Canine Wisdom

Looks like this blog is getting full. Time to close off. Not sure what to do. Guess I'll have to move into my other blog for Part Two. I don't know. I was just thinking of how much I like dogs (and rhymes). There was some kind of report on animal behaviour that claimed dogs were largely misunderstood by the human population. Possibly the communication barrier. I don't know if a dog is really my friend, or, as this report said, a confidence trickster. I don't care. Whatever the animal's motives, it breathes and moves. It barks and it whimpers. And all it wants most of the time is a little love. And when you give it love, you give yourself love.
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Remembered Forgettables #5: Grounded

It's hard to gain the trust of strangers in a community plagued with serious drug problems. There's a notorious park around here which also serves as a community meeting place during the daytime. Even then you'll often see addicts tweaking and suffering their throes, the most common of which is to search the ground for fallen drugs, desperately and relentlessly. I went there on one occasion to meet a friend of mine and got there early. I noticed a young woman, well dressed, clean face, sitting alone on a bench and was curious enough to approach her. She was new in town. Didn't know anyone yet. And I felt I should inform her of where she was and why the park's patrons appeared so 'down to earth.' She opened up and told me all about herself. She told me about her fine arts degree, her gymnastic prowess, her fascination with model airplanes and nerf balls. And I happily let her keep on talking until my friend arrived. My friend needed a loan so I reached into my pocket for him, but I forgot I had my new glasses in there and they must have slipped out at that moment. Within minutes I was aware of the loss and was down on all fours, raking the lawn with my fingers. When I looked up, I saw that the girl was leaving. When I yelled for her to wait up, she started running. I never found my glasses. They would have fetched at least the price of a rock for someone. As it turned out, it made my eyes better. Somehow my eye's lenses adjusted themselves to compensate. I think they asked for help from my sense of taste. Now, if I want to really enjoy a meal, I have to look at it for a long time before I get started.
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Communication Letdown

I just realized how sad I must look every time I check my e-mail. I'm thinking, 'Oh boy, I wonder if anyone sent me any messages!' And sometimes I'm even rubbing my hands together and grinning, just before I check them. And then I hit the mail button and I watch it come on. And it says, 'Checking for new messages!' And I'm just excited as can be...
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Technical Note

The title of my High School Horizontal Blog has a suspension point at the end I never thought of in the column to the right. That's good because I always thought those punctuation marks were called drunken Polish Irish Communists from Ontario. Now that I'm forced to check, so I can report this anomaly, I know what the proper name for it is.
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Never Heard of Him

Whatever anyone tells you about me, if it's not from someone who knows me well - and few do - please don't believe them unless it's something favourable. If you have a question about me, I guess you can always ask me if you want. That's if it's a civil question. But I only have one friend right now, and even he doesn't answer the phone half the time when I call him. Still, he could answer questions about me. Probably wouldn't want to, though. On second thought, don't ask me. Just ask my friend. Or maybe the corner store staff. People who know me well.
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Remembered Forgettables #4: High School Horizontal

For some reason we taller, slimmer types can't rise too quickly from a sedentary position or the blood will drain from our heads, causing a momentary loss of vision and strength. I've experienced this sensation many times and believe it may simulate the feeling of life's loss. My physician says it's normal. Calls it postural hypertension. One time in High School, I got up from my desk and made off for the hallway too fast and feinted. Most present could probably hear my skull going thump! against the marble. When I came to, I was all right, but there were so many people around me that I was sort of pressured into playing the part of a victim. And I did, in fact, hurt my back a bit when I fell. My skull was unaffected. A month later I was trying to chat up this girl and the first words from her mouth were, 'Aren't you the boy that swallowed his tongue?' She didn't hold it against me, however. (The only other time I ever hit my head that hard was at a wedding party, while attempting to dance like a Cossack. My shoe sole failed to slide along the floor, and I was propelled backwards where my head made side contact with a mirror mounted on marble. The mirror cracked but my skull was unscathed. Fortunately, it was well over seven years ago.)
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Diablogical

Writing dialogues can pass the time in an entertaining way. It can also be a fun way to make your point. I can see why Plato used dialogues. They let the author reinforce his argument by setting up its challengers to fail. Good example right at the beginning of The Republic. That guy (Name escapes me. Thrasychimes?) who thought tyranny was acceptable because it conformed to nature. Boy, did he look stupid afterward. That's not quite what I'm doing in my dialogues. I'm just fucking around, having a laugh by myself. You know. You think of a situation and the kind of characters that fit. Throw in a couple who don't fit. Give them all names. Kind of a power trip by then. I can never resist the urge to mess with them. Dialogues are easy. They practically write themselves. You can almost start from anywhere and a story will emerge from it. Don't worry about character development. The dialogues can take care of that. Why, you're absolutely right. The dialogues can, indeed, take care of that and so much more!
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Aristotle: Putting Shame to Shame

Anyone who says being atheist makes you immoral hasn't read Aristotle. There's a cute line in Fahrenheit 451 where Montag's superior was rounding up books for burning, and when he got to The Ethics of Aristotle, he said, 'Who wouldn't read that and not think rather highly of themselves afterwards?' (Something like that.) But Aristotle got me to realize a whole bunch of flaws about myself that the church never bothered about, not the least of which was my smoking. Aristotle makes me see myself in error with smoking because, as an addiction, it is an excess: a vice. Even good things, like smokes, become bad things when they are in excess.
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Remembered Forgettables #3: Coat Redhanded

It was a freezing cold night in a Toronto pub. It was close to last call and this great looking jacket had been sitting on this chair in front of me for a while. Looked like no one was going to come to get it, so I tried it on in the mirror downstairs. And, well, it looked fantastic, okay? So all I could think was trying to get this thing home. But I didn't want to leave anyone coatless, so I put my coat on over it and went back upstairs, pretty sure no one would ask for it. I thought I was home free. Then this guy flies into a rage shouting for his jacket. I mean, he is pissed. And everyone in the bar is behind him, saying, 'What kind of a fuckin lowlife steals a man's jacket in this weather?' And I'm just shaking with fear. So I went downstairs, out of sight, again, to make it available, but I couldn't get my coat off because it was stuck. And as I was struggling and sweating, someone saw me and shouted, 'Look, it's him!' And when I tried to explain it like the above, no one believed me. I surrendered the coat and on my way out the door I heard the Aussie girl say, 'I never trusted him. He has the eyes of a dingo.' Don't seem to have much luck with or without clothes in these remembered forgettables.
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Poster Boy

For the last few years, being on the web has not altered my personal life in any drastic way, though sometimes weird things happen which seem to be related. Sometimes I'm walking down the street and a complete stranger will laugh at me on sight. Sometimes it's a group of strangers. Then again, that's been a lifelong problem. But not as often as it's been happening post-web. I don't blame them when I see how my hair looks half the time, but you must understand, those multiple crowns would confound even the very best of Asian female hairdressers in my price range, not that I cared about it. One day I checked a new e-mail address (since cancelled) to see I had fifty-nine messages from women with attached photos. I couldn't access them. I begged the e-mail people to let me see them. They never answered my message. (I was honestly once swarmed by a gang of girls way back in the school yard. Still don't know why that happened. One of them cried, 'Artist!' And they were upon me. They seemed to derive satisfaction from grabbing me and shaking me. It was back when the girls were stronger, so they were able to practically fling me around like a nerf ball.) Most people still take me as a stranger, but sometimes I feel a certain panic when I encounter women in numbers. Probably all in my head. When people want to speak openly about me in my presence, they may make a half-assed attempt to disguise their language. 'I heard he's been bowling a lot.' 'Yes, but his bowling ball was out of tune last time...' I've tried unsuccessfully to get my phone number changed since June 2007 three times for a combined total of about 130 minutes. I've decided I'm going to stay with the number I have. I'm sure it's for the best. Sometimes a tune or a joke comes back at me from a stereo or elsewhere. The people listening might not notice me standing there. I'm not even aware of it myself until much later, thinking back. Of course, the coffee shop staff have the inside scoop on all the local talent. When they smile for me, I know I'm on the right track. When they throw the coffee in my face, probably not. The rewards are there, too. You can tell when folks are happy with you. Very warm feeling all the way around. A cute little girl once told me she liked my super metal. It was the most adorable thing I ever heard in my life. (I recognized her. Same one who, the previous year, leapt up onto my neck from behind and tried to claw my eyes out as her mother looked on and encouraged her. Fickle little tyke. Strong, too.) When I post a song to youtube, the videos it's in rotation with will sometimes show millions of views. Mine hardly ever show any views. Ever. But people will come to my window. When I was posting [to me forgettable] home performances, (though that remains to be seen) I could often not get back in to edit the thing for a while afterwards. Again, these could all be coincidences. I'm not complaining either. On the contrary, overall it's been a peaceful and pleasant time.
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Safety Hints

While the industrial workplace is not made up of scholars, and I'm not grieving about it, a considerable amount of concentration is needed to avoid accidents. In the apprehension of objects from shelves above you, be careful not to lose your grip on them or they will fall forward onto your face. If they are heavy, it will hurt. Might even be better to fetch them down from a higher position. Never stand in front of the forklift. Never stand beside the forklift in a tight fitting environment. Don't stand under the forks, for they can drop on their own the odd time. As a matter of fact, when no one is looking, hide the forklift. Drive it away, out of sight, out of harm's path. If the machine they've got you working on is shooting sparks, don't kick it because you like to watch them fly. If a giant flash issues forth, run.
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Double Mockery

John Lennon was a pretty cool character. Even if you didn't like him, you had to respect him. I was just reminded of a scene from a dramatization of the Monkees' career where Mickey Dolenz meets John Lennon. It was so funny. I wish I could find that on Youtube. John Lennon sits back confidently and says, 'I don't have to be me, you see. I am me.' (No, it was an actor portraying John Lennon, but he was very authentic sounding.)
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Remembered Forgettables #2: Jewish In Toronto

I remember the time I masqueraded as a Jew in Toronto. First this old man I met in the Eaton Centre asked me if I was Jewish, and I said no. Then he said, 'What's your name?' And I said, 'David.' And his old face just lit up. And he offered me a job in his silkscreen shop. Then I went to my door-to-door encyclopedia sales course and one of the other students again asked me if I was Jewish. So I said yes. I wanted to try it out, I guess. He was very kind to me. I met his family and he almost got me a job in the drug store. It's just as well since I wasn't really Jewish. I didn't deserve to be working behind a sales counter. I can understand why these people excel in comedy. My friend took me to this Jewish tailor. He made me put on a green velvet coat from 1895 with a white carnation and look at myself in the mirror. This was back in the 1980's. I lost touch with my Jewish friend somehow. I don't think he would have cared any more whether I was Jewish or not by the end.
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All the Best Drivers

As an afterthought, before I get back into my music, I just thought I should say something positive about the Chinese. That sidewalk reference wasn't meant to reflect negatively on the Chinese people, who have never done me any wrong. Chinese drivers are very polite. When they're half a mile ahead of you they'll wait for you to drive right up to them before they pull out. A Chinese driver, I've noticed, will put his hand up to indicate any number of oncoming maneuvers. Best just to brake if you are not driving a train. My Chinese landlord has perfect English. Every other Chinese person in the room understands it. These people are also renowned bargain hunters. They will always beat you in the price they claim to have paid for something. Solid consumers, as well. Steer clear of the Metrotown Mall on a Friday evening. I'm only teasing here because I know the Chinese also have a great sense of humour. What else can I say? Way to go, China! Gimme a 'C'. Gimme a 'H'. Gimme a 'I-na I-na - Nothin's fi-na.' And don't forget, I grew up on Kung Fu.

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Bear Sprayed in the Park

It may surprise you to know that in some ways I think society may not be stupid enough. This is because our sex drive hampers our reasoning skills. For the length of time that a hot teacher is sharing his or her knowledge, the words are going nowhere. By the time I hit about the age of twelve, I wasn't watching Wonder Woman for the adventure any more. Nor was I watching Charlie's Angels for the plot or Sci-fi for the spaceships. (Except maybe for the Colonial Viper - as long as Jane Seymour's uniform wasn't on too tight.) I used to look down from a friend's window and see street people enjoying outdoor group sex in the public park. It's one of those trends that never got going. I think it's even more tantalizing to let sexy people walk around untouched. It builds up tension in the sex drive. String bikinis? Love em. The best string bikini I ever saw was on a young woman in high heels walking northbound on Commercial Drive at about 2:13 pm (and fourteen seconds. But the date escapes me.). It was navy blue. Or possibly black. She was holding hands with a blurry white and tan figure, off in my periphery somewhere. And I must confess I just love the summertime. All those bright coloured bikinis. Orange. Lemon Yellow. Likeable Lime. (What, you don't like lime?) Sassy Sassafras. Lookin' good, Vancouver! Dresses. Gotta love the dresses. And the jeans. Whatever! I, for one, don't look that closely at the fabric. Everything a woman wears is kind of attractive, now that I think of it. It's a humorous way to see it. Our society isn't any purer for insisting on the wearing of clothing. It just has a clothing fetish.

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Anne Murray Get Your Gun

Writing words for songs is different than writing blogs. For me it is. Song words have to sound good. You can't just sing anything. Looking for them is like staring into a blanket of snow. The adjustment for singability can cause my lyrics to be a bit confusing if you're looking for a literal meaning in them. I start off with a sound message, however. (Such as 'Explore Ignominy.') And then, because the good sounding words are fewer, they've already been used up, it seems. That's when I'm counting on my melody to make up the difference. A good melody let's you go on an imaginary flight. I do hear fragments of words in my head when I search for song words. I might hear the first word in the line: 'Because duh-duh-duh-duh...And duh-duh-duh-duh.' Just have to fill in the duh-duhs. That's what I'm trying to do at the moment for a lyric that starts with 'Beneath da-na-na-na da-na-na-na.' Any ideas? (No. See, it's too hard to sustain a short 'u' vowel sound. What's that? I'm sorry, you'll just have to wait in line behind that bullet-)

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Remembered Forgettables #1: Baring My Soul

As I sit here, having just finished a hot shower, I am reminded of the time my parents came home from church and caught me playing the piano naked. A defining moment in my life. In fact, I had just come out of a hot shower, and was passing by the piano, and I just suddenly thought of trying to convert Triumph's 'Power of the Music' into a square-dancing number. That's all that was about. My father, a hardened war veteran, shook his head in disbelief. My mom stared aghast. (I could already hear her with her card partners. 'Did you know I caught David playing the piano naked the other day.' 'Yes. And he keeps mooning us from his bedroom window as we get in our cars to leave.' 'The divil's in that boy.')

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Better than Nothing

Archie Bunker. Ralph Cramden. Fred Flintstone. Pro Wrestling Champs? That was an attempt to string together some working-class idols from my time. All of them rubbed me the wrong way at first. All of them shared characteristics with my father, a postal worker. But - correct me if I'm wrong - all of them are funny as hell. If you had to work with Fred Flintstone, you'd probably hate him. You can tell by the way he treats Barney. Archie Bunker? Me and Meathead could gang up on him. (After I'm finished helping Gloria in the kitchen.) Cramden? Tie him down and make him listen to his cries for help through headphones. (The pro wrestlers I would leave alone.) But they do make me laugh. They have a personality. Guess it's a tradeoff.
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A Way to Go

There's a great part somewhere in the New Testament where Jesus puts down his disciples for being too thick and not being able to decipher his parables. He tells the story from start to finish, then he has to go back over the whole thing and explain every line. ('No, see, the seed is the word - Peter! Pay attention and stop looking at that Roman statue!') You could tell right from the outset that people would get it wrong. I can see how a man like Jesus would attract a following. Humanity hasn't changed much since his time. We like when someone can answer the tough questions for us. Whether we're busy or just plain lazy, it's nice when we don't have to suffer for our knowledge. And we're oh so grateful when someone presents us with a good, solid plan. Some, like Peter, may even be a little distracted. I'm sure the last thing on his mind that day was being crucified upside down. If it weren't for the Lord, he could have stayed in his fishing boat and drank wine. Maybe chew a little cactus.
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Happy Song Weekend

It's a peaceful Sunday morning in Vancouver. Got an extra day off tomorrow, thanks to the grand old Regina, herself. God save her. (That's pronounced 'ray-gee-na' this time, smart alecs. And it must be declared in a pompous tone, with a slightly rolled 'r', and the pitch raised on the second syllable, as though by an officer with his sword in the air, about to lead his men on a mad charge as Zulu spears fly about threateningly, for the boys; or in a piercing, plaintive, echoing, Anita Pallenberg-like shriek from within the cold, cavernous confines of a castle for exiles, for the pretty-prettys.) And this time I really have GarageBand. This is a feature of Mac computers which enables recording and mixing music. The only hardware needed is an interface with the jacks on it to let you plug in a mic or an instrument. (It hooks to the computer by USB and you just need to download the drivers to get it working.) GarageBand is laid out similar to how I recall Flash, way back when it was still Macromedia Flash. It has a vertical marker which runs along a horizontal time frame. The tracks can be layered one on top of the other. Quite a user friendly system. (Not glitch free, but I'll spare you.) It has made the production of songs an overall quieter affair. A three-minute idea on the guitar only takes maybe half an hour to record. The bass line takes much longer, but is funner and hardly audible outside of this room. I might sit on an empty chord progression for a while until the best possible way of filling it in vocally occurs to me. But I don't make any noise as I'm working it out mentally. When I have to sing, I try to keep it as live as possible. I might not get it perfect right away because my voice has to get used to singing it when it's a new or unfamiliar melody. By evening time I fare better, but I don't want to disturb the peace too much with my ailing wailing. Sometimes I record the verses and choruses separately. Lets me have a running start at the chorus. But it wouldn't be essential. Within the Mac environment it is also simple to share with itunes. How far and wide this will spread them is unknown. But by then, the thrill is anticlimactic. I have finished that song and have already started work on the next one.
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Analysis:

Many people like to think that the balance of their behaviour weighs in their favour, but that might not be so. It could be an illusion caused by having constant touch with our inner excuses for our behaviour, while it is our outer behaviour which defines us in the end. Hopefully it isn't the - uh - rear end. So far, the bitterest, most unpleasant characters I've known have all been in a constant state of denial as to their actions' impact on others. They seem to redeem it somehow in their head with the self image of a poor, helpless victim. That's what gives them their license to be ill tempered and to victimize whomever is in range. Most people just call them assholes. They never smile for you, never say a kind word to you, and then they can't believe it when you don't like them. They insult you, take from you, then insult you again. They think they are perfect. They think they're cute. They think they're important. But it's crucial for a majority to be in agreement on the person, in order for the person to meet the full, rectal definition. Sometimes I have fun with them. Take those aggressive types who can't complete a sentence. I've gotten away with adding made up words to their vocabulary without their knowledge. And the ones who tell grandiose stories about their exploits will often answer yes to any question that begins, 'Remember when you told me about --?' Hey, it takes one to know one. Must confess I've been an arch-asshole. And how destructive a confrontation between any number of arch-assholes must be when we should be joining forces to make the world a better place. Dictators and generals. Tyrants. And pundits spinning the news for them. Spoiled celebrities. What a bunch of assholes. Standing behind brave men and driving them off a cliff. Someone's got to do it. If it's a co-worker, he might be at home in his mind, stroking his kitten. The whole time I return the abuse, I'm at home in my mind, working peacefully on a song. The ultimate way to return this abuse, I've noticed, is to appear very happy and contented. That gets them good. If I can call myself an arch-asshole, it can't be quite true that assholes don't know they are assholes. They know. They just think it's all right for them and no one else.
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Co Habs

As a Canadian anglophone who grew up in Eastern Ontario, I may have some insights to offer other anglophones on the relationship between the French and the English in this country. Those English speakers would include most of the French speaking population. (And if I'm lucky, German Yugoslavian girls from Ontario.) There appears to be a contrast in attitudes between these two historically opposed European cultures. The French Canadians, including my brother, whose first language changed to francaise, and his family, are calmer, often pensive, and may care more about people than money. I've never had a problem getting along with them. My niece once explained to me in her French Canadian accent that a conquered people have nothing to prove. It's a relief for them. (The natives might view this conquest differently.) The English Canadians are, well, English. Sometimes those French get on our nerves if they leave a mess behind for us to clean. And we just know they did it on purpose, and they're hiding around a corner where they can watch and laugh at us. We may need a few drinks of alcohol to get like them. It used to be in Ottawa that the English customers could continue their drinking binges on the French side of town past the closing time that was decided best for them. (A reasonable, virtuous hour for the children to go to bed.) No longer, though, I hear. They had cheaper rent over there, too. Less of a deal now, I'm told. I lived in Quebec while I attended college and another time stayed long enough to get my card de soleil. Probably misspelled that. (I was very unhappy that day. It shows in the photograph.) Both times I stayed at my brother's house. You could get a one litre bottle of Colt 45 for three dollars and twenty-five cents from the 'dep.' Depanneur. Convenience store. Your last memory before passing out might be cooling off with the ladies by the pool. And you're still alive. They musn't think much of an anglophone who needs to live in their corner, but they did accept and encourage my singing and playing on the patio. So did my brother. And my niece. My niece didn't care much for my weeping, though. And I disliked her squawking, as well as my brother's power tripping. ('You two, quit that squawking and weeping in there!') In Ottawa it's helpful to one's career if one is bilingual. My brother encouraged me to start reading French newspapers. I kept the French/English dictionary close by. (Stupid thing was designed for Yanks in Paris.) But I didn't make it past the tabloids. It was not to be. I'm still glad I made the effort. And I'll have a head start if Canada's second official language should ever again assert itself upon me.
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An Existentialist Says What

I haven't read much Sartre yet, but I liked one of his ideas very much. Sartre was the genius behind modern existentialism: the loner's fortress. Now, I've been dabbling in philosophy for many years and I still couldn't tell you clearly what existentialism is. It's one of those ideas, like I used to encounter in computer programming, so dense with substructure that a layman simply can not comprehend it. For instance, in computer programming, a simple function such as parsing an integer would require me to explain parsing, integers, string values, numeric values, etc, in order for you to know what I'm talking about. But perhaps with the same urgency with which some like to share their Knowledge Network findings, I must tell you the impact this Sartre documentary had on me. He came up with the phrase, 'Hell is other people.' The existentialist lives in a self centred universe. While that sounds negative, remember that we are all prisoners within our bodies. And we all remember ourselves differently than others remember us. It is impossible to contemplate yourself through another's eyes without feeling diminished. On the other hand, the existentialist is free to turn his eyes outward, and may be more inclined to do so - if he is ever sure that's what he is. Atheism and existentialism are often paired. Naturally, we can only have one God per universe, if any. But the threat of making oneself God is enough reason to keep these two schools together. (In my final judgement.) For a philosophy so focused on the life of one, at least its 'Hell' part concedes to the possibility of other lives. Existentialism. What a great word to use with authority on the gamble that no one present will challenge it!
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Clash of the Puritans

Puritans and artists are bound to clash when you think about it. For starters, artists get into trouble for knowing the human anatomy too well. Nothing makes those Puritans more uptight than the human body. (But they'll trust a physician.) I have a clean life here now, except for announcements from news channels which are favoured by Puritans on sodomy, homosexuality, teachers fucking kids, golfers. And now I'm talking about it. But these announcements are always making sure to remind me how sick it is when they brought it up. And they claim to be keeping children pure. Artists are made to paint clothing over their work sometimes. Pity. But then maybe the art isn't abstract enough if all its beholders are getting out of it is a peep show. If you're going to use the human form as your main vehicle of expression, the trap is set for horny viewers. And I don't see how any of us would be here if we weren't all horny, especially the parents. In fact, whether the Puritans know it or not, sexual pleasure is basic human happiness. Good enough for the angels, too, according to Mark Twain's Letters from the Earth. How is one immaculately conceived? Fertility treatments? No, this is one area where the Bible agrees with Mark Twain. And how about that Wings of Desire angel? Can't say I blame him. The Bible has a few kinky episodes, as well. And women were passed around like currency. 'Here, take my daughter. I want four camels and fifth of gin.' Christian women, I have an idea. Come on over to my house for some good ol' fashioned scriptural playacting? One at a time, please. I believe in monogamy on top of monoblogamy. And you better not have mono. Trapeze experience an asset. Church art is talked about by Huxley in The Doors of Perception. The focus was on strong colour to dazzle the eye and entrance the worshiper. (Now we have daytime TV and LCD.) I got free comic books from our church every Christmas. Comics n' candy. Uh - did they catch that miniskirt that Veronica was wearing? That must have slipped past them. I wasn't complaining. I still haven't figured out what makes the ratings board tick, but they seem also to have a severe sexual hangup. I'm telling you. It's those damn Puritans. Look. They're right behind you, right now, eating a turkey dinner. Grab that blunderbuss! Quick, before they slap an R Rating on your forehead!
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© 2007, 2010. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

The New ESP

It appears to be common practice to google oneself. I've never done it. I'm kind of tense about it. Take your pick. Hurt your pride or compromise your integrity as you span feedback ranging from brutal insults to glowing praise. Everyone's doing it. If you don't do it, you won't be able to defend yourself. And it'll be your fault if you can't take advantage. And if you don't, we're paying a little visit your house. Do you have fire insurance? I have a visual imagination. Not braggin, just sayin. The parodies of any drawings of mine are already as bad as I can make them. I don't need to know if there are any better ones. And my head's an easy target, too, when I look in the mirror. (Do they make mirrors so they reflect a softer image back to you? My mirror's kinder to me than my camera.) It's always nice to hear compliments, but what if they started going to my head? I'm only human. That's why we can't read each other's thoughts, I guess. It's only fair. (I have ESP, by the way.) So I'll continue on this way for another little while if they'll let me. And stucco is fireproof.
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Cut It Out

I'm not sure why, but I find it irritating to see people taking shortcuts. Man, we are really too much. I've seen it too much. Fine people. They can't help themselves. Why take the main road like everyone else? Don't you get it? Because everyone else is taking a shortcut. Bargain hunters, why pay more? Because then Wall-Mart won't rise up like Godzilla and devour us all. At least, that's why I would. Maybe I am crazy. I don't look for shortcuts. I stumble on them accidentally. But I wouldn't want others to stop, painful as is it is. The economy is probably counting on them. There's probably a variable in the computer program for them. They can create employment. In the case of lazy shortcuts, I've often been paid to undo them. But those manufacturing shortcuts can be a drag. And they upset me because you just know they're all about trying to shave a penny, with outsourced labour on top of it. They seem to go hand in hand with our culture. There's an almost criminal thought pattern there. It may sound cynical, but the jails are full of people who looked for shortcuts to everything from their next fix to becoming independently wealthy. And there's a few more who got away with their shortcut. One of those sweet, legal shortcuts. I feel better now. Time to head over to my friend's house. I think I'll cut across that neighbour's lawn. No, I won't. But it's such a pretty lawn. It's the kind of lawn that says, 'I don't like people cutting across me, but, in your case, I will make an exception.'
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Down in Vancouver and Out of Toronto

A friend of mine has taken an interest in reading. I've managed to steer him to a few authors I trust, starting with George Orwell. That's what brought tonight's topic in mind, a visit from a friend who just finished reading Down and Out in Paris and London. I saw a documentary on Orwell recently. When he referred to himself as a pamphleteer, I took it to mean that he saw himself as something of a literary victim of his age. (1930's and 40's: The age of shaping up or getting shipped out.) He is perhaps best known for his political satire, Animal Farm, (the pigs were the Bolshies) and cautionary tale, 1984, (Big Brother was Orson Welles), but Down and Out in Paris and London is more in the style of that 'new journalism' that followed with Wolfe and Thompson. It's his own life story about a rugged stretch of poverty, as he paid the price working people pay to pursue careers as independent authors. My friend thought Orwell fared better in Paris than he did in London. I thought they were both pretty bad. He was thinking of a notorious shelter described in the book in shocking detail. It sounds much worse than any shelter I've experienced. Vancouver shelters are generally safe. I had to stay in one about a decade ago. I took the bed closest to the door. Made sure I had a nice thick book to read, so I'd be the last one asleep. Oh yeah, and just to be safe, told them I was in there for crack. I wasn't. I overspent on a computer. It's funny, though, crackheads never want anything to do with other crackheads. It's a good way to be left alone if you're ever in that situation. A few years earlier, in Toronto, I racked up a little more street time. The winter was colder, but the shelter was fine. In fact, they trusted me in the food storage room on my own. We made our own pizzas and rented movies. I kept warm in the library by day. I even went on a date if I remember correctly. How spoiled can you get? It may have only been possible under a premier like Bob Rae. I'm responsible enough to keep a roof over my head most of the time, but I got off to a shaky start. Fortunately, I never fell into the habit of relying on a shelter. It's kind of tragic that some people might be a little too grateful for such facilities. And I must shake my head if I pass a food line and hear someone who just can't get over that soup and a sandwich might be free. Just learning it for the first time. Or worse, lying to gain your confidence. But in this land of abundance, the homeless get coloured food tickets, which are redeemable in either fast food, cafeteria food, or cigarettes from an overweight vendor. Five smokes for the pink one, or was that the blue one? Canada. My reasonably comfortable homeland.
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Get to the Point

My computer is my life. I'll admit it right now. Computers have opened doors for me in this age that weren't available to our unfortunate, hay-pitching forbears. I love my computer. It lets me build my own cyber-universe. I'm not sure how healthy this might be, but it is certainly pleasant. In a way I have immortalized myself in algorithms. I'm sure you feel the same about your photo albums at least. But at what cost? I've probably said it before but these choices we make on the internet define us perfectly as consumers. It gives whomever has got their hands on the master computer a firm grip on us; that is, if there is such a device. I realize this may sound a bit cuckoo. And, again, when I look around, I don't see an immediate problem. I just suspect that the power of persuasion is grossly underestimated in the modern age. They have truly made it an art form. I'm sure this new data is pure gold to them. I don't wish them ill either. My only complaint is that, under such circumstances, were such circumstances to exist, it would be impossible to know what people truly like. If you can't trust the network, how do you know what everyone is really watching or listening to? You're on your own. Maybe you can gather a few dozen supporters around you, who you will never meet. We're so atomized. So thoroughly sub-atomicized. There's a considerable section of the population, the older set, who are paralyzed by computers. My octogenarian ma needs assistance to reply to an email. Makes me wonder if, sometime in the horrible future, I might find myself unable to operate the controls of my life support unit. I won't be able to put the cry for help through the telepathic transmitter. But that day is still a long way off. And there's no cheerful way to contemplate it. Best just to enjoy the sunshine. And take my allergy pill.
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Anarchy in Dacre Lake

I hear so much about the importance of law and order but I seldom see any danger in my social environment. When I do, the cops aren't there. When you hear the word anarchy, you instantly think of chaos, but don't we do just fine most of the time out there on our own? Consider the world from the cops' point of view. Who's protecting them? Anarchy starts to look like a global doughnut shop, and the anarchist doesn't look like so much of a threat any more. I want people to be more open minded about anarchism because it has gotten a bad reputation for offering such an enticing alternative to our current system of government. Something tells me everyone would have a bigger slice if we went from workers to owners, which is called profit sharing. Well, almost everyone. And yet this tiny group would sooner hold back all the rest of us so they can stay on top. I know because I'd do the same thing. In fact, I'd rule you VIS A FIST OF IRON! HAH HAHAHHA! Ahem! Pardon me. Don't think I haven't fantasized about how great it would be to have all that power. Indeed, one of the lessons of Lord of the Rings, which may have been lost in its spectacular transition to the silver screen, is that power corrupts everyone, even the gentle hobbit. But a Dave-ocracy wouldn't be all bad. At least I have ideas: Ministry of Blowjobs and After-Dinner Mints, the Two-Minute-Sing (Everybody better feel like singing!), Noam Chomsky would have a nice children's program on every channel and would never die, and everyone would get free guitars and music lessons. Flag wouldn't have to change much. And school! Ha! Not the pushover it is now. A German Shepherd for teachers Grades 1 to 6; all manner of protection, from truncheons to flame throwers, for High School teachers. Then we don't have to worry about the little beggars when they get older. I would divert the economy to the construction of a nuclear hash bomb, with the diabolical aim of exploding it over Texas - except for Willie Nelson's house. Public nudity would still be outlawed but see-through clothing optional for the successful applicants. The base of my statue must be larger than the Post Office. And after I have laid waste to this land, I shall escape in a U-Boat to Tahiti and blame it all on the French! The point I started with was that we needn't fear anarchy. In some ways it's already here. I think it must be a good system if it stops anyone from having too much power.
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Stop Smoking that Flag

What's it like to be a Canadian? [2013: Ask Taylor Swift.] It may be as simple in some cases as taking an American and supplanting his passion for baseball with his passion for hockey. But for most of us I think our national identity is deeper than that. For myself, for instance, exposure to such local television programs as The Forest Rangers and The Littlest Hobo in youth might have have given me a powerful, subconscious, though controllable urge to fly-fish. (That's when we Canadians have our meetings, when we're down at the lake, pounding back the pints, or in the winter, when we're having our ice-fishing ski-doo parties. Just watch the beer commercials. Sometimes its when we're roller boarding, on our hands.) But certainly hockey is essential. Anyway, one issue which arises when I consider our national identity is the extradition of Marc Emery to a US jail for selling seeds (and effective activism?) I don't know the guy but I met him once. He didn't strike me as any kind of criminal. Quite the contrary. Even after we showed him cards to prove our membership in a pot smoking club, he still only had seeds. I think I said something like, 'You can't smoke seeds,' and that was it. We might have looked silly to him, brandishing our cards like FBI agents. I didn't vote for the Marijuana Party either, back when we still had that option up here. I did, once, vote blindly at a municipal election and favoured one candidate simply because he had the word 'godzilla' - or possibly 'gorilla' - in his name. I'm not proud of it. The pendulum swings back and forth on the plant debate, but there's a root power element in the case against Emery that has now spanned two opposing US administrations. In Canada the government has long since gone from Liberal to Conservative. Don't worry, Brits, a minority parliament can be quite lasting. Painfully so. The charges against him would be laughed out of the courtroom here. What country am I in again? Because the jails in my country are reserved for real offenders. I'm confused. At least in AKA Tommy Chong, the government's target, was living in the same country. There's another one. When you think of these people going down, it's absurd. Some well placed individual is in dire need of a sense of humour. But if you want the lowdown on Canadians, just watch Fox News. Do you like Fox News? They never did find that sea serpent that was supposed to be hiding in the Rocky Mountains, did they? I bet Ronald Reagan got him.
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The Republic of Who?

I once worked at a paper recycling facility where old books passed regularly on the sort line. We were supposed to let them all go. No great loss in most cases. But once in a while, a truly great book would cry out to me in a meek little voice: 'Please, David! Save me from the gas chamber! Pl-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ease...' One such work was The Republic of Plato. Yes, I received my philosophy degree from the University of Drudgery. You may consider that my employers never expected a paper sorter to have the slightest interest in books. Such an interest would only get in the way. And I don't mind apologizing to them for any inadvertent deception on my part. I just need money. But reading a sort line is practically the reverse of reading a book. You must be able to keep your eyes fixed and let the materials slide past you. Sorters earn every penny of their pay, let me tell you. What an eye opener that book was after I took it home and began leafing through its well worn pages. Has any Republican had a look at this? I think they just saw the parts they agree with, the parts which were more the consequence of living in antiquity under the domination of the ancient military power of Sparta. Plato was full of praise for the selfless Spartan citizens, all willing to surrender their self-determination in exchange for the security of a well established life path set out for them by their superiors, including mandatory mating for everyone by age eighteen, a little more than what our current government is offering. Some of Plato's principles, delivered in the character of his teacher, Socrates, are followed by the modern republics. The class system is there: bronze, silver, and gold. The highest judicial offices are populated by appointment and subject to income limits. We even have, as I see it, modern myths to create a common bond among common folk. Where things start to stray from the blueprint is in how the elite group is chosen. Plato wanted rulers who could be trusted. For this reason he went into great detail to describe the kind of human being who was most fit for leadership. He did not confine his curriculum by gender or other superficial characteristics, which is why the term 'platonic' is sometimes used to classify a non-physical friendship between the sexes. (I'll leave the gymnasium reference out this time because it gets the juveniles too excited, especially after talking about mandatory mating.) Above all, it was altruism which, in Plato's estimation, defined a great leader. I believe the metaphor he used in his criticism of tyranny was 'a light that only ever shines in on itself.' Reminds me of Fox News. Do you like Fox News? I hear they're coming out with a movie soon. It starts out with Megan Kelly, played by Queen Victoria, alone, tied down to the entrance of an abortion clinic, screaming for help. A young hippie tries to untie her, but she bites him. Others follow in their turn, but she won't let them untie her. She even screams rape when one of them accidentally uncovers her bloomers. Suddenly Glenn Beck, played by Casper the Friendly Ghost - wait, make that Murphy the Molar - appears in the heavens, riding a winged, Christian unicorn... Well, I don't want to spoil the ending for you. A couple of the funnier parts of the book for me were when one of the characters suggested that too much physical training leads to 'a certain dullness of mind' and when Socrates was describing democracy as something like 'the bright colours and parades that would be attractive to women and children.' That did crack me up, especially that second one. Just the pairing of women and children on the basis of being entranced by bright colours, somehow daytime television sprung to mind, and for a moment, I could have sworn Socrates was tacitly mocking women. His wife was a legendary shrew, I hear, though, nonetheless, faithful to the bitter end. To ensure fidelity (Fox News fans, that has nothing to do with Fidel Castro.) The Republic of Plato makes it plain that all political leaders should be banned for life from owning private property. Sound like the American way? So, Conservatives/Republicans, what do you think Plato would think of the modern republic? Not much, unless you would have us all believe that your money has turned you into Mother Theresas, which I wouldn't put past you even now as the warplanes rake the sky. No wonder you hate philosophy so much. On the other hand, democracy is ranked only a notch above tyranny by Plato's Socrates. Apparently he wouldn't have cared much for the Liberals/Democrats either. Isn't that fair and balanced?
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In the Year 2010

One of my major psychotic hatreds [RIP George Carlin - that stands for 'rack in pain'] is consumerism. I have a difficult time with people who gobble up new trends too eagerly. Sorry, but a lot of these trends are fuckin stupid, and that's not all that's wrong with them. They originate, in the year 2010, from a vast, soulless, monolithic, corporate entity which would sooner control you than please you. In the year 2010, every time you support a new trend, you're just encouraging a bunch of corrupt businessmen to continue monopolizing the media. I wouldn't mind it so much if these tycoons had some taste, but the difference between indie music and corporate crap speaks for itself. Now I wouldn't say a little exposure to current trends would be harmful. It's fine to use these impediments of art and freedom as a common frame of reference with others from your generation. Just don't kid yourself that your cool tunes are any sort of popular expression. They could have started with an artist but they got to you by way of a mathematician's ass. Hey there, four eyes! Why don't you point that giganticizer over this way for a change? I know. It's my acne, isn't it. Well I can't help that!
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Did You Say Twonie?

The last thing I want to yammer on about today is inflation. Geez am I ever tired of hearing about inflation from the same people who give us the inflation. I'm speaking here about our fractional reserve money system controllers. I'm not going to criticise their apparent favouring of my wealthy country but just their need to clutter the news up with endless boring and pointless announcements about inflation. It shouldn't be treated as some kind of surprise news all the time. And the debt's never going away if we have to borrow the money at interest. So what's the big story about the continuous and compounding debt? I know it's the way things are. It's the way they've been from my earliest memory. Is there a need to drill it in any further? Are you aiming for the minds of my ancestors too? Just wake me up when you need to turn the twenty into a coin. Oh, look, they're going to bail out Greece. BIG SURPRISE! Guess a sovereign state is an example of an enterprise that is 'too big to fail.' Did you hear that, granny?
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There was a Twilight Zone episode from the 80's series about a man convicted of coldness being sentenced to invisibility. The sentence was administered by applying a special mark on his forehead, which could burn through any covering, and releasing him into the population. From that point, his mark ensured that he would receive no acknowledgement of his presence by anyone - except that one blind dude but I don't want to spoil it. At first he thought it was a great laugh, but he soon longed for human contact. By the end of his sentence, he had been thoroughly humbled. One thing about invisibility of this sort is that it tends to project outward after a while. Others in the invisible person's sphere become invisible to him. He can act as though they aren't even there. Some street people, for instance, appear utterly oblivious to those around them. They may go poking through a garbage can right in front of you, or do far more shockingly uninhibited things.
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