I got an amazing amount of joy this week from a video posted on Youtube that is long, long overdue.
I think it was about 17 years ago Alanis Morisette had a huge hit with her song, Ironic, which many people complained contained no descriptions of irony. A pair of girls has posted a new version of the song, amending the lyrics to make it actually ironic. Click here to watch it.
I also had an online conversation this week with a childhood schoolmate about the proper spelling of cell phone and why I will sometimes write celphone instead (no good reason).
Later in the week, another friend put up a facebook post including one of the best neologisms ever, which got me to thinking about my very favourite words, and lately, these top my list:
asshat
fuckwit
nerdery
underwhelming
Don't ask me to define them, or explain why, but every single time I have the chance to employ these terms, or hear someone else use them, it makes me giggle.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Thursday, July 18, 2013
No Comment
I used to think I was one of those people who really could get behind the sentiment in the old adage, "I may not agree with what you're saying but I'll die for your right to say it." I'm not so sure any more.
I believe the free exchange of ideas to be a good thing, but in practice, what the comments sections in newspapers and elsewhere has become is a repository for meanness and ill-disguised ill humour.
I've noticed the first comment on a newspaper article is usually somewhat well thought out and reasoned, but it generally takes only until the third or fourth comment for a commenter to call either the author or another commenter a jerk or a racist or a commie, or, more often, a commie racist jerk. It's depressing and the spelling errors just make it worse.
Other methods of feedback appear to be equally open for abuse. I have a listener who sends me regular email notes complaining about the radio station where I work. His notes may or may not contain a piece of truth, but I can't tell because they're so dripping with sarcasm and filled with snarly asides, it hurts to read them. I dread seeing his name in my inbox, but I feel I have to reply with professionalism and it galls me to thank him for the missive. What I want to do is tell this guy he should stop listening if I offend him so. OK, what I really want to write is, "SAY SOMETHING NICE you unhappy wretch!"
That said, at least he's brave enough to sign his own name.
I believe the free exchange of ideas to be a good thing, but in practice, what the comments sections in newspapers and elsewhere has become is a repository for meanness and ill-disguised ill humour.
I've noticed the first comment on a newspaper article is usually somewhat well thought out and reasoned, but it generally takes only until the third or fourth comment for a commenter to call either the author or another commenter a jerk or a racist or a commie, or, more often, a commie racist jerk. It's depressing and the spelling errors just make it worse.
Other methods of feedback appear to be equally open for abuse. I have a listener who sends me regular email notes complaining about the radio station where I work. His notes may or may not contain a piece of truth, but I can't tell because they're so dripping with sarcasm and filled with snarly asides, it hurts to read them. I dread seeing his name in my inbox, but I feel I have to reply with professionalism and it galls me to thank him for the missive. What I want to do is tell this guy he should stop listening if I offend him so. OK, what I really want to write is, "SAY SOMETHING NICE you unhappy wretch!"
That said, at least he's brave enough to sign his own name.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Byng Rides Again
Thirteen years ago this summer, I made a new best friend. Byng the Bug is my little green 1998 Volkswagen Beetle and I love him so much, I can hardly describe it.
When the 'new beetles' were first introduced, I fell for them hard and fast, but I didn't think I would be able to get one right away. I was a recent grad with huge student loans, single, living in the big city on a young journalist's salary, a taste for dinners out and a shoe habit. My boyfriend at the time even bought me a glow-in-the-dark beetle from a toy store and used a sharpie to put a VW symbol on its back, saying it was the only bug I'd ever own. Well, if that wasn't an incentive to get my financial act together, what would be?
Two years later, at Weir's of Collingwood, Byng and I made our acquaintance and we've been together ever since. He and I took a trip to the east coast almost right away and we've been back and forth from Toronto more times than I can count. He has taken me to Provincetown and the Florida Keys, New Hampshire and Michigan. He's heard me weep and rail over broken hearts and bruised friendships and has carried me through snow and rain and hail in style for more than a decade.
This weekend, though, was nearly the end for us.
On the way to my annual Girls' Cottage Weekend, a light I had never seen before lit up on the dashboard, and the steering wheel suddenly seemed very tough to turn.
I made it to the cottage with a bit of worry at the back of my mind, but since Sweetie was also out of town, I decided there wasn't much that could be done about the situation, and I would just wait to see what would be.
Pulling out from the cottage on Sunday afternoon, the stiffness was still in the steering wheel, and that odd light was still on, but I made it down the 400 without too many worries, all the way to Penetanguishene Road. That's when the fan cut out, and the radio suddenly quit, but came back on again after a few seconds. When the speedometer started doing wonky things and the airbag light came on, I started to think that I was actually in really, really big trouble.
I sent a text to my sweetie asking where he was, and then sent another saying my car was acting funny. Just as I hit 'send' on the second note, Byng started not to respond to the gas pedal. I only barely managed to steer to the side of Horseshoe Valley Road and park before he just... quit. The windows were down, there wasn't even a click when I turned the key. The clock was still working, but that was it. My journey had ended for the day.
Happily, my mobile was charged enough to allow a flurry of texts and phone calls, and within two hours, Byng was parked at a garage in Collingwood courtesy of the CAA.
By five o'clock Monday, 25 hours after what I thought was a death rattle, I was driving my sweet little rusted ride home again, good as not-new.
I'm thrilled because I've been saving up for a new car and I don't quite have all the money I need just yet, (yes, Dad, I should have started saving as soon as I finished paying for Byng, I know....) but I'm also a little disappointed. I saw quite a few cool looking Minis for sale online in my desperation yesterday. I hope Byng doesn't find out I was contemplating cheating on him.
Thank you to Import Auto in Collingwood for prompt, friendly and reasonably-priced repairs, and to Fraser at B&B towing for being such a fun guy on a horribly hot day. Also to Sweetie for his roadside rescue and ride home.
When the 'new beetles' were first introduced, I fell for them hard and fast, but I didn't think I would be able to get one right away. I was a recent grad with huge student loans, single, living in the big city on a young journalist's salary, a taste for dinners out and a shoe habit. My boyfriend at the time even bought me a glow-in-the-dark beetle from a toy store and used a sharpie to put a VW symbol on its back, saying it was the only bug I'd ever own. Well, if that wasn't an incentive to get my financial act together, what would be?
Two years later, at Weir's of Collingwood, Byng and I made our acquaintance and we've been together ever since. He and I took a trip to the east coast almost right away and we've been back and forth from Toronto more times than I can count. He has taken me to Provincetown and the Florida Keys, New Hampshire and Michigan. He's heard me weep and rail over broken hearts and bruised friendships and has carried me through snow and rain and hail in style for more than a decade.
This weekend, though, was nearly the end for us.
On the way to my annual Girls' Cottage Weekend, a light I had never seen before lit up on the dashboard, and the steering wheel suddenly seemed very tough to turn.
I made it to the cottage with a bit of worry at the back of my mind, but since Sweetie was also out of town, I decided there wasn't much that could be done about the situation, and I would just wait to see what would be.
Pulling out from the cottage on Sunday afternoon, the stiffness was still in the steering wheel, and that odd light was still on, but I made it down the 400 without too many worries, all the way to Penetanguishene Road. That's when the fan cut out, and the radio suddenly quit, but came back on again after a few seconds. When the speedometer started doing wonky things and the airbag light came on, I started to think that I was actually in really, really big trouble.
I sent a text to my sweetie asking where he was, and then sent another saying my car was acting funny. Just as I hit 'send' on the second note, Byng started not to respond to the gas pedal. I only barely managed to steer to the side of Horseshoe Valley Road and park before he just... quit. The windows were down, there wasn't even a click when I turned the key. The clock was still working, but that was it. My journey had ended for the day.
Happily, my mobile was charged enough to allow a flurry of texts and phone calls, and within two hours, Byng was parked at a garage in Collingwood courtesy of the CAA.
By five o'clock Monday, 25 hours after what I thought was a death rattle, I was driving my sweet little rusted ride home again, good as not-new.
I'm thrilled because I've been saving up for a new car and I don't quite have all the money I need just yet, (yes, Dad, I should have started saving as soon as I finished paying for Byng, I know....) but I'm also a little disappointed. I saw quite a few cool looking Minis for sale online in my desperation yesterday. I hope Byng doesn't find out I was contemplating cheating on him.
Thank you to Import Auto in Collingwood for prompt, friendly and reasonably-priced repairs, and to Fraser at B&B towing for being such a fun guy on a horribly hot day. Also to Sweetie for his roadside rescue and ride home.
Monday, July 8, 2013
They come in threes
News stories that caught my eye this morning:
1) Nigella Lawson's husband is filing for divorce.
Not she, he. The man who was photographed last month with his hands around his crying wife's throat in a fancy restaurant is the one who wants the divorce, because, he says, she wasn't supportive of him when the scandal about the throttling made the news. She moved their children from their home and didn't speak up on behalf of him, so he's divorcing her.
2) Eliot Spitzer is running for office in New York City.
He's the former attorney general and governor who vowed to get tough on sex crimes, and then was outed as the client of a brothel and forced to resign. He's running to be comptroller for the city. Another candidate for the same job is Kristin Davis. She's the former madam who provided Spitzer's sex services. She called him client number 9.
3) Soccer violence in Brazil
A ref was quartered by the crowd watching a game late last month after the ref stabbed to death a player when the player refused to leave the pitch. It seems the crowd didn't know the player was dead; he had been taken away in an ambulance, but exacted revenge on the ref regardless. He was beheaded and belimbed. And you thought hockey parents were crazy. Brazil, by the way, is slated to host the World Cup next year.
Wow. You couldn't make this stuff up.
1) Nigella Lawson's husband is filing for divorce.
Not she, he. The man who was photographed last month with his hands around his crying wife's throat in a fancy restaurant is the one who wants the divorce, because, he says, she wasn't supportive of him when the scandal about the throttling made the news. She moved their children from their home and didn't speak up on behalf of him, so he's divorcing her.
2) Eliot Spitzer is running for office in New York City.
He's the former attorney general and governor who vowed to get tough on sex crimes, and then was outed as the client of a brothel and forced to resign. He's running to be comptroller for the city. Another candidate for the same job is Kristin Davis. She's the former madam who provided Spitzer's sex services. She called him client number 9.
3) Soccer violence in Brazil
A ref was quartered by the crowd watching a game late last month after the ref stabbed to death a player when the player refused to leave the pitch. It seems the crowd didn't know the player was dead; he had been taken away in an ambulance, but exacted revenge on the ref regardless. He was beheaded and belimbed. And you thought hockey parents were crazy. Brazil, by the way, is slated to host the World Cup next year.
Wow. You couldn't make this stuff up.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Of Cheques and Elects
There's a worn-out joke about a conversation between a man and woman at a bar:
"Would you sleep with me for a million dollars?"
"Sure!"
"Would you sleep with me for ten dollars?"
"What kind of woman do you think I am?!"
"We've established that. Now we're negotiating."
On Parliament Hill, $30,000 dollars, subsidized by taxpayers, was OK with the Conservative Party of Canada to pay back the senate for Mike Duffy's trough-slurping. But $90,000 was too much.
At Queen's Park, $20,000,000 to cancel the unpopular electricity plants and buy five seats for the Liberals in the Toronto area appears to be just fine with voters, if the polls are to be believed, but $585,000,000 might be too much.
And closer to home, well, you've no doubt heard what's alleged, and who might be benefiting from deals made with your money. The OPP investigation into possible corruption is under way.
It's enough to make you wonder whether the world's oldest profession isn't what you think it is.
"Would you sleep with me for a million dollars?"
"Sure!"
"Would you sleep with me for ten dollars?"
"What kind of woman do you think I am?!"
"We've established that. Now we're negotiating."
On Parliament Hill, $30,000 dollars, subsidized by taxpayers, was OK with the Conservative Party of Canada to pay back the senate for Mike Duffy's trough-slurping. But $90,000 was too much.
At Queen's Park, $20,000,000 to cancel the unpopular electricity plants and buy five seats for the Liberals in the Toronto area appears to be just fine with voters, if the polls are to be believed, but $585,000,000 might be too much.
And closer to home, well, you've no doubt heard what's alleged, and who might be benefiting from deals made with your money. The OPP investigation into possible corruption is under way.
It's enough to make you wonder whether the world's oldest profession isn't what you think it is.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
Country Mouse Run, City Slicker Trot
This whole Running Thing is giving me more than just an opportunity at smaller pants; I'm getting a look at a culture I didn't know existed before, and its wide variety of events.
In May, three friends and I took part in the massive Sporting Life 10k in Toronto, along with 27,000 other people. Our bibs contained a chip, we paid $45 to run and along with the other racers, raised about $3,000,000 to fund a camp for kids diagnosed with cancer.
Yesterday, I finished 62nd out of 67 runners in the Duntroon to Stayner Road Race, a free event started in 1967 to promote fitness.
In the Toronto race, we passed iconic buildings and had the CN tower in our sights the whole time. Duntroon to Stayner, there was a roadkill skunk at kilometre 4 and a very ripe pig barn at kilometre 5.
At Sporting Life, we had to be ready to run more than an hour before the race, because the crowds were so huge. In Duntroon, it was, "show up when you're ready, and we'll take off sometime around 8:30..."
Back in May, there was a sea of people in front of and behind me on Yonge Street, and my running buddy beside me. Yesterday, the crowd thinned out pretty quickly, and I found myself alone on the road, so far behind, I thought was going to be 'lapped' by the other racers (an impossibility, since it was a point-to-point race). In that sea of people in Toronto, I knew only my friends and ran with them. In Duntroon, I knew nearly every face in the crowd, but still ran alone.
At the end, at Fort York, runners were offered bananas, apples, bagels and cream cheese and a medal. At the Stayner Community Centre, popsicles were distributed by the Lions Club and we were each given a crest to show we had taken part.
Both races were a good time, different, but equally good in their own way.
Thanks to Dayn Leyshon and Pam Jeffrey for organising the race yesterday. I hope you continue it for years to come. I'll be there!
In May, three friends and I took part in the massive Sporting Life 10k in Toronto, along with 27,000 other people. Our bibs contained a chip, we paid $45 to run and along with the other racers, raised about $3,000,000 to fund a camp for kids diagnosed with cancer.
Yesterday, I finished 62nd out of 67 runners in the Duntroon to Stayner Road Race, a free event started in 1967 to promote fitness.
In the Toronto race, we passed iconic buildings and had the CN tower in our sights the whole time. Duntroon to Stayner, there was a roadkill skunk at kilometre 4 and a very ripe pig barn at kilometre 5.
At Sporting Life, we had to be ready to run more than an hour before the race, because the crowds were so huge. In Duntroon, it was, "show up when you're ready, and we'll take off sometime around 8:30..."
Back in May, there was a sea of people in front of and behind me on Yonge Street, and my running buddy beside me. Yesterday, the crowd thinned out pretty quickly, and I found myself alone on the road, so far behind, I thought was going to be 'lapped' by the other racers (an impossibility, since it was a point-to-point race). In that sea of people in Toronto, I knew only my friends and ran with them. In Duntroon, I knew nearly every face in the crowd, but still ran alone.
At the end, at Fort York, runners were offered bananas, apples, bagels and cream cheese and a medal. At the Stayner Community Centre, popsicles were distributed by the Lions Club and we were each given a crest to show we had taken part.
Both races were a good time, different, but equally good in their own way.
Thanks to Dayn Leyshon and Pam Jeffrey for organising the race yesterday. I hope you continue it for years to come. I'll be there!
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