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Happy Birthday Quiet Man

It's the birthday of Thomas Merton, (books by this author) born in Prades, France (1915). Merton was a Trappist monk, but he was also the author of more than 50 books, 2,000 poems and a personal diary that spanned much of his lifetime.

“Give up everything, give up everything!”

Merton was educated in France and the United States before beginning his university career at Cambridge University. But he left after only one year and returned to America to attend Columbia University and live with his grandparents. Merton decided to write his master's thesis on William Blake, and he found himself deeply influenced by Blake. He converted to Christianity, and in 1941 he entered a Trappist abbey in Kentucky, where he remained for most of his life. In his diary from this time, Merton wrote, "Going to the Trappists is exciting. I return to the idea again and again: 'Give up everything, give up everything!'" Merton had become well-known throughout the world, in part because of his writing, in particular his autobiography The Seven Story Mountain (1948).

He said, "An author in a Trappist monastery is like a duck in a chicken coop. And he would give anything in the world to be a chicken instead of a duck."

Merton was also known for his dialogue with other faiths, and for advocating non-violence during race riots and the Vietnam War. Merton was encouraged to write at the abbey, but he was not allowed to leave. And so a new abbot allowed Merton to leave the abbey in 1968 for a tour of Asia, where he met the Dalai Lama, and where he died accidentally, touching an electric fan as he stepped from his bath.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Merton is special to me as it was his writings that in part convinced me to be a Franciscan so many years and a lifetime ago.

A Kid Again

Being a kid is underrated. Too often we are too rushed in our own lives and we miss out on how wonderful it is to be unfettered, small, and alive in a world where magic lives. Today I had a great opportunity to experience this feeling vicariously through my children. It is winter camping weekend with the 2nd Markham Cubs. We are at the Shadow Lake camp grounds in Durham Region. It is snowy, it is cold, and we are having the time of our lives.

“Dad did you see the way the snow exploded? Was that cool or what !?!?!”

We are doing all the traditional winter things that Cubs and Scouts do. There's snow shoeing, tobogganing, hiking, winter soccer, and best of all eating. Camp food is the best food. Soup and macaroni are fine at home, but try it at camp after a rip roaring day of snowbound fun and it is a feast fit for royalty. Add the aroma of a camp fire in the middle of a pine forest and it just doesn't get any better.

The best part of the weekend was watching how my son and daughter actually enjoy life. Their happiness and joy are infectious. The most important issue of the day was the terrific tumble they took while zooming down the hill on their sleds. “Dad did you see the way the snow exploded? Was that cool or what !?!?!” For a brief shinning moment I forget that I work for a crappy company. I forget that I don't ever seem to have enough money at the end of the month to live on. All I can focus on is how great it is to be a kid. To be loved. To see the world as a wonderful place. So I guess it does get better.

An Abstract Birthday

“Abstract painting is abstract. It confronts you”

It's the birthday of Jackson Pollock, born in Cody, Wyoming (1912). He is best known for his innovations in abstract impressionist painting. He was often called "Jack the Dripper" because of his radical painting style.

Pollock's family moved to Arizona and California when he was a boy, and during this time Pollock first saw Indian sand paintings, which fascinated him. He later attended art school in California, where he studied seriously and drew a series of anatomy drawings.

Number 22 - 1949

In 1929, Pollock began studying under Thomas Hart Benton, the realist mural painter, at Manhattan's Art Students League. Pollock said, "He drove his kind of realism at me so hard I bounced right into nonobjective painting." Pollock became deeply influenced by Pablo Picasso's work, and the work of other surrealist painters, and this led Pollock to experiment with his painting. He developed the "drip" technique, where he would draw or drip paint onto enormous canvases. Sometimes he applied paint directly from the tube, and other times he used aluminum paint to make his work more brilliant. He was so energetic in his attacks on the canvas that his approach to painting became known as "action painting."

Jackson Pollock said, "Abstract painting is abstract. It confronts you."

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Additional Links by Me

Poked, Prodded, Mismanaged, Oh My.

Today was again a day of entropy both personal and professional. This morning was the double whammy of going to the lab for blood tests so my doctor can explain to me that I'm no longer a young man, followed by a routine trip to the dentist so that he can tell me that I'm getting long in the tooth. He's a real cut up my dentist. I survived this in good form with trackmarks on my arm and swollen bleeding gums from the ministrations of the oral hygienist. I looked like a heroin addict.

“I looked like a heroin addict”

How much worse could it get? Well as usual that is not the question to ask at International Greed Enablement Corp, because you always get an answer whether you like it or not. Effective immediately, no matter how trivial, all network changes need to be conducted either during the Sunday change window (4:00 AM to Noon) or on a randomly assigned work day, chosen by the beloved one, between the hours of 4:00 AM and 6:00 AM. You are expected to wok your regular time slot, and he is looking for volunteers to sign up for it.

That is after the change freeze. You see we are freezing all changes so that the annual greed of the RRSP season is not interrupted. The Freeze is solid, the freeze is complete. Nothing will be changed until the freeze ends in March. The beloved one will not be moved on this. OK we think... time to read a good book or take up knitting. Not much to do anymore. That is until the first challenge to the freeze arises, from a manager with more peck in his order. So now we have the emergency thaw and "oh by the way can you come in at 4:00 AM tomorrow?"

Our reply "Nope. Sorry. Need at least 3 days notice." If you listened closely enough you can hear the go F@$% yourself in muted undertones.

Give me the tooth scraping or the bloodletting instead.

The Post Rabbie Burns Day Wrap Up

On the subject of good information to know, at least in the city of Toronto, here is a good tip for you males out there; wearing a kilt leads to women and free scotch. We tried it out in a cafe at half ten in the morning, and in an Irish pub at half one in the afternoon. Tremendously successful in both locations and the scotch was smooth and warm on a cold cold winter's day.

“a kilt will take you places me lads ”

The women aspect was pretty steady throughout the day whenever they were encountered. Perfectly attractive and otherwise unattainable females completely out of our league would strike up conversations. Nothing about them had changed, and the only thing different in our party was the presence of highland dress. Perhaps they had a secret Braveheart fascination. But lesson learned, a kilt will take you places me lads.

Happy Rabbie Burns Day!

It's the birthday of Robert Burns, (books by this author) born in Alloway, Scotland (1759). He's the man who wrote the lines: "Oh, my luve's like a red, red rose, / That's newly sprung in June; / Oh, my luve's like the melodie / That's sweetly played in tune."

“This day is now a Scottish national holiday”

He only published one book in his lifetime, Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect (1786), but many of the poems were set to music and are still sung today in Scotland and around the world. A few years after his death, friends began to gather on his birthday to celebrate his life, and the event slowly grew in size and became a Scottish tradition. This day is now a Scottish national holiday.

Bonie Doon

Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu o' care?

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings upon the bough;
Thou minds me o' the happy days
When my fause luve was true.

Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird,
That sings beside thy mate;
For sae I sat, and sae I sang,
And wist na o' my fate.

Aft hae I roved by bonie Doon
To see the wood-bine twine,
And ilka bird sand o' its luve,
And sae did I o' mine.

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose
Frae aff its thorny tree;
And my fause luver staw my rose
But left the thorn wi' me.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

The Matrix Imploded

Take the red pill. It's probably what I should have done a long time ago. For those of you not familiar with the mythology of the Matrix, taking the red pill eventually leads to understanding and freedom. I wish that I could have had this at the “group hug” meeting last Friday.

Yes it was a wonderful event. The management team was well represented by the VP, HR Guy and the beloved one (see their photo to the right). For good symbolism there should have been another of their ilk because as it stood we were one horseman short of an apocalypse.

The meeting room was the dull beige. The institutional, abandon all hope ye who enter here beige. The VP and HR guy sat one side of the table, and the beloved one and the three remaining members of the department of the damned sat on the other. Rife with symbolism... we were all on the same side... get it? It didn't work for us either.

The meeting went an hour and a half, we heard a lot about cooperation and respect. Mind you, after sifting through all the nuances and HR speak we figured out that what was really being said was "get in a row ya stupid duck." We would say things about how our careers were going and the beloved one would tell us we were wrong. We would say black, he would say night. He would say "No, No, No" We would annoy him and say "Yes, Yes, Yes". We did manage to push his button until he lost composure and swore "Jesus Christ" in front of the VP and HR Guy, at which point WAN Guy #1 asked him to not take the name of his God in vain. The silence and embarrassment was evident in the beloved one meanwhile we three were cool and composed.

The VP lost points with us by inferring that the lack of adequate network coverage during the eastern seaboard blackout last year was the real reason for the silly rules about coverage now. We asked if he was serious. A day when the infrastructure of Western Civilization grinds to a halt, no phones, not transit, no power and they can still contact a WAN guy on vacation and they take that as the example when coverage fell apart... we stared at them blinking for quite a while.

The best line came from HR guy, and I paraphrase here because I could write down the word respect fast enough or as often as he said it, "at the end of the day, you've got to respect the management process and give respect to the managers and respect the decisions they make with respect to the wishes of the company". I wish I was making it up. Where is my red pill?

Lost

Today there is a shroud of distraction hanging heavily on my shoulders. It was here yesterday, and the day before. I'm drifting and I know it. Can't write. Can't sleep. Can't seem to muster the motivation for much of anything. Oh there are the small respites, but these usually involve drinking. In this mood, drinking only increases the moodiness.

Tomorrow is the “group hug” meeting. Tomorrow is the reaffirmation of the mandate of heaven on the shoulders of the beloved one. If I were an American and a Democrat, I imagine this Inauguration Day, this inauspicious ascension to executive fiat, would feel similar. The world is upside down and I feel like I'm the only one who notices.

My Mom is So Proud

The University of Blogging Presents to Ric Knight An Honorary Bachelor of Quiz Addiction Majoring in Color Bars Signed Dr. GoQuiz.com ®

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It's like they know me.

Check The Warranty On That Clock

A funny story related by email...

Girl's Night

The other night I was invited out for a night with "the girls." I told my husband that I would be home by midnight, "I promise!"

Well, the hours passed and the margaritas went down way too easy.

Around 3 a.m., a bit blitzed, I headed for home.

Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall started up and cuckooed 3 times. Quickly, realizing my husband would probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times.

I was really proud of myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution (even when totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with him.

The next morning my husband asked me what time I got in, and I told him Midnight.

He didn't seem disturbed at all.

Whew! Got away with that one!

Then he said, "We need a new cuckoo clock"

When I asked him why, he said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, 'Oh. Shit,' cuckooed 4 more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another 3 times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the cat and farted."

Weirdness Continues

The deep freeze is on. It is well below the zero celcius mark in the "big smoke by the lake" known as Toronto. January is hardly half over, and by all accounts, we are still well in the deep dark throes of winter. The farthest thing from our minds is the planning of our summer vacation. But guess what? Yep, you guessed it, the beloved one would like us to book our vacation time for the coming year of 2005. If we book early do we get a couple of bonus days? Probably not.

What's in My Journal

A Poem by William Stafford, from Crossing Unmarked Snow © University of Michigan Press.
(Available at Amazon Canada, US and UK)

Odd things, like a button drawer. Mean
Things, fishhooks, barbs in your hand.
But marbles too. A genius for being agreeable.
Junkyard crucifixes, voluptuous
discards. Space for knickknacks, and for
Alaska. Evidence to hang me, or to beatify.
Clues that lead nowhere, that never connected
anyway. Deliberate obfuscation, the kind
that takes genius. Chasms in character.
Loud omissions. Mornings that yawn above
a new grave. Pages you know exist
but you can't find them. Someone's terribly
inevitable life story, maybe mine.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Additional Links by Me

Happy Birthday Robert, From Dan and Sam

It's the birthday of the Canadian poet Robert W. Service, (books by this author) born in Preston, England in 1874. He moved to Canada in 1897 and for eight years worked in the Yukon for the Canadian Bank of Commerce. It was there that he began to write. He said, "I was greatly surprised to find my work acceptable."

Influenced by Kipling, Robert W. Service wrote ballads about Yukon life. Two of these poems, his most famous, are "The Shooting of Dan McGrew" and "The Cremation of Sam McGee." They appeared in Songs of a Sourdough (1907, reprinted in 1915 as The Spell of the Yukon). He left the Yukon to report about the Balkan War for the Toronto Star. During World War I he drove an ambulance, which gave him material for Rhymes of a Red Cross Man (1916). After the war he moved to France and wrote more in his later years, but he never met the same fame as he had with his poems about the Yukon.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Additional Links by Me

Sunday Checkers

Sundays are made for families, made for sharing time with loved ones, made for playing checkers with daughters. My daughter likes to play checkers with me. She likes to really do anything as long as we do it together. She's at that stage. It's a stage I encourage and try to take advantage of as often as possible. Too soon we will be at the “Father you're embarrassing me” stage, and checkers will cease.

The important thing about playing checkers with your daughter is to lose every now and then. Eventually, if you play together long enough, she will end up cleaning your clock on her own. It's a simple matter of entropy. Your brain cells get slower with age and she will still be young. But letting her win, now and then, lets her enjoy victory, puts a smile on her face, and most importantly of all, it gives her a sense of accomplishing something. It also teaches her, in a round about way, compassion. You see later on, when I'm old and she is a young woman, and one weekend, when she comes to visit, she'll humour her old man with a game of checkers and she might just let me win a few.

I Am, Therefore I Drink?

A wise man once said, "I drink, therefore I am!" An interesting comment indeed, but what does it mean? Well we think we have the answer. Every personality contains a lot of traits. This test aims to determine, from your name alone, the most dominant personality traits and give you a fun little recipe for your own personality cocktail. Perhaps you and your friends can have a little Personality cocktail party and compare results! We hope the concuctions this test generates don't leave a bad taste in your mouth. Oh and remember, always drink in moderation - we dont want you getting tipsy on personalities now do we!

How to make a Ric Knight

Ingredients: 1 part success 3 parts crazyiness 1 part empathy

Method: Layer ingredientes in a shot glass. Add a little cocktail umbrella and a dash of curiosity

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Personality cocktail
From Go-Quiz.com

The Father of Farce

It was on this day in 1622 that a third French writer, the playwright Molière, (books by this author) was baptized in Paris. He is known to be the father of French comedic theater, and wrote Tartuffe (1664), Le Misanthrope (1666), and Le Malade Imaginaire (1673). Born Jean-Baptiste Poquelin to wealthy parents—his father was the royal upholsterer—Molière attended school at the well-respected College de Clermont and studied law at Orleans.

“I have the fault of being a little more sincere than is proper”

He was expected to follow in his father's footsteps, but when he was 21, he became involved with a theatrical family, the Béjarts. He joined them and others to produce and play comedy as a company under the name of the Illustre-Théâtre. The company didn't last long—it was a financial mess, and Poquelin spent time in debtor's prison. But it was during these first years with Illustre that two things happened: Poquelin developed a relationship with Madeleine Béjarts, who was with him until her death and widely thought to have been his mistress. And, as a performer, he started using the stage name Molière.

Since there was clearly no room for another theater troupe in Paris, Molière, Madeleine, and their company ran off to tour the provinces. They did this for 13 years, giving Molière plenty of practice with all aspects of the theater: He was an actor, director, stage manager, and writer. In 1658, Molière and his company performed before Louis XIV on a makeshift stage in a guardroom of the Louvre. They chose a play that had been popular with provincial audiences, Le Docteur Amoureux (The Amorous Doctor). The King's brother Philippe loved it, and the troupe was invited to stay in Paris. Molière spent the rest of his life there, and died in 1673 not far from where he was born.

Molière was a womanizer, and had affairs with several actresses in addition to Madeleine. When he finally married, at age 40, he scandalously chose 19-year-old Armande Béjarts, who was either Madeleine's daughter or her sister. She was a flirt, and Molière was not only a womanizer but a jealous husband, so they were unhappy. They separated after only two years, after she bore him a son, but she continued to work with him. One of her most important roles was Celimene in Le Misanthrope, a coquettish character which was modeled after her. Molière played the role of Alceste, who is in love with Celimene.

Le Misanthrope is widely considered to be Molière's greatest achievement. In it, the character Alceste says “I have the fault of being a little more sincere than is proper.”

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Car 54 Where Are You?

You miss one lousy day and the world goes to hell in a hand basket. The beloved one has decided that he needs to be notified when ever we leave the building for any reason. It's his inexpensive way of monitoring our locations constantly, without having to resort to GPS. Now let me see... am I going to do this? I think not.

"It's an erosion of dignity, it's an erosion of privacy"

This is just the latest piece of the Fresh Start program that will ensure an improvement in Manager Employee relations. Can you feel the love building at an exponential rate? For some reason HR and management in this place can't quite see clearly why draconian policies don't show the expected results. It's an erosion of dignity, it's an erosion of privacy.

Maybe he thinks we are doing a remake of Cool Hand Luke. In that movie whenever the convicts wanted to do anything they had to ask the prison guards for permission. "Taking it off over here Boss", "Going piss over here Boss", "Drinking water here Boss" ad naseum. In Cool Hand Luke, Paul Newman's character didn't give in to the stupidity of authority, and in this case neither will I.

I don't Even Like Ice Cream

Well isn't this a fine howdy do? I'm Neopolitam ice cream. Of course you know what that means. Someone is going to use up all the chocolate and vanilla and then leave all that crappy strawberry behind. Did I deserve that fate? Oh foul internet test, why couldn't I be Rocky Road?

Your Icecream Flavour is...Neopolitan!

You aren't satisfied with just one flavor. They say variety is the spice of life and this shines through in your Ice cream of choice! Just don't eat all the chocolate and leave the strawberry and vanilla behind!

What is your Icecream Flavour?

Find out at Go Quiz

Found at Trying so very hard to be perfect

Dropping Like a Rock

“new vigor seems to be entering the world”

Sring sprang forth on the Oakridge Moraine today. It was a balmy 16 degrees Celcius at lunchtime. The sun was out, the jackets were off, and I was doing some manly care repair work with my buddy. Ok so we just replaced a burnt out fuse, but we were prepared to do more, should it have been needed. Feeling the need for extra manly labour we burned scrap wood in his backyard. This is not the point, the point is that it is the middle of January and it feels like the middle of April. The point it that it feels like the sap is running again and new vigor seems to be entering the world. The point is that I'm so ready for it to be April right now.

This warmth, this early taste of a season not yet ours, was apparently too good to last. The mercury plumets even as I type, and it is heading well into the negative range. This morning the brownish green grass of my front yard was uncovered for all to see. Now the icy shroud of winter's white blanket covers the yard once more. Nature giveth, Nature taketh.

A Meeting Too Far

Lately, I've had a little motivation issue at International Greed Enablement Corp. Yesterday we got the “Rah Rah Go Team” speech from the senor executives. Last year they told us that we were going to be in the Big League. This year we were told that we had a great season and that we were now in the “Play-offs”. Funny, I've been feeling like we are more in the middle of the NHL lockout, but I guess this wasn't the business as sports metahor that the CEO was going for.

Today, I was scheduled for a department meeting with just the beloved one and the rest of the gang. This would have been an hour of wasted time. In the afternoon there was going to be the first “group hug” meeting with the beloved one, the VP and HR guy. That's three meetings too many. So I opted not to go. Just like that. In fact, I opted to exercise a mental health day, and I don't feel bad about it.

Happy Birthday Lorrie

It's the birthday of short story writer Lorrie Moore, (books by this author) born in Glens Falls, New York (1957). She's the author of the short story collections Like Life (1990) and Birds of America (1998). She skipped a grade in school when she was growing up, and the difference in age between she and her classmates made her feel especially small and shy. She said, "I felt so completely thin that I was afraid to walk over grates. I thought I would fall down the slightest crevice and disappear."

“How to Be a Writer” begins, “First, try to be something, anything, else... ”

She started writing in college, and published her first story in Seventeen magazine. She was so happy she proceeded to send them everything she'd ever written. She said, "They couldn't get rid of me. I was like a stalker. I sent them everything, and of course they didn't want anything more from me."

It was only after she told her parents about her publication that she found out they had both wanted to be writers themselves. Her father went up into the attic and brought down stories that he'd once submitted to the New Yorker, and her mother admitted that she'd given up journalism for nursing.

In grad school, Moore realized she had to decide whether she wanted to devote her life to writing or to the piano, which had been her first love. She said, "The typewriter and the piano were actually similar ideas, for my mind and for my hands. I was completely unaccomplished musically [but] I was having ecstatic experiences in the practice room and wasn't getting any writing done. So I had to choose." She chose writing, and published her first book of short stories by the time she was twenty-six years old.

Lorrie Moore's first book was Self Help (1985), in which the stories were written in the style of how-to manuals, including "How to Be an Other Woman," "How to Talk to Your Mother," and "How to Be a Writer."

"How to Be a Writer" begins, "First, try to be something, anything, else. A movie star/astronaut. A movie star/missionary. A movie star/kindergarten teacher. President of the World. Fail miserably. It is best if you fail at an early age—say, 14. Early, critical disillusionment is necessary so that at 15 you can write long haiku sequences about thwarted desire."

When she was asked in an interview why she writes so often about characters who make lots of jokes, she said, "I feel that when you look out into the world, the world is funny. And people are funny. And that people always try to make each other laugh. I've never been to a dinner party where nobody said anything funny. If you're going to ignore that [as a fiction writer], what are you doing?"

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Not Heeding My Own Advice

It's a terrible morning out there. Coincidentally there is terrible weather in Scotland too, as fellow bloggernaut Pep has indicated. I left a comment saying that it was the Universe's way of saying stay home, but did I listen to my own advice? Not a freaking chance.

“accident occurring every 30 seconds”

No, I decide to drive in on one of the worst days you could possibly have for driving. The Ontario Provincial Police have closed several sections of the highway, and they are estimating that there is some kind of accident occurring every 30 seconds. There is rain, ice, freezing rain, fog, and white knuckled driving fun to be had by all.

Next time I listen to me. Next time I stay in bed on such a crappy day. In bed where the good Lord meant us to be.

Bless Me Bloggers for I Have Sinned

There is nothing quite like luxuriating in self absorbed pampering. Don't get me wrong, I'm still trapped at the office today, but I'm taking the opportunity to do something nice for myself. I'm taking myself out to lunch. It's easy on my budget, because I'm a pretty cheap date.

"It feels like committing adultery"

In the vicinity of International Greed Enablement Corp there is a small deli which serves, well, deli food. There is something about eating in a deli that just makes the food taste better than if you made the same thing at home. Perhaps there's a special deli spice that's sprinkled on everything that makes it so good. Breakfast in a deli is my favourite, but today I opted for another sinful delight - schnitzel on bun. Add mayo, lettuce, juicy tomato and best of all, fried onions and we are talking about a mouthwatering delight that leaves me gastronomically spent. I'm going to have to have a smoke after this. It feels like committing adultery on what's left of my New Year's diet resolution.Basking in the afterglow of schnitzel well eaten, it feels good.

Maybe my diet will forgive me. Maybe my diet will take me back if I make sufficient attonement for this sin of mine. Maybe, but right now my contrition has not caught up with this my confession. Mea cupla, mea culpa, mea culpa.

I'm Only Mostly Good

I AM 28% EVIL GENIUS! I want to be evil. I do evil things. But given the opportunity, and a darn good reason I may turn to the good side. Besides I am probably a miserable evil genius. Take the EVIL GENIUS test at Fuali.com

Put Down the Paper

At some point, during the insanity which is my career, you would think that life at International Greed Enablement Corp would become a little less surreal. You would be wrong. Today marked the arrival of a new corporate officer fresh from the wheat, corn, soybeans, sunflowers and grain sorghum of Kansas. Yes today we got a brand new Chief Technology Officer. Mind you, we already have a Chief Information Officer, and no one really knows what the split between them will be which is the chief reason for our confusion.

" in case he urinated uncontrollably during his excitement"

This did not stop a feeding frenzy of toadying and obsequious sycophancy, or in layman's terms "arse kissing". When the beloved one first started we nicknamed him the puppy. This was largely due to his habit of "gushing" during any meeting he was in. He would go on at length, in rather excited tones, about all his previous accomplishments, in his last job, which in some small way related to the topic of the meeting. We joked that we should put paper down on the floor in case he urinated uncontrollably during his excitement. Just like with a puppy.

Well today he was again gushing in rare form. He was asked to participate in a tour for the new chief. So he came over to me asked about a couple of details relating to how the network was hung together. Later I discovered that my words came out of his mouth almost verbatim to the new chief when he was describing the network. I missed my chance. I should have said something outrageously false or silly. But how can one be that cruel to a puppy?

Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays

Robert Heinlein once quiped that an armed society was a polite society. Canada is a contradiction to this. By all popular accounts, Canada is unarmed and polite, but oh what I would have given for a little firepower today, that is constitutionally enjoyed by the armed and rude republic to the south.

" I was wishing that I had a trusty AK-47"

There is a certain physics to a winter in Toronto. We live by the lake so our temperature can plummet to the extreme negatives, but more often the calming balancing influence of the warmth of Lake Ontario lets the temperature hover just above or below freezing on occasion. This means that there is slush and free standing water on the roads. Roads which are slightly beveled to ensure all free standing water runs to the sides to collect in the sewers.

So take one slushy wet road, add one pedestrian and a car driving too close to the curb and the result? The result is a wave of ice and water drenching the pedestrian (read me). The silicon chip inside my head was set to overload, and I was wishing that I had a trusty AK-47 (not as accurate, but won't jam in adverse weather conditions - thank you A&E) or at least a rocket propelled grenade. Definitely not feeling polite and definitely wanted a weapon of some kind.

Someone pass me a towel.

Book Author LibeMeme

Copy the list of ten authors below. Replace any that are not included in your home library with one(s) that are. Note any replacements in boldface. Reference where you found LibeMeme when you post.

1. Charles Dickens
2. John Irving
3. Terry Pratchett
4. Samuel Beckett
5. Mark Twain
6. Garrison Keillor
7. Stuart McLean
8. John Ralston Saul
9. William Shakespeare
10. J. K. Rowling

Found on Art on a Limb

Slumbering Ambition

Morning and evening was the seventh day. I wasn't particularly creative. I wasn't particularly literate. Other than the stint of work this morning, I didn't really do much of anything at all. When did this become the norm? When did recovering from the work week become the primary goal of weekend down time? This is pretty depressing, and I recognize the tell tale signs of it in me. Things like surfing and blogexplosion suck away the empty minutes. It feels like doing something, but it really isn't at least not in any way that I would recognize as accomplishment.
"It feels like doing something, but it really isn't"
I was going to finish writing the story I began back in November. I was going to get some things done around the house. Yet, as day drags into day and the morale crushing continues at the office, I find these things have fallen by the side. I stand there staring at them. I know what I need to do to. I just find myself unable to move and they stare back at me, unable to move of their own volition either.

If God Was a Techno Geek

When people ask me what I do I say I'm a "greed enabler"

If the lord g-d almighty by thunderin' jeesoo had been a Technologist, there would not have been a resting on the seventh day. There would have been five days devoted to labour, one day of sitting around answering the @$%&* pager and on the seventh day rest? Not bloody likely. You see while the rest of the civilized world is "resting" the techno geek gnomes are scurrying around in the wee hours of the morning changing things, upgrading things, making icky red and amber lights flash green again. Green the colour of money, the colour of greed. When people ask me what I do I say I'm a "greed enabler". I make little lights go green so that wealth and money can follow the greed trail all the way to the bank. Too bad it isn't my bank.

When did we get so tied to the machinery of commerce that we decided it was no big deal to give up our one day in seven? I want a recount. Put me down as one against.

Teaching a Child the Art of Confession

Teaching a Child the Art of Confession
by David Shumate, from High Water Mark: Prose Poems © University of Pittsburgh Press.
(Available at Amazon Canada, US and UK)

It is best not to begin with Adam and Eve. Original Sin is
baffling, even for the most sophisticated minds. Besides,
children are frightened of naked people and apples. Instead,
start with the talking snake. Children like to hear what animals
have to say. Let him hiss for a while and tell his own tale.
They'll figure him out in the end. Describe sin simply as those
acts which cause suffering and leave it at that. Steer clear of
musty confessionals. Children associate them with outhouses.
Leave Hell out of the discussion. They'll be able to describe it
on their own soon enough. If they feel the need to apologize
for some transgression, tell them that one of the offices of the
moon is to forgive. As for the priest, let him slumber a while
more.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Aditional links by me

I've Been Discovered

I have been found out, discovered, illuminated for all the world to see. I am a pedantic geek of the literary bent. I like words, words are my friends. They speak inside my head and desperately try to ooze out of my fingertips through pen or keyboard into physical being. I'm feeling a little exposed right now...


You are a complete literary geek, from knowing the
classics (even the not-so-well-known classics
and tidbits about them) to knowing devices used
in writing, when someone has a question about
literature, they can bring it to you and rest
assured; you know the answers.


How much of a literary geek are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

The State of the My Health

It was a day of stress relief today, literally and figuratively. I was away from the daily grind of greed in order to attend to some much needed bodily maintenance. You see over the past few weeks I've been living with some aches and pains that have been increasing. It culminated this week with some chest pains (not to worry, they are on the "other" side) and a return of a rather serious Acid Reflux issue. The last time this happened I was in an equally stressful, no hope, no future, employment. Coincidence? I think not.
"before I digest myself from the inside out"
So off I went to see Doctor Feel Good today. I was questioned, poked, prodded, and given a couple of pieces of paper. One was a ticket to get my blood sucked by the vampires down at the local medical lab. The doctor wants to rule out things like bacteria, cancer, etc. The other piece of paper is for potions and elixirs designed to shutdown acid production in my gut before I digest myself from the inside out. The Doctor believes that the wrong sided chest pain is not my heart sneaking over to the other side of my body and playing tricks, but rather a nasty bit of scar tissue in my throat caused by wayward stomach acid... like gollum, all I can say is "It burns, It burns."

Maybe the beloved one got me a Christmas present after all.

Starting Fresh

The theme for this New Year at the office is new beginnings, starting fresh, clean slate. Can you feel the excitement? I certainly can. Yesterday the surviving members of the team met with the beloved one in our first meeting of the year. On the agenda he wanted to discuss scheduling and coverage.

In the spirit of the new start he wanted to know how we were going to cover the work day from 7:30 to 5:30. We reminded him that the coverage started at 8:00. "Oh right" he said, but if that was true then WAN guy #3 and I started at roughly the same time and he wanted it staggered so as to provide.... ah.... well.... you know.... staggered coverage. That would mean WAN guy #3 would have to drive in braving traffic rather than take the train in order to meet this requirement, as the trains did not match up with the beloved one's schedule. Perhaps he could complain to GO Transit about it, but in the end he reluctantly agreed that he wouldn't change WAN Guy #3's start time... "FOR NOW".

We brought up the fact that we thought we could cover the "coverage" for him by agreeing amongst ourselves who would start and who would finish. He did not like that. He needed to know who was on at what time and for weeks in advance. When pressed about it he tried to cut off the conversation saying it was closed. We did manage to drag out of him that he wanted the information for his own record keeping, but he would give no other reason.
"it's not on the table for discussion right now"
When we brought up the variable lunch hours, he shut us down right away. We wanted to say that as long as the coverage period was covered, why did it matter if we all took an hour lunch every day. Maybe some days we'd take the hour, maybe some days we'd skip it or only take half. The coverage period would still be covered, and we'd get some early days and/or late starts. Everyone wins something. He wouldn't listen and adamantly insisted that "it's not on the table for discussion right now." Even though the agenda was about scheduling. Oh well.

In short we wasted an hour talking about something that was unchanged, and that would remain that way for the foreseeable future. We also wasted our breath coming up with ideas different from his about doing something new. The best before date on this fresh new start has reached its expiry.

About Friends

About Friends
by Brian Jones, from Spitfire on the Northern Line © Chatto and Windus.
(Available at Amazon UK)

The good thing about friends
is not having to finish sentences.

I sat a whole summer afternoon with my friend once
on a river bank, bashing heels on the baked mud
and watching the small chunks slide into the water
and listening to them - plop plop plop.
He said, 'I like the twigs when they...you know...
like that.' I said, 'There's that branch...'
We both said, 'Mmmm'. The river flowed and flowed
and there were lots of butterflies, that afternoon.

I first thought there was a sad thing about friends
when we met twenty years later.
We both talked hundreds of sentences,
taking care to finish all we said,
and explain it all very carefully,
as if we'd been discovered in places
we should not be, and were somehow ashamed.

I understood then what the river meant by flowing.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Aditional links by me

Epiphany and Entropy

My life alternates between the extremes of epiphany and entropy, between the manifestation of the divine and the inevitable and steady deterioration of all around me. It is a life heaped high with stochasticity, lacking any predictable order or plan. A door opens. A door slams shut.

"the Douglas Adams school of flying - Throw yourself at the ground and miss"

I suppose the crux of the apparent seesaw between these polar extremes lies in the ability, or rather the inability, to make use of the revelations given. We are told through our various culturally induced work ethics that we have to plan for our goals. This is a good thing. You can't really hope to get anywhere without a solid plan. Unless of course you are a disciple of the Douglas Adams school of flying - "Throw yourself at the ground and miss", but I digress. Yes a good plan is a good thing to have, but in a Seinfeldian twist anyone can have a plan, but it's the execution of the plan that is the thing that really counts. Plans without execution are useless, but on the flip side, plans also lead to things like the 1914 German invasion of the low countries and war with Britain. Apparently the Von Schlieffen plan was a little too good to pass up on and we all know where that lead to.

Speaking of Germans and planing, this is where entropy rears it's ugly head. Von Clauswitz so correctly points out is his masterpiece (which means dry and boring) on War that "No plan survives contact with the enemy". Which is another way of saying that shit happens, but in nicer language. Plans are made, plans are executed, plans fall apart when exposed to anything other than the paper they are jotted down on. Constant vigil is required with a multitude of adjustments and compromises along the way and where we end up is not always where we expected to be. This is the rhythm of life. Cue Disney soundtrack.

My hope is that on this day of Epiphany in the Christian mythos, that I may be visited by some divine manifestation that, even for a moment, lets me and my plan stand shoulder to shoulder with the tirumvirate of the wise.

Joan, We Hardly Knew Ya

It's the birthday of Saint Joan of Arc, the French heroine of the Hundred Years War. She was born in the town of Domremy, France, on the border of the province of Champagne, in 1412. She was born and raised on her family's farm, and at age 12 she began hearing voices of St. Michael, St. Catherine, and St. Margaret, urging her to cut her hair, wear men's clothes, and join the army, and telling her that her mission in life would be to free France from the English. She followed their lead, and after enlisting she was promoted to the rank of Captain. She led her troops to a sweeping victory in the Battle of Orléans. When King Charles VII was crowned King of France, she sat in a place of honor at his side. But less than a year later, she was captured and sold to the English, who tried her for witchcraft and heresy, and burned her at the stake in 1431. She was 19 years old.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Proof I think that listening to the voices can be both good and bad.

No Excrement Mr. Holmes!

Attention. The following message is brought to you by the fine folks at the MGO- the Ministry of the Galactically Obvious. They would like to thank you for participating in this important, yet, pedantically pointless, while none the less accurate survey.

You are stressed about Career. You are having
trouble with co workers or issues with buisness
at your work.


What Kind of Stress are you Currently Experiencing?
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And oh by the way, you seem to be a green female. Cheerio then.

Buon compleanno, Umberto!

It's the birthday of Italian writer Umberto Eco, (books by this author) born in 1932 in Alessandria, Italy. He was educated at the University of Turin where he started out studying law but gave it up to follow an interest in literature and medieval philosophy. His first foray into fiction was the novel The Name of the Rose, about a mysterious string of murders at a medieval abbey. He explained, "I began writing in March 1978, prodded by a seminal idea: I felt like poisoning a monk." The work was a strong success in Europe and North America; French director Jean-Jacques Annaud turned the story into a 1986 movie starring Sean Connery, which helped to popularize Eco in the United States as a novelist and encourage him to continue to write long fiction. He followed it up in 1988 with the novel Foucault's Pendulum, and then a few years later, a sweeping tale titled The Island of the Day Before. Umberto Eco, who wrote: "I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren't trying to teach us."

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Patronage Pays

Sometimes the need for a release is overpowering. Sometimes the need becomes an itch, becomes an urge, becomes a compulsion that cannot reasonably be avoided. Today the wave of stress and strain from vacations too quickly spent, work too quickly returned to, life too quickly passed came to a head and such a release was required. Away we went, out of the unholy greed stained corridors to the warm inviting familiarity of the much frequented tavern. The bar rail needing the polish that only the sleeves of our coat could adequately provide. It is our haunt, our place, our refuge and our salvation, or at least a readily available salvation at reasonable rates.

We were greeted with warm smiles, tall tales and an unexpected pleasure. The Taverner himself proffered glasses of Irish Mist, readily accepted by the assembled company, in reward for our continued patronage and occupation of the north east corner of the establishment. It doesn't take much to gain our loyalty, it's a shame indeed these lessons are lost on management.

Return to Insanity

Today we return to the hallowed halls of International Greed Enablement Corp. The beloved one has not been here since before Christmas, his card still adorns the bottom of my coffee stained mug. The time away was for relaxation, the time away was for reflection on the future, the time away was for a relief from stress and anxiety. Three seconds after the first encounter all of that washed away and we find ourselves right back where we were before we were here. Here in no picnic.

The hustle and bustle of the first day of Greed for 2005 involved looking after the details of various sundry network jobs that had little or no relationship to anything that I actually do. I walked through VPN client set up on behalf of Desktop support. I played intermediary for two vendor organizations that already have a pre-existing relationship and don't realize that they don't need me to tell them how to talk to each other. Why am I the only person that sees this? When I bring it up to the beloved one, I am told that I need to be more helpful to other people. Funny how no one seems to be helping me do my job.

Happy Birthday John Ronald Reuel

Tolkien was and is a big part of my life. I remember reading Lord of the Rings as a small boy. We were at our holiday cabin in the forest and I would spend the majority of my days alternating between reading and tramping around the forest floor pretending that I was Strider. Mind you, to this day, I resemble more of a hobbit than anything else. It was magical as I recall, and as I recall, it becomes more magical with each remembering. I like the movies, but I love the books more. I plan a re-read this year after I get all my other books off the literary palate.

---

"In a hole in a ground there lived a hobbit...."
It's the birthday of J.R.R. Tolkien, (books by this author) born in Bloemfontein, South Africa, in 1892. He's the creator of a world called Middle Earth and its inhabitants, characters like hobbits Bilbo and Frodo Baggins, as well as dragons, trolls, elves, goblins, and other creatures. Educated at Oxford during the outbreak of WWI, he spent his free time writing poetry and inventing languages, until he was called to the Western Front and fought at the Battle of Somme-he fought in and out of the trenches for four months until he was hospitalized with trench fever. During his long recovery he wrote tales about elves and gnomes that later became The Silmarillion. But it wasn't until about 1930 that he started his most famous works-as an English professor, he was grading papers one day and was bored, and in a fit of daydreaming he wrote on one of the papers' pages, "In a hole in a ground there lived a hobbit...." The novel The Hobbit followed, published in 1937-and then came a sequel trilogy, The Lord of the Rings. From his introduction to the original edition of The Hobbit:

"If you care for journeys there and back, out of the comfortable Western world, over the edge of the Wild, and home again, and can take an interest in a humble hero (blessed with a little wisdom and a little courage and considerable good luck), here is a record of such a journey and such a traveler."

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily

Something Silly This Way Comes

Masters of the known world. Military and political might unchallenged at the peak of their power. Like unto gods, striding the Mediterranean world, civilization was ordered under the boots of their legions. The Romans came, they saw, they conquered, and now we make cute little punchlines with their language. Payback's a bitch. Bloody Romans.


Furnulum pani nolo.
I don't want a toaster.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Freedom's Day

It was on this New Year's Day in 1863 that Abraham Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation declaring freedom for all slaves in the southern states. The ruling changed the Civil War from a war against secession to a war against slavery. It also allowed the Union to enlist 200,000 African-American soldiers who volunteered after January 1st. Slavery was abolished in 1865 with the 13th Amendment to the Constitution.
" the only successful slave rebellion in history"
Also on this day in 1803 the slave colony of Saint-Dominique declared its independence from France. The new nation called itself Haiti after the original Arawak Indian name. To this day it is the site of the only successful slave rebellion in history.

It's the birthday of Betsy Ross (1752), the woman who made the first American flag. As the story goes, General George Washington brought a sketch of a flag to her Philadelphia upholstery shop. It was 1776. She suggested the five-point star on his drawing be changed to a six-point star. Then she sewed the flag in her parlor.

From the Writer's Almanac by Garrison Keillor
Available by e-mail daily