Hands up!

And his pants fell down.  That was B in Calgary airport security the other day.  They told him to take off his belt and lift his arms, so naturally his pants promptly hit the floor.  I screamed with laughter, as did everyone else in line.  To top it off, he was sporting long underwear -- a definite "geezer" signature outfit -- which made everyone laugh the harder. 

"Step out of line, sir," said the officious screening officer.  So B waddled off to the scanner, pants around  his ankles.  I was soooooooooo glad I had already gone through and could thus pretend I didn't know him.  His problem was "attitude".  "You don't say that to a screening officer," said my son when we regaled him with this sordid tale in Toronto.  Apparently, B had objected to the enthusiastic poking of one of the screeners.

So there we were in the 'Centre of the Universe', to receive an Award of Excellence on behalf of the Calgary Tennis Club for the best seasonal facility in Canada.  Kind of a big deal; I went along for the ride to visit son, nephew and his wife and kids.  Oh my G-d, said B during the ceremony when he spotted a guy he had coached in Montreal when the kid was seven.  Thus ensued a tearful reunion/hugging session with the now middle-aged man -- a successful tennis/business professional.  "Your feet were huge when you were seven," said B.  "But I see you have grown into them!"  We also met a number of other folks we had known over the years at various tennis clubs in Ottawa, Toronto and Montreal.  The tennis world in Canada is very small.

The other up side of the trip was a visit with my son, who lives there, and a reunion with a very old and dear friend who took us all to dinner.  Also had dinner with my nephew and his wife and children -- a nephew who is a VP of Toronto Dominion, but whom I still think of as a toddler. 

We stayed at a sort-of-dump, where Tennis Canada had booked us, in northern TO and man, the people up with whom one has to put!  Yesterday at breakfast we had to endure a 20-something broad who could not shut up!  She was sooooooooooooo boring I almost commited suicide over my croissant!  But we also met very cute waiters and waitresses who made up for her boorishness. 

The only other thing that bugged me was the English accent of the elevator recording woman calling the floors.  Why do we have to have an English accent in a Canadian elevator??

Just about to board back to Calgary.  Can't wait!       

Potty humour

Do university students have nothing better to do than to hold demonstrations demanding gender-neutral washrooms?  Naturally, it's in BC, "the land of fruits and nuts", as my late father-in-law who lived there used to say.  Just listened to a CBC interview with some kid (male) who doesn't feel comfortable using the men's washroom.

Please.

Judging by his complete illiteracy, he should be spending more time in class rather than hanging around washrooms protesting.  The whole discussion around this idiot was completely beyond belief.  "What about women who have experienced sexual assault?" asked the interviewer.  "They might not feel comfortable sharing a washroom with a man."  Hey, I wouldn't feel comfortable in any men's toilet anywhere on the planet.  Have you ever been in one?  Yuck. 

What do they think, a man is going to rape a woman in the washroom with other people using it?!  It's completely ridiculous.  He then asked about Muslim women, how would they handle sharing a bathroom with a man?  Yeah right.  That'd work well.  "I agree, it's an issue," babbled the student.

Hey kid, get back to class.    

 

A bit of the "old"

The place was filled with awe-struck tourists, gazing in wonder at the beautiful, towering and majestic Rockies.  A few other adjectives would include "imposing, grandiose, splendid, superb, august" -- which they certainly are (got these from the thesaurus function, one of my favourites) and the best view in town is from the Banff Springs Hotel, where we ventured yesterday. 

All we have to do is jump in the car and drive an hour west and we're there.  Judging by the languages I heard spoken, most others enjoying the view yesterday had come from all over the world to gaze at this natural wonder.  We're definitely spoiled.  Waiting in the lobby, I spied something I well remember from my past, but which now stands empty and ignored -- a throwback to the days of holidays and snail mail "wish you were here" postcards.  For some reason, they have kept it as a quaint reminder of when things were so much slower and simpler.  Here it is:

 

 







"The Asshole Effect"

Apparently, it's a reality.  Psychologist Paul Piff has shown there is a reliable correlation between wealth and inconsiderate behaviour.  "Wealthy people are more likely to exhibit rudeness in cars, take more than equal shares of available goods and think they deserve special treatment," says U of T professor of philosophy prof, Mark Kingwell, in a fascinating article in The Globe and Mail. 

I totally agree.  Haven't we all met, and don't we all know, assholes like this?  Prof. Piff confirms experimentally the arguments of a book by Aaron James entitled 'Assholes:  A Theory' that some people, born on third base, seem to think they have hit a home run.  Amen to that.  Kingwell goes on:

"Resentment is, after all, the rational response of non-jerks when faced with the behaviour of over(ly)-entitled jerks.  It's not the rudeness that people hate so much as the assumption that they are allowed to be rude."

Amen again.

"This isn't always a function of wealth, just of narcissism and assumed superiority.  I know several witless academic egomaniacs (I call them bone-headed intellectuals) who routinely give themselves a free pass to be uncivil.  But because wealth is the most obvious marker of status in capitalist(ic) societies, it is also the most powerful lever of being a jerk."

OMG, so bloody true. 

Just what the doctor ordered

"What the H-ll is that?" I said to no one in particular as I was peeling carrots and throwing out the peels.  The garbage pail was sweating water.  Unscientifically, I just wiped it off, put it back and closed the cupboard door.  Then I had another thought.

Is something leaking under the kitchen sink?  Got down on my hands and knees and starting feeling around.  Soaked.  Everything was effing soaked!  So I ran and got the drop sheet I had planned to use when painting the Muskoka chairs last summer (didn't happen) and cleared out the whole area.  Panicked, I called the plumber on the fridge magnet.  He didn't call back.  So called another and they arrived in two hours.  Luckily, B was determined enough to shut the seized water valves I couldn't budge under the sink so more water would not accumulate. 

What a mess.

Happily, the plumbers arrived and fixed the problem.  Calgary's hard, hard, hard water means that gunk builds up and messes with the faucets, which is what happened in my kitchen.  Five hundred $$$ later, I have a new set and no leaks.  I opted for the low-tech variety because they cause fewer problems and are much less expensive than the smarty-pants version.   

Encourage your kids to be plumbers. 
___________________________________

On another sad note, I went to get my haircut this morning, but unfortunately was scalped.  My short hair is now so short I look like a cancer victim whose post-chemo hair is just growing out.  Seriously.  Big earrings are now the only temporary remedy. 

I am so pissed off.   

Stupid courts

So, some ridiculous Canadian judge has decided a Pakistani national can keep her niqab on when she takes the oath of citizenship.  How dumb is that.  "That's not how we do things here," said Harper in his usual sane fashion.  "I believe and I think most Canadians believe that it is offensive for someone to hide their identity at the very moment they are committing to join the Canadian family," he went on.

The woman who wants to become Canadian while veiled is vowing to fight on through the court process.  Please.  Do us all a favour and return to Pakistan where it's acceptable.  I always marvel at these countries who don't allow Western women to dress in Western garb, but who want to wear their clothes in Western countries!?   

The Globe and Mail has an editorial today which agrees this woman should be able to remain covered, arguing it's a religious right.  Frankly, I don't believe it's a religious custom at all and I have read many articles written by both male and female Muslims who agree with me.  I think it's a sexual thing enforced by men from cultures that insist women be demeaned and debased in public.  I'm starting to re-think my subscription to that newspaper.   

The Year of the Pig

That's what it was when I was born.  According to Chinese "stuff", I was born in the year of the Fire Pig so I am apparently "enthusiastic, extroverted, rebellious, passionate, brave and valiant.  However, I am also hot-tempered, snappy, uncontrollable and short-tempered."

Pretty much sums me up.  We got into this last night when we frequented our local Chinese restaurant and started chatting with "Lisa" -- a very, very Chinese girl whose name is definitely not "Lisa".  She wrote her "real" name out for me and I will have my Chinese friend at the pool tell me what it is.  She mentioned it meant "swan" and that suits her elegant nature. 

B was born in the Year of the Snake.  Figures.  "Snakes are regarded as intelligent, but with a tendency to be somewhat unscrupulous," says the Internet.  In his case, that latter part isn't true.  This year is the Year of the Goat, so people born this year will be loving and trusting, but clinging and resistant to change.    

"That's all a bunch of hooey," said Ian this morning, another Chinese acquaintance with whom I swim.  Reminds me of when I worked for a large publishing company and was asked to write a booklet on horoscopes.  Diligently, I began my research, but after a few days started to think, "one's the same as the next?  What's the point of all this?"  So I just made it all up and people wrote in in droves and paid money for my opinions. 

I shudder to think what life-changing decisions some innocents might have made as a result of my imaginative ramblings.  Yikes!  

   

$1,200

My cousin died the other day in Ottawa.  The daughter of my late father's brother, she and I used to be close, but $1,200 changed all that.

On her deathbed, my mother recklessly decided to leave a few cousins money.  So, she revised her will and effed everything up.  Did I mention Mum was on BIG DRUGS at the end?  Anyway, $1,200 made a complete mess of my relationship with Heather.  (It's a long story, but essentially Heather went for broke and lost.)  The only reason I knew she had died was because apparently I remained a part-owner of the plot into which her son wanted to plant her, so he had to email me to get my permission.  Naturally, I relinquished any claim so he could put his mother, cousin Heather, into what was supposed to have been my corner. 

All OK, B and I are slated to be stuffed into another piece of dirt in Ottawa's Beechwood cemetery.  But see what a few bucks can mess up? 

Sad.





 

In a State of Grace --Not!

I know Mass is supposed to transport me to a State of Grace, but it often doesn't.  Yesterday I got totally p-ssed off at the people beside and behind me because they didn't put one red cent into the basket.  It was duly passed, in we dropped our envelope, handed it along and....nothing.  Yet these are the same people who are on their knees, praying and singing as if they were at a 1930s revival meeting.

So annoying.  To the point that I didn't even turn around when the priest said...."Let us offer each other a sign of peace".  I just looked straight ahead and ignored their outstretched hands.  Hey, if you are well-heeled and singing praises to Jesus, yet don't put a penny into the basket, I don't want to know you.

Must be something wrong with me.

Other parishioners who annoy me are the father/son combo in the front pew.  They get there early, take up space and promptly ignore the basket.  The daughter leads the choir, so I guess they think Mass should be free for them.  Hey, if you aren't going to contribute, sit at the back, or out in the foyer.  Do people think the church runs on Holy Water?  Vapours?  Miracles?  Prayers?

Something else I don't understand are the Nigerian women who come to Mass in Nigerian dress??  What's that about?  Hello, we all live in Calgary!  What's with the headdresses and long, flowing gowns?
    
It's total BS and brings out the worst in me.     

 

 

I give up

Boy, do I miss Jian Gomeshi.  The disgraced ex-host of 'Q' has been replaced by a series of hopeless cases -- the latest of whom is the most dreadful and ghastly of all:  Daniel Richler. 

Hosting this past week, Richler is the most affected, name-dropping bore I have heard in any forum in a long, long time.  His phoney mid-Atlantic accent actually rivals -- and may even surpass -- that of the ludicrous and tiresome Margaret Atwood, who I had previously thought the all-time winner in that supercilious and pretentious category.  (Note to Atwood: please, please, please lose that ugly and absurd hairdo!)  Googling Richler, I learned he is the stepson of notorious street brawler Mordecai, which should have been obvious because a man-of-the-people such as our famous, late Canadian author could not possibly have spawned such a ridiculous biological offspring.

And speaking of Atwood, is anyone with me when I say I have read all her novels -- except for the last few, from which I doubt I could have learnt anything -- and cannot tell one from another? 

I think the problem is that the stepson has yet to figure himself out.  He has variously been a member of a biker gang, a DJ, an author, a critic and some kind of cultural commentator.  For me, he is now someone I immediately turn off when his cloying gets too much to bear.  He had Dianna Krall on this week, for example, and for the life of me I could not decipher one word she said?  She blabbed on about "feeling the music" and losing herself "in emotion".....etc.  Can you tell I have never been a fan? 

Sadly, 'Q' has hit the skids without the thought-provoking Gomeshi and his fascinating and enticing guests.    Whatever his crimes, I miss Jian.