learning things in the exam room - motions to strike, huh, would you look at that, etc."
Naturally enough, and like many exams in the past, and despite my very bestefforts intentions, I spent way too much time on the first half of the exam, and ran out of time for the second. I want to invest so much detail and analysis into each part, especially since the professor urged us to delve not only into statutes, Rules of Civil Procedure, and caselaw, but to get into policy and strategic considerations as well. And I'm like the genie that gives you what you literally wish for and not what you meant to wish for. Way too much information.
And it's not like I'm holding this out as something I'm proud of. No, it's a pathology and I am afraid I need help. I don't know how to be concise and portion my time into 10 and 12 and 24 minute allotments and be thorough as well. This is why I'm better at essays -- and why I opted for so many courses that evaluate through essays and not exams. I'm a good student but I suck at brevity.
If you can name one good thing that is better when done in a hurry, I'll retort with innuendo. Like, "Not when it's done in bed!"
Monday, December 13, 2004 Naturally enough, and like many exams in the past, and despite my very best
And it's not like I'm holding this out as something I'm proud of. No, it's a pathology and I am afraid I need help. I don't know how to be concise and portion my time into 10 and 12 and 24 minute allotments and be thorough as well. This is why I'm better at essays -- and why I opted for so many courses that evaluate through essays and not exams. I'm a good student but I suck at brevity.
If you can name one good thing that is better when done in a hurry, I'll retort with innuendo. Like, "Not when it's done in bed!"
"I fought the law and the law won"
The second song I bought today on the iTunes Music Store, a fantastic cover of "I Fought the Law" by Green Day.
And we now return to our regularly scheduled review of certification of class proceedings under the Class Proceedings Act of Ontario.
And we now return to our regularly scheduled review of certification of class proceedings under the Class Proceedings Act of Ontario.
And other things we do to procrastinate...
Ooh -- that was too easy!
I just bought and downloaded my first song through the iTunes Music Store while I sit and study in the library. I'm up to the riveting adventures of "Security for Costs" in my Civil Procedure summary, and was listening some music when I started browsing the online store using the school's VPN network. I played the video for Sarah Harmer's song Almost and remembered how much I enjoyed it when Natalie and I went to see her play at the NAC earlier this fall. I played it again and again, and decided, "aw, what the heck? Why don't I just buy this one little song?"
And so I did.
As intoxicatingly easy and fast as that was, I don't see myself using the Music Store a lot, however, since I have only a measly dial-up internet connection at home (eep) and because I'm a poor student and can't afford music. But when I'm employed next year and have good internet at home... well, let the Homer-esque drooling begin.
Mmm... instant gratification...
I just bought and downloaded my first song through the iTunes Music Store while I sit and study in the library. I'm up to the riveting adventures of "Security for Costs" in my Civil Procedure summary, and was listening some music when I started browsing the online store using the school's VPN network. I played the video for Sarah Harmer's song Almost and remembered how much I enjoyed it when Natalie and I went to see her play at the NAC earlier this fall. I played it again and again, and decided, "aw, what the heck? Why don't I just buy this one little song?"
And so I did.
As intoxicatingly easy and fast as that was, I don't see myself using the Music Store a lot, however, since I have only a measly dial-up internet connection at home (eep) and because I'm a poor student and can't afford music. But when I'm employed next year and have good internet at home... well, let the Homer-esque drooling begin.
Mmm... instant gratification...
What's so Civil about Procedure anyway?
Today it's really down to the wire, and I'm hastily throwing together a summary for my Civil Procedure exam tomorrow morning, so I haven't much time to write today, unfortunately. This is one of the few classes they force you to take in upper year law school, and it's beyond a doubt the driest. As least when I took tax law, I was learning a discrete area of the law: there are interesting tax issues to get into, and handy formulas, and implications for real life. And I got a fantastic mark.
Civil procedure, on the other hand, is all about how you prepare to take someone to court. There's no fascinating legal issue other than whether, say, you filed your Statement of Defence within the prescribed 20 day period when you were served the Statement of Claim within Ontario, as demanded by Rule 18.01(a). And as much as this is considered to be a core competency skill, I'm going to be practicing criminal law, which has its own set of Rules of Criminal Procedure entirely, and I took that course last year. So you can bet I'm really excited and stimulated today. I even forced myself to go study at the library because otherwise I'd just pet the cat (or pet myself, for that matter) or do dishes or dang well anything but put together this summary. Discipline is now key.
And here I am, updating my blog while I should be studying.
OK then. Back to it.
Yep.
Any minute now.
Hoo boy.
Sunday, December 12, 2004 Civil procedure, on the other hand, is all about how you prepare to take someone to court. There's no fascinating legal issue other than whether, say, you filed your Statement of Defence within the prescribed 20 day period when you were served the Statement of Claim within Ontario, as demanded by Rule 18.01(a). And as much as this is considered to be a core competency skill, I'm going to be practicing criminal law, which has its own set of Rules of Criminal Procedure entirely, and I took that course last year. So you can bet I'm really excited and stimulated today. I even forced myself to go study at the library because otherwise I'd just pet the cat (or pet myself, for that matter) or do dishes or dang well anything but put together this summary. Discipline is now key.
And here I am, updating my blog while I should be studying.
OK then. Back to it.
Yep.
Any minute now.
Hoo boy.
Congratulations: You're an Urban Asshole
The always clever and hip Celeste (whose title is listed as "executive honeybunch" in my address book) points out another handy notification system along the lines of the SHHH cards I pointed out last week. As much as I don't truly get angry about trivia, it is nevertheless true that there are a great many inconsiderate assholes out there who make life just that little bit more frustrating, and periodically make me wish I belonged to a different species. Kindness and good manners are a rare treasure in this cold, me-first, gay-marriage-is-evil, Hummer-driving world. Have a gander:
Assholes rarely know why they are the way they are, so here’s a clue for you on your journey of self-improvement:
- Double parking
- Parking in handicap space
- Leaving dog in car
- Not shovelling sidewalk
- Creating your own parking space
- Talking really loudly on cell phone while riding public transportation
- Being a loud inconsiderate neighbour
- Cutting in line
- Bringing sixteen items to the fifteen-item express lane
- Not tipping / not tipping enough
- Not cleaning up after yourself
- Not controlling dog
- Not giving up seat on public transportation when someone obviously needs it more than you
- Walking three abreast on city sidewalks
- Leaving trash outside your apartment door
- Not dealing with car alarm
- Excessive car-horn honking
- Leaving kids in car
- Leaving your car idling while you run into the store
- Snacking on produce and bulk items in grocery store
- Opening car door without looking and endangering cyclists
- Smoking in non-smoking areas
- Taking up too much time with teller because you don't understand how banking works
- Using an ATM for 18 consecutive transactions when people are waiting
- Not letting others cut grocery line if they have only a couple items
- Berating servicepeople for things not their fault
- Parking too close to other cars thereby blocking them in
- Not letting others out of the train/bus/store/post office before pushing way in
- Not making more coffee when you finish the pot
- Wearing too much perfume or cologne
- Stopping to chat or look around in front of doorway, elevator or escalator
- Leaving laundry sitting idle in machine at laundromat
- Littering
- Talking loudly on cell phone
- Not holding the door for the person behind you whose arms are full
- Using Barnes & Noble as den
- Bringing child to R-rated film
- Stinking up office with foul meals and snacks
- Trying to sneak through a yellow light, ending up parked in intersection, blocking traffic
- Sneezing without covering nose and offering snotty handshake
- Not wiping equipment down after you've gotten it sweaty at gym
- Not washing hands after using washroom
- Plus a blank entry for you to write in
pack size :: 10 cards
card size :: 3.5 x 6 inches
colour :: full-colour front, greyscale back
Feeling the love
Yesterday was my dear friend Natalie's 29th birthday, and she had really wanted to make this a special celebration, since she is now applying to law school and thought that, by this time next year, she might not have the time or money or energy to have a big party given that she'd be writing her first-year law exams. As well, I won't be in Ottawa next year, so it seemed like a great time to get people out, do something fun and special, and really make it a birthday party to remember.
And so it was.
Natalie had originally planned the festivities for December 19th, to make sure that everyone was finished with their academic commitments but then e-mailed a bunch of us to say that she actually rescheduled for the 11th. Reservations were made at the Palais Imperial, which is perhaps the best Chinese restaurant in Ottawa, and appropriately elegant and fancy besides. I met her last night in the Byward Market at 7:45, and we walked down to the restaurant together.
When we got inside, I started looking to see if anyone else from the party had yet arrived, and quickly spotted the lovely Celeste sitting at a large table in the back, and as I walked towards the table, realized that she was sitting with my friend Kari from law school. Then I noticed my friend Sandy from law school. And Aimee. And Karla. And Aniel. And my good friend Tara [formerly known on this blog as Caira].
Not only was this Natalie's carefully planned birthday party, but it was also my surprise un-birthday party, complete with my most beloved friends, cake, presents, and dinner and drinks. It was unbelievable, and, according to reliable witnesses, the look on my face was of someone about to throw up.
Which is probably quite an accurate description. I was in no way expecting the party to be about me and was fully looking forward to making a big fuss over Natalie and her friend Candice (who has the exact same birthday as Natalie, December 11, and was also a guest of honour last night). I was not expecting people to be making a big fuss over me. In fact, it makes me nervous and squirmy to have a fuss made over me, and here was a room full of my nearest and dearest friends singing "Happy Un-Birthday to You!" and throwing cards and presents at me and generally making me feel like the luckiest boy on earth.
My birthday is on Christmas Eve, and it's always been a night of mixed feelings, since everyone I know is always committed and/or out of town with their families (naturally enough), so it's hard to have any kind of party, but also it's the anniversary of my father's death, who passed away of a heart attack on my fifth birthday in 1980 when he collapsed while cutting down a Christmas tree. Years ago, Tara pledged to start holding unbirthday parties for me so as to get around these problems. And there we were last night, having a fabulous and huge party that I can honestly say goes down as the best birthday I've ever had. It was simply incredible and despite the laughter and wonderful stories and spirited debates, I was nearly moved to tears several times last night, especially the more I drank.
And oh the presents that were lavished on me. I have more chocolate than any housebound, studying law student should ever be able to lay his hands on. Belgian chocolate, people. And wine. And a gift certificate to Timothy's Coffee, my fourth home (after the Clinic, the Royal Oak, and school. Based on time actually spent, my own apartment actually counts as my fifth home, or my home away from my home away from my home away from my home away from my home away from home). And a copy of The Corporation by Joel Bakan, given to me by Tara. And a gorgeous, stunning, cherrywood clock given to me by Natalie, that will someday be fit for a refined law office and now is ticking away happily and looking much too classy and therefore very out of place in my cluttered, multicoloured bedroom.
But, as I said last night (and as could only sound sincere coming from a sentimental sap like me), the best present of all was being surrounded by so many of my friends. Everyone took time out of their busy schedules, and studying for exams, to come out and celebrate with me. To show their affection and respect. It makes you feel humble, but also incredibly lucky, and truly fulfilled. It's like at the end of It's a Wonderful Life (one of my favourite movies, softy that I am) when everyone in town comes out to help George Bailey and let him know how much he means to them and what a difference he's made in their lives, and suddenly he feels like the richest man on earth.
I feel so good inside, and the only thing that puzzles me or troubles me is the question of what I could possibly have done to deserve such attention. But I won't agonize over that too much today. I'm going to study for my upcoming civil procedure exam, eat some chocolate, drink some coffee, and revel in the warm, glowy glowing feeling of being loved.
Thank you, Natalie. And Happy REAL birthday to you, once again.
And thank you to Celeste, Kari, Aniel, Aimee, Karla, Sandy, Tara, Galen, Nick, Bill, Tonia, Candice, and Nancy.
Friday, December 10, 2004 And so it was.
Natalie had originally planned the festivities for December 19th, to make sure that everyone was finished with their academic commitments but then e-mailed a bunch of us to say that she actually rescheduled for the 11th. Reservations were made at the Palais Imperial, which is perhaps the best Chinese restaurant in Ottawa, and appropriately elegant and fancy besides. I met her last night in the Byward Market at 7:45, and we walked down to the restaurant together.
When we got inside, I started looking to see if anyone else from the party had yet arrived, and quickly spotted the lovely Celeste sitting at a large table in the back, and as I walked towards the table, realized that she was sitting with my friend Kari from law school. Then I noticed my friend Sandy from law school. And Aimee. And Karla. And Aniel. And my good friend Tara [formerly known on this blog as Caira].
Not only was this Natalie's carefully planned birthday party, but it was also my surprise un-birthday party, complete with my most beloved friends, cake, presents, and dinner and drinks. It was unbelievable, and, according to reliable witnesses, the look on my face was of someone about to throw up.
Which is probably quite an accurate description. I was in no way expecting the party to be about me and was fully looking forward to making a big fuss over Natalie and her friend Candice (who has the exact same birthday as Natalie, December 11, and was also a guest of honour last night). I was not expecting people to be making a big fuss over me. In fact, it makes me nervous and squirmy to have a fuss made over me, and here was a room full of my nearest and dearest friends singing "Happy Un-Birthday to You!" and throwing cards and presents at me and generally making me feel like the luckiest boy on earth.
My birthday is on Christmas Eve, and it's always been a night of mixed feelings, since everyone I know is always committed and/or out of town with their families (naturally enough), so it's hard to have any kind of party, but also it's the anniversary of my father's death, who passed away of a heart attack on my fifth birthday in 1980 when he collapsed while cutting down a Christmas tree. Years ago, Tara pledged to start holding unbirthday parties for me so as to get around these problems. And there we were last night, having a fabulous and huge party that I can honestly say goes down as the best birthday I've ever had. It was simply incredible and despite the laughter and wonderful stories and spirited debates, I was nearly moved to tears several times last night, especially the more I drank.
And oh the presents that were lavished on me. I have more chocolate than any housebound, studying law student should ever be able to lay his hands on. Belgian chocolate, people. And wine. And a gift certificate to Timothy's Coffee, my fourth home (after the Clinic, the Royal Oak, and school. Based on time actually spent, my own apartment actually counts as my fifth home, or my home away from my home away from my home away from my home away from my home away from home). And a copy of The Corporation by Joel Bakan, given to me by Tara. And a gorgeous, stunning, cherrywood clock given to me by Natalie, that will someday be fit for a refined law office and now is ticking away happily and looking much too classy and therefore very out of place in my cluttered, multicoloured bedroom.
But, as I said last night (and as could only sound sincere coming from a sentimental sap like me), the best present of all was being surrounded by so many of my friends. Everyone took time out of their busy schedules, and studying for exams, to come out and celebrate with me. To show their affection and respect. It makes you feel humble, but also incredibly lucky, and truly fulfilled. It's like at the end of It's a Wonderful Life (one of my favourite movies, softy that I am) when everyone in town comes out to help George Bailey and let him know how much he means to them and what a difference he's made in their lives, and suddenly he feels like the richest man on earth.
I feel so good inside, and the only thing that puzzles me or troubles me is the question of what I could possibly have done to deserve such attention. But I won't agonize over that too much today. I'm going to study for my upcoming civil procedure exam, eat some chocolate, drink some coffee, and revel in the warm, glowy glowing feeling of being loved.
Thank you, Natalie. And Happy REAL birthday to you, once again.
And thank you to Celeste, Kari, Aniel, Aimee, Karla, Sandy, Tara, Galen, Nick, Bill, Tonia, Candice, and Nancy.
Mucous
Today I'm feeling very sick and phlegmy, so I decided to take the day off from studying for my upcoming civil procedure exam, and even refrained from casework at the Legal Clinic, so as to convalesce at home with a soothing hot beverage and perhaps curl up in bed with a nice, toasty cat. Finding myself with a day of peace, I finally got some laundry done and thereby diminished the leaning tower of socks and underwear that was casting an ominous shadow across my floor and my life (and, besides, I was all out of clean everything). Now I'm thinking about filling out some Christmas cards and generally being incredibly boring on a Friday night.
Yesterday was a little more stimulating. I wrote my immigration law exam, which I thought went quite well, despite being three hours of hand-cramping madness as we all frantically dashed through 9 questions (each with four subparts) about the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act and its Regulations, and seminal cases with easy-to-cite names like Zolfagharkhani or Thiruvarulselvan. After that, my weary friends and I painted the town whatever colour spilled beer is, as we went out for pints, dinner, and yet more pints. The ridiculous thing about going out with other law students, however, is that it's akin to being a five-headed monster, each head more opinionated and bossy than the last, and none being able to agree on very simple things like "So, where should we go for dinner?" I had to eat somewhere that served at least some vegetarian food (our first stop was a Churrasco restaurant, which essentially serves meat, meat, and more meat), one person didn't want pub food, another didn't want Indian food, and another didn't want pasta. After all that wandering around, we settled on an Irish pub and ate boxties anyway. Then we hit the Manx Pub, which is a fabulous little basement pub on Elgin Street, and soaked ourselves in pints of Keiths and amusing stories and (as law students will) got engaged in a discussion about whether George W. Bush is a war criminal (and whether we should invade, a la The Mouse that Roared).
One of my exam questions touched loosely on this idea, as it was based on the refugee claim of Jeremy Hinzman, as US soldier who has fled the US and is seeking refugee protection in Canada on the grounds that he is a conscientious objector refusing to serve in an illegal war where torture and other war crimes have been perpetrated. Some of the real facts behind this story can be read here:
Were it any country but the United States, I don't think there would be any doubt that Mr. Hinzman would be entitled to refugee protection as a conscientious objector, but he has a lot of hurdles to overcome, not the least of which is the political price Canada would pay if it allowed a US citizen to come to Canada as a Convention Refugee, and which Mr. Hinzman has absolutely no say in.
Thursday, December 09, 2004 Yesterday was a little more stimulating. I wrote my immigration law exam, which I thought went quite well, despite being three hours of hand-cramping madness as we all frantically dashed through 9 questions (each with four subparts) about the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act and its Regulations, and seminal cases with easy-to-cite names like Zolfagharkhani or Thiruvarulselvan. After that, my weary friends and I painted the town whatever colour spilled beer is, as we went out for pints, dinner, and yet more pints. The ridiculous thing about going out with other law students, however, is that it's akin to being a five-headed monster, each head more opinionated and bossy than the last, and none being able to agree on very simple things like "So, where should we go for dinner?" I had to eat somewhere that served at least some vegetarian food (our first stop was a Churrasco restaurant, which essentially serves meat, meat, and more meat), one person didn't want pub food, another didn't want Indian food, and another didn't want pasta. After all that wandering around, we settled on an Irish pub and ate boxties anyway. Then we hit the Manx Pub, which is a fabulous little basement pub on Elgin Street, and soaked ourselves in pints of Keiths and amusing stories and (as law students will) got engaged in a discussion about whether George W. Bush is a war criminal (and whether we should invade, a la The Mouse that Roared).
One of my exam questions touched loosely on this idea, as it was based on the refugee claim of Jeremy Hinzman, as US soldier who has fled the US and is seeking refugee protection in Canada on the grounds that he is a conscientious objector refusing to serve in an illegal war where torture and other war crimes have been perpetrated. Some of the real facts behind this story can be read here:
...
Jimmy Massey, 33, a staff sergeant who served in Iraq before being honourably discharged after 12 years' service, said he had seen troops shooting civilians at road blocks and in the street. A code of silence, similar to that found in organised crime gangs, prevented troops from speaking about it.
"We were shooting up people as they got out of their cars trying to put their hands up," said Mr Massey. "I don't know if the Iraqis thought we were celebrating their new democracy. I do know that we killed innocent civilians." Mr Massey said US troops in Iraq were trained to believe that all Iraqis were potential terrorists. As a result, he had watched his colleagues open fire indiscriminately. In one 48-hour period, he estimated his unit killed more than 30 civilians in the Rashid district of southern Baghdad.
"I was never clear on who the enemy was," he explained. "If you have no enemy or you do not know who the enemy is, what are you doing there?" His claims were made during an immigration hearing in Toronto, Canada, to assess a claim for refugee status made by a former US soldier, Jeremy Hinzman. Mr Hinzman, 26, fled to Canada after refusing to go to Iraq with his colleagues in the 82nd Airborne Division based at Fort Bragg.
Mr Hinzman is seeking permission to remain in Canada with his wife and child and believes he will face a court martial if he returns to the US. "We were told that we would be going to Iraq to jack up some terrorists," he told the hearing.
"We were told it was a new kind of war, that these were evil people and they had to be dealt with." Mr Hinzman is among several American soldiers seeking refugee status in Canada, hoping the country's opposition to the war will help.
...
Were it any country but the United States, I don't think there would be any doubt that Mr. Hinzman would be entitled to refugee protection as a conscientious objector, but he has a lot of hurdles to overcome, not the least of which is the political price Canada would pay if it allowed a US citizen to come to Canada as a Convention Refugee, and which Mr. Hinzman has absolutely no say in.
Good news, everyone!
The Supreme Court of Canada has released its decision in the Same-Sex Marriage Reference, and affirmed that it is within the power of the federal government to change the definition of marriage in Canada to include same-sex couples, that such a change is consistent with our Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, and that such a change would protect the constitutional freedom of religion by not forcing churches to marry same-sex couples where it is contrary to their religious beliefs.
You can read the actual text of the SCC decision here:
Note that same-sex marriage is already recognized in Ontario, Quebec, British Columbia, Saskatchewan, Nova Scotia, Manitoba and the Yukon. If the government does nothing, the majority of the country is recognizing same-sex marriage. What this ruling does is give the government a legitimate authority to introduce a bill making same-sex marriage legal and universal across the entire country, making Canada a leader in recognizing this important right. And probably really pissing off a lot of Americans. Well, good.
I have a great deal of faith in Canada's commitment to human rights, and I hope the bill is introduced and passes soon. Anyway, I have to go write my immigration law exam, so for further reading, the CBC has a good breakdown here:
Wednesday, December 08, 2004 You can read the actual text of the SCC decision here:
Note that same-sex marriage is already recognized in Ontario, Quebec, British Columbia, Saskatchewan, Nova Scotia, Manitoba and the Yukon. If the government does nothing, the majority of the country is recognizing same-sex marriage. What this ruling does is give the government a legitimate authority to introduce a bill making same-sex marriage legal and universal across the entire country, making Canada a leader in recognizing this important right. And probably really pissing off a lot of Americans. Well, good.
I have a great deal of faith in Canada's commitment to human rights, and I hope the bill is introduced and passes soon. Anyway, I have to go write my immigration law exam, so for further reading, the CBC has a good breakdown here:
...
In a non-binding opinion released Thursday morning, the court reaffirmed religious freedoms under the Charter, saying religious officials opposed to same-sex marriages do not have to perform them.
It also declined to answer whether same-sex marriage was required by the constitution.
The Paul Martin government had asked the court to consider whether excluding gays and lesbians from legal marriage violated equality rights under the Charter.
But the court said that by failing to appeal a number of lower court rulings that said excluding gays from marriage was discriminatory, the federal government had already accepted that position.
"The government has clearly accepted these decisions and adopted this position as its own," the court wrote.
The court rejected the argument that the traditional definition of marriage is rooted in history, saying times have changed.
"Several centuries ago it would have been understood that marriage should be available only to opposite-sex couples. The recognition of same-sex marriage in several Canadian jurisdictions as well as two European countries belies the assertion that the same is true today," wrote the court.
"I feel it is a clear green light in favour of equal marriage," said Martha McCarthy, a lawyer for same-sex couples.
Groups opposed to same-sex marriage reacted swiftly, as Gwen Landolt with Real Women and Catholic Civil Rights League member Richard Bastien called for a referendum on the issue. Landolt says the traditional definition of marriage should be enshrined in the constitution.
Federal Justice Minister Irwin Cotler said Monday he would take the bill to Parliament as early as this month.
Martin has asked MPs to support the bill, but has also told them it will be a free vote.
The Liberals hold a thin minority government, with 134 of the 308 seats in the House of Commons, but should have the support of most or all of the 19 New Democrat MPs and 54 Bloc Québécois MPs.
NDP Leader Jack Layton has said his caucus will vote in favour of the bill, while Conservative Leader Stephen Harper, whose party is split on the issue, says it will be a free vote.
If passed, Canada would join Belgium and the Netherlands in making gay marriage legal nationwide.
...
Finally a cure for the vexation caused by obnoxious people with cellphones.
SHHH - The Society for HandHeld Hushing.
Via Mintyfresh:
It's worth noting that I willingly gave away the free cellphone I had this summer and donated it the Clinic so that harried caseworkers could make emergency calls back to their review counsel while in court. When I first reactivated it for use in Toronto during interview week, I was initially worried it might take hold of me like the One Ring did to Frodo, and I would turn sunken-eyed and covetous of it, and stroke it reassuringly and call it my precious, but I prevailed. And what's more, I refuse to get another one until they actually force one into my grudging hands (and they will) as acondition perk of my articling position at the criminal law firm in Toronto next fall.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004 Via Mintyfresh:
"After reading a story in the NYT, Jim's wife Heidi decided that maybe there was a way to fight back against the obnoxious cell phone users that we all have to deal with in stores, restaurants, trains and pretty much everywhere else. Can design ride to the rescue? Jim and the incomparable Aaron Draplin thinks it can. So, as a public service, we introduce the reasonably polite SHHH, the Society for HandHeld Hushing."
Download the amazingly handy PDF, and slice and dice your way to hysterical handouts. I dare you to give them out.
It's worth noting that I willingly gave away the free cellphone I had this summer and donated it the Clinic so that harried caseworkers could make emergency calls back to their review counsel while in court. When I first reactivated it for use in Toronto during interview week, I was initially worried it might take hold of me like the One Ring did to Frodo, and I would turn sunken-eyed and covetous of it, and stroke it reassuringly and call it my precious, but I prevailed. And what's more, I refuse to get another one until they actually force one into my grudging hands (and they will) as a
I'm never as productive as when I'm avoiding studying for exams
It's funny that now that I have a serious itch to update my blog (since I'm procrastinating studying for my exams, I have a ton of energy for all those little projects and good intentions that otherwise get set aside), Blogger has been behaving quite badly, sending up all kinds of error messages, stalling on updates, and refusing to even let me access the posting facility. That's free technology for you.
My plea to Google: Stop adding features to Blogger. Just make it work first!
Anyway, in my rambling perusal of the internets [sic -- George W. Bush], I came across a great blog that, unintentionally, captures the style and wit of one of my favourite children's books, The Magic Pudding. The e-text can be downloaded at that link through the Gutenberg project, though you can also buy it at most good bookstores, and it really does need to be experienced with the original illustrations in my opinion. Anyway, the book was written at the turn of the last century, and is set in Australia. It features a surly magic pudding that walks around and insults people, but also demands to be eaten as it is endless and always renewing itself. It is accompanied by a well-spoken wombat, a penguin, and a crusty old seaman. I could never do it justice with a description, since it defies one. But give it a read. The language is wonderful, with this fantastic, free-flowing dialogue that reads the way people do talk (albeit the way they talked 100 years ago), and is witty and charming. There's a great passage when Bill Barnacle and Sam Sawnoff are telling the story of how they came to be in the possession of the Puddin' (as it is called) and are a little vague on the details, suggesting at first that the original owner had an unfortunate accident, when the Puddin' interjects and says something to the effect of, "As I recall, you hit him on the head and threw him off the iceberg!"
Anyway, Fafblog is both witty and has similarly archaic and folksy language, but is also an excellent and endless source of biting commentary. Here's their analysis of the state of science in the USA of late (my favourite is "conservationism," which I've marked with bold):
Monday, December 06, 2004 My plea to Google: Stop adding features to Blogger. Just make it work first!
Anyway, in my rambling perusal of the internets [sic -- George W. Bush], I came across a great blog that, unintentionally, captures the style and wit of one of my favourite children's books, The Magic Pudding. The e-text can be downloaded at that link through the Gutenberg project, though you can also buy it at most good bookstores, and it really does need to be experienced with the original illustrations in my opinion. Anyway, the book was written at the turn of the last century, and is set in Australia. It features a surly magic pudding that walks around and insults people, but also demands to be eaten as it is endless and always renewing itself. It is accompanied by a well-spoken wombat, a penguin, and a crusty old seaman. I could never do it justice with a description, since it defies one. But give it a read. The language is wonderful, with this fantastic, free-flowing dialogue that reads the way people do talk (albeit the way they talked 100 years ago), and is witty and charming. There's a great passage when Bill Barnacle and Sam Sawnoff are telling the story of how they came to be in the possession of the Puddin' (as it is called) and are a little vague on the details, suggesting at first that the original owner had an unfortunate accident, when the Puddin' interjects and says something to the effect of, "As I recall, you hit him on the head and threw him off the iceberg!"
Anyway, Fafblog is both witty and has similarly archaic and folksy language, but is also an excellent and endless source of biting commentary. Here's their analysis of the state of science in the USA of late (my favourite is "conservationism," which I've marked with bold):
Yknow science hasn't been real popular lately. What with Congress cuttin the National Science Foundation budget an nobody believin in evolution anymore an the president not carin about global warming, maybe it's time we switched to a New Science that everyone will like better!
FAFBLOG PRESENTS: NEW SCIENCE! New Science is way better than borin ol Old Science! With Old Science you hadda putter around lookin for facts an evidence to back up hypotheses, an use the hypotheses to come up with a scientific theory. An when you get new evidence you gotta change everything all over again! Well not with New Science! With New Science you get to pick the conclusion an work backwards to the pick the right facts! It's quicker an easier an more efficient - you don't even have to leave your house! This is just a preview of what New Science can do for you:
- BIOLOGY! New Biologists have done extensive testing an found that since we come from dust an to dust we shall return, we are primarily composed of dust, although the other four elements, air, water, fire, and funk, all play their own important roles as well. When you're feelin hungry an there's nothin to eat around, try scoopin up some dust (or dirt, if dust is scarce).
- ASTRONOMY! In older times scientists thought that the stars an planets rotated around the earth on fixed spheres in the sky. Silly scientists! Now New Scientists know the stars an planets rotate around the earth on fixed spheres in the sky pushed by angels. The rotation of these stars an planets determines critical elements of your destiny, such as whether today is a lucky day for love, or whether you will attract interest in yourself and your ideas.
- CLIMATOLOGY! Is the earth gettin warmer? Maybe but it sure isn't the fault a greenhouse gases! The earth just has a fever caused by an imbalance of the four humours. Pump a little more yellow bile into the atmosphere an it should be all set.
- CONSERVATIONISM! Rare animals are fantastical an legendary. When they go missin it's not cause they're endangered or cause they're gettin poisoned to death or anythin. It's cause they have snuck off to a fantastical an legendary land Wherre Therr Be Dragonnes! File em away in Doctor Fafnir's Bestiary of Fearsomme & Terreble Besttes, like the griffin or the manticore or the whooping crane!
- GODOLOGY! Why believe in God on crummy ol faith when New Science proves for a fact that he absolutely has to exist? Trained Godologists have determined that God orbits the earth in the celestial empyrean beyond the ninth sphere of the primum mobile. He is composed of 23% copper, 12% zinc, 4% nickel, and 61% Godmium, a special metal only used in the processin an manufacture of God. NASA Godnichians are hard at work buildin a space probe to launch into God by 2015!
Update surprise.
Every now and then I start to write a post but don't get around to finishing it in time, so I save it as a draft and come back to it later. This means that occasionally a post appears in the archives of posts past that is, nevertheless, completely new. It's like putting on a pair of jeans and finding a loonie (that is, a Canadian $1 coin, for the benefit of my unenlightened non-Canadian readers) in your pocket that you'd forgotten about.
Such a post can be found here, for November 16, 2004.
Sunday, December 05, 2004 Such a post can be found here, for November 16, 2004.
Reliable sources indicate he isn't dead.
December means exam time for us busy law students, and tonight I'm working on my summary for Immigration Law, as I have an exam in three days. But I wanted to assure you all that I'm alive, mostly well, and absolutely not about to flunk, nosirree. In all honesty, I'm feeling pretty good about Immigration Law. It's mostly governed by statute (the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act) and associated regulations, so the key is really to just know all those crazy sections really well. For instance -- to work in Canada, foreign nationals normally need a work permit, but you don't need one as "a guest speaker for the sole purpose of making a speech or delivering a paper at a dinner, graduation, convocation, or similar function, or as a commercial speaker or seminar leader delivering a seminar that lasts no longer than five days..." -- Section 186(j) of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Regulations tells us that. Isn't that veird?
I suppose that's not so veird -- er, weird. But it is important to know. Rather, it's important for me to know. You probably don't care.
In other news, interestingly, little Rob is finally growing up -- he's learning to drive like an honest-to-goodness adult. As you may recall, my future job at the criminal law firm in Toronto requires me to have a car and a licence so that I can drive to all the courts in the area as well as the jails. So, I had my first driving lesson the other day, in a standard no less. It was a lot of fun, and the instructor had a great car (a shiny Mazda 3 - very sporty) and I "only" stalled it twice. That said, I did a lot better than my instructor's last student, who threw it into reverse when the car was doing 120 and fucked up that gear rather nicely (made shifting into reverse really sticky for me, too). Right now I have to work on smoothness and control in terms of starts and stops, but it really was enjoyable. I think my major problem is just nervousness. For instance, I analyzed what my feet were doing way too much when I was driving forwards, and the driver picked up on this and had me practice backing up instead, and then I had no trouble with the clutch at all. It was just go go go. My next lesson is on December 23, after exams, and my sister has promised to let me drive with her in her new Accent when she comes down for the holidays as well.
More updates will follow. Meanwhile, have a gander over at the list of swell blogs along the column to the right of this entry. I've added two of note -- Matilda, by my long lost friend Jennifer, and Not Well Planned, which is by my first girlfriend (and, by implication, first ex-girlfriend), someone I haven't spoken to in nearly ten years, but who I think well of and who can still write an exceedingly funny story.
I suppose that's not so veird -- er, weird. But it is important to know. Rather, it's important for me to know. You probably don't care.
In other news, interestingly, little Rob is finally growing up -- he's learning to drive like an honest-to-goodness adult. As you may recall, my future job at the criminal law firm in Toronto requires me to have a car and a licence so that I can drive to all the courts in the area as well as the jails. So, I had my first driving lesson the other day, in a standard no less. It was a lot of fun, and the instructor had a great car (a shiny Mazda 3 - very sporty) and I "only" stalled it twice. That said, I did a lot better than my instructor's last student, who threw it into reverse when the car was doing 120 and fucked up that gear rather nicely (made shifting into reverse really sticky for me, too). Right now I have to work on smoothness and control in terms of starts and stops, but it really was enjoyable. I think my major problem is just nervousness. For instance, I analyzed what my feet were doing way too much when I was driving forwards, and the driver picked up on this and had me practice backing up instead, and then I had no trouble with the clutch at all. It was just go go go. My next lesson is on December 23, after exams, and my sister has promised to let me drive with her in her new Accent when she comes down for the holidays as well.
More updates will follow. Meanwhile, have a gander over at the list of swell blogs along the column to the right of this entry. I've added two of note -- Matilda, by my long lost friend Jennifer, and Not Well Planned, which is by my first girlfriend (and, by implication, first ex-girlfriend), someone I haven't spoken to in nearly ten years, but who I think well of and who can still write an exceedingly funny story.
