No time to blog (much) tonight. No time to blog tomorrow night either as I’ll be spending several hours trying to eat, and then digest, a hunk of meat at Jacobs & Co. steakhouse.
What’s that? Vegetarian? Nope, don’t recall anything about that. Sorry.
Visited my (hot) doctor yesterday. She’s very speedy — walks quickly, talks quickly, moves quickly — and my physical was over just as I was starting to process the idea of sitting around in a little paper gown. Turns out my bloodwork revealed that I’m in very good health…she sounded a tiny but surprised as she said it, but then I suppose I don’t really project the picture of peak physical fitness. Good genes, I explained. She agreed. Quickly.
She also commented, when taking my history last time, that it’s not often she encounters someone who has never smoked, and grew up in a house where no one else smoked either. Even in my extended family on both sides, there were no smokers except for the odd one here and there, and those quit by the time I was old enough to remember it. No heavy drinkers either. Two grandparents who lived into their 90s, another who lived into his 80s. That’s a pretty good starting point, and not being gassed in my childhood years helped.
So, uh…thanks ancestry. Good work.
Just when I really start to like Halifax again, it goes and does something goofy like reject the Atheist Bus ads. (Full disclosure: I donated to the Atheist Bus campaign in Canada.)
A ‘Without God’ ad has proven too controversial for Halifax transit.
Humanist Canada wanted to place ads on Metro Transit buses with the slogan, “You can be good without God.”
But officials with the transit authority deemed that too controversial.
“We’re a public transit system first, and then we sell advertising,” Lori Patterson, spokewoman for Metro Transit, told CBC News on Monday.
“So, if anytime we feel there’s a message that could be controversial and upsetting to people, we don’t necessarily sell the ads.”
First of all, that reasoning is absurd. Virtually every ad could be offensive to someone. If one gives Ms. Patterson the benefit of the doubt and assumes she means “upsetting to the majority of people,” it becomes hard to reconcile the fact that they’ve granted ad space to the anti-abortion organization Birthright, as reported on the Atheist Bus website.
Second, not only is the actual message less inflammatory than the “There’s probably no god…” ads to run in Toronto, it’s completely benign! How can you possibly argue with the statement “You can be good without God.”, let alone find it upsetting? Can, people, can. The ads don’t say you will be better without god, they just state the fact that people who don’t believe in gods are capable of being good.
I’m confident this response — which seems much more like a knee-jerk than a reasoned reaction — is so baseless and silly that, despite how conservative Nova Scotia can be sometimes, will ultimately be reversed. I’m also hopeful that Vancouver will avoid embarrassing themselves in this way.
So far the best response to the ads I’ve heard about is what the United Church of Canada is planning: ads that say “There probably is a God, so stop worrying and enjoy your life.” Hurrah! Instead of trying to silence a contrary argument, they made their own counter-ad, and with a sly wink as well. Well played, UCC. (More full disclosure: I was raised United, and while I’ve been an atheist for many years, my parents remain very active in their church.)
Just back from a Winterlicious dinner at Amaya Bread Bar. It’s the more laid-back, TTC-friendly version of Amaya Restaurant. The food’s the same (which is to say, delicious) though we were limited to the ‘Licious menu. The wine selection was shorter, but that didn’t bother me; I like beer with my Indian. The only one available — Cobra — went nicely with my pakora starter. We shared the four mains — lamb roganjosh, butter chicken, seafood xacutti and a veggie trio — and washed it down with more Cobra. I won’t lie, I enjoyed asking the waiter to bring more Cobra. It’s fun to say. Cobra. Cobra cobra cobra cobra. Cobra.
For dessert T-Bone and I had Greg’s mango ice cream; Nellie and The Sof had the spiced brownie, but neither of them came close to finishing.
Tasty, not too heavy, and reasonably priced. And a quick walk to/from the subway, or would have been, had we not we caught a ride down to Summerhill. We will likely go back. Missionlicious accomplished.
From today’s Globe and Mail:
Toronto Hydro’s problems with “stray voltage” mounted over the weekend with reports that another five individuals and three dogs had received shocks but had not been injured after stepping on the city’s aging metal handwells.
The utility received six calls on Saturday and one yesterday to a hot line it set up to report such incidents. Sean Borden reported that in the summer he and his dog, Mocha, both got a jolt after stepping over a handwell in the east end, just around the corner from where last week a pupil at Regent Park/Duke of York Junior Public School was zapped, but uninjured.
Gives a whole new meaning to “Electric Avenue,” don’t you think?
Last night I dreamed about something…unexpected. I very, very rarely remember my dreams at all, maybe once or twice a year, so it was odd that what I would remember dreaming about was Grand Prix Wrestling.
If you didn’t grow up in the Maritimes you’re unlikely to know what that is. I’m pretty sure it only aired on local stations. Imagine the early days of the WWF, but with much lower budgets and hilarious nicknames. Even my own memories of it are quite fuzzy. But last night I could remember, as clear as day, names like Bulldog Bob Brown, Sweet Daddy Siki, Killer Karl Krupp, Big Stephen Pettipas, No-Class Bobby Bass, The Cuban Assassin and Leo Burke, and apparently my dream last night was the revival tour. It’s a bit hazy now but I’m pretty sure I remember someone grabbing the Cuban Assassin by his beard and throwing him, and Killer Karl’s signature line (in the subject line) definitely came up.
Weird. I don’t imagine I’ve thought about Grand Prix Wrestling in 25 years. Any bets on what I’ll dream about tonight? Littlest Hobo episode? Greatest American Hero theme song? My brother’s old yellow bike with the banana seat?
Nellie’s out for dinner with friends, so I’ve had a quiet night on my own. I watched the newly-released director’s cut of Zodiac, which I like more every time I watch. I’m just amazed at how perfectly Fincher (and his art director) made the film look like the early 70s.
I also find Zodiac much creepier than Seven. Granted, I’ve probably watched Seven more than any other movie that didn’t involve a lightsaber, but I don’t remember ever finding it creepy…just awesome. But Zodiac usually gives me the willies.
If you haven’t seen it, then for pity’s sake, invest the 150 minutes.
A few weeks ago we bought the Wii Fit. Nellie really wanted one; I was curious but not very hopeful. I imagined a bunch of step exercises and yoga poses, and wasn’t all that interested.
Now, having used it every day except for one, I can say I was wrong. I kinda like this thing. For someone like me who’s never set foot in a gym to do gym-y things, it’s not a bad option. It provides enough strength and balance training to make me feel like I’m doing something. I’m sure I look like a drunk grizzly bear when doing the yoga poses, but it’s definitely helping my flexibility. The balance games, like skiing and snowboarding, are actually kind of fun and have sparked some competition between Nellie and I.
One of the criticisms people seem to have had about the Wii Fit was the tone of voice it uses with you, and that it seems scolding. I hope those people never get a personal trainer; if they can’t handle some passive-aggressive suggestions from a mumbling balance-board cartoon on their TV, a real live muscular type-A human barking orders will probably have them in tears. Anyway, I don’t mind it; I figure it’s just encouragement that gets a tiny bit lost in translation.
I won’t pretend this is real fitness training, but it’s certainly better than nothing, and nothing is what I was getting before. It’s also timely: being that it’s January, the month when resolution-makers still have some momentum, our gym downstairs is full every time I walk by on my way to or from work. When that fad wears off I’ll try to insert some proper running back into what exercise time I have.
For now, I’ll just keep getting scolded by the little white box under my TV.
My Blu-ray copies of 28 Days Later (imdb | rotten tomatoes) and Sunshine (imdb | rotten tomatoes) just arrived.
That is all.
There are people who need some training on how to buy things. Here’s how to spot them:
When waiting in line to pay they will take up as much space on the counter (or belt, if it’s a grocery store) and not think to look behind them at anyone who might want to set their items down. They are oblivious to all that’s going on around them.
Upon reaching the cashier, dutifully watching all their items being rung through and put into bags, they will be surprised at being asked to produce some form of remuneration. Not that they’d argue about having to pay…it simply didn’t occur to them that, as with every other time they’ve contributed to their local economy, they would have to exchange money for goods. They spend the next minute or so digging through their purse or pocket for a cartoonishly overstuffed wallet.
Next comes the exquisite precision of ridding themselves of their pocket change. An elaborate dance between cashier and customer, it cannot — nay, must not — be rushed. Only a painstakingly long process of selecting the maximum possible number of coins needed to round off the change to a neat dollar can save the customer from the crushing weight of those two quarters and three pennies.
The final act in their ineptitude is to stay rooted to their spot in front of the cashier while they put away…everything. Cash (bills only, mind you) into wallet, wallet into purse, purse into larger bag. Then receipt into different part of bag, bag into bigger bag, and so on. Meanwhile the next person in line struggles to input their PIN or sign their name whilst reaching around the shopper-pylon.
If you encounter such an animal in the wild, it’s best to avoid them. Switch lineups, or if you must, leave the store altogether. You can try luring them away with an instant bingo ticket if you have one; their type savours the sweet mindlessness of scratch-n-win tickets. Beware, though: they may need to borrow a coin.
Skirl | Dan Dickinson 