insert witty title here

What would you do if you were in a relationship with someone who, through their character - not through any fault of their own, got more satisfaction from the relationship than you did?

Let's say you're in month number eleven of a romance and you begin to notice that while your spousal unit sleeps blissfully beside you, you continue to lay awake feeling unsettled. Or you go for a walk together and (s)he is clearly utterly content to walk arm in arm without a care in the world while you on the other hand, just feel like you're going through the motions...not because you don't care about Becky-sue/Harold but because it just seems to take a whole lot more for you to reach that same level of satisfaction or contentment. In fact, you even feel the teensiest bit resentful that their satisfaction threshold seems so much lower than yours.

Do you stay in an otherwise comfortable relationship, accepting of the fact that Gertrude/Mortimer is getting emotionally more out of you than you are of them; or do you bail and head out into the wild blue yonder to find your "soulmate"?

Soulmate...now there's a term that has created more than its share of the unreasonable expectations which people place on potential partners. I always chuckle when I see personal ads that read:

"Looking for my soulmate. Must be an independently wealthy, six foot tall, blue eyed, golden-haired Harvard Law School graduate with a seven-inch long, prehensile, vibrating tongue. No kids."

or the male equivalent:

"Are you my soulmate? Pudgy, forty-something manager, likes long walks on the beach, seeks unopinionated, busty, twenty-something redhead with an addiction to semen. No kids."

All these people crying for their "soulmate" and then closing their eyes to the possibility that being someone's soulmate (and I'm not saying that I agree with the whole concept) involves a bit more depth than that. Perhaps it's just me, but I would think that 'soulmates' would have a mental and emotional connection that transcends physical appearance or even geography (Soulmate wanted: must live within 30 minutes of Chesterfield, Massachusetts). Maybe your soulmate is a Watusi cattle herder in Kenya...or an overweight grocery clerk in Liverpool.

If the internet has one useful function (besides supplying me with free porn), it's in allowing people to leave their prejudices behind when they venture out of their neighbourhoods.

If they choose.

This has to be one of the nastiest ways to kill someone that I’ve ever come across:

"…One of the most ingenious and revolting displays of cruelty was that devised by Montbars of Languedoc. He would cut open the stomach of his victim, extract one end of his guts, nail it to a post and then force the wretched man to dance to his death by beating his backside with a burning log."

~ David Cordingly, Under the Black Flag © 1995

I can’t think of too many people who deserve to die that way. Except this guy, if he’s found guilty. Since her 10-year-old DNA was found beside his bathtub (allegedly the place where she was dismembered) I’m expecting a verdict of Guilty As Shit. Then again, Canada has a legal system, not a justice system.

I'm not normally up at this hour, but I awoke from a nightmare and can't get back to sleep. The new house is in such a quiet neighbourhood compared to the old apartment...where are all the ambulance sirens and late-night party-goers?

If I didn't have to be at work in five hours I'd go for a drive.

I love the title of this Blog.

It's mid-afternoon and all I've managed to accomplish is to:

a) stay awake through a finance meeting
b) wish I had call-display so I'd know when not to pick up this bloody telephone
c) pee three times (not here at my desk)
d) change the colour of my blog's title

Today's post is completely disjointed and trivial so don't bother reading any further if you're looking for depth.


The forecast is for temperatures to go up to 35 degrees Celsius today. For those of you still stuck in the thermodynamic dark ages, that's about 95 degrees Fahrenheit. It may be "hot in herre" but I'm not taking off all my clothes, I'll save that for the staff Christmas party. Note to Nelly and Christina: the extra "r" in your respective song titles just comes across as illiteracy.

Moving right along…

Despite the fact that I know doodly-squat about website design and HTML, I have been playing around with this blog's template to try and bring some pizazz into it - but it's a slow, hesitant process when you're operating in complete ignorance. I'd thought about adding a "tag" box but those things seem to slow page loading time down considerably…and I wouldn't want my one reader in Pittsburgh to get frustrated and go somewhere else.


Here's a word you don't hear very often: Frass. It's the official word for insect excrement. Look it up if you don't believe me. It's a useful word when in polite company:

"Goodness Marjorie, your canapés taste just like peach-flavoured frass"

Or for poetry recitals:

Beth was a fine looking lass
who was badly in need of some class
When she wanted to eat
She'd squat by her feet
and munch little pieces of frass.

(what did you expect for spur of the moment poetry? ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas?)

According to the good folks at Human For Sale dot Com, I'm worth exactly $1,655,044.00.

I'm not sure what variables they use to calculate their end result but if the density of hairs per square inch on the top of my head is a factor, then my value is decreasing exponentially.

From the overall results posted on their website, there also seems to be an extraordinary number of American high school students with IQ's greater than 180. Can't wait for them to graduate so they can cure SARs, eliminate Trans-fats from our collective diets and wipe out the National debt.

A shout out ("word to your mother" ~ Vanilla Ice) goes to the following folks for recently linking me. That's linking, not licking. Licking gets much more effusive gratitude.

Lucia: East coast introspection
Blushing Virgin: As Soulless says, she's a genius.
Soulless: Uncut and unashamed
Mirm: West coast reflection

All the fruit stores are closed here on Sundays. Since it's a self-styled 'Christian' town, I'm wondering if it must be some kind of sin against God to sell fruit on the Sabbath. Even the bars here close at 10 pm...and that's during the other six days of the week.

"Verily thou shall maintain the purity of the Sabbath by withholding thine fruit from others."
~ Jamaicans 4:23

On the drive between the new house and my office is a small slaughterhouse. At the entrance to the place they have a large sign featuring a big cartoon cow and pig. The cow & pig have these huge smiles on their faces like they've just won a lifetime supply of oral sex.

It reminds me of the Nazi gassing vans that they used to murder Jews in. The ones with the pictures of laughing travelers painted on the sides and the exhaust pipe that exited into the rear sealed cargo area…into which they stuffed the “cargo” before going for a long drive.

Below the happy meat-to-be, the sign offers “Custom killing, cutting and wrapping”. Seeing that it’s a slaughterhouse the killing is a given, but Custom Killing? Does that mean I can bring Clarabelle in and get them to kill her anyway I choose? Okay. In that case I want Clarabelle to be smothered with a feather pillow by a hermaphrodite wearing a blue leotard.

There’s my sarcasm for the day.

Here’s what’s currently in my car’s CD changer:

Disc One of “The Best 80s Modern Rock Album… Ever!” (their emphasis, not mine)
Disc Two of Bruce Cockburn's "Waiting for a Miracle"
Led Zeppelin’s "Led Zeppelin"
The Cranberries "No need to argue"
Disc Two of “Easy ‘70s”
The Rolling Stone Collection “1977 – 1982”
Busta Rhymes' “The Coming”
Weird Al Yankovic’s “Running with Scissors”
Curtis Mayfield “The Very Best Of”
George Michael’s “Listen without Prejudice”

Aimless Love

He's just a small fry. A bit too gun shy.
To have his heart touched without a glove
He looks at strangers as potential dangers
Trying to Steal his aimless love.

Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind.
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine
For if love knew him. It'd walk up to him
And introduce him to an aimless love

I been out walking. Kinda pillow talking
To anyone that has the time for me
For there are some folks they think that love chokes.
It ties and keeps them from being free

Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine
For if love knew you. It'd walk up to you
And introduce you to an aimless love

Do you look at strangers as potential dangers
Trying to steal your aimless love.

Love has no mind. It can't spell unkind
It's never seen a heart shaped like a Valentine
For if love knew you. It'd walk up to you
And introduce you to an aimless love
And introduce you to an aimless love


©John Prine

Happy Birthday Sweetpea

Since I'm not the sort who pays attention to things like statutory holidays, there have been a couple of instances where I've gone to work in the morning and not noticed that I'm the only one there until several hours have gone by. I had to check the calendar today just to make sure that it is a work day and that no one else is around because they all chose to take a holiday on this sunny Friday.

And now a smooth segue into:

Speaking of holidays, I'm thinking of using a week's worth of vacation time and driving down to Nevada in October. No particular reason other than to see the desert and enjoy those marvellous American roads. Canada's road system is a highly developed network of potholes interspersed with brief sections of pavement. I sold the motorcycle last summer but the car is pretty enjoyable to drive - and it's a lot easier on my lower back (sweet bird of youth whither hast thou flown?).

Wasn't that interesting?

******************

*cue background noise of teletype machines*

This just in: I finally posted photos on imagestation.com but it turns out you need to be a member to view 'em so I'll have to try and find another host (I sound like a parasite). If you are a member of imagestation (or always wanted to be one), you can see them here.

Yeah okay... I'm happy for them and all but articles like this just create the same sort of insidious social pressure that makes teenage girls barf their McHappy meals out so they'll look "pretty".

I'll post something buoyant and optimistic next time - I promise.


******************

Current mood: seriously annoyed

Stop asking me to fix your damned problems. If you don't like logging traffic then don't choose to live on a logging road.

You know who you are...

You're the people who buy a house next to the railroad tracks and then write long letters to the train company complaining about the noise. You're the ones who buy houses on a floodplain and demand compensation when your split-level washes away. The ones who whine "no one told me..." (because we're all here to do your thinking for you).

What the hell happened to everyone's sense of personal responsibility? Where are all the reasonable people? The ones who say, "Oh well, I guess it was rather stupid of me to do that in the first place. I brought this on myself."

******************

Another tidbit:

In 1965 my mother was eight months pregnant when my father beat and kicked her in the stomach until she miscarried.

I almost had a little sister.

There's no point in gnashing my teeth over the past. All you can do with knowledge like that is learn from it. I think that's one of the reasons why I'm so focused on my daughter's well-being.

Speaking of which:

The people mentioned in paragraph four of this article should be exiled to Ellesmere Island for the rest of their lives.

Things must be looking up - this is the second day in a row that I managed to get away from the office for the morning. This time it was up the Nahatlatch River valley, just west of the burgeoning metropolis of Boston Bar (population 890).

After two hours of dodging mom & pop on the highway conga line of motorhomes and tent trailers, I ended up alongside the peaceful and shady shores of Hanna Lake. Unfortunately I wasn't there to hearken to Mother Nature's piney bosom, I was there to deal with some construction equipment so it didn't stay peaceful for very long. In fact it got pretty darn dusty too. The good news is that the hustle & bustle was over with pretty quickly, so all the little forest creatures (except for the sparrow that had flown head-on into the truck's grille on the drive up) were able to settle back into their happy little lives in short order. I on the other hand had to come back to the land of diesel (and I'm not referring to Vin), voice mail and "did you get the memo?".

Bah.


Here's a late-breaking update on my home life: I finally have the internet hooked up so I no longer have to live in fear of getting nailed by the nose.net content filter here at the office ("You have attempted to access a site with content deemed inappropriate. This attempt has been logged."). I used to subscribe to the anonymizer because it allowed me to bypass the main server, but I gave that up...it was too nerve-wracking trying to surf porn in a cubicle (although that did have a certain living-on-the-edge/exhibitionistic thrill to it).


After yesterday's post (since edited in a moment of embarrassment), Cara and Mike took pity on me and added links. Thanks!

Now if only pouting worked when it came to sex...

I finally got out from behind this desk this morning and took a helicopter trip into the Stave River valley. I even scooped the co-pilot's seat (it has the better view) and made the people who had asked me to come sit in the back. I'll provide fascinating scenic photos when I get off my duff and upload some onto a website sometime.

Ego-alert! Every one of the preceeding sentences started with "I" (or a variation thereof). Guess there's a little more self-obsession going on than I realized. Here are some more "I" statements (arranged alphabetically to show how clever "I" can be):

I ain't gonna be able to do this 26 times in a row...
I beat off into a sock when I was 14
I can't iceskate
I don't like asparagus
I even wore that same sock later on
I forgot to send my mother a birthday card
I gave at the office
I have two tattoos
I just want a womb with a view
I kicked cocaine in 1985
I love to love ya baby
I miss my sailboat
I need a swift kick in the ass sometimes
I offered my love a cherry that had no stone...
I plan on moving to the east coast one day
I seldom sleep more than five hours in a row
I try to do right by my kids
I understand your point. Stop talking now.
I want to go home and have a shower
I yell at other drivers, but not out loud

that's enough dammit - stop annoying everyone!

change of subject:


So it looks like Cara and Mike are hitting it off - they seem to have found each other via my links to their respective blogs. In spite of the fact that they are complete strangers to me I'm glad I was able to help 'em meet.

Call me the Cupid of Blogspot.

I've spent the past two days moving.

I don't know how many times I've moved since I was requested to move out at 17 - it has to be at least forty. I remember living in Montreal and moving across town by metro. Now that was a pain in the ass.

When I phoned them last week, the telephone company said I can expect a hookup on August 1st. Why it takes them two weeks to flip a switch is a mystery to me but as Lily Tomlin used to say in her telephone operator skit on Laugh-in: "We don't care. We don't have to. We're the phone company."

I did manage to get my daughter's birthday presents yesterday: the board game "Clue" (Simpsons edition, complete with poisoned donut); a sculpture-thingie with five blue dolphins on it (she likes dolphins and I'm not complaining because it's her first step away from the Cult of Barbie); and two books: ("It's Great to be Eight" - a collection of short stories about 8-year-olds) and "I forget the exact title" but it's a book detailing a whole bunch of DIY crafts and projects with a female focus (and it's not about how to string beads together or how to make an ink stamp out of a frigging potato - there's stuff involving real tools).

Her birthday is at the end of this week so if anyone has a constructive, last-minute suggestion for something else to get her, feel free to drop me a line.

I can't think of anything
deep
to say
so here's a joke
to read
today:

A sailor standing by the docks happened to see a young woman crying on the pier. He asked her what was wrong and she replied "I want to leave Canada and return to my home in Russia. I miss my parents terribly." The sailor replied, "Perhaps I can help. Do you see that ship over there? We're leaving tomorrow morning for Vladivostok. I will bring you aboard and hide you down below. Every day I will bring you food and in exchange you will have sex with me. Is it a deal?"

Happy at the thought of soon seeing her family again, the woman agreed and that evening the sailor snuck the young lady on board and hid her in a storage closet off the engine room. "Remember," he said, "you must not come out because if you're caught we will both be in very big trouble."

The next morning the ship cast off and for the next two weeks things worked out just like the sailor promised. Every day he brought her food from the kitchen and they would have sex.

Then one day during a detailed inspection of the ship, she was discovered by the Captain and the First Mate. Tearfully she explained how she had come to be there:

"A nice sailor brought me here so I can return to my family in Russia. In return he is screwing me". To which the Captain grimly replied, "He certainly is lady, this is the ferry to Vancouver Island."

In keeping with yesterday's employment theme, here's an except from my horoscope for today:

You may just be a low-level corporate drudge now, but you have big dreams. In fact, they may be bigger than anyone realizes. But don't start acting as though you've already been handed your directorship.

Hey thanks for the kick in the crotch!

Actually, referring to me as a 'corporate drudge' is probably a fair evaluation. As for my "big dreams", the only thing I've aspired to lately involves two women, a scene from the movie 9021-HO and a small bottle of lubricant. And I suspect that particular dream won't be fulfilled anytime soon...

Since it was way too hot to sleep last night I just lay there, trying (for some unknown reason) to remember all the jobs I've had. I think most folks must have some sort of logical progression through the years, moving from career-related starter jobs to a real career. Damned if I can see any logic in mine:

Teens:
Janitor's Gofer (picking pop cans out of dumpsters was my chief duty)
Delivery Boy for an advertising company
Soldier ('til I was 21)

Twenties:
Stockroom Flunky for a dress manufacturer
Fur Stretcher (weird friggin' job)
Doorman at a repertory theater
Dishwasher & Waiter (I worked for food & tips)
Projectionist at a porno theater (the theater was in a medical building of all places)
Lab Assistant (lab rat was more like it)
Window Tinter (stupidest job ever)
Maintenance guy for a plastics company
Machine Operator for the worst company in the world
Compassman for a logging company
Quality Control guy for a tree planting company

Thirties onward:
Park Ranger (most common question: "where are the bears?" unspoken response: "In the woods you idiot.")
Engineer for another logging outfit

So what does it all mean?

Not a damned thing. It was just a bunch of stuff that happened.

According to these folks, the following six steps will help you to "reach out to others and improve your social skills":

1. Commit to working on your social life
In our modern world, having a social life involves some work. Look for opportunities to socialize. Go to an event that you might normally turn down or ignore, like a workshop, meeting, cocktail party or dinner. Take the risk and say "yes" instead of "no." Make yourself as comfortable as possible — bring a friend or co-worker with you.

If it's an event I would normally turn down or ignore (a chicken plucking party for example), making myself as comfortable as possible is going to be an exercise in futility. Seems to me that I'd be better off going to an event that I would normally want to go to.

2. Step outside your comfort zone
Once you’re in a social situation, take risks and reach out to someone. Walk over and introduce yourself. Ask the person how they know the host or found out about this event. Pay someone a compliment about her wardrobe. Take an interest in the other person. Ask open-ended questions, and a conversation will almost inevitably result. Ask yourself, What’s the worst thing that could happen? Perhaps a boring conversation could result, in which case you can end it and move on to someone else.

Actually the worst that can happen is that some psychotic nutball you approached will think you are part of the secret cabal out to get him and you'll have to spend the rest of your life in hiding.

3. Join something
Most communities have a variety of classes, courses, sports teams or workshops to choose from. Find something that interests you, regardless of whether you make a new friend. If you live in an isolated area, consider expanding your virtual community — join a chat room or online support group, or find an e-mail friend.

Her: "Hey what's with this invoice from www.naughty hotties.com?"
Him: "Oh that? I'm just expanding my social circle dear..."

4. Start something
Take the initiative: invite people over, host a potluck dinner or start a book club.

You are cordially invited to my new book club where we will discuss the merits of pornography as applied to the modern Western story. Bring food.

5. Deepen friendships
Consider whom you like and would enjoy having a more connected friendship with. Pick up the phone and call this person. Talk about something of importance to you. Or reach out emotionally — being there for someone else can create a powerful, soulful connection.

I'd like to have a more connected friendship with Salma Hayek. Anyone have her number? I want to let her know that I'm there for her. What does Ed Norton have that I don't anyway? Oh right...looks, talent and money.

6. Prioritize your social life
Once you make a date for socializing, say "no" to other bookings or requests for that time. Summon some energy for your social life. Time with others takes energy but it also gives energy. Sometimes I can feel too tired to socialize with friends, but afterwards I come home energized and refreshed by the laughter, support and insights that I gain from these connections. Our social lives are important to our mental and physical health — make time and space for yours.

Sorry Sherriff, that court summons is just gonna have to wait because I'm on my way to meet Salma Hayek at a chicken plucking party.

So now I'm a homeowner. Although, I guess it's not really a home that I own so much as it is a 'concept'. This townhouse is my first foray into the world of strata ownership…the house in Prince Rupert (City of Rainbows) was freehold.

Reading the past year's minutes of the strata council meetings, I can't help but raise a questioning eyebrow. Arguments over whose dog crapped on whose lawn…whose car was parked in the wrong spot…whose kids were playing street hockey in the wrong place. If I wanted to live in a place with that level of narrow-minded pettiness I'd still be living here. Well I guess we'll see how it goes. Stay tuned for an expanded assessment of strata life.

Since I don't own much packing has been pretty stress-free. Boxes of compact discs and books make up the largest component of my worldly possessions. When we moved aboard the sailboat in '99 we sold everything off and since selling the sailboat and splitting up (in '01) I haven't been in much of a hurry to fall back into the addiction of consumerism. The good folks at VISA are just going to have to support their children without me.

I received this email from my good friend Jx (who lives in England). I hadn't thought of myself as 'sad' but I'm open to the idea that she sees something in me that I don't (or won't) see in myself:

chris
i finally got a chance to read your blog ... i didn't
realise you were sad in that indefinable way that
REALLY annoys the people who are in love with you.
i know it annoys martin. i too feel that vague, almost
'bored' empty feeling of ... mostly nothing ... even
over (supposedly) important life events such as house
buying, marriage, baby rearing. i can pretend and play
along and get 'excited' or catch the current mood, but
it is like a scratch on the surface rather than a
plunging of my soul.
i saw 'driving with boys in cars' recently and heard
some of the truest lines i ever heard from a
screenplay; it helped make sense to me and how i deal
with my daughter, anyway. the gist of it is, some
people act as if they don't love, and even feel as if
they don't love enough, precisely because they love
TOO much. this way, nothing hurts. they are protected
from feeling how much they love something, or the
dreadful power of what loss may mean.
it is written much more neatly than this in the film
but hey-ho.

***

Jx, I wish I could treat you to a big chocolate eclair as a way of saying "thanks".

Time to head out the door.

write
edit
delete
write
edit
delete

apparently I have nothing to say


Supposed to sign the purchase papers and hand over the rest of the down payment for the townhouse this afternoon. I know I don't have a tendency to get all visibly excited about things but the degree to which I'm feeling blasé about it surprises even me. Guess it's symptomatic of the whole been-there-done-that feeling I've had for the last five years.

I think the last time I felt exultant about something was when I brought the sailboat north though Queen Charlotte Strait in the Fall of 1999. I hope the new owner is taking good care of her.

Well my little girl has finally been introduced to the wonderful world of racism.

There she is, minding her own business at the YMCA day camp last Friday, when some little white kid comes up to her, touches her arm and says "You're brown. Brown people are bad" and walks away.

Now she is refusing to return to the Y camp and in a way I can't really blame her. I've been in that position so many times in my life and I know how it feels to be arbitrarily labelled by some Aryan shitrat who thinks that God singled out the white race to sit at His right hand.

What I ended up telling her was that it was important to not let people like that control what she does in life. That not returning to the Y camp only lets that arsehole think that he successfully chased her out of "his" world.

I said it was a sad fact, but that there will always be people like that in her life and that the best way to deal with them was by being better than they at anything she did. Nothing hurts a racist's ego more than being outperformed by a so-called 'inferior'.

I don't know if it helps her, I hope it does. It has to be better advice than my crazy father gave me at that age.

I'd like some time alone with that kid's parents. Preferably without witnesses.

It was too damn hot to sleep last night.

I ended up crawling out of bed, getting dressed and going for a long drive with the top down. Well it sure beats the four years I spent living here, where it rained all the goddamn time. I'll take stifling heat over incessant torrential rain anytime.

What Canada needs is a warm place where you can live or at least look forward to retirement. Someplace without snow or rain. Like Jamaica. Surely to God we could manage an invasion of Jamaica couldn't we? Canada's army is so small it could fly down on several cheap tourist flights (since Canada doesn't have a Navy or Air Force with transport capability). The world would never see it coming.

Hey did you hear that Canada invaded Jamaica???
Really? Holy shit! How come?
They're tired of freezing their asses off.

news story:

He should have been smothered as an infant

Well as you can see I'm still here and not lounging by the seaside with an icy beverage in my hand (see today's earlier post).


It's lunchtime but since I try and only eat one meal a day (no spare tire yet and I'm not interested in acquiring one thank you very much) I'll just stay here at work and add to this remarkably uninspired blog.

My little girl has a birthday (#8) coming up and I'm not certain what to get her. I'm looking for a gift that will send the message that being female is a wonderful, empowering thing and that you don't need artificial props such as fashion, glamour and an attractiveness to others to be secure or have self-confidence. Any suggestions are welcome.

Oh, and it should be pink…

It's going to be a beautiful day and I can't think of a nicer place to be than down by the water soaking up the sun and watching the tide come and go. Of course my day is actually being spent chained to this computer in a sunless, soulless office…

To Whom it may Concern:

Having come to the realization that my motivation to be here is far outweighed by my interest in being elsewhere, I have decided to devote the rest of the day to determining the evaporation rate of sunscreen lotion when applied to the human epidermis in ambient temperatures of 25 degrees Celsius or greater.

Subject to weather conditions and the winning number of the lottery, I will return tomorrow.

Regards.

I saw Marco on television last night. It was on CBC’s
Rough Cuts – they did a feature on the events that led up to the disbanding of the Canadian Airborne Regiment. I’ve known Marco for over 20 years…he’s the closest thing that the kids have to an uncle.

I’m feeling blah today. This training course I’m on is pretty elementary and I’m finding it a challenge to not mentally wander off into my ‘less unhappy’ place. I guess most folks think of it as their ‘happy place’ but my ex-wife declared that I’m incapable of being happy and I’m starting to suspect that she was right.

I'm sharing this roadtrip with a co-worker named Scott. He's a friendly enough guy...kind of reminds me of my dead dog (God rest his furry, farty soul). Scott's only been working out of this office for a few months and since we have similar jobs, I guess he feels that we should be bonding on a social level.

Since I'm crying the blues about being so unsocial, I thought it would be pretty hypocritical of me to adopt my usual aloof posture in response to his barrage of questions. As we chatted, he filled me in on little tidbits of his life and I sort of did the same. Frankly, if I enjoyed opening up I wouldn't spend so much blog energy writing smartass humor - I'd be baring my soul to the world.

But in the end I decided to open up. A little. So here is a bit of Christopher's past that I shared:

When I was nineteen I was still in the army. Prior to being sent over to Germany for a three month tour, I was put on a radio communications course. In this course I met a young private named Fiona (I was a corporal at this time). In spite of the fact that she was dating an officer who was away on some long training course, the two of us fell madly in love. There was no such thing as spending too much time together. It was my first adult (as opposed to adolescent) love and I knew that it was the real thing.

After the radio course was finished I had a week before shipping off to Germany and the two of us went on a short camping trip. We made love under the noon sun while the river burbled beside us. We lay in the dewy grass and watched the stars circle overhead. If there was a romantic cliche, we did it. By the time we returned home I was miserable at the thought of leaving her for so long.

The more I thought about it, the unhappier I grew. I confided in my best friend, Brian, who I had gone through high school with, and his advice was to concentrate on the job at hand and remember that three months passes fast. But, I thought, what did he know? He wasn't in love. He didn't know how much this hurt. So I decided that it was time to stand up for what I wanted.

I went to my officer in command and informed him that I wasn't getting on the airplane tomorrow. Since the military doesn't look favorably on uppity Corporals deciding what they were going to do, I had my hands full convincing him that I meant what I said. But in the end I suceeded - with a warning from him that I was pissing a lot of people off. But what did that matter? I was going to be with Fiona after all.

The next day, as the airplane left, I drove to the Junior Ranks Mess to wait for Fiona to arrive. I couldn't wait to see the look on her face when she walked in and saw me there. It was going to be a wonderful summer. At 4pm she walked in and when she saw me her jaw dropped. She hurried over and asked what had happened. Why wasn't I on my way to Germany?

I told her what I had done, how I had put my love for her ahead of everything else. "But I don't want to ever see you again" she said. "My boyfriend is coming back and I want to be with him. I was going to tell you in a letter next week".

~ ~

It took a long time to get over that. In the end though, what can you do other than get on with life?

*****


After a night's sleep:

Not sure what prompted me to bring up that old chestnut last night... I think I'm just bullshitting myself with more razzle-dazzle verbiage. Writing some history allows me to feel like I'm being all open without having to get into what the hell is going on with my life now.

This is what I intended to write about yesterday:


Robison: And what about the rights of the people? Don't we get a voice? What about democracy? What about the right to disagree?
Foreman: That's what we're doing here, John. Disagreeing. Our system is based on the premise that the government is accountable to the people. Some people have interpreted that to mean that the people have a right to disagree with the government - but that's an inaccurate way to say it, and ultimately it's an inaccurate way to think about it, because it enobles disagreement for the sake of disagreement. Disagreement is not in itself inherently virtuous.
Robison: Well what about disagreement in the service of truth?
Foreman: That's the justification that's used for all disagreement - that it's in the service of truth. Let me share something with you, we were looking at the whole question of disagreement, and we had one of those insights that transforms the whole discussion. Are you ready for this? We only disagree about what we don't know.
Robison: Huh?
Foreman: I'll say it again. We only disagree about what we don't know. It's a time bomb. you have to live with it a while before you fully get it. But it's really very simple: when two parties disagree, whatever the disagreement is about, it indicates that one or the other or both of the parties involved do not have complete information. People don't argue about the colour of the sky or if rocks are hard or water is wet. They already know that. People don't argue about what they know. They argue about what they don't know, and what they believe. Belief isn't knowledge. Belief is a conviction without truth behind it. A belief is something you think to be true or want to be true, but you haven't proved it yet. Knowledge doesn't need to be argued. It can be demonstrated. It can be proved. Belief can't be. Do you get the distinction...?

~ David Gerrold

The preceeding quote articulates my opinion far better than I ever could. Coupled with it is an epiphany I had some years ago: Personal credibility is the foundation of self-esteem and integrity. With poor credibility comes doubt within yourself and from others because you will invariably be wrong more often than you are right. Good credibility brings self-assurance and social recognition (thereby reinforcing your sense of social worth). So what makes good personal credibility? It's realizing that there is a difference between what you know and what you think you know and behaving accordingly.

To paraphrase Mr. Gerrold, feeling that you're right doesn't make you right.

Admitting that you don't know something can be a humbling experience - which is why we tend to try and bullshit our way through discussions or arguments rather than admit that we really don't know what we're talking about. Wanting to be right isn't enough, you have to do your homework and demonstrate that you are right. Credibility doesn't come from passion alone, it has to be based on truth or fact. If you don't know something then just admit it. I've found that doing so tends to bring the same quality of social respect that being right does. People appreciate demonstrable personal honesty when they see it and when you do speak on a subject you'll have greater success at being taken at your word.

I realize that by implying that self-esteem is strongly influenced by social recogition, I'm going against popular convention. After all, we're all special and unique and we don't need to have our self-worth defined by others.

I guess it's only coincidental that butt implants are the latest fashion trend.


EVENING: Now I'm in Nanaimo. There's free internet access here at the hotel. Cool. Guess I can blog my little heart out after all. On the ferry trip over I realized that I wanted to change my name from Kimsquit to Snoop Bloggy Blog. Probably not very original but I thought it was funny...

This little public service commercial was a sidebar on the "what's on television" channel. You know, the channel that shows what's on all the other channels? Most cable companies seem to have one these days. Usually they're just blurbs for local realtors, moving companies or the new delicatessen. Here's how this one went:

Opening scene: young boy (Elevenish?) walking the aisles of a corner store.

Cut to him leaving the store.

Close up of him sliding a chocolate bar into his jacket.

Store owner comes out: "Hey kid! you didn't pay for that!"

Next scene: Cop brings the boy home to his father. Announces: "Sir, we caught your son stealing."

Switch to Living Room: Son is slouching on the couch. Police Officer standing by a doorway.

Distraught father says: "Did your friends put you up to this? Where on earth did you learn to steal??"

Son replies: "But Dad, you steal satellite signals".

Fade to black and police radio traffic.

Final dramatic voiceover: "Stealing is stealing. This message brought to you by the Coalition of Satellite Television Companies.

Now I don't know about you, but I think it's pretty funny that the son sells his own father out to the cops. Especially when it will mean the end of his own access to Spongebob Squarepants or whatever the hell it is that kids watch these days. In fact, if my kids knew that they could have all the television they wanted by stealing satellite signals, they'd fall all over themselves in their rush to nail a receiving dish to the roof.

If the Coalition of Satellite Television Companies want to reduce theft, perhaps they should reduce their 200% profit down to 125% so more folks can afford to pay for it. Then again, it's not like there's a whole lot on that's worth paying for in the first place...

Not that I'm advocating theft mind you (just in case the Coalition of Satellite Television Companies monitors blogspot.com). Having lived in debt and crawled out from under it, I'm a convert to living within my means rather than trying to support a lifestyle I can't afford. As trite as the saying goes, it carries with it the seed of truth: 'if you want something you have three options, save up and pay cash, sell something else you own to pay for it, or learn to live without it.'


Of course, living in the Golden Age of Immediate Personal Convenience does put a lot of social pressure on you to spend! spend! spend! Those E-Z payment, no money down, all applications approved, no waiting period because this offer won't last bargains are always there, bombarding you with the demand to piss away your hard-earned cash on all sorts of useless crap. Do you really need matching meat cleavers? Maybe it would do our collective karma some good to send that $29.95 to the folks in Sierra Leone refugee camps, the ones who have to watch their children hobbling around on the remaining stumps of the arms and legs that guerrillas hacked off.

Shame on all of us.

I didn't intend to head off in this direction at all when I sat down to type. Guess it's something I needed to do. Chalk it up to North American middle-class guilt. I'm not feeling gloomy at all, so I'm as surprised as you that I went from slamming big satellite companies to wringing my hands over mutilated African babies. Talk about poopin' on a party...

I'm going to be away for the next few days...work related stuff. I can use the change of scenery :)

Just came back from lunch. The clouds have broken open and things are generally looking a little brighter around here. A friendly thanks goes to Missie for mentioning me in her blog.

Speaking of getting one's act together...

Earlier this week I told myself that I'd wash the car today and I should get to it before the weather changes again.

My history of concerts

Queen, Styx, Frank Zappa, The Who, UB40, A Flock of Seagulls (how many people will admit to that one?!), Corbeau, The Police, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Dire Straits, Long John Baldry, McLean & McLean, Valdy, Bruce Cockburn, BB King, JJ Cale, John Prine.

Why all the 80's stuff? Social events were kinda lacking in Northern BC (where my ex and I moved to in 1987). Reflecting on the list I have to admit it's pretty meagre for someone who loves music as much as I do...


EDIT: I'm not sure why, but Blogger keeps 'auto-posting' my post (now there's a crappy alliteration, I sound like Austin Powers fergawdssake) as I'm writing it, so if you see umpteen posts of the same message you'll have to blame Blogger. I delete 'em when I find 'em.

RIP Barry White.


After picking them up at their mother's, I took Harley (11) & Splendid (7) camping on Thursday/Friday. Brian (12) declined (as usual).

Perhaps it's a combination of my past life experiences (4 years in the infantry, many many seasons of recreational hiking & another 4 years as a Park Ranger), but camping just doesn't thrill me like it used to. I'm really glad the kids enjoy it and I do my best not to let my jaded attitude show, but I just don't see the point of camping for the sake of camping anymore:

You show up, you set up your site and organize all your little bits of stuff, you build your campfire and then you sit around waiting for it to get dark enough to go to bed. Maybe you occupy yourself by walking around the campground, surreptitiously checking out what other people are doing in their campsites, or you entertain yourself with whatever passes for the local attraction (lake, vista, snakepit...). Mostly though you're just waiting for it to get dark and hoping it doesn't rain.

In the morning you lurch around like some extra from Dawn of the Dead, trying to get the chill out of your joints and wondering why the hell the nearest Tim Hortons is so damn far away.

Well like I said, the kids enjoyed it and in the final analysis, that's all that matters.

Here are some things I noted during the trip:

* About 5 out of the 14 campsites are occupied.
* The family across the road seems to have had a domestic dispute. Raised voices, things crashing and then Mr. Camper stomped off looking all red in the face. A few hours later they all packed up and drove off.
* H&S didn't bring raincoats. Say that their mother packed their bags for them. I told them that they should take that sort of thing on themselves. Nothing against their mother (I should have checked before we left), but assuming that everyone else will always look after your best interests isn't a good habit to grow up with.
* Reading Huston Smith and sipping Mountain Dew. Nasty stuff (the beverage, not Mr. Smith). Remember the little cartoon hillbilly? "Yahooooo! Mountain Dew!!"

After we got back, Splendid ended up spending the rest of Friday with me as her mother was working. We watched "Legally Blonde" (she'd seen it before). At one point in the movie there was a scene where the main character had just been dumped by her boyfriend. She was walking home all sobby-eyed while her new ex-boyfriend drove along beside her in his convertible, trying to convince her to get in the car so he could drive her home.

I asked Splendid if she wanted a boyfriend like that and she replied "No way! I want a boyfriend that will love me and be nice to me". I thought wow, that's a pretty good attitude for a seven year old (although I really would have preferred hearing "ewww, I hate boys!"). Then she added "But he does have a nice car though..."

Saw Terminator 3 last night.

Having worked in several movie theatres back in the 1980's I'm familiar with the "gouge the customers on snacks" business approach but do cinema owners seriously expect people to happily fork over twenty dollars for three bucks worth of popcorn and sody-pop? I guess so, since they're doing it...

I remember when they first started putting non-movie related commercials on the big screen. People used to boo and walk out. Now it's just accepted along with the seven dollar licorice whips. As a species, we have no business mocking the complacency of sheep and cattle.

On a wholly unrelated topic...

It occured to me the other day that I've been living in British Columbia for fifteen years now and in all that time I haven't met anyone I'd consider a close friend.

That has to be some sort of record.

I've never thought of myself as 'unsocial' but perhaps it's time I stopped deluding myself. The trouble is that I always feel somewhat disassociated from the people I'm interacting with. I watch myself (in a third-party kind of way) nodding my head while some chuggalug drones on about his or her day/life/spouse/pet and I wonder what the hell I'm wasting my time with this person for.

When someone asks "How are you today?" I almost always respond with "How are you?" whereupon they proceed to tell me exactly how they are. This reinforces my suspicion that people don't really want to know how you are, they just want an opportunity to talk about themselves. Much like this blog.

How are you? Really.

So if I am saddled with all of these antisocial tendencies, why do I feel so isolated and alone? It seems to me that a genuine Grinch would be satisfied with my social situation (rather than whine about it like I'm doing). Anyone with penetrating insight is welcome to clear this up via email.

Question: When you're driving along and see some physically unappealing person trudging along the sidewalk or waiting for a bus, do you ever wonder about how lonely that person is? If they spend each and every night in front of the idiot box, clutching their little bag of microwave popcorn in their clammy, homely hands?


The other week I was stuck with the other cars waiting for a green light when I happened to glance over at the driver in the car next to me. The driver was a young woman, sobbing and crying. I wanted to get out of my car and give her a hug...comfort her and let her know that whatever it was, it would be okay in the end. God only knows what was wrong, perhaps she was just rehearsing for a play.

I thought seeing another driver pick his/her nose was disturbing but this was much worse.

Canada Day.

Celebrating 136 years of complacently standing in line, temperature extremes and enforced bilingualism.

As a former soldier, I still feel a twinge of patriotism when July 1st rolls around. Of course patriotism itself is such an unCanadian emotion that I end up just feeling conflicted.

I think most people - including Canadians - picture Canada as a land of shining white faces from sea to sea, with ten little indians tossed in for colour. The reality is that my paternal side of the family came to eastern Canada in the 1780's as escaped slaves. Where exactly it was that they escaped from has been lost in time...few Canadians seem to know (or care) that slavery was practiced in Canada until the Britsh abolished it. My maternal side emigrated to Canada from the US in 1775 (staunch Loyalist stock).

The end result is a swarthy looking half-breed that can claim a longer lineage in Canada than 90% of the aryans living here. Nevertheless, folks tend to not look further than skin colour, so I'm generally assumed to be fresh off some boat.

It's annoying.