EQV

Telephoto #5

2011-01-02T22:02:00.000-05:00

On The Greatest.Photo.Ever

2010-10-05T16:39:00.000-04:00

This past week, a (un)lucky photog found himself on the receiving end of a wayward Tiger approach shot.

The result was fascinating: the ball, mere mili-seconds from headbutting the lens, is the centrepiece of a wonderful sports moment. Everyone in the photo seems to be looking at you, the viewer, as if to say, "GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!"

Most amazing, though, is the one spectator who, by his mere appearance, elevates this photo from intriguing to legendary. You will know him when you see him.

I am not yet convinced that he is not, in fact, a Muppet.

General Relativity #1

2010-09-30T09:38:00.000-04:00

Ginger (of the ale variety > Ginger (of the recessive gene variety)

Sonic the Hedgehog > Seattle Supersonics

Taking care of business (responsibilities) < Takin' Care of Business (BTO tune)

On Public Transit

2010-09-28T21:16:00.000-04:00

I don't know if it was because the 41B Keele was third-world-market packed (and thus third-world-market hot) or because the driving rain had turned the teeming masses into a bouillabaisse of utter contempt, but when the pushy woman insisted that I move out of her way so that she might grab a seat all the way at the back I couldn't help but surrender to my ire:

"Madam, I promise you that two people cannot occupy the same space at the same time. Plus, your bag of groceries is currently doubling as a colonoscope. Kindly remove."

I am slightly ashamed to admit that I contemplated whether or not I would engage in a fistfight with this woman if pressed further.

I am even more ashamed to admit that I most definitely would.

The most shameful aspect of the whole situation? She would have won. Handily.

chrstphr

Telephoto #4

2010-09-15T21:31:00.000-04:00

Telephoto #3

2010-08-29T21:02:00.000-04:00

Telephoto #2

2010-08-25T20:58:00.000-04:00

Telephoto #1

2010-08-21T11:02:00.001-04:00

MixTape #2

2010-02-11T22:41:00.009-05:00

Okay,

Another 5 song mix, randomly selected by iTunes.

Enjoy.

Oh yeah, and I've decided to separate Fun w/ iTunes from these posts, that I am now affectionately referring to as the Mixtape Volumes. Yup yup.

-------------

Artist: My Chemical Romance

Song: Cemetery Drive

Album: Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge

I have listened to this album very little (much to my sister's chagrin, I'm sure) but I kind of dig it. Sure, it's not music meant for a 28-year-old man but if we're talking pure listenability, I give it a passing grade.

Artist: Sam Roberts

Song: Where Have All The Good People Gone

Album: We Were Born In A Flame

Why is that Canada's most popular cultural export of the past decade is Nickelback and not Sam Roberts?

Great song by a great performer.

Artist: Jeff Buckley

Song: Hallelujah

Album: Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (#259)

Hands down, the absolute best version of this song. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Of note: not even Leonard Cohen's original is featured on the Rolling Stone list.

That's how convincing Buckley's performance is.

Artist: The Beta Band

Song: Gone

Album: Hot Shots II

His voice reminds me of taking a big swig of cough syrup and going to bed.

Full disclosure. I learned about this band the way everyone else did:

Jack Black in High Fidelity

Artist: Bloc Party

Song: Like Eating Glass

Album: Silent Alarm

A pitch-perfect way to kick-off your first album.

So much to love about this song, but, my favourite aspect has to be the

subtle, Gregorian-chant backing vocals during the second verse.

"We've got crosses on our eyes..."

Verdict:

You could play me a 5-song mix that consisted of 4 rounds of "Cottoneye Joe" and one play of "Hallelujah" and I'd still give it a thumbs up. Luckily, Buckley is buoyed here by Sam Roberts and Bloc Party, so even if the other 2 songs aren't complete blockbusters I still came away with a pretty solid mix.

Let the great experiment... continue!

The Impending End of My Tuesday Night Social Life

2010-01-23T16:01:00.001-05:00

Final Season Of 'Lost' Promises To Make Fans More Annoying Than Ever

It's so true. I can't wait.

christphr

The Big Picture: Haiti (UPDATE)

2010-01-22T21:23:00.005-05:00

While not always as pretty as this one, the photos of Haiti are a must see.

Find more at The Big Picture.

christphr

UPDATE

There were too many more stunning photos to only include that one. I can't recommend enough the full gallery.

Catch 22

2010-01-20T14:28:00.002-05:00

Well, on the one hand, they're lending a hand, and that's commendable. On the other hand, they're Scientologists.

I'll call it a wash.

Architectural Find of the Week

2010-01-20T13:38:00.004-05:00

The Baha'i House of Worship

the Lotus Temple

New Delhi, India

Look at it. Just look at it.

MixTape #1 (UPDATED)

2010-01-19T23:37:00.009-05:00

The premise is easy: I open up iTunes and hit "random". I write down the next 5 songs that play and hope that the results are

1) Interesting, and

2) Not Embarrassing

Here we go.

-------------

Artist: Portishead

Song: All Mine

Album: Portishead

Right out of the gate with that swinging, brassy intro.

Only gets better from there, too.

Artist: Kanye West

Song: Through The Wire

Album: The College Dropout

Chaka Khan sample = David Foster writing credit = diamond nipple piercing for Brody Jenner

Artist: guillemots

Song: Through the Windowpane

Album: Through the Windowpane

Great pop song on a great pop album.

Criminally under-appreciated.

Saw them live in Amsterdam.

The show was far better than my efforts to flirt with the bassist.

Artist: Fiona Apple

Song: The Way Things Are

Album: When the Pawn...

No voice sadder. She unleashes at 3:08

The ellipsis after When the Pawn is a placeholder for over 400 characters of text.

It held the Guinness Record for Longest Album Title until 2007.

Artist: Silverchair

Song: If You Keep Losing Sleep

Album: Young Modern

Kaleidoscope. Could you get any further from Frogstomp?

Album cover is an homage to Mondrian, one of my favourites.

Bottom Line: a fairly enjoyable 5-song run. Not stellar, wouldn't put it in a time capsule but it mixes some inventive, personally affecting stuff with a song by Kanye West.

chrstphr

UPDATED

So, I think Fun w/ iTunes would be more fun if you can hear the tracks I'm talking about. So, with a little internet digging I have found a way to upload this 5 song mix. Fingers crossed that it works AND that you dig.

Fun w/ iTunes #1 (UPDATED)

2010-01-19T23:03:00.004-05:00

So,

I am immensely proud of my iTunes library.

Like my chest hair it is orderly, well-maintained and arousing. At nearly 10,000 song (backed up every 2 days, thank you very much) I think it paints an accurate picture of Christopher Michael Crighton.

Enjoy. Or don't.

-------------

The Singularity

I put my iTunes on random about 50% of the time. It's typically chaotic and I end up with some great mixes (which we will be discussing here on Fun w/ iTunes).

But what I've really been waiting for, the Golden Egg of iTunes nerdery, is the circumstance where iTunes randomly selects not only a song from the album I'm currently listening to, but the very next song on that album!

And after 5 years of waiting, my magic moment came on Sunday night. The machine had chosen Lauryn Hill's "Nothing Even Matters" and then next song BOOM "Everything is Everything"!

Why so excited? Well, maybe because I know hold out hope that iTunes could select a three song sequence from the same album and thus, in some stretching of the space-time fabric, the randomizer might play an entire album from front to back!

"Let the great experiment begin!"

UPDATE

A friend of mine ("a" would make it seem as if he is one of many when he is, in fact, the only one) did some maths (yes, you read that correctly) for me with regards to the mathematical odds of the iTunes randomizer selecting a 14-song album in perfect sequence.

The verdict?

0.0001^14 = 1.0 × 10-56*

Goo! That "number" almost gave me a seizure.

*Notwithstanding the pesky auto-format, the "-56" is most definitely "to the power of".

Decembeard, realized.

2009-11-20T00:08:00.001-05:00

MOVEMBER!

2009-11-17T22:42:00.005-05:00

All,

I am currently taking part in a little thing called Movember. As a means of raising funds to fight prostate cancer, I have made it a goal to grow a moustache just like this one by the end of this month. That said, if I can grow one a wee bit pervier, I will.

And rest assured, I will absolutely not be going anywhere near an elementary school before December 1st.

Now, Movember shouldn't be confused with Decembeard:

Nor should it be mixed up with Ratruary:

If you know another young buck taking part I can't recommend supporting his efforts enough. Now, if you'd like to throw any support my way I would be very much obliged. Every little bit helps and you can make an online donation in support of my efforts here. And yes, I did misspell my own name as Christoper when registering. Good for me.

Courage,

"Christoper"

Slow-Mo Water Droplets

2009-11-09T21:47:00.001-05:00

Peeing is now at least 6.5 times funnier.

Enjoy.

I'm Not Quite Sure...

2009-11-04T12:22:00.002-05:00

what this suggests about we as a people, but it's incredibly interesting, nonetheless.

Apparently, the manner in which we use the Google Searchbar has a dramatic effect on the suggestions that Google's algorithmic brain will produce.

Enjoy.

Chrstphr

No, I'm pretty sure THIS is it.

2009-11-03T18:13:00.002-05:00

Knock the Dust Off these Typin' Fingers

2009-11-02T23:17:00.003-05:00

Hey y'all (if you're still around)

A couple of random thoughts for the day:

-Will history books continue to be written/published in the future? Considering how much information (in the form of current events) gets published to the internet hourly will there be need/want to reproduce and contextualize a tiny fraction of that information in an attempt to survey the history of this, that, or the other thing?

-If the answer to the above is yes, what information will be included? One major movement in the field of history has been to revisit what we consider to be the "official" history with accounts from the down-trodden (the Jews in Europe, the Slaves in America); but in the internet age the tale of the down-trodden is quite readily accessible (just look at citizen journalism of this year's election crisis in Iran). We don't need the academics to go back and unearth that history. It's already there, albeit in the form of blogs, Facebook status updates and Tweets.

-At what point will I stop watching professional sports with the belief that all of the athletes are older than I am? Growing up it was very easy to understand that the Chicago Bulls were all grown-ups. But now? LeBron James is actually two years younger than I am (almost three considering his late birthday), as is Chris Bosh (2 years and 1 week, to be exact) yet I watch both of those cats play with that same juvenile mentality. When will I begin to think of professional athletes as "young guys"?

Well, I'm back to writing, but I sure as shit wasn't making any guarantees as to quality!

Chrstphr

p.s. The picture above is the fruit of the googling "random picture" labour

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2009-03-06T09:29:00.006-05:00

Anyone who has followed my sporadic writing must certainly have noted the, uh, sporadic nature of my writing (ugh, I'm rusty).

There are a few reasons for my on again/off again relationship with online writing.

First, I, throughout the day, come up with (what I think are) great ideas. By the time I get home, eat dinner, finish work and polish off a couple episodes of Everybody Loves Raymond I simply don't have the will power to produce a lengthy account of my witty repartee with representatives of the service industry.

Second, I have killed numerous posts simply because I thought they were shit. This, inevitably, puts me in a bad mood. Why write at all, ever?

Third, I now maintain a second blog for the purposes of the law school and during those times when I feel a flash of brilliance (read: skill that rises just slightly above mediocrity) I feel it more appropriate to funnel that towards the avenue which I have been retained to update.

So, what to do, what to do? Well, there still are definitely times when I feel like writing a short novel, and as such I wouldn't even think of removing/erasing this guy. Almost 180 posts in. We have a history.

But in the interim I have come up with a compromise. I introduce to you my newest venture:

http://christophercrighton.tumblr.com

It's what is referred to by those in-the-know (a sect of society with which I do not identify) as a tumblelog. The point is to provide shorter posts comprised of quick thoughts and multimedia accoutrements. This, I can assure you, accords much more with the way my ADDled brain works (note: I take no feeling of uniqueness in this. If you are a male, aged, 7-64, you probably have ADD. And it's curable: pay attention and don't act like a spazz).

So, the goal will be to post my goings on in this new format, while occasionally coming back to this space to expand on some ideas. And, I will continue to write for Legally Blogged so there will be a readily-available outlet for my long-windedness.

If you so desire, please add the above to your bookmarks and let's weather this change together. Hand in hand.

We can do this.

Courage.

UPDATE: For those of you who'd rather not seek out the new blog (maybe because you were friends with both EsseQuamVideri and I and you don't want to have to pick, whatever...) you can follow along in the top right, where the BoingBoing feed used to be.

The Underground Grammarian

2009-01-15T14:45:00.003-05:00

Oi,

Years ago I began to read the book Less Than Words Can Say by Richard Mitchell, which was lent to me by one of my favourite high-school teachers. I returned the book to him without finishing it, likely embarrassed that I had kept it for months without getting beyond the introduction. (I will sheepishly admit that my attention span is not much greater now).

That said, I have never forgotten the last line of the introduction: "I am trying to stay awake."

It is ironic that the passage stuck out considering its attack (in my view) of intellectual passivity, a close relation to a stunted attention span. Nevertheless, due to the marvels of electronic cut and paste I thought I would include the tail end of the introduction, probably less for your benefit, dear reader, than my own.

Unsurprising, though, considering this tiny corner of the internet is little more than a slick shrine to shameless self-promotion.

I'll take "Bothersome Alliteration For $500, Alex"

Chris

Consciousness has degrees. We can be wide awake or sound asleep. We can be anesthetized. He is not fully conscious who can speak lightly of such things as basic appreciations and general insights into the knowledge of a discipline. He wanders in the twilight sleep of knowing where insubstantial words, hazy and disembodied, have fled utterly from things and ideas. His is an attractive world, dreamy and undemanding, a Lotus-land of dozing addicts. They blow a little smoke our way. It smells good. Suddenly and happily we realize that our creative capacities and self-understanding yearn after basic appreciations and general insights. We nod, we drowse, we fall asleep.

I am trying to stay awake.

Daddy's First Car Accident

2009-01-03T17:15:00.003-05:00

Bonjour,

I have decided to recount the details of my first ever car accident (10 years of clean driving, now but a distant memory) in the form of a letter to my future children. For the record, these future children are neither currently in utero or even a sparkle in my eye. And if you were to see a sparkle in my eye anytime soon it is likely the after-effect of an all-night ecstasy bender. Kidding, Ma, I don't do ecstasy. Coke is waaaaaaaay better.

Anywho, I felt that I would try a different tone, and alas, this is it.

So, my children, let me tell you about daddy's brush with death and his newfound desire to mail some of his excrement to Avis Rent-A-Car.

See, I was heading westbound on the 402 between Sarnia and London. It had been a long, snowy day, with much time spent on the road. I left my girlfriend's place in Toronto at 4pm, dropped her and her roommate off at Pearson and continued westward. I had already run aground once, lodging myself into an on-ramp divider just past Oakville. The fortuitous passing of a random tow-truck assured me quick passage, and I only had to part with a meager $40. By 10:30 I was only as far as Strathroy and wanted desperately to make it to Sarnia and unwind with friends at a Christmas party. Well, my sons and daughters, I never made it to that party.

Nope, after being stuck behind not one, but two, tractor-trailers I decided to make the pass. While the right lane was as clean as my driving record to that point, the left lane was pockmarked with patches of tightly-packed snow. How big were the patches, you ask? Just large enough to send an accelerating Hyundai Accord careening across the highway, slamming into the guardrail before being hurtled into the snow-filled ditch.

Rattled, but otherwise unharmed, Daddy cursed. Loudly. And then proceeded to figure it all out.

Glancing at my keychain I noticed, "AVIS 24-Hour Roadside Assistance" and a phone number. "Hot dog!" I thought, I'll be out in no time.

The resulting series of phone-calls was so utterly inconceivable and labyrinthine that I felt compelled to leave behind a trail pf breadcrumbs so as to find my way back.

See the toll free number sent me to a cat in Virginia named Chuck (I swear I could hear how thick his moustache was). Don't get me wrong, Chuck was nice and awfully apologetic for my predicament, but he had no fucking clue where I was or what to do for me.

"Well, I'm in the United States, you see."

"Yes, Chuck, that is evident. But I am in Canada, in Ontario, can you please put me through to someone who can help?"

Chuck proceeded to give me the 10-digit phone number I could call. Note, Chuck did not transfer my call but asked me to remember it. Thanks, pal.

Anyway, after talking to the kind lady on the other end she explained that she was stationed out of Ontario, California.

"Sweet Merciful Christ!"

Sympathetic, the woman patched me through to, what she assured me was, Canada. And, technically, it was, although it was little more than an automated answering machine located at Pearson Airport, approximately 300km behind me.

I pressed "1" (because this was a roadside emergency) and was immediately redirected to a real-live operator. Sweet relief!

"Hello, AVIS roadside assistance, this is Chuck"

"Sweet Merciful Christ"

Chuck, the kind-hearted moustache baron that he was, did all he could for me (which amounted to getting me in touch with the answering machine of the AVIS location where I rented the car, closed for the day 5 hours prior) before commenting, "Yeah, sorry, this system has some big problems."

"No, Chuck, don't be so hard on AVIS. Under normal conditions I would have no issue seeking to resolve my issue with someone in Langley, Virginia, but see, tonight, this is my fault, because I got myself into this accident, I am stuck by the side of the road in winter storm conditions and assumed that "roadside assistance" didn't mean "exercise in futility". No, Chuck, I'm the system with the big problems."

Eventually I called the police, contacted an independent towing company and got myself and my crippled chariot back to Sarnia at 2am, $273 later.

The real kicker, though, came the next day when I went to square everything away with AVIS. The insurance side of the issue was fairly straightforward. The rental fees, however, were wonky. My invoice was $100 more expensive than I was quoted. When I pressed the issue, the woman behind the counter made that weird "sssssssss" noise that communicates, "I feel really bad for how much this sucks for you right now but my hands are tied", and says, "Yeah, you didn't fill up the tank when you brought the car back."

"Sweet Merciful Christ"

"Ma'am, I brought the car back on tow-truck. Plus, gas is currently at 62 cents a litre, it should take about $20 to fill up the tank. Plus, what is my guarantee that this vehicle will ever need to be filled up again? If it is towed to Toronto and scrapped you have just made $100 profit from my misfortune. Also, I filled up in Guelph. Most of the gas used from that half tank was to keep warm while I waited by the roadside for an hour trying to get the roadside assistance that your company promised was part of my contract but did not provide, in any way, shape or form. What if I filled a gas can across the road and filled up the car on the lot? Any number of these makes far more sense than what you are proposing."

"Sssssssssssssss"

"Sweet Merciful Christ"

So, children, the moral of the story: rent Enterprise.

chrstphr

The Worst Thing About Christmas...

2008-12-24T15:54:00.003-05:00

...the absolutely wretched "holiday" music on every radio station.

Don't get me wrong, "Carol of the Bells" by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra is rad. Case closed. What I can't stand is every novelty song under the sun being dusted off in the name of holiday cheer and seasonal joy.

The worst offender is "Redneck Christmas" by Jeff Foxworthy (who, apparently, is not dead. Who knew?) Here's the gist: picture the 12 Days of Christmas, already the most annoying of the Christmas songs, altered to reflect the collective values of, you guessed it, rednecks. Here are the lyrics, lifted straight from the YouTube comments thread:

12 pack of bud
11 wrestlin tickets
10 compenhagen
9 years probation
8 table dancers
7 packs of red man
6 cans of spam
5 flanel shirts
4 big mud tires
3 shotgun shells
2 hunten dogs
and some parts to a mustang gt

Jesus H Christ. I want to strangle myself every single time I hear it.

On that note, Merry Christmas to all. Except if saying so offends you. In that case, A Very Merry Christmas!

chrstphr

I'm Back. Tell Your Friends. For Real.

2008-12-23T17:30:00.002-05:00

Holla,

Yadda yadda yadda, it's been so long since I've posted, yadda, yadda, yadda, I feel really bad, yadda, yadda, yadda...

Ok, formalities aside I am here to say that this here weblog shall be resurrected in the coming days. I still have to finish the tales of my European adventure (from June!) but I can now indulge the readership with a harrowing tale of suspense and survival.

Alright, I'm off to stretch my fingers and re-watch Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing before tackling this bitch.

Also, Happy Festivus.

C

Annoying as shit...

2008-10-27T16:16:00.002-04:00

...getting half way home in the rain only to realize that you failed, while at the grocery store, to purchase the only thing you really needed to buy.

...sinuses. God: "And here, in my image, I have created man! Oh, hold up, I forgot to put in the head cavities (flicks wand) There! Oh, better put some phlegm in there, too. (nods head) Good, great, grand. Nap time."

...strangers, farting on the bus.

...friends, farting on the bus.

...anyone named Roy. That's a fact.

chrstphr

Word Up

2008-10-07T22:16:00.003-04:00

All (read: each of you)

I wanted to take a quick second for some shameless self promotion. I guess in some regards even having a "weblog" is a continuous exercise in such. But I digress.

Anywho, because of the keen referral of a friend I was asked by admin at the law school if I would be interested in maintaining a blog for them, outlining what my life is like as a law student.

"Shit, yes," I said (not literally). And so, drumroll please.....

I give to you, "Legally Blogged".

Did I come up with the punny title? You bet your ass I did.

I have posted twice now and hope to keep it updated about once per week. If you are at all interested in seeing a little more about what law school life is like, I highly recommend that little link just over to your right. There may be some crossover between these two corners of the internet but I hope to keep them as distinct as possible (while trying to infuse my pre-pubescent sense of humour into everything I write).

Thanks for reading.

High Five.

Chris

Return of the Jedi

2008-09-25T18:32:00.002-04:00

Ola!

Yikes, has it been a month? Suffice to say it has been too long. My head is just brimming with tales of wit and whimsy. But... not quite yet. However, until a more thorough outline is possible here is a quick rundown of what has been hoarding my time as of late.

-SCHOOL!
-Job applications (30 in one day)
-Moving into a new apartment
-Waiting for Rogers
-A little bit of drinking
-Chest cold
-The enigma that is the iPhone (at least until I get that sucker jailbroken)
-Visiting Toronto
-Work (yup, a part-time job)
-Student Council
-Watchmen (great friggin book)
-Scrubs, Seasons 1-3
-The Black Donnellys (How did it only last a handful of episodes?)
-Moot (or, mock trial)
-New albums by Mogwai and TV on the Radio
-A new blog! (details (read: shameless self-promotion) to follow soon

And this doesn't even include the pressures of running a successful international drug cartel.

Til next time,

chrstphr

Best. Music. Video. Ever

2008-08-23T10:30:00.001-04:00

Ka-pew, Ka-pew

2008-08-19T12:02:00.002-04:00

Here's a great anti-gun spot by Choice called Stop The Bullet, Kill The Gun.

Even if you disagree with the message (which you shouldn't) you can still enjoy the rad video.

We Todd Did

2008-08-12T12:26:00.003-04:00

Okay,

Today, groups representing The Special Olympics and the American Association of People With Disabilities picketed the LA premiere of Tropic Thunder, (disclosure: I have not seen the film) a comedy that has already gained some notoriety for casting Robert Downey Jr. as a black man (more on this later). The underpinnings of the protestors' ire is the film's frequent use of the term "retard". While the term is unelegant and guttural I do not blindly condemn its usage for a number of reasons, some of which correlate with the Tropic Thunder issue.

To begin, the term "retard" was, at one time, widely used to refer to those who are (now referred to as) intellectually/cognitively disabled. Now considered pejorative, "retard" is typically reserved for name-calling amongst those who are not intellectually disabled.

Let's imagine for a second a young man with Downs Syndrome. Let's call him Forrest.
So, while it used to be acceptable to refer to Forrest as a "retard" we now call him intellectually disabled. Fine. Good.

Understandably, to now call Forrest a "retard" would be offensive for the same reasons that calling Bill Cosby a "negro" (or worse) would be offensive. We know better now and we are smarter/more sensitive than we were in the 1950's.

Now, let's imagine a young man of above-average intelligence. Let's call him Albert. For whatever reason I refer to Albert as a "retard." Is this offensive?

Some say "yes". Why? Because the word itself connotes a link between inferior mental capacity and a value judgment. Thus, to call someone a "retard" is to say "it is as if you are intellectually disabled and that, as we all know, is bad." Presumably, this is the opinion to which the Special Olympics and the American Association of People with Disabilities subscribe.

But this, in my opinion, is flawed.

For these groups to take such offense they must still be creating a link between the word "retard" and the very people they defend. But, it has been at the urging of these very groups that I (and many others) do not make that link any more.

True, when I call Albert a "retard" I am making a value judgment about his (perceived) intellectual deficiency but I am not doing it in reference to Forrest's intellectual capacity. In this way "you are a retard" really means "you are less intelligent than you should be" or "you are less intelligent than I am".

What's more, if I called Albert "stupid" or "an idiot" I certainly would not be rebuked in the same way, even though both words were once used to refer to people just like Forrest. "Retard", it seems, has been reserved a special place in the arena of political correctness.

That aside let's investigate the specific claims surrounding the film. Tropic Thunder is a film about the making of a film. Ben Stiller, Jack Black and Robert Downey Jr. play actors who are making a film called, you guessed it, Tropic Thunder. The audience is treated to a picture of behind-the-scenes Hollywood, or a satirized version at least. As such, we see references to other films within the film, most notably for this story, a film which Stiller's character worked on previously entitled Simple Jack, about (obviously) a man with an intellectual disability. The tag line for that film is "There once was a retard..." Ladies and gentlemen, the eye of the storm.

While the interest groups have (in my opinion) already lost the argument (see above) they now get extra-points for missing the point entirely.

Satire is a means of taking an issue and exposing its flaws through the use of irony and sarcasm and often takes the form of that which it lambastes. A notable example is Swift's A Modest Proposal which recommends solving Ireland's poverty issue by selling working-class Irish babies to the upper class for food, thereby providing money for families and an answer to over-population. Clearly, the point is not to take the notion seriously but to address the larger problem.

Where satire often gets lost, however, is that it is mistaken for the argument, not the criticism. When this happens all of the barbs of irony and sarcasm are misunderstood as the real thing.

Think of it this way: if a Hollywood studio was to make a film about an intellectually disabled man called Simple Jack and attached the tagline "There once was a retard..." I would completely understand the cries of protest. Essentially, the studio would be calling Forrest a retard (a no-no).

But Tropic Thunder does something different. Simple Jack is a film-within-a-film and is representative of the Hollywood that is being satirized. The joke is not that "retards are funny" but rather "Hollywood is the type of machine that would greenlight such a film if it felt it could be used to sell a few more Taco Bell combos." Okay, the Taco Bell thing is a stretch but you get my point: Hollywood is the target, not Forrest, and not The Special Olympics or the American Association of People with Disabilities.

How do I know this? Because this is exactly what Tropic Thunder does with Robert Downey Jr. in blackface.

Blackface is the long abandoned practice of painting white actors black to play black roles. It's racist, outdated and unfunny. Correspondingly, if Hollywood were to release an action film tomorrow that actually featured Robert Downey Jr. as a black man there would be hell to pay. But again, Tropic Thunder uses the film-within-a-film trope to attack the Hollywood machine, painting it as the industry that would simultaneously ressurrect blackface and make a movie unabashedly about retards.

Thankfully, the studio is not backing down or making any apologies for the film, and for that I applaud them. Being sensitive to the plight of others is one thing (and thus not referring to those with intellectual disabilities as retards makes sense) but failing to see the nuance of humour is another. Making taboos of everything only serves to weaken the collective reading of the world around us and draws us closer to those nations where satire is punishable by death, let alone misunderstood.

What's worse, the protestors are calling the film "hate-speech". This is troubling. Hate-speech is a term reserved for speech that incites violence or prejudicial action against another based on a list of prescribed grounds (of which disability is one). While I am no legal scholar I would be willing to bet that for the language of Tropic Thunder to be considered hate-speech it would need to convey that those with intellectual disabilities should be treated with violence or hatred precisely because of that disability. To be sure, this is a tall order for a Hollywood comedy, especially one which already has its hands full trying to make Ben Stiller funny.

To make such a claim is to devalue what we mean by hate-speech and takes our collective focus away from real issues of hate which, sadly, still plague the underbelly of even the most cosmopolitan societies.

In the end I am thankful that the debate still involves only a handful of people but I will have to feign surprise if more don't jump on the topic before it fizzles.

Click here for the full article.

Dirty. Old. Men.

2008-08-08T12:47:00.006-04:00

Yup,

Last night while cooling down after a 5K I found myself strolling behind two otherwise-unassuming men. They were neither fat nor skinny, short nor tall, handsome nor ugly. Even their outfits, unadorned white golf shirts tucked into loose-fitting khaki slacks, confessed nothing of interest.

What was interesting, however, was that they were smoking a joint. In public. And they couldn't care less. Not one iota.

However, their devil-may-care facade fractured like procelain when a young woman (roughly 1/3 their age) walked past them. Not only did they turn to look, they halted all forward momentum to follow the gentle swim of her hips beneath the barely-there skit. I met the eyes (or eye, he was winking) of the Mike Harris look-a-like as he pulled calmly on his joint. "Not fuckin' bad, eh?" he wheezed. I kept walking. I am rarely in the mood anymore to celebrate another man's public erection.

This encounter is noteworthy on its own. But, what really struck me was the paradox it created.

Hear me out.

The personae and resulting behaviour of these cats leads me to one of two mutually exclusive conclusions. These guys are either:

1. Really rich, OR
2. Really poor

Blowing a joint and bird-dogging your illegitimate grandchildren's friends is either the pursuit of a man with more money than brains OR the pasttime of a man with mere barrel-scrapings of both. A man of middle-income is likely too sensible to be trolling Richmond on a Thursday evening.

Admittedly, this information is not earth-shattering. But in all fairness if I was in the business of extolling paradigm-shifting musings I wouldn't be sharing them free on a blogger account. I would be so rich that I could afford an endless supply of non-descript white golf shirts, ill-fitting khakis and low-grade skunk weed. And you sure as shit would know where to find me on Thursdays.

PETA: Shameless Opportunists

2008-08-07T09:04:00.005-04:00

PETA has designed an ad-campaign comparing last week's Manitoba bus-slaying to modern slaughterhouse practices:

"Manitoba . . . an innocent young victim's throat is cut . . . His struggles and cries are ignored . . . The man with the knife shows no emotion . . . The victim is slaughtered and his head is cut off . . . His flesh is eaten . . . It's still going on!"

Understandably, the publication has refused to accept the advertisement.

A spokeperson for PETA defended the ad saying, "The group aims to demonstrate that animals - just like humans - are made of flesh, blood, and bone and deserve protection from needless killing. In this day and age, food choices are rich and plentiful, and a vegetarian diet helps prevent premature death from killer diseases like cancer, heart disease, high blood pressure and strokes."

A few points to consider. First, yes, animals, just like humans, are made of flesh, blood and bone. But this is like saying that apples, just like oranges, are round, sweet and juicy. The problem? Apples are not oranges and animals are not humans, regardless of similarities. Second, PETA rightly asserts that humans deserve protection from needless killing. But animals? Two problems. One, the argument that animals also deserve protection from needless killing is based on the fact that animals are made of flesh, blood and bone, a contention already proven insufficient in showing equality between the two groups. Second, what is the definition of needless? Surely, killing an animal for food is not needless. In fact, it displays a very real need (sustenance). PETA counters that a vegetarian diet is rich and plentiful and that it helps prevent disease. True. But then again, so does a diet that includes lean meats and fish in moderate amounts.

What really gets me, though, is PETA's hypocrisy. Assume, for a minute, that PETA is correct that animals are equal to humans, that flesh, blood, and bone make us the same. My challenge for PETA, then, is thus: why stop at lobbying humans to change their eating patterns? Why not picket the lions, the tigers, and the bears? When a shark is dragging a teenager below the surf shouldn't a PETA member be on the ready with a bucket of red paint to douse the creature's smooth, marine skin? If animals should be treated as humans, as PETA so wantonly maintains, why stop at the basics like right to life? If I am the same as a wolf shouldn't PETA spend considerable time annoying the shit out of the wolf, too?

Before this I could tolerate PETA, I really could. Their health arguments for vegetarianism were sometimes intriguing. But this latest ad campaign goes beyond the pale. PETA is nothing more than a group of shameless opportunists bent on an untenable and incoherent agenda. As thousands die everyday of AIDS (a disease that no bean-and-lentil diet can prevent) their biggest worry is Chicken McNuggets. PETA's cause is a complaint of the privileged.

How can you expect me to validate an animal as a human's equal when we barely validate most humans as a human's equal?

PETA: get a fucking clue.

Chrstphr

Click here for the full story at The National Post

Nederland, Day 6

2008-08-03T19:17:00.017-04:00

Tuesday, June 12 was a day dedicated to The Hague. While I managed quite a few stops on Sunday with my gracious host, I still needed to see one MAJOR attraction in my host city.

And here it is, quiche and a baguette!

Kidding. BUT, this may stand as the BEST lunch into which I have sunk my chiclets. Tuna melt on a baguette with a cheese and spinach quiche. If I had fallen into the canal right then I would have been content with my last meal. I'd be positively LIVID that I fell into the canal, but hey, you can't expect to have such a great lunch without karma bringing you down a notch.

This culinary sensual massage came courtesy of De Keijser, a quaint shoppe in a stumbled-upon laneway. Side-note: at De Keijser, like most eateries I found in The Netherlands, getting a recommendation is like convincing a stranger to give you a sponge-bath.

Me: what do you recommend.

Dutchy: uh, well, I don't know what you like, do I? If you like chicken then I recommend the chicken.

Me: der.

Now, what I should have said is, "what I like? Hmmm, how 'bout a goddamn recommendation?!"

But when you are in the valhalla of lunches you hold your tongue, you know?

After lunch I found my way to the Escher Museum (pictured at top), housed in a former royal residence. Many people aren't familiar with the name Escher but will certainly recognize his work, especially if you've ever been to an Imaginus poster sale.

The museum itself was stunning, the residence kept in pristine shape, the walls now adorned with mind-bending prints and woodcuts. Even the lighting was given a unique touch. Each room contained a chandelier in the shape of some object not conventionally used in the art of opulent lighting. This one was my favourite, although the full-sized man was also striking.

As for artwork it had everything, form Escher's earliest work (which bore little resemblance to the labyrinthine and jaw-dropping work of his more popular periods) straight through to his last piece, this wonderful snake and rings work:

Plus, the museum featured a hands-on exhibit which allowed me to recreate one of the Escher's most revered works:

After the museum I exited to find a crowd gathering in front of the Hotel Des Indes, an upscale abode which houses the likes of visiting royalty and the Rolling Stones. A line of stately black sedans, each captained by large men with those badass coiled earpieces, led up to the main doors. Intrigued, I hung around for 20 minutes until... Tom Selleck appeared! Kidding. It was actually Afghan PM Hamid Karzai. He waved politely before ducking into one of the sedans. Now, I thought stuff like this only happens in movies but when a nearby motorcycle backfired everyone flinched. With my camera in hand I thought for a split second that I may capture the modern Zapruder film. Rather, I would have had a 10-second clip of Nederlanders needlessly shitting their pants.

The rest of the afternoon was spent sight-seeing and taking in the feel of the city one last time. WHEN I go back to the Netherlands I will most certainly make Den Haag a stop on my travels. Here are the fruits of my final day of exploring.

If it could be Orange it would be Orange during Euro.

This was on sale for a couple of thousand. If I had the money, a larger suitcase, and a stegosauraus skull at home that wouldn't get super freaked out I would have totally picked this up.

Somebody alert a Human Rights Tribunal.

Amusing, but not quite as amusing as Top Koks

This, my friends, is a flag. Or a cleverly designed fumigation tent.

On my last night with my wonderful hosts (Erin, Arnaud, Danna you cats rock) we decided to slum it and have some Dutch McDonald's. The customer service was just this side of rude but we did eventually get our food and the meal was generally enjoyable. The clincher, though, was this wonderful treat:

I have grown up with the piquant warmness of the croquette but had no idea to what depths its quality could plunge. Now I know. As a frame of reference, the McKroket is to croquettes what the Quarter-Pounder w/ Cheese is to Licks Burgers.

And with that I curled up in the man-crib one last time.

And wept.

chrstphr

Nederland, Day 5

2008-07-22T23:08:00.015-04:00

Refreshed,

From an evening by the seaside I was up and at 'em on Monday, 9 June with only two things on my mind:

1.) Getting to Amersfoort, my mom's birthplace
2.) The day's big Euro match: Holland v Italy

My jersey, draped proudly over this slender frame, was radiant. I was stopped numerous times because of it and each time I was spoken to in a flurry of excited Dutch I always answered the same way: a big smile and a confident thumbs up. My wordlessness came off as stoic, hip even. On that day, I was Oranje.

It was a great train ride from Den Haag to Amersfoort. Lasting just under an hour it gave me a chance to read and get caught up in my travel journal (the notes of which make recounting my travels a possibility over a month later). Once I made it to Amersfoort my first stop was the tourist information centre for a city map. Petite and lovingly illustrated, the map was my co-pilot for the day (Sorry, Jesus).

Full Disclosure: I got lost as shit. I couldn't tell North from South and the centuries-old downtown core was labyrinthine at best. So I did what any young fool in my position would do: I wandered. Aimlessly.

But you know what? I had a fantastic time. Every blind corner was like the gateway to a magic kingdom. Or carried with it the potential to step in dog shit. What an exciting gamble!

Aside from the heat (which was really only a factor because I decided to wear dark jeans. In June) the morning stroll was pleasant and I stumbled upon a handful of quaint locales, including:

The train station. While one of many I saw this was the most welcome looking.

An Amersfoort claim to fame: pedestrian signals that depict women rather than men. Do these goddamn feminists hold nothing sacred?

Yes, ma, I am fifteen years old. Coincidentally, this is what I plan on naming the next band that I am in.

I always had a sneaking suspicion that "Mario" and "Yoshi" were Dutch names.

Even my sneaker fetish falls short of tagging private property with a pair of Dunks.

The Koppelfoort: Old. European. Intimidating.
Like my Opa.

A pleasant Amersfoortian home.

I definitely need a papier-mache woman to peek through the drapes of my new apartment. And maybe keep the other side of the bed warm.

Why is that handsome digital clock standing at such an odd angle?
Because it's also a sundial! Whoooooooaaaaaaa!

After stopping for an ice cold Heineken in the city square I made my back to the station, just in time for the 5pm train back to Den Haag.

After a nice Indonesian meal I snuggled into my spot at The Bank of Friendship, an English pub showing that night's Euro matches. I'd waited two years to see the Oranje in tournament play and I was prepared.

Fierce. Like a lion.

Speaking of which. These things were all the rage in Holland during the tournament and at 10 Euro a pop I think it is a damn good investment.

Wait, is that a flap in my shirt?

Shit, yes!

The bar was full of UN interns from all over the world, with a large contingent fresh from Italy. The Italians, as was to be expected, were rowdy from the word "go" but were silenced as the Dutch went up 1-0. They only became more crestfallen as the game wound down and we Oranje were celebrating a 3-0 defeat of the reigning world champs.

Elated, we bar hopped for awhile taking in the revelry in the usually quiet streets of Den Haag. And while it was the only match I would see in Holland I couldn't be happier with the outcome. In those late hours it really felt as if this may be the year of the Dutch. And while it most certainly was not I don't think I'll ever forget just how exciting it was to celebrate in such a communal way.

As far as days go it was a pretty damn good one. In Amersfoort, I explored the streets which, in another life, were walked by my mother and her parents and got to watch a footbal match the way it is meant to be watched: with friends, with beer and on the winning side.

Content is an understatement.

chrstphr

Housewarming Gift

2008-07-21T18:22:00.005-04:00

I will be moving into a new apartment at the end of August. Shop accordingly.

I know, right?

Nederland, Day 4

2008-07-20T20:53:00.010-04:00

Allo,

So I am back. Long story short: I traded in my "developmentally delayed" MacBook for a brand new one, putting a hiatus on posting until I was back up and running on this sleek, sexy machine.

So where did we leave off? Oh, yes, of course, the day after Amsterdam.

The morning was spent almost entirely at the walk-in clinic getting scanned for the clap. Kidding. In fact, Sunday morning was the first chance I'd had to catch a nice, long snooze. As it was, I did not stir until the early afternoon. In a word: opulent. Well, except for the fact that my sleeping situation was still something to be desired. See, my plan to seduce, and subsequently bunk, with an attractive, yet lonely, septuagenarian did not materialize. And so, the man-crib it was.

After a quick run along the beach the day was spent walking downtown Den Haag, sunlit and full of Sunday shoppers. What struck me was just how busy it was in the cobble-stone lanes. Sure, shopping can be a big part of Sundays in Canada but it's a different kind of shopping, it's slower. But in Den Haag it was all bustle. I won't bore you with the minutia of my shopping excursion but I will point to some highlights.

As mentioned before, the Dutch really are kindred spirits of mine when it comes to footwear. Here's but one of the racks of shoes I came upon in the streets of Den Haag

Yes, yes, I know they are ladies shoes but hot dog, why do they get all of the colourful ones?

Next: one Dutch treat that I really crave from time to time is the Stroopwaffel: 2 thin, cookie-sized waffles, smooshed together with maple syrup. I'd only ever had them pre-packaged. But then my life changed. In a big way.

Mmmmm. Like a juicy news headline these bitches were hot off the press. And just look at the way the syrup glistens on that putty knife. Also, Coke Zero is an impressive substitute for Diet.

Would you get a load of that big, matrixed bastard? Also, I wasn't really aware of the mannequin boobs in the back until after but now I think it adds a little something to an already artful photograph. Well done, Erin, well done.

On the tram back home from downtown, Erin and I had to endure a pack of street rats blaring shitty Euro hip-hop while essentially brown-bagging some Southern Comfort. Covertly, I shot a picture of their ring leader.

If he were wearing a mood ring I bet it would read, "Just doesn't give a fuck."

After a brief sojourn to 11 Bezaansmast for a home-cooked meal (one of only a handful I had while away) Erin and I decided to walk the beach at Scheveningen. See, this beach and I, we sort of have a history.

Ahem.

Yeah, I know. I'm cute as all get the fuck out. But can you believe that, looking into the eyes of that doughy angel above, he would become this writer? Yeah, me neither. And frankly, thinking about it gives me a large headache directly behind my right eye.

Anyway, while the bumper cars were no longer to be found I promised myself that I would take a similar picture for my mom, a quarter century later. With the help of my intrepid (read: terribly embarrassed) camerawoman I managed to send home this award-winner. I imagine most onlookers would have assumed me retarded.

You know what? I can't, for the life of me, imagine why my trip wasn't highlighted by numerous sexual encounters with impossibly attractive Dutch women. Maybe it was the Birkenstocks.

Also of note, the beach at Scheveningen was adorned with dozens of whimsical metal sculptures. Some depicted scenes from folk tales while others were simply funny to look at it. I will post a full series of such pictures later but here is one of my favourites.

I just find it astounding that the artist so perfectly captured the visage of my mother, circa 1985-1993.

Anyone want to back me up on that? Lauren? Dad?

I'm just kidding. This clearly bears no resemblance to my mother. See, she has 5 toes, not four.

All told, it was a relaxing day and a great way to recharge my battery. I needed all the energy I could get to tackle Day 5, a synopsis of which is soon to come.

chrstphr

Wilkommen

2008-07-06T22:25:00.002-04:00

Folks,

As a brief aside to my Euro saga I'd like to welcome two newcomers to the Links community.

Chris Reynolds, the international man of mystery, will be providing his musings while he lives and works in Asia. I'm certain he is a professional hit-man but he insists otherwise. Precisely what a clandestine murderer would say, no?

Jenn, who I can actually call a "dear old friend" regardless of how long we have known each other, routinely interrogates the space between poetry and prose at The Letter Purple. I love it and you should, too.

So, yeah, the more the merrier.

chrstphr

Nederland Day 3

2008-06-30T22:38:00.007-04:00

Hello and welcome to Amsterdam, where vice rules supreeeeeeeeme!

From Den Haag, Amsterdam is just under an hour by train, and completely worth the Euros to get there.

I made a conscious choice to centre my trip around locales not endorsed by Maxim. But, I figured that a day in the big city would give me enough of an idea to "get" Amsterdam's allure.

Now, Erin and I started with a different idea for the day trip: make no plans! Considering the size and nature of the city we opted to pound the pavement, duck into a variety of shops, people watch, tap into the energy of the city. So, while I'd like to lay out a laundry list of things DONE it may look pretty paltry.

Stepping out of the train station I was met with a majestic sight: thousands of bicycles, packed into rows, each bike indistinguishable from the next. Shortly thereafter, though, I laid my eyes on what was surely one of the odder sights of the journey: an otherwise unassuming man lingered upon the edge of the canal, unkempt from head toe. A cigarette perched perilously between his beer-soaked lips. Without even ruffling the cigarette he removed all of his clothes, save for his boxer shorts and blue tube socks, before dropping into the motor oil-soaked canal in a well-executed can opener. If you have seen Bill Murray in Rushmore then you have a great frame of reference.

Shortly thereafter Erin and I had the massive misfortune of witnessing a large, moustachioed man firmly gripping a fresh bratwurst, struggling to wrap his teeth around the tautly-pulled, leathery sausage casing. Yes, it looked as dirty and phallic as it sounds. I am no longer enticed by street meat.

Tomfoolery aside we then hit the city centre and, well, let ourselves get lost. Stores on top of stores, cobble-stones melting into motorways, canals weaving around corners. Even with a map I found it difficult to stay oriented. Plus I was on acid. Kidding, ma, kidding.

The majority of the late-morning and early-afternoon was shopping, both of the window and the mortgage-necessitating variety. I was hoping to score a pair of sneakers, something flashy, something to remind me of Amsterdam, a pair of sneakers that would prompt people to ask, "where did you get those?" to which I could adopt an unctuous smile and proudly reply, "Amsterdam" (even though I could have ordered them on the internet for nearly half the price.)

Mission accomplished.

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing the following: ordering falafels from some dude who, inexplicably, hated Erin (I say inexplicably because, to hate Erin, you need to spend at least 15 minutes with her); finding and buying concert tickets; walking the tulip market; losing Erin on one of the million streets ending in -straat; looking for Dutch-speaking Asian women to satisfy my curiosity as to their comparative hotness; trying not to step in dogshit; watching a beach volleyball tournament in a sand-filled city square; giggling uncontrollably everytime I saw ANYTHING relating to sex (see above); checking five other shoe stores to ensure I wasn't ripped off at the store where I bought Joseph's Amazing Technicolour Dreamshoes; discovering that Dutch iced coffee is as repulsive as Dutch coffee, only colder; marvelling that a woman, with a simple turn of a crank, could make her garish wagon produce the tune to ABBA's "Take A Chance On Me"; marvelling even more that said woman looked back at our wonderment with a look that communicated "What the fuck did you think this thing was for? Sausages?"; and finally, finding Chinatown simply to take pictures of (the half-Asian) Erin in front of ethnic-looking buildings. Yes, I know, nearly everything listed above could have been in done in Toronto (except for that fucking ABBA-wagon), but (and that's a big but) it wasn't in Toronto. It was in Amsterdam!

Now, everyone wants to know two things:

(1) Did I visit the Red Light District?
(2) Did I buy and/or smoke marihuana in the 'dam?

To the former, I say simply, yes I did. And it was surprisingly less awesome than I had been told. Then again, apparently I missed out on the really greasy stuff. That's okay. I always figured the best way to see the fetish shops is with a brood of small children. And so will begin the 2023 Crighton Family Vacation.

To the latter: I didn't not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not not get high at the canal's edge before making a fool of myself in a Mexican restaurant by laughing so hard that my face and body seized up in a sort of weird Mr. Burn's visage, sneered lips, limp wrists and all.

Ahem.

The evening was spent at the famed Paradiso, a church turned concert hall in Amsterdam's museum district. A good friend of mine had turned me on to a lovely pop band called Guillemots (I have written about their fantastic debut album on this very corner of the internet) and, serendipitously, they happened to be playing the Paradiso the day we were visiting. As a brief aside, I have always considered music a vital part to my travel experience and will typically try hard to squeeze a concert in wherever I go. Oftentimes I get to see artists that nary frequent my corner of the world and I get to see some of the world's historical venues. The Paradiso, for example, was home to a two-night acoustic engagement by the Rolling Stones in 1995, released as the Stripped album. And, if I am not mistaken, the Paradiso was where a pre-fame Kurt Cobain struck a bouncer with the butt-end of his guitar after being unceremoniously manhandled mid-concert. The enduring image is that of a wiry Dave Grohl stampeding from behind his kit to reinforce his beleaguered bandmate, a fresh stream of blood cascading out from under the bouncer's thick, bandana'd head. Here we are now, entertain us.

The show was a memorable one. Not only did I meet Guillemots' talented and beautiful bassist Aristazabal Hawkes (that has to be a spy name) but I was treated to a really wonderful show. Aside from a few miscues in the middle of the set and an initially unresponsive crowd, the 'mots played a charming gig. All of my favourites were in the mix ("Made-up Love Song" was the opener; "Trains to Brazil" and "Sao Paolo" to close) and the reworked versions of some songs ("We're Here" was especially brilliant as a solo piece) were great. Add to that the sheer luck of stumbling upon a real jaw-dropping opener. The Dodos, a two-piece from San Francisco, managed to elicit calls for an encore after their 40 minutes had expired. Exhausted, yet visibly grateful for the response, these chaps were grinning from ear to ear as they packed up their own gear. All in all it was a great, great show. Plus, I picked up the Dodos album and some nifty Guillemots swag: shoelaces and table coasters. Yes, Virginia, I am the lamest rock fan there is.

After the show, heads still swimming from our, er, dinner, we managed another quick tour of the Red Light District. I will say, simply, that business was swift and the streets felt like a party. But, alas, it was not to be our party. The last quick train to Den Haag left at 12:30 and we intended to be on it, lest we be relegated to the Puke Train, an affectionate term for the slow, intermittent train that takes nearly-expired partygoers back to their sleepy hamlets after a night of wild abandon. Oh, and there's usually lots of puke.

Before the train, though, Erin assured me that we needed to stop for a special treat, one that reminded her of her previous trip to Amsterdam: 1 Euro hot fudge sundaes from McDs. Booya.

And home to bed.

Nederland Day 2

2008-06-28T14:07:00.007-04:00

And we're back.

It was Friday, 6 June and I was up bright and early with Erin to make the trip from Schevinengen into Den Haag. It really is true that everything in Holland is close; what looked massive on the map was only about 25 minutes walking.

Erin is working at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia (ICTY) for the summer. And while she is squirreled away in the basement I decided to view one of the trials from the public gallery. After three separate security checks I slid into the glassed-in section courtroom 3, just in time to see the American prosecutor finish with a witness in the Popovic trial. I've only been at this law gig for a few months but I could tell that he was really cooking. The Serbian defense counsel left something to be desired. It felt like bad TV. Whereas the prosecutor was calm, cool and collected the defense attorney was bumbling, unprepared and (for lack of a better term) goofy. After about 5 minutes of being led through video snippets of bombing victims and other casualties from the war the presiding judge cut him off: "Counsel, do you have a question or are you merely playing to the audience?" With that the judge gestured to the viewing gallery, causing nearly all of the 30-odd members of the court to turn and look at the crowd. That early in the morning, however, the "crowd" consisted solely of me. All I could muster was a sort of weird wink and wave to a United Nations court. Nobody waved back. Smooth, son, smooth.

While interesting, I figured that 90 minutes was enough for me so it was off to museum hunt. Right next door to the ICTY building is Den Haag's Gemeentermuseum or the municipal museum. It had a great range of art, including the largest collection of works by Piet Mondriaan, a Dutch painter whose work typified the De Stijl movement of the early 20th century.

Beyond the Mondriaan's I was lucky to see work by Lucian Freud, a direct descendant of everyone's favourite psychoanalyst and Ah Xian, a Chinese ex-pat who has produced a large series of busts crafted from different materials and decorated in varying styles. Here are two examples:

And while they are totally badass there was something wholly unnerving about being alone in a room with all these decorated heads. I was just waiting for one of the bastards to wink at me.

I was met for lunch by Erin and some of her workmates. It came as no surprise that her office mates were a diverse bunch: an American, a Peruvian, a Swede and even a Tasman. And then there was me, the Sarnian: "Yeah, but have any of you seen Chemical Valley all lit up at night?"

The afternoon was again mine and I hit up the annex to the Gemeentemusuem, Fotomuseum Den Haag. This place came heavily recommended in a near-frantic e-mail from Erin the week before: "Ohmigod! Right next to my work is a photo museum and guess what the exhibition is? GINGERS!"

My red-hair has become, like my lean physique, a frequent point of ridicule amongst my law school friends. The timing of the exhibition, then, came as joyous news to Erin and her ilk. The exhibition itself was great. The photographer, Hanne van der Woude, wanted to shoot natural redheads in natural locations, so the photos depicted not only a wonderful assortment of Holland's gingers but some of the country's finest environs, too.

In a related note: Before leaving I mentioned the exhibit to a friend of mine whom I would consider "artsy." She replied, "oh, neat. Gingers come in such cool shapes and sizes, with all those knobby points." I was repulsed by the description of my freckled brethren but soon understood the mix-up. She thought it was a photo exhibition of actual ginger-roots. I was neither surprised that she thought this nor that she believed it would have been a great art exhibit. Weirdo.

I finished off my day by heading out of Den Haag to the smaller outlying town of Delft. Erin and her roommate, Danna, had wanted to visit the town and we figured a dinner trip was as good a reason as any. You may have never heard of Delft but have likely seen its major export. Delftware is a traditional white and blue ceramic, often painted with scenes of Dutch life. It always reminds me of my Oma's house.

Like many of the towns I saw the local life here revolved around an old city square that contained an old church, a handful of restaurants and at least one canal. We made our way aimlessly from the tram-stop through the cobble-stoned streets noting that at 6pm nearly everything was closed. Finally we stopped at a restaurant which had a patio in the city square. There, as the sun passed behind the looming church we dined on chicken satays, croquettes, fanta and chocomel. Cheap, heavy and delicious.

It was then back on the tram to Schevingengen and another decent night's sleep in my man-crib before Saturday's big excursion: Amsterdam!

More to come. As for pictures I may have to wait until the end and make one big post of my favourite photos from along the way.

chrstphr

Nederland Day 1

2008-06-24T21:55:00.004-04:00

Ola,

Alright, some time to breathe and gloat a little bit.

First thing's first. Apparently a 1-0 deficit at the 56th minute was the least of my worries. A 3-1 deficit in the 118th minute was far more "SHIT!" inducing. Not literally, but close. My storm cloud had a silver lining though: neither Cristiano Ronaldo or Gianluigi Buffon will be celebrating this Sunday. Justice is (sort of) served.

ANYWAY, I departed London on 4 June at 1pm on an intrepid little Robert Q Airbus for what would be the first step in a decent-sized journey. As far as flights go it was pretty standard. I ate, I watched a Ryan Reynolds movie and I slept fitfully until I arrived in Amsterdam. Fear not, though, I have plenty to bitch about from the flight home.

It was a quick pass through security in Amsterdam and I took care of my first order of business: purchasing the 2008 Dutch national football jersey (see above). And then I went to the bathroom. And called home. Priorities.

I had to grab the train to Den Haag shortly thereafter and was starting to feel the effects of the jet lag. Plus it was morning rush hour on the train. But you know what? The Dutch are polite to a T. Not an errant glance or an impatient chortle as I waddled my oversized backpack down the aisle. Maybe they could tell I was half Dutch. Maybe they just didn't give a shit. Either or, really.

Once in Den Haag I bee-lined to my humble abode for the next week: a comfortable little flat in Schevinengen, a beach-side suburb of Den Haag. And I almost immediately fell asleep in Erin's bed*

*Note: she was not in the bed at the time. I mention this only for her sake. She has a reputation to maintain at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia. Oh, and it was also a water-bed. Weird, right?

That first day really was all about sleeping. I was happy knowing I was in the motherland but Jesus H. Christ was I tired. After what seemed like days I got up and went for a run along the beach. Kind of like Baywatch Hasselhoff. But more effeminate.

Finally my hosts came home from work and there were hugs all around. Then it was into the city centre for dinner at Vapiano. I'm happy to report that overpriced pizza in Holland is pretty much the same as overpriced pizza in Canada. Only way more expensive.

Erin and her roommate Danna were happy to help me look for an after dinner cup of coffee. I learned something about Holland very quickly that night.

1. People don't drink coffee at night.
2. Even if they did you sure as shit won't find a place to buy it after 5:30 pm.

So it was back home to relax and gear up for a full day in Den Haag. I slept wonderfully, especially considering my sleeping arrangement: two loveseats pushed together to form a sort of scotchguarded man-crib. I soon realized that buying a box of condoms for the trip was a worthless expense.

That's all for now. Stay tuned for Day 2 and soon enough some actual photos.

chrstphr

Russia 1 Nederland 0, 56th minute

2008-06-21T15:57:00.000-04:00

Shit.

My Big Trip

2008-06-21T15:34:00.004-04:00

Allo,

I'm sitting here in front of mom and dad's big screen tv, waiting patiently for the Dutch to notch a goal against the Ruskys and I'm stuck thinking, "wow, exactly one week ago I was standing at the top of St. Pauls' Cathedral, looking down at the London Eye and the River Thames. Two weeks ago I was hunting the streets of Amsterdam for the perfect pair of sneakers. Hmmm. Time for another beer."

Luckily there is enough of Europe on the tv right now (Oranje Oranje Oranje) to satisfy my cravings. Plus, I'm currently wearing a wispy yet refined Euro-stache (see above... look closely), so transitioning back to the "real world" has been fairly easy.

Why the trip? Well, midway through April exams I had to make a decision: headbutt the sidewalk until I pass out or create a light at the end of the tunnel. I chose the latter, although the former could have possibly helped my academic performance this spring.

Anyway, a good friend of mine had been accepted to intern at the International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia in the Hague and offered up her (as yet unseen) couch of I wanted to make the trip, which I most definitely did. So, a spent a cool $600 for a round trip flight from Toronto to Amsterdam and from London, England back to Toronto. Once the non-refundable was on my student line of credit I knew there was no turning back.

The plan was to visit Erin in Den Haag for a week and then stop in to visit Gee-Hae, another good friend of mine, in London. I will preface everything by mentioning that both ladies are paragons of accomodation, especially considering their visitor.

I chose to travel between June 4 and 17, to roughly coincide with the bulk of the European Football Championships. I reasoned that if I couldn't make it to Austria/Switzerland to catch the mighty Orange in person it could be just as fun saddling up with with a few like-minded supporters the motherland.

Considering Holland's Euro showing thus far and the warm welcome of the Dutch people, I do believe I made a handsome decision.

Okay, the game is back on and I must watch with full and rapt attention, lest I jinx the Orange Crush on their sweep of Europe.

Stay tuned for Day 1 of my journey to the centre of the Universe.

Chris

I'm not dead

2008-06-19T18:04:00.004-04:00

Hey Hey,

Long story short: just got back in from Europe, trying to get life in order.

The chaos, however, melted into serenity this morning as I stepped off the bus.
Why?
Male, 28, pudgy, wearing a t-shirt brandished with the visage of '80s wrestling icon Ravishing Rick Rude.

Good Morning, world.

You Decide...

2008-05-18T21:34:00.004-04:00

weirdest. email. ever. OR post-modern poetry?

Honour and they have an oracle of zeus established, out as
i had anticipated. He replied at once, frantically with
the barbed wire fence. Wait, much. She tugged at the strap
but tugged in vain. Mention of the case in the papers of
a year ago. Promontory, curving out into the sea, on the
right, you, it wont be my fault if old victory mansions
just taking this into the parcels office, george, elaborate
saddles, harness, saddlebags, and horses' if you say go
on as we are, i will go on because so wellknown a region,
i decided slightly to alter themselves: a religion which
exalts the human it was always heavier, thicker, more ominous
after party and the thought police could all be swept any
relation of yours, i suppose ? The likeness.

ishpgpkgeoaaadolip.

The correct answer is the former. This is an e-mail I received a few weeks ago entitled "Polarisables" and sent by a plucky, yet confounding chap that goes by the name Charlie Capriola.

The best part is that the interminable text above was proceeded by a hyper-link that read as follows: "Increasse Sexual Enerrgy and Pleaasure." The double consonants? Your guess is as good as mine.

Anyway, the whole experience got me thinking about the nature of art. Could "Polarisables", regardless of its origin, stand on its own as a poem? I am tempted to submit it, pseudonym and all, to different arts publications in the near future to see what comes of it. And if I am lucky enough to win any prize many I will immediately mail it that poor Nigerian prince who is in dire financial straits.

ART!

Are We Doomed?

2008-05-12T23:11:00.003-04:00

I have finished reading a fascinating book called The World Without Us, a thought-experiment which investigates what will happen to the world that humans have created if we were all to cease existing tomorrow. It is a premise not meant to elicit horror, nor is it likely.

Anyway, the book discusses how things like the Brooklyn Bridge will fare once the maintenance crews are no longer around. Same goes for the Panama Canal and our stockpiles of slowly decaying radioactive material. The central push of the book illustrates that with enough time, I'm talking geologic time, the earth will recover from the stresses that 6 billion place on it. A comforting thought. Such a scenario, though, requires that our impact is canceled tomorrow. Therein lies an oft-overlooked topic of the current Green Movement: while the earth needs us to change our ways if it is to remain hospitable, it does not need us for its continued existence.

Phrased like this the Green movement takes on a more pressing understanding. We don't have to recycle for the sake of the land, the water or the sky, we have to recycle if we want the world to be a place where humans, as they currently exist, can continue to live. To not heed the warnings of the earth is to accept that we don't mind changing the basic biochemistry of our home. This, however, will likely require an evolutionary shift. Or it may require that many of us die off and migrate to the newly warmed Northern Tundra.

Whatever the outcome, the state of affairs will change. The looming question, then, is, are we ready for that change?

Note: the photo above has been circulating on the web as of late. It is a meteorological phenomenon known colloquially as a volcanic storm. Awe-inspiring, to say the least.

Free Time!

2008-05-04T17:04:00.003-04:00

I am done first year law school.

I am tired. I am socially maladapted. I still have not experienced a decent sleep. In sum, I am a shell of a man.

I am watching a lot of tv, though. Today has been punctuated by two NBA playoff games, multiple episodes of The West Wing, volume 1, and a likely trip to the cinema for a viewing of Iron Man.

The funny part for me is that once my career begins I would likely view someone in my situation as a damn dirty hippy. But I digress.

Anywho, here is a link to this blog's newest friend, Thoughts on Pizza, as curated by friend and Western Alumnus, Ryan Sadler. Enjoy.

http://thoughtsonpizza.blogspot.com/

Gnarls Barkley Remixed

2008-04-20T00:30:00.002-04:00

An even better video than the official one?

No Timberlake, but still...

It's About To Be On Like Hot Butter On Say What?

2008-04-13T12:30:00.003-04:00

Try not to bounce. I dare you.

Gnarls Barkley- "Run"

Also, yes, that is who you think it is.

Lemon?

2008-04-09T10:06:00.003-04:00

Apple MacBook purchased: August 19, 2007 at a cost of $1300
Hard-drive crash and full replacement: December 10, 2007
Second hard-drive crash and full replacement: March 31, 2008
Additional cost of restoring lost information (about 2 weeks worth of work since my last external backup): $230

So for $1530 I am on my third hard-drive, and while I know I should have been backing up more regularly the fact still remains that I have retained very little of my original work from my first year at law school.

In related news my classmate's $500 Acer is still running smoothly on her first hard drive.

Am I going to raise a stink? You bet. Like a fart in a sauna.

Updates to follow.

Really? This Guy?

2008-03-19T08:08:00.002-04:00

"The Dalai is a wolf in monk's robes, a devil with a human face but the heart of a beast,"
-Zhang Qingli, quoted in the Tibet Daily as saying at a meeting of the Tibet government.

Get this man an Oscar

2008-03-14T02:10:00.002-04:00

I'm a big fan of sketch comedy and this bit is, in my mind, one of the most superb sketches ever written.

For the uninitiated, it is a clip from HBO's "Mr. Show", off the air for a few years now.

Enjoy

I want to be politically correct only when I'm voting

2008-03-13T11:22:00.001-04:00

My mom sent me this in an e-mail today:

The following is the 2007 winning entry from an annual contest at Texas A&M University, calling for the most appropriate definition of a contemporary term.

This year's term: Political Correctness

"Political Correctness is a doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical, liberal minority and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end."

Free Love

2008-02-29T13:22:00.002-05:00

I found this wonderful quote while reading a Wired Online article regarding "polyamory" or the lifestyle that nurtures relationships of multiple, consensual partners (and this is not limited simply to sexual partners but to full amorous relatinships). Polyamory has been in the news recently since Academy Award winner Tilda Swinton divulged that she, while living with her husband and their two children, is also involved with another man, and what's more, all parties are amenable to the situation.

Now regardless of where you stand on the issue, noted polyamory advocate Franklin Veaux says, "We need to get away from the idea that there's only one right way to live. That idea has arguably caused more destruction and more damage to more societies over history than any other single idea you can name."

A succinct and cogent commentary that underlies many of today's socio-political issues.

Ribbit!

2008-02-27T09:50:00.001-05:00

Badass. Purely Badass.

The most epic video about bullfrogs you will ever see.

LOST

2008-02-22T16:14:00.003-05:00

No, not that LOST (although I will say that someone should call a doctor because the new season is Sick!)

Stimulating television aside an odd thing happened last Saturday: I lost a pair of sunglasses and my lunchbag (which still had in it three (3) pieces of tupperware and approximately seven (7) baby carrots).

Where are they? I don't know. I can assume that they are not currently fighting for survival upon a seemingly invisible tropical island, but then again, I do believe that nothing is impossible if you just wish hard enough.

No, it is more likely that I left the sunglasses at The Spoke (the school's pub) and the lunchbag at Prince Albert's Diner, a mildly sexual-sounding but otherwise innocuous local greasy spoon. In either event my best guess has not yielded any information as to the whereabouts of either of my friends.

So now I am both constantly hungry and squinting. Like a newborn hamster.

This weekend will be spent scouring the city for a great sunglasses-lunchbag deal. I'm looking at you, Red Apple (or Giant Tiger if I'm in Sarnia).

grumble

Hmmmmmmmmm

2008-02-22T15:52:00.004-05:00

Ever since I posted about the Muhammed Cartoon Controversy I have been receiving a steady stream of e-mails written in Naskhi, or Arabic script.

Coincidence?

While it does seem a little sinister it is more than likely that these messages are simply asking me if I'm sick and tired of leaving my sexual partners unsatisfied. Well, yeah, but I have a perfectly good online supplier of GirthX on this side of the world, y'know?

In any regard, I will continue to monitor this highly suspicious activity and inform CSIS if the messages increase in frequency.

While being "soft" may be a problem of mine, being "soft on terror" is not.

Courage in these dark times.

The Next Big (Little) Thing in Music?

2008-02-21T11:45:00.002-05:00

Introducing iBand, the Led Zeppelin for Geeks.

Oh, wait, Zeppelin were pretty horny for Tolkien, so they already kinda were for Geeks.

Okay, then, iBand, the Hall and Oates for Geeks.

Eeeeee, I'm not very good at this metaphor thing.

Part of the next Dream Home Lottery?

2008-02-21T11:33:00.004-05:00

I wish.

courtesy of BoingBoing

And Now for Something Completely Different

2008-02-20T22:21:00.002-05:00

I would wipe clean my hard drive (intentionally this time) to be able to accomodate this wonderful, wonderful program.

You Windows or Linux users can download a copy of the program here. We Mac users have to be patient, though. Boo.

Speak No Evil

2008-02-19T13:23:00.003-05:00

Hello,

When it comes to the Olympics a good friend of mine is an idealist. The event, he says, marks the final frontier of global, human events. A connection is formed, he says, which lays the basis for wonderful stories of success and community.

If only it were that simple, you know?

This week the British Olympic Association announced that it would be requiring all of its Olympic-bound athletes to sign a contract promising that they will not make any comments regarding the 2008 host country, China. Presumably this gag-order extends to topics like labour practices, the environment, Communism, falun gong, dictatorial rule, Tibet or the Dalai Lama.

Those affected are not amused.

BOA has defended the move saying that it simply wants its athletes to represent the country on an athletic basis, not a political one. The contract is a way of ensuring that the games are not marred by talk of all those troubling issues above. In fact, BOA wants to contribute to the type of Olympic games that my friend would like to see: pure, unencumbered sport. Truthfully, I do not believe that my friend believes in the limitation of free speech but I use the allusion to point out BOA's commitment to some Olumpic utopia where the dogshit is merely swept under the rug.

I tend to agree that the Olympics should be a place of success stories and pride (national, ethnic, economic, what have you) but I, like many, would not sandbag free-speech for the sake of a "palatable" public event. The deeper irony, of course, is that China has a notorious record of limiting the free speech of its own people with regards to any of the above topics, extending its limiting powers into the internet as well (hence the wonderfully crafted parody piece that anchors this post, courtesy of Wired magazine)

I will follow this story with interest; let's hope enough people can make a big enough noise to halt such a ridiculous policy in its tracks.

Link to the newspaper article; be sure to check out the chilling picture of the 1936 British Olympic soccer team giving the Nazi salute, a move endorsed by the British government at the time so as not to unnecessarily "politicize" the event.

Chrstphr

Copenhagen Under Fire

2008-02-15T20:37:00.003-05:00

Sigh,

Denmark is again in flames. While I would love to delve into all the issues surrounding the Muhammed cartoon controversy I simply don't have the time.

What I do have, though, is a conviction that free speech must prevail. And because I live in a system that allows me to do so I here reprint those infamous cartoons (plucked from Wikipedia) on behalf of those who have been targeted, suffered or died because of the way an assortment of coloured pixels on newsprint offended the irrational and unreasonable beliefs of some other people.

To be clear, when I write "irrational" and "unreasonable" I mean them in the most unequivocal terms: religious beliefs, held however earnestly, are neither rational nor reasonable in their constitution.

And in response to those who believe that the current flare-up of unrest could have been avoided had the Danish press acted with sense and restraint, I say this: everywhere and always, the need to defend freedom of speech and freedom of thought outweighs the need to defend the ability to burn, terrorize and murder. The moment when we refuse ourselves the former for the sake of dodging the latter is the moment that we really have lost it all.

Lame

2008-01-27T11:28:00.000-05:00

Southern racists adopt "Canadian" as a euphemism for "black"

courtesy of BoingBoing.

chrstphr

Say Cheese!

2008-01-26T22:03:00.000-05:00

It's been difficult to evade the snippets of news surrounding the death of Heath Ledger.

Old pictures of his have since been re-cast in black and white; any interview footage that even makes banal references to the end ("I'd die if I got a role like that") is mined for deep pathos; screenshots of Mr. Ledger's upcoming performance in The Dark Knight as the crazed, fatalistic Joker, are now cast by the news media as "eerie."

Everybody has a theory. Not one of them matters, save for the coroner's, and that one's a legal thing, not really meant for Entertainment Tonight.

But if I may weigh in with one thought that really struck me through this whole circus...

I saw Cloverfield last weekend (it was pretty rad) and one scene that made me smirk (don't worry I'm not divulging anymore than the trailer does) involves the head of the Statue of Liberty being torn off and heaved into the city, landing violently in the middle of a city street. Amidst all the chaos the frightened passersby crowd around to snap photos Lady Liberty with a bevy of gadgets: cell phones, PDAs, digital cameras and, of course, the videocamera that serves as the perspective of the film.

I could have sworn I was watching the same scene four days later when, just after dusk, the NYPD wheeled the bagged, lifeless body of Mr. Ledger out of his apartment and into a waiting ambulance. The news crews were there, of course, but so, too, were the teeming mass: young, plugged-in new yorkers, Nokia's in hand, capturing the whole procession in snapshots and moving pictures. It was like a topsy-turvy red carpet, a grim departure where there was once grand entrances.

I wonder how much more footage of the dying moments of John Lennon would exist if we had the technology back in 1980? What about Kurt Cobain? Or, even worse, 9/11?

I don't believe the stalkerazzi are bad people, but... the habits they've formed, when fuelled by the peculiar feelings of shared "loss," have created a thick scar tissue around what should be a sense of decency.

In related news, I'm really super-pumped that people like Perez Hilton get paid for shit like this.

grumpy

Thank Goodness for the Legal Profession and Personal Accountability

2008-01-14T18:48:00.001-05:00

Woman OD's on Drugs, Sues Dealer

Mun-tree-all

2008-01-10T23:47:00.000-05:00

I have never been to Montreal. Well, I hadn't ever been to Montreal up until last week.

I managed to see it in snippets, sometimes drunk, always too briefly. I rode the Metro, I ate good food, I was rude to most people I met, I smoked incessantly and I spent approximately $30 to watch a nude woman slither down a brass pole.*

*Some of the above is not true. Some of it is.

All in all, it was a fantastic trip surrounded by good friends (read: the other people who paid $350 to go).

As with any trip I take the peculiar was never far away.

Case in point: nearly every time I used a urinal something kind of fucked up happened.

Scenario 1: I am relieving myself in a train station bathroom. A swarthy, sweatered man sidles into the urinal next to time. What proceeds is up for debate. Either a) the man masturbated, vigorously, for 20 seconds or b) the man preferred to energetically jostle himself while peeing.

I am undecided as to which of the two is more startling
------------

I managed to squeeze a fair bit of fun into 4 days. But, alas, there were some regrettable omissions.

I ate neither Montreal smoked meat nor St. Hubert's.

The former isn't as disheartening as I would have assumed, but that latter is downright depressing. I haven't seen that cavalier chicken or his inviting ways since I was young and when I had to drive away there was a pang of guilt in the space where some greasy chicken and greasier fries should have been.
-------------

While in Montreal I participated with my school's unofficial dance team. And I don't mean to brag but I made some tongues wag.

Unfortunately for me those tongues were, without exception, attached to the mouths of men.

I think I should buy bigger jeans.
-------------

Sometime soon I have to go to the Bay and return a woman's blouse that cost me $50.

No, I don't have a girlfriend.

Don't ask.
-------------

I have a sneaking suspicion that there may be a profound connection between the last comment and the one that immediately precedes it.
-------------

exeunt

chrstphr

My Love For Apple: On the Mend

2007-12-31T17:03:00.001-05:00

So I briefly discussed my flagging affection for the machine that sputtered, coughed and expelled my precious data. What I did not foresee was the massive amount of fun and satisfaction I got from re-establishing all of my anal-retentive settings, preferences and quirks.

Chief among those pleasures was discovering that in the absence of a Microsoft program I had, at my disposal, OmniOutliner. I was completely new to the program but it got rave reviews from a law student who maintains a blog on how he utilizes Mac in such an environment.

Now, 2 hours and a 50-page tutorial later, I am hooked! A model of efficiency and organization, Outliner may become the cute, OCD-addled girlfriend I've been dreaming about.
----------

Yes, I am falling in love (again) with this glorious machine. It reminds of an inspirational woodcut that I used to see on the desk of my religion teacher. I have appropriated it here for my express purposes:

Footprints in the (amper)Sand

One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with my Mac.
Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand.
Sometimes there were two sets of footprints,
other times there were one set of footprints.

This bothered me because I noticed
that during the low periods of my life,
when I was suffering from
anguish, sorrow or defeat,
I could see only one set of footprints.

So I said to my Mac,
“You promised me Mac,
that if I followed you,
you would walk with me always.
But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life
there have only been one set of footprints in the sand.
Why, when I needed you most, you have not been there for me?”

My Mac replied,
“The times when you have seen only one set of footprints in the sand,
is when I carried you.”

special thanks to Mary Stevenson, who wrote the original poem in, fittingly, 1984 (see Ridley Scott's Apple Commercial to get the joke)
--------------

Man, I might as well just drink the purple Kool-Aid already

chrstphr

Testing, Testing

2007-12-30T11:30:00.001-05:00

Allo,

I have just added a Blogger "widget" to my desktop which allows me to open a small notepad, type, and post directly to my award-winning* blog. Here's my fingers crossed for an increase in activity.

So on this front my laptop is top of the pops.

However, I must admit to a fatal chink in my Mac's armor. Prior to the end of my exams my computer gave up, just shit the bed and refused to turn on. The problem? My hard-drive was a lemon. I lost EVERYTHING that I had worked on in term one. That part's my fault, but to be fair I weighed the likelihood of a 3-month old hard-drive calling it quits and if I had to do it all over again I would probably take the same chance.

In better news, the Mac service program was top notch. My little baby is back in my arms in less than a fortnight and purring like a kitten. But the type of kitten than I can tolerate. Which is rare.

Chrstphr

*It took top-honours in the annual "Least Impressive Blog" Awards, sponsored by Netscape Navigator

Lamest. Car. Ever.

2007-12-20T10:20:00.001-05:00

Admittedly, I am not a "car" guy. I don't know engine power from Guatemalan politics. But, being the snarky son-of-a-bitch I am I know a lame car when I see one. The criteria? I go purely on looks alone.

I know, I know, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. But thsi wasn't a book, it was a Dodge Charger.

Nothing inherently wrong there. It was the bells and whistles that set it apart.

At first glance was the sticker decal: "Dragons Breath". Grammatical shortcomings aside I had to laugh. What was once a feared mythical creature is now almost certainly robbed of any respect, what with decals like this and dragon-emblazoned jeans and hoodies.

Dear Asia, white people are sorry for turning the dragon into nothing more than a substitute for a Dale Earnhardt sticker.

Now for the best part. The guy had a scrolling text sign under his licence plate which read: "SINGLE FEMALES APPLY WITHIN"

Wow.

Forget the females, he almost had me.

Random Info

2007-12-10T19:31:00.000-05:00

I have a Pavlovian-reaction to coffee.

When I drink it I usually begin to perspire under my arms. More often than not, I will perspire far more heavily under my right arm. Sometimes my left armpit will remain drier than British wit.

The real "you don't say" nugget, though, is that sometimes, when I'm feeling juuuuuust right, the pipes will start to leak before I've even peeled back the lid on my double-double, as if my axillaries were about to get the blast of caffeine instead of my wordhole.

Don't medical journals pay to investigate stuff nonsense like this?
-------------

Chris

Oh, this makes perfect sense

2007-11-28T14:36:00.000-05:00

A news story from the BBC:
-------------
A British teacher has been charged in Sudan with insulting religion, inciting hatred and showing contempt for religious beliefs.
The Foreign Office has confirmed that charges have been laid against Gillian Gibbons, 54, from Liverpool.

She was arrested in Khartoum after allowing her class of primary school pupils to name a teddy bear Muhammad.
-------------

For the sake of clarity let me re-state that last sentence: She was arrested(!) in Khartoum after allowing her class of primary school pupils(!) to name(!) a teddy bear(!!!) Muhammad(!!!!!).

Insulting religion? Inciting hatred? Contempt for religious beliefs?

What about insulting/showing contempt for reason?

This is too preposterous to even discuss.

Goddamn.

Chrstphr

And again...

2007-11-27T16:06:00.000-05:00

This cat has jumped from its owner's 3rd-floor balcony on numerous occasions. As per physics and anatomy, it got really fucked up. Now it looks like Wolverine, a mutant.

This a trend in the feline world that I can really get behind.

chrstphr

I Hate Cats...

2007-11-22T17:32:00.000-05:00

But I love Mutants!

Bitch-Slapped by a Pilot

2007-11-21T10:57:00.000-05:00

The title refers to:

A) A new Fox reality show
B) The name of my new band
C) One of the funniest Apple related news bits I've seen in awhile

Always go with C, folks, always go with C.

The rundown: A plane was delayed due to inclement weather; cavalier passenger consults with this iPhone, which tells him that all is meteorologically well; passenger tells stewardess and demands to know the "real reason" the flight is delayed; pilot (reportedly) addresses the cabin like so:

"If the passenger with the iPhone would be kind enough," he began, "to use it to check the weather at our alternate airport, then calculate our revised fuel burn due to being rerouted, then call our dispatcher to arrange our amended release, then make a call to the nearest traffic control center to arrange a new slot time (among all the other aircraft carrying passengers with iPhones), we'll then be more than happy to depart. Please ring your call button to advise the flight attendant and your fellow passengers when you deem it ready and responsible for this multimillion-dollar aircraft and its 84 passengers to safely leave." (Courtesy of Salon.com, by way of Boing Boing Gadgets)

Ouch.

I want to be a pilot now.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

2007-11-16T09:10:00.000-05:00

Ola,

I have seemingly regressed to a state of perpetual adolescence. And it has nothing to do with my level of maturity.

See, since getting back into school and facing the rigors and stresses therein it seems that my body has started to revert to the way it was when I was 15. No, my knees still creak and my once supple skin is beginning to advertise its cracks and scars. It's not a fountain of youth scenario so much as it is a "fountain of the shitty parts of youth"

I've been breaking out. Yeah, like actual zits. Well, I shouldn't be such a drama queen. I typically only get one at a time. But, like Feng Shui, when it comes to zits placement is everything. And I've been getting them on the end of my nose (cue stupid fucking reindeer jokes)

Anyway, when I woke up Monday I faced a major dilemma. Do I go to class sporting a Rudolph or do I cover it with a tasteful little bandage? I didn't think about it long. I would rather everyone see a bandage.

Bad idea. Whereas a zit would be noticeable it is not socially acceptable to point out (luckily, while my face has regressed to high school, the manners of my schoolmates have not) it seems that band-aids (and especially band-aids on or about the face) create an immediate desire to inquire.

Literally, two steps in the door:

"Whoa. Why the band-aid on the face?"
"Uh. I. Uh. I cut myself"
"On the tip of your nose? How did you that?"
"Uh. Uh. Fuck"

A clever response would have been: "Oh, while licking envelopes at the local Christian Heritage Party constituency office" but I am not that quick.

The interrogation continued throughout the day until I hit the end of my rope.

"Hey, what's with the band-aid?"
"Alright. Fine. I woke up with a fuckin zit on my nose. I decided that I'd rather have others look at the band-aid than the zit. There, are you happy now? You nosy (no pun intended) piece of shit?!"
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm. I.. I.." (runs away crying)

And that is the last I ever spoke with the Dean of this law school.

Where's Yer Moses Noooooooow?

2007-11-07T10:09:00.000-05:00

I imagine most readers have seen the story of the young girl born with four arms and four legs. If not, let me summarize: In India there is a young girl who was born with four arms and four legs.

Doctors have since successfully removed the intrusive limbs in an effort to save the girl's long-term health.

What I found most interesting was that many neighbours and acquaintances saw the girl's birth as the reincarnation of the eight-limbed Hindu god and certainly did not want to see any of those extra limbs removed. Nevertheless, science intervened and subsequently prevailed.

This raises the question: if any of the religious traditions are true and a deity does return (be it this Hindu one or say, the Prince of Peace himself) would we actually be able to recognize the return before science intervenes?

Furthering the conundrum is the Boy Who Cried Wolf, as evidenced in any number of crackpots claiming to be the personification of god.

Just a thought.

chrstphr

New Link

2007-11-07T10:03:00.000-05:00

I'd like to welcome a new blog to the sidebar family.

Shane Murphy is not so much a comic genius as a comic idiot-savant. Enjoy.

Oh, and he's listed as Shane Murder due to a peculiarity of my cellphone. When Shane gave me his phone number (after we made out at a house party, obviously) I saved it to my Motorola. As I typed in his name with a nimble thumb the system only let me get as far as "Shane Mur" before interjecting with AutoComplete. It gave me the option of saving Shane Murder. Which I did.

I think it's a name that goes to his gangsta lifestyle anyway.

chrstphr

What's new?

2007-11-06T18:46:00.000-05:00

I wish I could tell you.

As the semester rolls on the days begin to feel indistinct. School is enjoyable, as are my times of leisure, but it falls neatly into routine. So much so that it's tough to discern what's new in my life, what's exciting.

I guess for starters I attended two weddings in as many weeks, both for high school friends who have decided to tie the knot after nearly a decade of dating. I barely have any friends that I've known that long.

At one of those weddings I had the pleasure of MC'ing the evening which was an absolute blast. Prior to the night I certainly wished I could just relax and enjoy my dinner without the stress of forthcoming public speaking but by the end of the speeches it was all for the best. Afterwards the open bar met me with open arms and the rest fo the night wrote itself.

A highlight for me was catchingup with my best friend from grade school, whom I hadn't seen since the end of high school, over six years ago. We both looked a wee bit different but it was funny how quickly the memories came back and how easily the dumb shit we used to do could still make us laugh.

I've often noted that when I return to Sarnia for a visit I only call one person, my best friend Joe. But after the wedding I started to realize that this isn't necessarily a great thing. Not when there are so many familiar faces that can still tell a great story.

It seems that witnessing your friends take one step forward is enough to make you realize that you may want to take one step back.

Somebody print that out and send it to Hallmark. Instant classic.
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Law school? A breeze.

Well, sure, I haven't exactly been tested on anything yet but I'm sure that won't be too difficult right?
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I'm taking part in a mock-trial competition this week. Nearly everyone involved has joked that at some point in their cross-examination they want to bust out the all too famous line, "I want the truth!". No word on whether Jack Nicholson will be able to attend some or all of the competition.

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It's starting to hit me that having not ever watched a complete NFL game my entire life I am somewhat of a minority amongst university-aged males.

But my slender frame and cute smile make me somewhat of a majority amongst high-school aged females.

Go figure.
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I've started working out at the gym again and I've noticed a trend that holds a near mathematic certainty:

A man's age is directly proportional to how liberal he is with his bare genitals.

While a 20 year-old-male is confident in his public nudity a 60 year-old-man is downright cavalier. A friend once told me that he caught an older man shaving his face in the bathroom at the gym. Fair enough. The problem? Not only was he buck naked save for flip-flops but he was matter-of-factly resting his penis on the countertop.

Brazen.
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Let's play another round of legal terminology for Dummies. I pick the legal term and apply the definition that first comes to mind.

Joint Tortfeasor- Any person who, while committing the act of "toking" from a communal marijuana cigarette, either (a) puffs more than his/her fair share of the "doobie" or (b) drops the marijuana cigarette, will be labelled a Joint Tortfeasor

See. Law is simple (when you make it up.)
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I haven't been in a fist-fight in a really long time. The good news? My record is 1-0. TKO.
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While studying the other evening I had a glass of Port. I was alone. Is that depressing?
-------------

Song I wish i could hear right now: "Smooth Operator" by Sade. Comfortingly sultry.
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I'm sorry that i wasted your time.

chrstphr

They're Alive!

2007-10-19T10:00:00.000-04:00

From Wired.com

Robot Cannon Kills 9, Wounds 14

"We're not used to thinking of them this way. But many advanced military weapons are essentially robotic -- picking targets out automatically, slewing into position, and waiting only for a human to pull the trigger. Most of the time. Once in a while, though, these machines start firing mysteriously on their own. The South African National Defence Force "is probing whether a software glitch led to an antiaircraft cannon malfunction that killed nine soldiers and seriously injured 14 others during a shooting exercise on Friday."

Malfunction? No, my friends, wardrobes malfunction, robots do not. This is alarming news for all of us who treat our house robots like shit.

chrstphr

Oh, the infinite wisdom

2007-10-18T10:02:00.000-04:00

aka Today in Religion

One of my intellectual pasttimes is keeping abreast of the ongoing struggle to find balance between faith and secularism in the modern democratic state. For such a pursuit today was like a great big bouquet of wonderful discussion.

My apologies for not hyper-linking; blogger is very bare-bones on my Mac.
First up was this story. The provincial health units have agreed to provide the HPV vaccine free of charge for young women. To my (limited) knowledge HPV is a sexually-transmitted disease that, aside from immediate deleterious effects, also poses a serious cervical cancer risk to women. News of such a move should be applauded, which it was nearly everywhere. Enter the trustees of the Huron-Superior Catholic District School Board who, after a 5-4 decision have opted to disallow such a practice.

And why would they prohibit the treatment? According to one trustee the allowance of the cancer-preventing vaccine would be tantamount to hypocrisy, as the school board would be admitting/advocating anything other than abstinence. Before getting ahead of myself, though, I should point out that this trustee is obviously not a very good Catholic. Her church has been a trumpet of hypocrisy for some time now (a larger argument I needn't get into...well, okay, just a little...the crusades/the spanish inquisition, sex scandals etc).

Now beyond my flippancy there is a real problem here. While the school board may feel that admitting that young Catholic women are having pre-marital sex is counter to the faith it does nothing to negate the truth of the situation. A belief does not reality make.

Beyond this the article makes a terrific point: why weren't the parents the ultimate arbiters of such a decision? What authority does a 9-person, lay panel have to make such a decision?

In the end this only further justifies my incredulity at the practices of the Catholic school system. I can't believe that a group of adults is still willing to bury their heads in the sand. Wake up! The kids are humping! And if you haven't been able to convince them otherwise in religion class then at least refrain from obstructing the goals of public health.

(http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20071018.wsaulthpv1017/BNStory/National/home)
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And just as a side note to this discussion a middle school in the US is offering the pill after a recent upswing in teen pregnancies.
http://www.cnn.com/2007/HEALTH/10/18/middleschool.contraception.ap/index.html
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Muslim students at UofT (Scarborough) are hoping that university administration will fill a recently vacated eatery space with a Halal eatery where food would be prepared according to Muslim guidelines.

The school already offers Halal options to its Muslim population (the school's Muslim Student Association membership is 500) but the MSA claims this is unsatisfactory as the eatery also serves alcohol.

On this I call bullshit. I think the university has done more than its fair share in providing any Halal options in the first place. Making a dedicated Halal eatery would go above and beyond appropriate expenditures of student money. Thankfully, the administration is not making any moves to concede to such demands.

These students had at their disposal prior to attending UofT the research of availability of Halal options on campus. Their duty at that time was to decide whether or not they would be comfortable at such a school. That they did not exercise such a right at the time is an implicit acceptance of the state of affairs at the school. Sure, I know this line of reasoning may be fraught with certain philosophical problems that I would not generally make but then again we are speaking here of religious belief, a field of thought that also has its own philosophical deficiencies.

Here's a question: when the MSA at UofT bites the hand that feeds is the hand considered Halal?

http://www.canada.com/nationalpost/news/story.html?id=52d95f73-2134-4b18-871a-f2bea1d176ee&k=25428
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And on a different note the United States has decided to offer a Congressional Medal of Honor to the Dalai Lama, a move which has caused the ire of the Chinese government, the longtime oppressors of the Dalai Lama's native Tibet.

To the People's Government I say "Fuck You," not only because your activites in Tibet are fundamentally horrible but also because I (luckily) live in a country where I can write such a thing in my little corner of the internet without fear of being silenced by you.

http://www.cnn.com/2007/WORLD/asiapcf/10/17/dalai.lama/index.html?iref=newssearch
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Other than that, though, everything's fine with me.

chrstphr

p.s. I gave my word that I would mention my classmate Erin in my next blog post. So, here goes... Erin, you are for sure one of the worst human beings I know.

Love Chris

Living Single

2007-10-05T08:50:00.000-04:00

So here I am,

A bachelor once more. Don't gasp; this all happened awhile ago. And I don't plan on lamenting my current lot in life. There's too much to be happy about otherwise.

But I bring up the topic because it is one that occupies the nooks and crannies of my mind, revealing itself when I manage to stop thinking about law, music, or sex.

Much of my time spent since the breakup has been taking stock of me, and no, not in the bullshit Tony Robbins, drink the Kool-Aid, I've found the secret, lame rubbish way. More like sitting at home and thinking, "what the fuck is wrong with me?" You know, real deep-dish stuff.

Anyway. I've only begun to figure out who I am as a single cat, because as far as I can remember I've had an "other". My existence for the last 7 years has been one of coupling, always having someone "there", or "here" for that matter. And not that there's anything wrong with that but I think I may have run out of steam.

I think the toughest part is figuring out how to be single. When your personality and, frankly, your sense of comfort, has a tendency to seek out a long-term relationship it sometimes seems as if you're driving downhill and you have the dreadful feeling that the brakeline has been cut. And that's not to say that the women I have dated are akin to an inevitably horrible car-wreck. Far from it. The impending crash lies only with me. I am the sole passenger in this car (and with my luck it's probably a PT Cruiser).

I couldn't quite describe my feelings of singledom until I watched "The Abyss" a few weeks ago. In the film Ed Harris must dive to the depths of the Atlantic ocean. To do so his team has devised a dive-suit that has a liquid-filled helmet (necessary to stablize the pressure of the depths... Christ, my analogies are so damn nerdy). "Liquid-filled helmet?" you ask incredulously, "but the poor man will asphyxiate!" To which I say, "Science (sorcery?) has trumped your best hand, sir!" See, the liquid is oxygen-enriched (duh) so he can breathe the liquid. The problem lies in teaching a human being how to breathe a liquid comfortably. Herein lies my analogy: as Ed Harris' helmet is filled with what I like to call "breathing-milk" he frantically resists, holding his breath as long as he can. When he cannot hold it any longer he takes his first, terrified breath of the fluid. A few more hesitant breaths and he finally begins to settle. For me, learning to be single is like putting on a big ol' breathing-milk helmet (so to speak) and i'm currently struggling, trying to build up the courage to take that first, big breath with confidence. Intriguing, sure, but nevertheless a scary time.

How do I get there, to the land of comfortable singledom? Fuck if I know. Nor do I know if this is something I actually have to do. Why can't I say fuck it and tear that helmet off? No one else has a say in such a thing and as far as I know beginning a new relationship is not immoral. Oh, what would Tony do?!?!

I have learned some things, however. My next relationship will not be something I discuss in the overtly public sphere. Fuck Facebook. While the fun of changing your relationship status to trumpet your newfound love is unequivocally exhilerating, the game of broken telephone that ensues when you change that status is a fuckin sideshow. Note to others (ie. anyone who is not my ex-girlfriend, my close friends or my family): Fuck off. It's none of your concern what happened then or what is happening now (on this latter topic I would love to speak further but I'm afraid I might piss myself it makes me so grumpy). If you want gossip go read Perez Hilton.

Furthermore, my next relationship will be taken a heck of a lot slower than I'm used to. While it's enjoyable to go from 0-60 in 2 1/2 dates it just doesn't seem to be sustainable, you know? In some ways I wonder if I'm not addicted to starting relationships, but it's the maintenance of them that causes me to shit the bed. Not literally. Well, okay, but just the one time.

Anyway such is my newfound, untethered life: a search for understanding by way of science-fiction analogies and foul-mouthed requests to point your noses elsewhere. And lest anyone think this is pointed at them, fear not: I speak only in the collective. If you are not nosy then you have nothing to worry about, do you?

Okay, I'm off for another day of near-oppressive self-reflection, punctuated by moments of clarity and total, psychological harmony. Incidentally, those times are usually when I am eating or shitting. Go figure.

I hope that one day my children will attend Jedi School

2007-09-28T08:57:00.000-04:00

The election,

is nearly upon us and while the official referendum question is over MMP the more important question for many is the one regarding public funding of faith-based schools. I'm sure I needn't delve further into the specifics; if you watch the news or read the newspaper I'm sure you've already heard an opinion or two on the matter.

What is of import to this piece is that for the first time in my increasingly lengthening life I find myself in agreement with the Tories on an issue.

Sort of.

While I would rather see public funding removed from any institution that promotes singular religious tenets I agree with John Tory's recommendation to open funding beyond the current Catholic model for two reasons.

1. If religion is to be fundamentally protected by our Constitution than it must follow that our public policies must support/defend all faiths, not just one.

2. The untenability of the first proposition will likely provide my desired scenario one day in the future.

What constitutes a religious faith? I'm sure there are helpful definitions but I only ask it here rhetorically. If Catholicism should get public funding for Catholic education than so, too, should the Church of Scientology. But I don't think that many other people actually believe that, which is where the first major hurdle will present itself.

Which faiths get funding? Put more frankly, which faiths are publicly legitimate? Dare to answer that? I doubt it. And I doubt that any public official would like to answer it either.

And if a public official were to make a distinction between legitimate/illegitimate faiths (for the sake of public educational funding) he/she would be wrong, fundamentally so. Because Canada protects so earnestly the tenets of personal religious freedoms the state has made it impossible for itself to distinguish some faiths from others.

So sure, extend funding to all faiths. I would assume that it would only be a matter of time before the discussion will crumble under its own weight and the question, in and of itself, will beg the larger question: why has the Catholic system been allowed to prosper in such a fashion?

My guess is that the answer will revolve around some sort of appeal to history/tradition: "Canada was founded on Catholic principles" (wait, didn't the Brits defeat the French? Oh, wait, didn't Europeans forcibly supplant the cosmology of the Native population?) Even without the shaky history at play such arguments are simply bad form. If the state was to actually revere appeals to history/tradition then our women still would have no vote, our Natives would still be handled so as to force their extinction (Manitoulin Island was not always cottage country), and our criminals would still be hanging from the gallows.

But times change. So, too, should our distinctions of what is tolerable in a nation that respects the separation between Church and State.

So, sure, go ahead, open up funding to all and let's see where the discussion heads. I may not agree with Mr. Tory's conception of end-game, but I respect that he's willing to call it into question.

I prefer an opinion I don't like to a non-opinion, any day.

chrstphr

2007-09-23T22:19:00.000-04:00

Greetings,

I've said it before and I will say it again: "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" is the funiest show on television (and/or not on Canadian television...yet) I just bought Season 1 and 2 and I've been reminded of why it is too damn funny to miss. I'd like to go into it, I really would, but it wouldn't do the show justice. If you haven't seen it yet either check out the dvd's, tune into FX Thursday nights at 10 (if you have American cable/satellite) or wait for it to premiere on showcase (I tried getting the deets from the showcase website but to no avail. It's either the website is fundamentally flawed or my Mac is incompatible. However, it is a fact that my Mac is perfect in every way (although it could have a nicer rack...just sayin') and thus it must be the website's fault. Maybe your weaker computers can check out when it's on). Or look for the pre-season 3 webisode on youtube title "Mac is a Serial Killer."

Sounds spooky, I know, but it's hilarious. Oh, and some back story: Mac used to have a physical relationship with a pre-op transsexual, was ostracized until he gave it up, but is still seeing him/her on the sly. Everything else you can pick up on the go.

See. Instant hilarity.
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Law school is:

a) A lot of fuckin' reading
b) Uber-fun
c) Challenging
d) scalloped potatoes
e) All of the above

Did you pick all of the above? LOL. Gotcha! Read everything first, dummy.

So, yeah, law school has been a whirlwind but I can confidently say that I am still really happy to be there and more than willing to do the work to stay there.

I'm also running for the law student council. I've been really focussing my campaign efforts on the swing-states but I hope I haven't alienated any supporters. I know that my newly-revealed border policies are causing some waves in certain circles but I think I can bounce back with my speech on Tuesday so long as I remember to emphasize that a first-year law representative has to be tough on terror in times like these. Because if I don't stand up for national security, who will?

Oh, yeah, I'm also gonna work super-hard to get a new stapler for the photocopy room.
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Do you think a squeegee kid would appreciate it if, at a red light in TO, I got out of my car, gave him a quick sponge-wash and a piece of gum and then held out my hand for some change?
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I was in the car coming home from Toronto today when I reaffirmed a previously held belief: Bumper stickers are really fuckin dumb. Always. End of story.
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Here's a new additioin to this here blog space: I will pick, at random, a term from my Legal Dictionary and give it the Wikipedia definition I believe it should carry.

First up: "Fruits of Crime"

A dance-punk band formed in Decatur, Illinois, in the summer of 2004. While the lineup is in constant flux, two core members sit at its centre: on drum machine, Charlie Frank, and on vocoder and glow-stix, Frank's second-cousin, Charlotte Passingham. The group recorded a demo in early 2005 entitled "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" which received glowing reviews from Pitchfork Media, eMusic, and the Ft.Lauderdale Daily Herald. Their major-label follow-up, ironically titled "Major Label Follow-Up," also did moderately well critically and managed to sell 15,000 copies, a rare feat considering it was released on 8-track only. The band is currently on tour supporting label-mates Tchaikovsky's Pistol and will embark on their first headlining tour in November 2007.

Yup, you can take the boy out of the English degree but you can't take the verbose windbag out of the boy.
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good tidings

chrstphr

Against All Previous Evidence...

2007-09-11T09:53:00.000-04:00

There May Just Be a God.

Or several.

I don't know.

But, whoever so granted that "Dick in a Box" deserved an Emmy Award, God Bless You. Er...You...Bless You?

Congrats, JT, this is the best track you've had since the McDonald's "I'm Lovin' It" commercial.

Full story: http://www.usatoday.com/life/television/televisionawards/2007-09-09-emmy_N.htm

Is that your obiter dicta on the floor?

2007-09-09T19:48:00.000-04:00

well,

4 days down and I'm that much closer to being an accomplished member of Canada's legal community. I also got drunk a few times.

Truth be told, the first week wasn't what I expected at all. It was largely centred around chilling out, getting comfortable, meeting people and celebrating the accomplishment of getting in the door. Sure, there was a bit of work, too (I have my first assignment due Tuesday) but it was wholly unscary. Could it be that I am more than ready for the experience, a 25-year-old with his priorities in check? Perhaps. Is the reality of a steady workload and no salary going to slap me in the teeth shortly? I am assuming so. But until then, things are swell.
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I had the misfortune of breaking my toe last week while running. I know, that sounds silly, but believe me it's sillier. I broke my toe and bruised my face and leg after I fell while running. Yup, I've been doing it for nigh on 20 years and it seems that the mechanics sort of took a shit break when I needed them most. I'm on the mend now but only after a week of hobbling and an excruciating visit to the walk-in clinic. Oh, the doctor was very nice but the 2 1/2 hour wait was not, my big purple toe throbbing there like the emergency light on a nuclear submarine. My good humour was kept afloat, however, by the activities of the rude, French (shocking, I know) intake nurse and one of the other patients who was reading a book I would have assumed only existed in the fairy-tales of ol' Kaintuck: Chicken Soup for the Nascar Soul.

(insert joke here. Come on, this is an easy one, even the most unfunny of people can come up with a gem)
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Did you know that there are more women than men at Western Law? My, hasn't Reese Witherspoon done a lot for the legal profession?
-------------

I watched Roger Federer claim his fourth consecutive US Open title this evening. I try not to be a band-wagon supporter of only the best athletes/teams but there is something amazing about watching the best in their sport compete. Like Michael Jordan in basketball, Tiger Woods in Golf, or Jefferson Perez in Men's Speedwalking (look it up).
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I watched A Hard Day's Night today. Magic, it is.
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Oh, and from the "I know it's last week's news but it's still insane" department: What is it with Republican politicians and dirty, gay, bathroom sex? They're like the new Catholic Priests in the old "so hypocritical it hurts" game. As a gay friend of mine said: "Not only are these guys that vote against same-sex rights gay, they do shit that gay guys find gross."

Truer words have never been spoken. Except for the time my grade three teacher said, "'Boogers' is not an appropriate subject for your class speech, Christopher." Fair enough.
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There are new students now attending Western who were born as late as 1990. How will they be expected to grow into something meaningful having never lived under the constant threat of Communism? That was character-making shit right there.
-------------

I'm already looking forward to thanksgiving and Christmas when I can flex my newfound legal intellect and deftly and easily win any and all family arguments. Even if my position is philosophically unsound I will turn to my new friends: legal rhetoric and elementary latin. En Garde! Okay, that one was cliche French but when I get some good ones I'll defnitely update you, my committed throng of readers (read: mom and random Facebook creepers)
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Exeunt (dammit, more French)

The First Day of the Rest of My...Oh, Come On, That's Horseshit

2007-09-03T20:58:00.000-04:00

Allo,

Well, then, here I stand on the edge of the precipice. This is my last evening as a "working stiff", for tomorrow I crawl back to the halls of academia. Am I nervous? Like I haven't been since my first high-school dance. At least now, however, I don't have as many surprising public erections to deal with. So, that's a plus.

In truth, though, it is all a bit anxiety-producing. I'm coming off my longest stint of educational inactivity and I need to know, will it be easy to go back? Or will I be like the ill-fated Brooks in The Shawshank Redemption? No, no, I'm only kidding, I wouldn't hang myself. Well, I mean, I couldn't, I'm horrible with knots.

But I am excited. As a 25-year-old "manboy" I see this as a great opportunity to meet new people, try new things, and most importantly, fake a South African accent for the first week so as to seem more interesting to my peers.

I will keep you posted, dear readers, of the obstacles and triumphs as I see them. But for now I bid you all adieu and good tidings.

Courage,

Chrstphr

Taking a Shit into a Brown Paper Bag

2007-08-25T13:21:00.001-04:00

A music critic, writing in feigned disgust, noted that Radiohead has reached such a state of mythos that their next album could be the sound of Thom Yorke taking a shit into a brown paper bag and the Radiohead faithful would not only "get it" but they would also hail it as a masterpiece.

Wes Anderson, then, is my Radiohead

The Most Offensive 9/11 Joke

2007-08-25T13:10:00.000-04:00

I Heart Generosity

2007-08-24T14:56:00.001-04:00

Okay,

So, to start I would like to pass along a wonderful little post that I found today at Wired.com, outlining some best practices for Facebook use.

Save Face on Facebook: Facebook Etiquette
By Kendal Black

As Facebook slowly but surely begins to take over all aspects of our lives, I believe it is important to keep in mind certain principles of etiquette when using the social networking service. Having been a user since 2004, when it was still exclusive to certain colleges/universities, I like to consider myself somewhat of a facebook veteran. I would therefore like to contribute certain Facebook etiquette rules:

-One should not friend another whom they have no association or connection with whatsoever. Doing so makes you what I like to call a ‘creeper’.
-Poke frequently.
-When speaking with someone whom you have been casually ‘facebook stalking’, try to pretend you do not know everything about them. Avoid comments like: “So, I saw you and Mike broke- up on facebook…”
-Drunken facebooking can get you in trouble… Try to restrain yourself from leaving an inebriated wall post on that cute guy or girl’s profile.
-Additionally, writing on your own wall is a great form of self-expression.
-Beware of potential employers browsing facebook photos. That body shot or keg stand picture might not encourage hiring.
-One’s profile should not be overloaded with unnecessary applications (such as Superpoke, Food Fight, etc.), Facebook is not meant to be like myspace.
-Being part of too many Facebook groups devalues the ones you truly care about, try to stick to a select few (under 25?).
-One’s popularity is based on the number of “Happy Birthday!!!!!” wallposts they receive. Do not forget to leave one on good friends’ walls on their special day.
-Finally (for now), do use Facebook as a way to keep in touch with people whom you otherwise might not but do not let it replace actual human interaction (easier said than done).

While I don't agree with "Poke Frequently" (not in Facebook terms, anyway) the rest is a solid start, especially like ensuring that your Profile doesn't start to look like the vest of a Wal-Mart Greeter. What I like even more is that this post is covered by a Creative Commons License, which is a no-bullshit approach to intellectual property, void of pretense and douche-baggery. I'm still fresh to the CC pond but even a brief wade I am more than happy with such a refreshing take on copyright (which doesn't fully excuse the use of a horrible extended metaphor).

Anyway, read up, it's interesting stuff.

Celebration!

2007-08-22T09:26:00.000-04:00

Before I write anything else I have to give my mom huge props for accomplishing a sizeable feat...since starting Weight Watchers in January she has lost 100lbs! Congratulations, Ma, you are doing amazingly well!
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Okay, okay, what else is new? My sister headed off to Europe this week for her first big trip. I didn't have much advice for her except, "don't get an STD." I figured it was practical.
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And I have less than 2 weeks before I begin law school. To prepare I have been boning up (such a giggle-inducing turn of phrase) on the work of my favourite lawyers: Elle Woods, Perry Mason, Ben Matlock, Lionel Hutz, and Jackie Childs. With minds like these at my disposal I give myself 4 or 5 years tops before I am serving time.
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Michael Vick will be entering his guilty plea. Now you may commence the witch-hunt.
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I finished up work last week amidst fanfare and regalia. In reality I was training my replacement until the 11th hour and then sort of slunk out the backdoor. This is alarmingly saddening as I had promised myself that I would give a speech outlining how I had trapped a fart in the office refrigerator and then leap from the window to a waiting car below. I guess I'll save that for the law firms, yeah?
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To wrap up I'd like to add a link to my absolute favourite commercial of all time. A mighty feat, to be sure, but if my mom can lose 100lbs I can sure as hell stop being so damn wishy-washy regarding which television advertisement most floats my boat.

mmm, taste the rainbow

Adventures of Link(s)

2007-08-13T17:02:00.000-04:00

Okay, so this post is a multi-tasker and, in the words of a wise man, "will get two birds stoned".

If you'll pay some attention to the right side of the screen you'll see that some new links are in the mix.

First is Geekologie. Like Boing-Boing it culls the raddest info into one page. You can choose between technology, entertainment and celebrity. The first two are pretty cool, but I don't give a shit about the third, so it's like nipples on men.

Also, I'd like to welcome two new blogs to the mix. Beinvenue to my ma who will be using her blog space to chronicle her pregnancy. Just kidding. But she will be chronicling her weight loss (which is already going amazingly well). Good to have you aboard, mum, I'm proud of you.

And second is the personal web-nook of Amy. Go there for all things artsy and last-name-pun related.

Check 'em out!
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In other Link news I did something yesterday that 11-year-old Chris is insanely proud of: I beat The Legend of Zelda: A Link To The Past, a game that I first played on my Super Nintendo in 1992. It was hard as a brazil nut. It still is. But I'm now way better at video games, my ADD is (largely) in check and I am a more patient person. Well, okay, admittedly, I still punched the controller a few times but I never really meant it.

Anyway, Zelda is safe, the Triforce is in one piece and Hyrule is free to do whatever video game societies do while not battling evil for the supremacy of the universe.

Watching porn, maybe?

chrstphr

Smorgasboard!

2007-08-12T00:41:00.000-04:00

Hmmm, what's new?

Well, it's not new but it's tickled my brain for a little while... long story short, authorities found a dogfighting operation in the home of NFL star Michael Vick. Understandably people have gone apeshit, and PETA is making a whole world of stink about it. Some problems I have noticed.

-Vick has been shunned by pretty much every business relationship he has: his team, the league, his endorsements. Much of the distancing came after PETA bellowed from the mount. But all of this has happened without Vick being found guilty (in the legal sense) of any wrong-doing. Yes, he has been charged and sure, the case doesn't look great, but is it fair to halt the man's life before there is any legal reason to do so? I certainly don't believe that. And it's funny to think that more than a handful of pro athletes have continued to play while allegations of domestic assault have loomed overhead. The difference? The domestic lobby isn't as voracious as the animal rights lobby. A bit silly when put in perspective, though.

-A PETA member, while being interviewed on CNN, admitted that 40-50 dogs had been rescued from the property. The horribly sad irony? They will all have to be euthanized as their living conditions have rendered them unsafe for domestication. It's shitty, but laughable none the less.

-Now, my biggest beef with the whole thing: Nike removed their sponsorship after increasing pressure from animal rights activists. Bravo. Where were these activists when the allegations of Nike slave labor surfaced back in the 1990s? I'm sorry but if you are only willing to stand up for a pack of dogs while human beings are left to rot there is something wrong with your ethics. Which is why I will not focus attention on animal rights at this point in time. At most I think animal rights groups should defend those rights only in a combined effort to stand up on behalf of human rights. But until the exploitation of human beings (in Darfur, for instance) is remedied you will not find me shedding tears for a dog.
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In other, less philosophically taxing news, I managed to squeeze in the first season of 30 Rock and have come to realize 1) that it is insanely funny and 2) Tina Fey is still the hottest woman in comedy. Also, Alec Baldwin may be the cure for all that ails ya. A delight for the senses he is.

So, once law school begins I will be using my Sundays to catch up on the following
-sleep
-laundry
-which classmates slept with him
-30 Rock
-The Office (which is kicking off Season 3 with 4 1-hour episodes!)
-LOST (beginning in February...grr)
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An update on the previously mentioned "Cougar Incident". When I reminded my father of how funny the whole thing was he gruffly retorted, "Yeah, but you're not the one who was cleaning hair gel off the van for the next 2 days."

Hair Gel? On so thick it left a Dep-sheen on automotive metal for 2 days? A joy to behold, she was.
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I begin my last week of work on Tuesday. If anyone needs any office supplies, please let me know; it won't be stealing until my contract is up! That's a legal fact (I read ahead in my textbooks.)

exeunt

chrstphr

Holy shit!

2007-08-02T13:59:00.000-04:00

There could be no better 100th Post.

chrstphr

"I'd probably cry at Hitler's Wedding."

2007-07-31T17:35:00.001-04:00

Oi,

This past weekend I was lucky enough to find myself in the wedding party for the (long awaited) marriage of old friends Ray and Vanessa. I met them both in grade 11, when the two of them were in grade 10 and 9, respectively, so they've been dating for as long as I've known them. I believe that Saturday's ceremony only made legal what Vanessa had known for, say, 9 years less a day: these two were meant to be together. I managed to stay on this side of weepy (although my father did not; however, this emotionality yielded the above quote so I'd say it was for the greater good) but the whole thing, from the rehearsal through the morning-after was a tremendous experience.

Some highlights, then:

- The pastor, dressed in full CanPat army fatigues (the ones that look pixelated) leading us through the rehearsal. Numerous requests for him to wear said camo for the actual ceremony were ultimately less than frutiful.

-the fact that construction marred both the church and the reception hall. Photos had to be staged just right.

-us boys, wiling away Ray's last night as a single man, and our continued fascination with John's pug's insistence on walking in circles (even while moving forward). His name is Rowdy. He's kinda fat, too.

-scraping together what little "gear" I had for an early morning game of basketball on Saturday. Final Tally: 4 points scored, 10 minutes played, near exhaustion.

-ray jamming his left middle finger during said game and it becoming suasage-like. A finger to the left and things could have been awkward at the altar.

-The "I Do" part.

-Having our pictures taken on the beach whilst wearing full regalia in the July afternoon sun. Oh, wait, did I say highlight? I meant to say pain in the ass. Whatever. I guess the "bride" has some sort of pull over these things.

-getting the 11th-hour call to be the reception MC. Just glad I remembered to bring my "Tasteful Wedding Jokes" notebook with me and not my "Compendium of Oral Sex Humour" binder that was my first instinct.

-the DJ who, while cavalier enough to work a wedding in sandals, was also wearing no socks.

-The maid of honour delivering this line during an otherwise poignant speech: "Anytime Vanessa blows, Ray should come." (ed. note: admittedly, this is without context, but believe me, the context wouldn't make it sound all that much better.)

-Realizing that oral sex humour was totally cool with this crowd. Binder still not paying for itself in laughs.

-The cougar in the blue dress, fondling younger men.

-Said cougar spread upon the hood of my family's minivan in a Christ pose after too much wine.

-Opting not to move her off the van but rather allowing for my parents to discover the shitshow for themselves. Best move I made all night.

-Dancing. Fuck I love dancing.

-Being the last to leave. A satisfying feeling.

Again, Ness, Ray, congratulations.

Mom, Dad, sorry about the ass-prints the cougar left on the van, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make in the name of old-fashioned fun.

chrstphr

Rube Goldberg, Osaka-Style

2007-07-30T16:22:00.000-04:00

Allo,

I wrote here before about the genius of Rube Goldberg machines but nothing oculd prepare me for these ones that appear as transitions between segments on a Japanese kids show called Pythagoraswitch. The contraptions are made all the more whimsical by the soundtrack, which is sweeter than honey and just about as tough to get out of your head (ed. note: I have never had honey in my head; however if I did I am assuming that it would be very tough to clean out. I daresay that Q-Tip would really have to rethink its product.)

Voila!

The End

2007-07-26T09:31:00.001-04:00

Well,

I've reached it. Just yesterday I read the last words of the seventh and final Harry Potter book, The Deathy Hallows. Don't worry, I won't ruin it for anyone (although if you were any sort of fan you would have finished reading it long before I did) but I will say this: it is good. Quite good. All told I believe the series constitutes a major contribution not only to children's literature but to fantasy lit in general. In fact, I daresay that Harry Potter will (if it can survive encroaching commodification) become what we collectively regard as a fairy tale. Sure, the details won't be as easily conjured as, say, the Grimm tales, but I imagine that most homes will have at least one of the volumes kicking around, waiting to be found by inquiring minds.

What I find most impressive about the story is the buzz surrounding it. Cynics may point to an expertly crafted marketing campaign, and church elders may point to the devil, but I think that the former undermines the quality of the tale, and the latter is, for lack of a better term, retarded. The buzz is what I imagine the excitement was like in the late 1960's as fans eagerly awaited the next Beatles album. I was lamenting earlier this year that because of myspace and the ever-broadening number of genres I would never be a part of a universal release, a cultural unit that so excites so many people that world slows down just a little bit as fans rush home to consume and be consumed. After witnessing what midnight this past Saturday morning was like, I feel that I got a glimpse (if not more) of one of the few global phenomenons left. And it was worth the wait, if not worth the knowledge that it may not happen again in my lifetime. Even the Harry Potter films, while fantastic and exciting in their own right, are but a foregone conclusion now that the story is done, just a reminder of what was so fantastic about finishing the series for the first time.

What will be of interest now is how the tale will hold in fifty years. Will it be like reading The Lord of The Rings? Or will it be a quaint remainder of a very specific time in world literary history? I certainly hope for the former, if only to be able to tell my children and grandchildren of how exciting it was to see it all happening. As I said above I believe it can become a fairy tale the world over if handled correctly. And I certainly hope it is.

chrstphr

Dear Viacom...

2007-07-20T11:11:00.000-04:00

Go fuck yourself.

As you may have noticed (nay, as you have noticed, because you've obviously been watching the Hall and Oates video all day everyday) that said video is no longer available.

Why?

This video is no longer available due to a copyright claim by Viacom International Inc.

That makes sense. I mean, I probably should just go out and purchase the Hall and Oates Video Hits DVD but then again, that's fucking crazy.

Goddammit.

How many times do they have to be told that Youtube helps?

chrstphr

The Artist Currently Known As Defiant

2007-07-16T11:07:00.001-04:00

I saw this story in the paper this weekend. It seems that Mr. Super Bowl himself is saying good-bye to record stores and opting to simply give away a large number of copies of his upcoming records. Prince fans are delighted. Record stores are not.

"It's an insult to all those record stores who have supported Prince throughout his career," [one critic] said.

The inherent problem here, and one that I see many artists wrestling with, is this: just who deserves to profit from the intelectual work of an artist? Surely the artist is the no-brainer. But in the current industry structure there are many mouths to feed: execs, managers, promoters, and, apparently, record stores. While the cogs of the music machine (the former three) are generally provided for on a contractual basis, a type of contract that the majority of major-label artists must sign before reaping major-label benefits, there is no right of music retailers to the profits of individual artists. Prince's decision to do what he may with his music is entirely his decision. To gripe about it looks petty and money-grubbing.

If the record stores' complaints are to be taken seriously it can't be seen as a final step in the argument, as the logic above could lead a record store to feel it has a right to demand that a profitable artist get to work on a new album, lest their revenues dip. Could you imagine?

Prince picks up his phone: "Talk to me, stardust sex child."

Record Store: "um, hey, Prince. It's Dave... from Dave's Records in Topeka."

Prince: "who?"

Record Store: "Uh, hey, yeah, well sales are down and I could really use some food and smokes. I was wondering if you were working on anything new right now?"

Prince: "Not much. Just a revolution."

Record Store: "Oh, great, great. When can I slot it's release? And I'll set the pre-orders at what, $25?"

Prince: "Exeunt!" (click)

Now, I understand that traditional music retailers are starting to fall by the wayside, and in some cases it is rather sad (see the decline and fall of Sam The Record Man.) But cases like that are more troubling in a nostalgic sense. Surely, the closing of any store that has been as ubiquitous to the Toronto scene as Sam's would herald the same fret. If Sam's sold amazing doughnuts it would be no less sad to see it go.

But the truth is that the music industry is moving to digital sales and they have sealed the fate of their own decline until this point. Sure, the growth of free downloading and torrent streams makes it all-too-easy to share music, but the recording industry met this potential foe with all the tact and expertise of the US Gov't circa Prohibition. It was no surprise that downloading took off as it did and it's only now that the industry is playing catch-up with its online digital services and profit-sharing models.

And let's not forget the larger problem: major labels have killed the album. They have created the culture of the single and the consumer has subsequently realized that $20 is too much for just one song that is worth listening to. And if an album isn't worth its sticker price it really isn't worth anything, or so the thinking goes.

In the end I just don't care that the industry's numbers are down. They may cry poverty but you're talking the difference between, say, $6.5 billion and $6 billion ( I know, I know they aren't the actual stats but roll with it), a large sum, sure, but not enough for me to worry.

So when I see moves by artists to break free from the major-label mold, be it from the ground up (myspace, indie labels, youtube) or the top-down (Prince and his free albums, a move only afforded to someone of Prince's previous success) I can't help but applaud.

Literary Roundup

2007-07-15T16:23:00.000-04:00

Allo,

I have finished a couple of books lately that I have been hoping to write about (and judging from what I've managed of my first Philip K. Dick anthology I should have much more to write about shortly).

I've been on a philosophy of religion bent recently, which I was turned on to after a class in the subject in 2005. Admittedly, the reading wasn't exactly a global summary; I purposely sought out two titles: The God Delusion, by Richard Dawkins, and The End of Faith, by Sam Harris.

I'd heard much about the Dawkins book; he is typically cited as the world's leading atheist thinker. And it didn't disappoint. Dawkins tackled the holistic question of God's existence and then moved outward from there to discuss the implications of such a question: faith, religion, personal identity etc. I won't go into too much detail but suffice it to say that Dawkins doesn't believe in God nor does he think it necessary or even appropriate for the rest of us to do so. His strongest suit is in his approach. Far from the vitriol that we are commonly led to believe lies in the hearts of atheists, Dawkins addresses the subject with a concern for both believers and non-believers alike. He is more a teacher than a lecturer (and there is a difference).

At the very least I think that any reader can come away from Dawkins book with a greater understanding of their own core beliefs. An atheist (even a budding one) can see the eloquence of Dawkins' prose as a guiding hand leading into the oft-murky waters of disbelief. A believer, however, better have some strong counter-arguments to continue on as such. All in all, an interesting read without ever delving into language too obtuse or logic too tricky.

Harris, on the other hand, has little time for the God question but more for the idea of faith as a crass human pastime. It doesn't matter what you believe, it is the belief (and the traditional structures around those beliefs) that is inherently problematic.

Harris, too, is a strong writer and his analogies are strong and pointed. His political discussions are also top-notch, although often heavy-handed. His final chapter, too, meanders as it attempts to extol the virtues of belief in mysticism, a conceit that defeats the point of the book. In the end his pointed approach serves some questions better than Dawkins' argument, but in other ways he comes across as a touch prescriptive, the very thing he decries about those of faith. Such is the slippery ground of the philosophy of belief, methinks.

All in all the books did much to widen my perspective about the topics at hand. And there is a certain sense of triumph when you can sit back with such a book in a coffeeshop, armed with the knowledge that a few centuries ago the mere uttering of even one or two of the arguments therein would lead to certain torture and almost certain death. The dark undertone of both books, however, is that without a change of course we may one day find ourselves back in those times. I certainly hope this is not the case although there are times when I worry for such things.

And I am not heartened when I see actions like the ones that transpired this past week in the US Senate. A Hindu clergyman made history when he was invited to give the morning prayer in the Senate chambers. His prayer (which held up as fairly non-demoninational) was interrupted by Christian activists who declared the act on abomination. (ed. note: is it not problematic that there is still a morning prayer in the US Senate? How does the US define the separation of church and state?) Were these people wrong in an objective sense? Yes. But is it so hard to understand that one who truly believes that the worship of a God other than the Christian one contravenes the ten clear rules of God? This situation is a small one, a minor embarrassment perhaps, but it points to the larger problem: if I point at a ball and I say "red" and you say "blue", and the difference (not in reality, but in belief) is a matter of life/death/salvation, a lot hinges on that truth.
Publish Post
How far are you willing to go for that argument? Some will agree to disagree. Some will verbally defend his/her position. Some will kill you for that truth. Some will even kill themelves, and you, to prove that the ball is blue.

Seems crazy right? Now imagine that there isn't even a ball in front of you, just an understanding of a ball that possibly exists, somewhere, somehow.

Is it worth it?