Humour, Rantings

10 things that make me stabby

  • folding clothes in neat piles
  • hip-hop played louder than listening speed
  • people with bombs strapped to their chest and a smile on their face
  • small children in waiting rooms who need to be exorcised
  • a blocked toilet without a plunger
  • people who ask me for a light before they look for a cigarette in my hand
  • hobo joe and his dreamcoat crammed next to me on the bus
  • a bad can opener who laughs at me and my last can of beans
  • after a poetic dump, a brown roll looks back at me and waves

 

PhilosopherPoet

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Canadian nuances, Humour

Canadian nuances – Part 4: The Dance of Gentlemen

If you’ve ever encountered a Canadian, or at least heard of them, you will hear a variety of things. Apart from them growing enraged over games of ice hockey, and drowning their pancakes in maple syrup, you will be told something to the effect of “They’re a friendly and polite bunch of people.” Today I’ve decided to go on a little rant about the politeness of these snow-covered creatures. Coming from a country where the rules blend into guidelines more often than not, when I’m suddenly forced to follow procedures without question…it can feel like the proverbial nail is skating down the chalkboard. I’ll give you an example…

After first arriving in Canada I figured out where the nearest bottle store was from my house. Why? (Because without it life has fewer colors in it). The first time I visit I grab a six pack of stout, I get to the counter and the older gentlemen behind it grabs my beers and enquires “Do you happen to have I.D. on you?” I counter the question with a dumbstruck expression and say to the guy that I’m not a teenager. I’m told that regardless he needed to see my mug on something otherwise by law he couldn’t sell it to me.

I soon realize my arguments are as effective as walking the streets of Vancouver minus an umbrella. I decided to walk the two blocks back to my apartment, grumbling as I go, to sequester my beer ticket. I arrive home and I can’t find my PR card (i.e. permanent residence card). I rummage a little and decide my passport should suffice.

I return to the bottle store again, gripping my beer ticket like a weapon of the first world. I hand it to the same gentleman. He takes a good minute scrutinizing my picture and then comments “the photo is a little blurry.” I shrug and tell him, “You asked me for ID. That is all I have.”  He nods and allows the purchase to continue.

You may wonder why did this ordeal drove me to write several paragraphs. The answer is in my home country from the legal drinking age of 18 and upwards, I never once was asked to present my ID before buying alcohol. Never. In fact it never crossed my mind to have my ID on me when buying beer. This is one example of the Canucks having a high regard for the law, now I’ll move on to illustration I have dubbed “the dance of gentlemen”.

I have explained a little earlier that one of the primary values of Canadians is to be considerate of others. One of my Canuck house-mate mentioned to me, “that is what makes a civil society”. Despite many of my rants I do agree with this principle for the most part, although it does seem rather weird at first. When first arriving here I would start to cross the road and a car would be approaching. Sometimes the car would go as far as reversing slightly to ensure that you had enough space. Yes, you heard me.

Automatically reversing cars is one example of Canadians being considerate and giving you your personal space, here’s another. After the first eight months or so I remember making friends with a great guy called Conrad. His parents were visiting from New Brunswick and the five of us (Conrad’s wife included) were off to go eat at a Chinese restaurant. We had all done at least 30 km cycling around the city that day. We’re walking on the side walk towards our chosen restaurant, the and dance of gentlemen was about to ignite.

For some reason I reach the door first and hold it open for the masses. Conrad’s parents and his wife accept my gesture and shuffle passed. When he gets towards the door he gestures for me to go first. I tilt my head slightly and do a similar no-after-you motion with my free hand. This is paying the price of chivalry. It is the dance of gentlemen. The reason you do it is because if you end up being the last person to enter the building, you win! If you’re lucky a small flicker of colonial pride may kindle in your eyes for a second.

It’s silly and stupid. Perhaps even pathetic. I’m sure if you’re a man you’ve found yourself doing the same dance. I’ve found myself doing this a lot more in Canada where manners, aren’t merely nice-to-have but are expected. You know what? I think I like it…especially if I’m the last guy with trundles into the pub with pride.

 

PhilosopherPoet

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poetry

steamy coffin

i drag myself
onto the bus
carry my bag
like a
wet newspaper

small kids
old men
drooping women
chortling girls
jostle through
the rain
into this
beast

rain
drips off men
like the
tears of a city
still lost
in the fog
drowned in
soft headlines
flaccid cigarettes
cheap beer
long nights
burnt hours

the people
stand like
21st
century cattle
faces follow
the pulse
of a smartphone
hands hold
slim slabs
of technology
buzzing into
the back of
their retinas

updates exhale
tweets yammer
eyes ignite
and
i sit in
aftermath

bodies blend
into bags
coughs clog
the heavy air
and then
the
bus speaker shrieks

i am at
the last stop
everyone is
still swiping
slithers of news
but no one
has
opened
a window

 

PhilosopherPoet

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Humour, Rantings

only bleed if you have to…

Never Tap Out.
Those are the words that I read on the back of someone’s shirt as I left the gym this evening. Then a thought occurred to me. What if I wanted to tap out? Maybe I was in the ring and I felt like being the gentleman. Say for example I was a minimally aggressive non-conforming MMA fighter. Perhaps (while my brains were being purged from my skull) I decided my body could do with a bit of time out. Now if the initial phrase meant nothing to you, it may because you aren’t aware of all the knuckles and fists of MMA. Let me break it down for you…

MMA (Mixed Martial Arts). Unlike the name suggests, it has nothing to do with dressing in a white bathrobe and chopping up your opponent in a Bruce Lee-resque fashion. The best way to describe MMA is to think of boxing. If you’re a boxer and you decide you can’t stand the sight of gloves, and your opponent doesn’t bleed enough…chances are that MMA is the sport for you. Let me put it another way…think of men that always wanted to be professional WWE wrestlers but decided that the costumes were to flashy, and the speeches too verbose.

For more amazing shots check out…
http://henster311.deviantart.com/

Now what about the “tap out” thingy you mentioned?
What separates MMA from boxing is the specific style used. If you’re boxing you can knock out your opponent by landing enough blows from your fists. If you’re an MMA fighter you’re not limited to fists. In MMA you use a technique called “grappling.” This means you will get the other guy to the ground as fast as possible. Once he’s there, you’ll get him to into either a choke-hold or some other nasty position and win by submission. There’s a rule about this though. If you feel like your body can’t withstand the punishment anymore you reach out and tap the ground twice with a hand. That’s called a “tap out” or “tapping out”.

On the whole I’m terribly uninterested in sport as a guy. Any sport that involves any kind of ball, touchline, racquets, wickets, or beer drinking men gathering around a fire to grill meat and drink more beer, leaves me with a queasy feeling. There are only two types of sport I can watch where I will staple my eyes to the television screen for the duration of the conversation I have with you.

They are MMA, obviously, and motor racing. Anything where you can ride a petrol tank and hurtle down a race track  at blistering speeds, gets my blood going. Perhaps it’s the intensity of knowing that these people (MMA fighters and the helmeted gents) are moments away from dying. I’ll let irony speak for itself as I continue to stay engrossed, and slowly quaff away my pint of beer.

 

PhilosopherPoet

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Technology

Look after

One of the first signs of being passionate something is when you begin to feel. I used to live with someone who told me that you have to see a motorbike as a person. I bought one end of last year and he told me that I need to get a better exhaust so she can breathe better. I need to service this and that, occasionally give her a good clean.

At first the mention of seeing this piece of steel as a person, made me wrinkle my nose in confusion. As he went on I began to see the relevance. Your important possessions you need to maintain and nurture. I’m no master of the motorbike, however put me behind a computer and my eyes light up much the same.

When I left school my parents bought me a computer as a good-luck-out-there present. That same motherboard lasted me four years. That’s an eternity in the PC world. Think of owning a pair of shoes for 5 years (i.e. ones you use everyday) and you’re on the right track. My mother used to utter a phrase to me, every time something more valuable came into my reach. She simply said, “Look after.” I used to roll my teenage eyes back in angst, when that phrase came out. Now I look at it I can see EXACTLY the meaning behind it. I no longer look like I’m having a small seizure either.

I’ve seen so many people throw down there laptops, or just leave it running down to the last morsels of cache. Here’s a better example… Ever owned a laptop and left it plugged into the charger over night? That’s bad. Very baaaad. If you’re nodding your head it’s time to repent and allow the lithium cycles in your battery to themselves. Every battery (in an ideal world) will run from a vibrant 100% charged to a pitiful 0-10%, every day. For arguments sake a battery comes with 1500 cycles. That means fifteen hundred chances at holding charge for you, while you scamper off to meetings.

The idea is to have as much of that as possible. If you leave your laptop plugged in all the time, you’re hurtling current at the dear battery when none is required, and more importantly you’re stunting its ability to be a battery (slowly lose charge over time). Think of it this way. Do you leave the stove on when you’re done cooking? Nope. It draws power, and keeping it on will burn the shit out of your stove plates. Same idea. Charge when needed, otherwise allow it to sleep like the rest of us (pun duly intended).

Now think of the computer as a human. You paid a couple of grand to get it, so for fuck’s sake give it some TLC. Go and get a comfortable bag for it, and research how to take care of it. This is not a rant at stupid people, but more a reminder at the end of the day all our equipments asks is that we “Look after [it].”

Treat your gadgets tenderly as you would a lover. Chances are they may even help to get you laid, at the end of the day.

PhilosopherPoet

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