Monday, May 31, 2010
Shall We Dance?
This day, this second, this lifetime.
I'm striving to be more like Matt, trying to learn my dance, which is pretty much what we are all doing. Where we fail is when we do not share our dance with others.
I know because I do it all the time.
But all around I see teachers urging me on.
Understanding will come.
For both of us.
Let us be grateful that we have each other.
That we may dance together.
It is not important that you dance well, it only matters that you dance.
No matter where you are.
In this day. In this second. In this lifetime.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
And my deepest thanks to Professor Matt, your class is awesome!
http://www.wherethehellismatt.com
Sunday, May 30, 2010
The World Cup In Africa
While South Africa may be hosting The World Cup, make no mistake, this event is the defining moment of a continent. This is not just about South Africa, this is about Africa.
About thirteen months ago, I spent a few seconds in one African country. The billboards around me all touted the World Cup, even though I knew that most of the eyeballs on those billboards could not afford to go even consider going to a game, anymore than I could afford platinum seats to a Leaf game.
I watch a lot of sports, but for me, this event has more depth. It is a moment in history, whereby we consider the inclusion of our fellow human beings on the same level that we already perceive Europe, North America, Asia, The Middle East and South America.
This stupid little sports tournament is not of an age, but for all time.
And it does not just represent a country, it represents a continent.
This may be a soccer tournament, but it is about something else. While I am not a religious man, I pray with every fiber of my being that this event teaches each of us about the other in a peaceful way.
And given my tiny experience in Africa, I am confident that this tournament will.
Now lets go Ghana!
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Saturday, May 29, 2010
New BP press release.
Hi folks, I've come here today to clarify a few misconceptions that some of the regular folk that I hang out with seem to have about this little leak in the ocean.
Don't you worry, we are going to fix that little leak.
I want you to think about how small that hole is and how big that ocean is?
Now don't you feel silly for getting all excited? I know I do.
As for you shareholders out there, just remember that your investments are really little more than tantamount permission to evil bastards like ourselves to destroy the planet and oppress others.
Don't worry, we'll drag this out in the courts for years. Sure, an untolled amount of wildlife is dying and people are losing their way of life, but the real victims here are the shareholders. We recognize a bond, whereby you give us your retirement money so we may go do evil things while providing you with a cut of the action and a guilt free experience at the same time.
Certainly, this is a little drilling glitch, but what we have here is failure to communicate. So we at BP have released the following video in an effort to better convey the truth about what is really going on down there, by golly.
We at BP feel the pain that our shareholders are going through.
It is our solemn hope that the following film leads to a better understanding for all of us.
Not only is it morning in Louisiana and America, it is mourning around the globe.
Good night, and may God bless the free market.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Don't you worry, we are going to fix that little leak.
I want you to think about how small that hole is and how big that ocean is?
Now don't you feel silly for getting all excited? I know I do.
As for you shareholders out there, just remember that your investments are really little more than tantamount permission to evil bastards like ourselves to destroy the planet and oppress others.
Don't worry, we'll drag this out in the courts for years. Sure, an untolled amount of wildlife is dying and people are losing their way of life, but the real victims here are the shareholders. We recognize a bond, whereby you give us your retirement money so we may go do evil things while providing you with a cut of the action and a guilt free experience at the same time.
Certainly, this is a little drilling glitch, but what we have here is failure to communicate. So we at BP have released the following video in an effort to better convey the truth about what is really going on down there, by golly.
We at BP feel the pain that our shareholders are going through.
It is our solemn hope that the following film leads to a better understanding for all of us.
Not only is it morning in Louisiana and America, it is mourning around the globe.
Good night, and may God bless the free market.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Is Harper Dissin' The Ho's?
I am proud to present my first ever guest blogger, Big Daddy G. While the opinion of Mr. Dog may not reflect the editorial position of the management, we support his right to self expression.
Yo Stevie, sup? Stop fuckin' over the bitches or be prepared to pay da cost. You been hammering the broads pretty hard, if only in the political sense.
If a ho has a shorty, then thats her problem. One persons rape is another mans party, am I right? And if she can't get an abortion, well she should have considered that before she decided to be raped.
Thank goodness we have people with your common sense in power.
Now, as a fellow pimp, I realise that the ho's must be kept down, but do you have to be so public about it?
You're wrecking the game for the rest of us.
Slow down dude, you're giving pimping a bad name.
Having said that, I'm quite astonished that a random female doesn't walk up to you on the street and kick you in the balls each and every day.
Obviously, the populace deserves to be treated with the contempt that you create. Very, very impressive work. And I like the overall message.
Women should be kept down, and men should rule the planet.
Its just a little surprising that you're getting away with it so easily.
I am so proud to live in such a free country, thanks to you, Mr. Harper, but you should know that if you see me, you should cross the street, because if I get the chance, I will knee you in the balls on behalf of every woman on the planet. Besides, according to The Pimp Accord, Canada is my territory, not yours.
Ya freakin' douchebag.
Peace out,
Big Daddy G
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Yo Stevie, sup? Stop fuckin' over the bitches or be prepared to pay da cost. You been hammering the broads pretty hard, if only in the political sense.
If a ho has a shorty, then thats her problem. One persons rape is another mans party, am I right? And if she can't get an abortion, well she should have considered that before she decided to be raped.
Thank goodness we have people with your common sense in power.
Now, as a fellow pimp, I realise that the ho's must be kept down, but do you have to be so public about it?
You're wrecking the game for the rest of us.
Slow down dude, you're giving pimping a bad name.
Having said that, I'm quite astonished that a random female doesn't walk up to you on the street and kick you in the balls each and every day.
Obviously, the populace deserves to be treated with the contempt that you create. Very, very impressive work. And I like the overall message.
Women should be kept down, and men should rule the planet.
Its just a little surprising that you're getting away with it so easily.
I am so proud to live in such a free country, thanks to you, Mr. Harper, but you should know that if you see me, you should cross the street, because if I get the chance, I will knee you in the balls on behalf of every woman on the planet. Besides, according to The Pimp Accord, Canada is my territory, not yours.
Ya freakin' douchebag.
Peace out,
Big Daddy G
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Dance Hall Days
Back in '79 I was fourteen years old and having arguments with my friends over who was better, Kiss or The Beatles. You can guess which side I was on. However, we all agreed that disco sucked, and we weren't the only ones.
Tonight at the bar a query was posed as we watched an old David Bowie vid, with a cameo by the dude who used to own Studio 54 back in its heyday. What was the name of the dude who used to own Studio 54?
This was tormenting me, so when I got home I googled it. Turns out it was Stephen Rubell
I read the history of the building and watched a few videos from the time and remembered wistfully my misspent youth, yet alone my misspent adulthood. At one point a thought flashed through my head that there is no way in hell that myself or anyone I have ever known would have been allowed in to Studio 54 during its heyday.
"Elitist Bastards", I thought to myself.
And then I thought about a guy who has been coming in regularly of late. He is a street person who relentlessly scavenges up and down the avenue. If you live in the area, he is almost impossible not to know, he is that prevalent.
He is suspected of all petty crimes that occur within the hood, but no one has proof that he has ever done anything. He comes in to the bar, pays up front and has never bothered anyone. He tips about half the time.
The house could easily say "get out, we don't want you in here!". I suspect many bars on the street have already done so.
But we have a more egalitarian sensibility, as we follow the example of the boss. Utter a slur of any kind and you're gone, but if you conduct yourself with respect for our customers, the staff, and the business we don't judge.
Nonetheless, I would prefer that this dude not come in, so maybe in my own way, I'm an elitist bastard. I guess its all relative.
As I watched the Studio 54 videos, I wondered about what it would have been like to work there. Then I felt grateful that I work in a place that values the right to dignity of all human beings, until proven otherwise.
And by the way, The Beatles rock, Kiss is overrated, and disco still sucks ass, no matter what Eric Cartman
says.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Tonight at the bar a query was posed as we watched an old David Bowie vid, with a cameo by the dude who used to own Studio 54 back in its heyday. What was the name of the dude who used to own Studio 54?
This was tormenting me, so when I got home I googled it. Turns out it was Stephen Rubell
I read the history of the building and watched a few videos from the time and remembered wistfully my misspent youth, yet alone my misspent adulthood. At one point a thought flashed through my head that there is no way in hell that myself or anyone I have ever known would have been allowed in to Studio 54 during its heyday.
"Elitist Bastards", I thought to myself.
And then I thought about a guy who has been coming in regularly of late. He is a street person who relentlessly scavenges up and down the avenue. If you live in the area, he is almost impossible not to know, he is that prevalent.
He is suspected of all petty crimes that occur within the hood, but no one has proof that he has ever done anything. He comes in to the bar, pays up front and has never bothered anyone. He tips about half the time.
The house could easily say "get out, we don't want you in here!". I suspect many bars on the street have already done so.
But we have a more egalitarian sensibility, as we follow the example of the boss. Utter a slur of any kind and you're gone, but if you conduct yourself with respect for our customers, the staff, and the business we don't judge.
Nonetheless, I would prefer that this dude not come in, so maybe in my own way, I'm an elitist bastard. I guess its all relative.
As I watched the Studio 54 videos, I wondered about what it would have been like to work there. Then I felt grateful that I work in a place that values the right to dignity of all human beings, until proven otherwise.
And by the way, The Beatles rock, Kiss is overrated, and disco still sucks ass, no matter what Eric Cartman
says.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Friday, May 21, 2010
Mr. Rogers Neighborhood
(note: to my fellow Canadians and those around the world who were taught a more British approach to grammar, I apologize for the spelling of the title, and caving in to spell check yet again in this comment. Can you spot the two words that sold me out? We now return to our regularly scheduled post)
The recent case of a woman suing Canadian telecom giant Rogers Communications for revealing her affair has caused a great kerfuffle amongst mouth breathers and moralists alike.
"Outrage" they huff with all the wisdom of a circa 1600's New England mob of torch bearing commoners.
"She was having an affair, so she gets what she deserved" the chorus opines.
I urge you to read the story here, but more importantly, I urge you to read the verbiage below from the Commenterati.
I, for one, (and literally, I may be the only one) support the lady, and I hope she wins. I cannot abide her conduct, but I applaud her struggle. She is right, and the mob is wrong.
She had a private agreement with Rogers, which they allowed to be altered by a third party without her permission. So lets drop the cheap moral judgments, and consider what this case is really about.
It shocks me that a cheap rush to judgment can override a larger principle, or perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe most people do support the right of Rogers to have their account hijacked by anyone who claims to live at the same address.
But I don't.
Rogers hacked her account inadvertently, and they should pay dearly for it, learn a lesson, and move on.
As for the majority of you, I'll see ya at the stoning.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
The recent case of a woman suing Canadian telecom giant Rogers Communications for revealing her affair has caused a great kerfuffle amongst mouth breathers and moralists alike.
"Outrage" they huff with all the wisdom of a circa 1600's New England mob of torch bearing commoners.
"She was having an affair, so she gets what she deserved" the chorus opines.
I urge you to read the story here, but more importantly, I urge you to read the verbiage below from the Commenterati.
I, for one, (and literally, I may be the only one) support the lady, and I hope she wins. I cannot abide her conduct, but I applaud her struggle. She is right, and the mob is wrong.
She had a private agreement with Rogers, which they allowed to be altered by a third party without her permission. So lets drop the cheap moral judgments, and consider what this case is really about.
It shocks me that a cheap rush to judgment can override a larger principle, or perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe most people do support the right of Rogers to have their account hijacked by anyone who claims to live at the same address.
But I don't.
Rogers hacked her account inadvertently, and they should pay dearly for it, learn a lesson, and move on.
As for the majority of you, I'll see ya at the stoning.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Say What? Apparently, not much.
Is "Social Networking" anything more than an endless parade of humanity struggling to convince others that we are more powerful in our lives than we actually are?
I have been obediently "Social Networking" for almost a year. The mainstream media told me that I should be doing this, so I did. I did this mostly because I felt I was missing out on something, I succumbed because people I respected told me I should.
Almost a year on, and I find that for the most part Social Networking is fulfilling a need for humans to not only do things, but to be seen to be doing things.
The reason we need to be seen to be doing things is because a big part of our humanity consists of a need to share. This is a result of the fact that of our increasingly urban existence leaves us with a lonely gap and we try to fill that gap through digital relationships. Social networking is fed by our inability to feel a connection with one another in our real life.
Another aspect of Social Networking is that a majority of the content is little more than some opportunist douchebag trying to convince you that you should buy his lameass shit. These people have convinced themselves that endlessly spamming their so called friends is the passway to wealth.
Suck it. You're boring, you have no insight, and you're wasting my time.
As for others who post youtube links as a substitute to revealing themselves, I guess thats OK, but it would be nice to see you use Social Networks to express what YOU really think, as opposed to hiding your identity behind some video that someone else did.
Social networking could be so much more than it is, however my experience has only confirmed what I always suspected. Humans are far more interested in talking than they are in listening.
My grandmother used to say that God gave you two ears and one mouth so that you may listen twice as much as you talk, but these days it seems that listening is a dying art, despite the fact that listening is 50% of being "Social".
Everyone is talking, no one is listening, and only the few have something to say.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
I have been obediently "Social Networking" for almost a year. The mainstream media told me that I should be doing this, so I did. I did this mostly because I felt I was missing out on something, I succumbed because people I respected told me I should.
Almost a year on, and I find that for the most part Social Networking is fulfilling a need for humans to not only do things, but to be seen to be doing things.
The reason we need to be seen to be doing things is because a big part of our humanity consists of a need to share. This is a result of the fact that of our increasingly urban existence leaves us with a lonely gap and we try to fill that gap through digital relationships. Social networking is fed by our inability to feel a connection with one another in our real life.
Another aspect of Social Networking is that a majority of the content is little more than some opportunist douchebag trying to convince you that you should buy his lameass shit. These people have convinced themselves that endlessly spamming their so called friends is the passway to wealth.
Suck it. You're boring, you have no insight, and you're wasting my time.
As for others who post youtube links as a substitute to revealing themselves, I guess thats OK, but it would be nice to see you use Social Networks to express what YOU really think, as opposed to hiding your identity behind some video that someone else did.
Social networking could be so much more than it is, however my experience has only confirmed what I always suspected. Humans are far more interested in talking than they are in listening.
My grandmother used to say that God gave you two ears and one mouth so that you may listen twice as much as you talk, but these days it seems that listening is a dying art, despite the fact that listening is 50% of being "Social".
Everyone is talking, no one is listening, and only the few have something to say.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Monday, May 17, 2010
An Ode To Bartenders
I can handle conflict
And quell the endless squall
And solve another's problem
If I can help at all
Delving into issues
Of import, seeming small
Another vodka seven?
Would you like that tall?
Oh, and that hottie on your arm
Is totally a doll!
So I really hate to say this
But we must shiv this crawl
To our dear beloved guests
And all the rest of y'all
When I give the word
It is Last freaking Call
(my apologies to all actual poets, living and dead)
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Hackey Frack
You never think it'll happen to you, and there is an air in the techno culture that the people that it happens to somehow had it coming. Like the secretary walking by the construction site in a mini skirt. Yeah, we had it coming. And so do you.
I'm surprised they got me. I rarely download anything, and I don't download things that don't belong to me. The email that was hacked is one I rarely use and have never publicized. On my website, front and center is another email clearly displayed, but they didn't get that one.
Early one morning I watched in dismay as forwarded email from another account began to appear. Initially it was bouncebacks from various sites where I had accounts, many long ago forgotten. I opened one and immediately recognize that someone was using my good name (OK, mediocre) to scam others.
Within an hour of the initial attack, I tried to log in to the hacked account, but it was too late. They had stolen my password, and changed it. I couldn't get in.
Slightly after the one hour mark, I began to see emails from real people, very fine friends who I barely knew or folks who were incredibly decent that I had only had slight contact with in a long ago past. Some were concerned, and might have sent money, others were more savvy and knew I had been hacked and a third group emerged that gave me reasons as to why they couldn't send money.
Cringe, cringe, cringe.
If you read my blogs, you will be hard pressed to find my name, and the account that was hacked is associated with my name. My password was based on a tiny place name in a fairly obscure foreign language. Not good enough.
So here are my recommendations.
Your password must contain upper and lower case letters, combined with numbers. If it doesn't, you're an idiot. I know, because I used to be one.
If you use an email program like Gmail, you need to regularly delete all unneeded addresses from your contact list. Gmail automatically stores the address of every email you receive. This will minimize the damage if you do get hacked.
You need to make sure that your ability to recover your account is solid. Most importantly, you need to make sure that the secondary account that you gave when you registered is active, and that you know the answers to the secret questions.
Do not store passwords to other accounts in a folder within your email, write them down and put them in a desk drawer.
For me the damage was minimal, and I was fortunate. But this can and will happen to you if you're not careful and the results could potentially be catastrophic.
Mothers, tell your children not to do what I have done.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
I'm surprised they got me. I rarely download anything, and I don't download things that don't belong to me. The email that was hacked is one I rarely use and have never publicized. On my website, front and center is another email clearly displayed, but they didn't get that one.
Early one morning I watched in dismay as forwarded email from another account began to appear. Initially it was bouncebacks from various sites where I had accounts, many long ago forgotten. I opened one and immediately recognize that someone was using my good name (OK, mediocre) to scam others.
Within an hour of the initial attack, I tried to log in to the hacked account, but it was too late. They had stolen my password, and changed it. I couldn't get in.
Slightly after the one hour mark, I began to see emails from real people, very fine friends who I barely knew or folks who were incredibly decent that I had only had slight contact with in a long ago past. Some were concerned, and might have sent money, others were more savvy and knew I had been hacked and a third group emerged that gave me reasons as to why they couldn't send money.
Cringe, cringe, cringe.
If you read my blogs, you will be hard pressed to find my name, and the account that was hacked is associated with my name. My password was based on a tiny place name in a fairly obscure foreign language. Not good enough.
So here are my recommendations.
Your password must contain upper and lower case letters, combined with numbers. If it doesn't, you're an idiot. I know, because I used to be one.
If you use an email program like Gmail, you need to regularly delete all unneeded addresses from your contact list. Gmail automatically stores the address of every email you receive. This will minimize the damage if you do get hacked.
You need to make sure that your ability to recover your account is solid. Most importantly, you need to make sure that the secondary account that you gave when you registered is active, and that you know the answers to the secret questions.
Do not store passwords to other accounts in a folder within your email, write them down and put them in a desk drawer.
For me the damage was minimal, and I was fortunate. But this can and will happen to you if you're not careful and the results could potentially be catastrophic.
Mothers, tell your children not to do what I have done.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Friday, May 7, 2010
Endings
Beginnings? No problem. I love beginnings. Middles? Middles can be good, too. Endings? Not so much. In fact endings suck ass.
It occurred to me today that an aversion to endings can prevent beginnings.
Actually it started when I began contemplating my dead cat, and the first thing that popped into my head was Thanksgiving Day 2008. That was the day I put her down. Every pet owner has their own "Old Yeller" story, so I shan't bore you with the details.
I know why we have endings, but I still don't like them.
If only things
Could end in the middle
We'd have no pressure
To answer the riddle
And none would pass
And we could all diddle
If things only ended
Smack dab
In the middle
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Its not exactly Dylan Thomas, but its all I've got.
It occurred to me today that an aversion to endings can prevent beginnings.
Actually it started when I began contemplating my dead cat, and the first thing that popped into my head was Thanksgiving Day 2008. That was the day I put her down. Every pet owner has their own "Old Yeller" story, so I shan't bore you with the details.
I know why we have endings, but I still don't like them.
If only things
Could end in the middle
We'd have no pressure
To answer the riddle
And none would pass
And we could all diddle
If things only ended
Smack dab
In the middle
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Its not exactly Dylan Thomas, but its all I've got.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
EXador, Is That You?
The other day I found myself in receipt of an email from my landlord notifying me that she wanted to enter my premises, in order that she may conduct a final inspection of some recent renovations.
A perfectly reasonable request, presumably proffered prior to payment of the tradesmen who conducted the work. The thing is that when you routinely retire at 6am or later a 9am wake up call can harsh ones mellow a tad. But hey, it is not my landlords fault that I keep weird hours.
And so it was that my alarm went off about one hundred and forty minutes in to my sleep cycle. My plan was to flee, so that the inspection may be conducted unfettered by the cantankerous disposition of this sleep deprived serf.
I quell the alarm, get dressed, brush my teeth and throw on a ballcap to hide my Einstein hair. As I mention, I had a plan to flee, but had not yet quite fleshed out the destination of my flight. I stand on the street and light a smoke with all the bravado of a confused tourist.
Bleary eyed, uncaffinated, and slightly confused by the odd positioning of the sun in the sky, I pondered my options amidst the insufferable din of childlike joy emanating from some horrible entity known as a "day care".
It was then that I heard the voice call out. Initially I looked behind me, thinking that the voice was calling to someone else, but no. For a brief instant I thought it was my landlord, wishing a word about the inadequacy of my ability to work the land.
I begin to formulate a story about how the condition of my bathroom may appear filthy, but it is actually an art installation, a tribute to a Chevron station I visited in Arkansas in 1985, and please don't touch anything. No, I'm serious, don't touch anything unless you've recently been inoculated at your local travel clinic. Fortunately, I've had my jabs, and I am one of the few people who can enter my bathroom safely.
But, alack it was not my landlord.
It was EXador. A woman that I spent ten years with, a few of them married. I had not spoken with her in nine years. She was closing in on me with an envelope in hand, and I briefly considered fleeing, confident that my superior knowledge of local shortcuts and back alleys would make up for my lack of conditioning, but I was betrayed by a dearth of coffee, indecisive at a crucial moment.
In the instant that she bore down upon me I wondered what could be in that envelope? Surely all the divorce papers were long ago signed and the chances of a wrongful death suit involving the cat were remote.
I was stunned, flummoxed, and dumbfounded. She said " I know this is weird but, I want to give you these".She handed me the envelope. "I'm sorry about your father" In my daze, I briefly glanced behind her, hoping to get a glimpse of Jim Morrison or a dead Indian spirit or both. The moment was surreal, and the envelope contained pictures of my own family and some precious shots of my father. I'm touched that she had been carrying around these pictures for years, mistakenly posessed in a long ago breakup that she felt compelled to one day return.
And today was the day she did that.
Speechless, I watched her walk away, but I wish I hadn't. And thats why you should never go out before you've had a coffee.
Thanks, Elfriede.
That was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
A perfectly reasonable request, presumably proffered prior to payment of the tradesmen who conducted the work. The thing is that when you routinely retire at 6am or later a 9am wake up call can harsh ones mellow a tad. But hey, it is not my landlords fault that I keep weird hours.
And so it was that my alarm went off about one hundred and forty minutes in to my sleep cycle. My plan was to flee, so that the inspection may be conducted unfettered by the cantankerous disposition of this sleep deprived serf.
I quell the alarm, get dressed, brush my teeth and throw on a ballcap to hide my Einstein hair. As I mention, I had a plan to flee, but had not yet quite fleshed out the destination of my flight. I stand on the street and light a smoke with all the bravado of a confused tourist.
Bleary eyed, uncaffinated, and slightly confused by the odd positioning of the sun in the sky, I pondered my options amidst the insufferable din of childlike joy emanating from some horrible entity known as a "day care".
It was then that I heard the voice call out. Initially I looked behind me, thinking that the voice was calling to someone else, but no. For a brief instant I thought it was my landlord, wishing a word about the inadequacy of my ability to work the land.
I begin to formulate a story about how the condition of my bathroom may appear filthy, but it is actually an art installation, a tribute to a Chevron station I visited in Arkansas in 1985, and please don't touch anything. No, I'm serious, don't touch anything unless you've recently been inoculated at your local travel clinic. Fortunately, I've had my jabs, and I am one of the few people who can enter my bathroom safely.
But, alack it was not my landlord.
It was EXador. A woman that I spent ten years with, a few of them married. I had not spoken with her in nine years. She was closing in on me with an envelope in hand, and I briefly considered fleeing, confident that my superior knowledge of local shortcuts and back alleys would make up for my lack of conditioning, but I was betrayed by a dearth of coffee, indecisive at a crucial moment.
In the instant that she bore down upon me I wondered what could be in that envelope? Surely all the divorce papers were long ago signed and the chances of a wrongful death suit involving the cat were remote.
I was stunned, flummoxed, and dumbfounded. She said " I know this is weird but, I want to give you these".She handed me the envelope. "I'm sorry about your father" In my daze, I briefly glanced behind her, hoping to get a glimpse of Jim Morrison or a dead Indian spirit or both. The moment was surreal, and the envelope contained pictures of my own family and some precious shots of my father. I'm touched that she had been carrying around these pictures for years, mistakenly posessed in a long ago breakup that she felt compelled to one day return.
And today was the day she did that.
Speechless, I watched her walk away, but I wish I hadn't. And thats why you should never go out before you've had a coffee.
Thanks, Elfriede.
That was one of the sweetest things I've ever seen.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Monday, May 3, 2010
Watching The Rot Set In
Image by Père Ubu via FlickrSo we go through the motions and create a communal lie that things are exactly as they once were. We know that this is a lie, but we tell ourselves another lie, that gets layered underneath in order to support the original untruth. "Things can once again be as they were".
But they can't and they won't. Life moves forward, and the puzzle gets increasingly complex as we go, the answer as elusive as it always was.
The rot is like a deadly beetle gnawing gleefully away at a beautiful forest, its food is routine and habit.
The best way to fight the rot is to have new experiences.They need not be giant, they need not be profound. Its not complicated, just go out there and do something you haven't done before.
At least switch donut shops for a day, go to a different MacDonalds, or join an expidition to Everest. The relativity does not override the context. We are all capable of new experiences, no matter our station.
My little goal for tomorrow is to find some Cambodian food in this town. Its modest, achievable, but most importantly it will be a new experience.
Perhaps you may not live in Toronto and your opportunities for a new experience may be different, but the opportunities that surround are the same in number, no matter where or who we are.
Infinite.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
Saturday, May 1, 2010
The Pointless Pursuit Of Political Opinion
Image by Getty Images via DaylifeI replied that myself and others like me, do indeed pay our fair share of taxes through the payment of our rent, which includes a portion of the property tax that landlords are billed.
I also implied that it doesen't matter who gets elected mayor, because it is just one vote on city council, and all efforts to turn this dubious struggle into some fight for freedom from people who own $700,000 homes were nefarious.
I was then met with a lecture about parliamentary democracy from the head landowner, who despite his supposed interest in all matters civic failed to see that municipal governance in no way resembles parliamentary democracy.
But hey, I'm just a dumb serf living on land that belongs to another, and thats OK.
The thing that really brings annoyance is powerless douchebags who think that their political opinion matters in the least.
Is my hand on the button? No. Is yours? No.
So shut the fuck up, no one cares about your mindless opinion over matters that you have no say in. Your fake intellectualism is wasting my time and yours.
Save it for your pointless dinner parties with your like minded friends, where you can all agree that everything is an outrage and the government sucks and you can arrange your seating cards to perfect your useless circle jerk and agree how very difficult it is to make your sportute, cellphone and mortgage payments and that living in this country is so very very trying.
But let me ask you this...Has anyone among the supposedly aggrieved ever thought to get off their fat spoiled asses to take a risk and put their own name on a ballot in any election?
Didn't think so, but I did. Its called democracy folks, and it requires more than kvetching over a glass of shiraz.
Me 1 Chattering Classes 0
Why don't you shut up or stand up? Because as it is now your absurd excretions are a great tempest, signifying nothing. You're investing in an illusion that you live in a democracy, and frankly that investment is a losing proposition, unless you invest in participating in a real way.
http://www.goyestoeverything.com
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