Observations and Other Delusions: Hogan....!

This has been bugging me for a while... how come all the Germans on Hogan's Heroes' speak English?

Observations and Other Delusions: Humour

I'm very fond of self-deprecating humour. The trouble is that I don't do it very well.

I Don't Get It

William Kristol says it again here, and it's a statement that deserves some scrutiny.
(Kristol also says that all the problems in the world are the fault of the 1979 Islamic revolution in Iran, sorting of glossing over that the reason for the Islamists' popularity was the American-backed coup of the democratically-elected Iranian government of the early 1950s and the installation and American support of the Shah's 25 years of brutal dictitorial repression. When Bush rambles on about how a democratic Arab nation will change the Middle East, remember that there was one 50 years ago until the West overthrew it. But I digress.)
While talking about the current war in Lebanon, Kristol says, "Better to say that what's under attack is liberal democratic civilization, whose leading representative right now happens to be the United States."
I don't get it. How do you quantify the statement that the US is the leading representative of democracy? They're sure doing a good job -- Be Nice To America or They'll Bring Democracy to Your Country!
What about that other chestnut that America is the "freest nation on earth." Again, how is this determined? Does Time publish some sort of "freedom index"? Is it determined by a straw poll of Fox News correspondents? Don Rumsfeld's tea leaves? Or by reading the pattern of buckshot left in Dick Cheney's hunting victims, er, partners?
It is a strikingly American perception that somehow the USA is rightfully the leader of the democratic world. Only in the US is the President often referred to as "The Leader of the Free World," and it is done as if it was the obvious natural order of things.
I don't recall when this was decided. Did I miss a meeting? Was I on vacation that week? If we're in the free world, and the free world has a leader, shouldn't there be a vote or something like that on who leads us?
I know I didn't vote for him.

The Cookie Test

A few days ago, my co-worker Linda brought in a box of Peak Frean assorted cookies to share with others in the office. I snarfed up a couple of favourites, the Garden Creams, and others dove into the Fruit Creams and the Bourbons. The only ones left were a couple of round ones (whose name I don't know, alas). Linda offered them to me to finish off. "No thanks," I said, "I don't like those kind." She stared at me blankly. "What do you mean? They're all the same." "No, they're not," I replied. "Those round ones are sort of lemony and I don't like them as much as the others." "But they're all the same," she insisted. "Well, you'll just have to get some more and we'll do a taste test." The next day, she brought in another box and crumbled up some cookies and fed them to me. (Your tax dollars at work.) "That's my favourite, the Garden Cream," I said as I munched the first sample. Next came "the Fruit Cream. You didn't put any of the fruit filling in the sample so I can't tell you which flavour of Fruit Cream it is. But it's clearly a Fruit Cream." Finally was the "round lemony one that I don't like." Linda was amazed. "I can't believe it. No hesitation at all. Dead on everytime. Wow. I'm in awe. I thought for sure they were all the same. Well, here, I guess you better finish off the rest of those cookies that I took the samples from." Once again, science called and I responded in triumph. It was certainly not a cheap ploy on my behalf to get more cookies. Nosiree.

Dreaming of Dwarfs Playing Hockey

I now have proof that television and radio can affect your dreams. A couple of nights ago, I spent the evening watch some Red Dwarf episodes. Then I went to bed listening to the radio, a local sports show dissecting the latest Vancouver Canucks game. I had a dream. I was watching the Canucks play on tv. They were short-handed (and playing without helmets for some reason), but Canuck captain Markus Naslund fired a wrist shot while cruising through the slot and scored. We cut back to the Canuck player in the penalty box to see his reaction. It's Second Technician Dave Lister of the mining ship Red Dwarf. He's holding a hockey stick, dressed in his usual slobby clothes (not a Canucks uniform), and stares straight into the camera and says, "What are you fookin' lookin'' at, Smeghead?" Chew on that, Mr. Freud!

Observations and Other Delusions: The Christmas Tree

I once left a Christmas tree up for 18 months. That may explain why I'm divorced.

My Favourite Christmas

As a young tyke of eight, my family moved to Victoria from my birthplace in Montréal. (My parents decided that a place where tanks prowled through the streets at night, soldiers with pointy bayonets manned street corners during the day, terrorists were kidnapping and killing politicians, and civil rights were revoked at the stroke of a Prime Minister's pen was probably not a good place to live. But I digress. And worse, I'm dating myself.) The one thing I remember most about Montréal was the snow. Every winter, Montréal would be covered in a fluffy white eiderdown that would last from November to April. (Okay, so after six months the novelty was wearing off, even for me.) Winter wasn't winter without snow, and neither was Christmas. Picture postcard time, right? Chestnuts roasting on a bough of holly. Or something like thatwhenehn we moved, I knew only one thing about Victoria. It doesn't snow here. I was going to experience my first Green Christmas. In fact Victoria averages 1 White Christmas every 25 years. As Christmas approached, I had a real problem getting into the festive spirit. It just wasn't going to be Christmas without snow on the ground. Before going to bed on Christmas Eve, I took one last look out the living room window. Green. And brown. I trundled off to bed and like all eight year-old kids, spent a good ten minutes sleeping, and the rest of the night wondering what Santa was going to bring us. Just after four o'clock, I could stand the anticipation no longer, and started my carefully worked out procedure for waking up my parents. First, I started coughing. Nothing wakes a parefaster thanhan a kid coughing in the middle of the night. Next, I went to the bathroom, being sure to feign some sort of trouble with the toilet to plausibly explain why I flushed it five times. Returning to my bedroom, I made sure I knocked over an unbreakable but noisy object. (Again, another sure way to wake up your parents.) Finally for good measure, I stepped on the cat. (No, not really, but I made you laugh, didn't I?) After being abused in this way for half an hour, my family finally relented, and they got up. We went to the living room, and, sure enough, the tree was almost buried beneath Santa's gifts, but I was still a little let-down because, after all, Christmas isn't Christmas without snow. I went to the window to take a peek anyway and -- my eyes must have turned as big as basketballs -- there was six inches of snow on the ground! I couldn't believe it! A cold front had blown in unexpectedly overnight and was dumping snow on the city. I probably would have kept staring if I hadn't seen some poor guy struggling down the street. My dad realized it was the paper boy and ran out side and gave him five bucks, which was really nice considering we didn't subscribe. That was my best Christmas ever. And of course, a day later all the snow was gone.

Observations and Other Delusions: Snow!

Victoria is recovering from its first snowfall of the year. We received, oh golly, a good centimetre, maybe even a centimetre and a half over the last couple of days. Frankly, it didn't even cover the grass on the lawn. It wasn't even worth taking a picture of. (And after buying a digital camera last year, believe me that's saying something.) But on the other hand, as I prepare to hang up the Christmas lights, it does put a small holiday feeling in the air, along with the "bone-chilling" Victoria-cold that most Albertans would quaintly call a "warm front." The rest of the country may laugh at our silly notions that -2 c, 20 kmh winds and a centimetre of snow constitutes a blizzard, but on the other hand I'm going kayaking on Sunday and riding my bike to work Monday. Take that, Winnipeg!

The Ballad of Box Guy

The bus trip home from work was more eventful than usual yesterday.
At the main downtown bus stop, a young woman ran up to and got on the bus. A few seconds behind her, a young male wearing a black jacket and carrying a medium-sized box got on. Clearly, he had been running hard for the bus. He was out of breath and sweating. He sat down, asked his friend to pay for him (which she did), and pulled off his black jacket to reveal a white sweater underneath, and shoved his jacket in the box.
As the bus waited to leave, I noticed two bicycle cops riding slowly up the sidewalk. Immediately I thought, Riding bikes on the sidewalk, in dark clothes, no lights… if I did that, I’d get a ticket. They continued on, and I thought no more of them., at least not until someone else got on the bus and asked the bus driver if some guy in a black jacket carrying a box had boarded the bus.
“You!” the man cried when he saw the box-carrier. “Don’t move! The cops are coming!” He turned to the driver. “Don’t move, the cops are after this guy! Be careful, he has a knife in his pocket!” And he ran off the bus yelling for the cops.
So much for a quick bus ride home, I thought.
Box Guy stood up. “What?!!? I do not have a knife, oh man!” He turned to his friend. “Go home, honey. I’ll talk to you later,” he said, then got off the bus and waited for the cops to return.
And return they did, the two bike cops, plus a cruiser and a wagon. Girl friend sighed, gathered up their stuff, including the box that he had left on the bus, and got off the bus to share in whatever misery awaited Box Guy.
The cops didn’t seem to think Box Guy was much of a threat, but they did handcuff him. However, Box Guy seemed cooperative.
What had he done? I don’t know. I’m guessing he shoplifted something, probably sticking it in the box.
Not the best start to his holiday season.

Observations and Other Delusions: Season's Bleatings

Okay kids, there’s only one month to go before the big fat guy pays your family a visit. And I’m not talking about your Uncle Lester, whose breath smells like sour corn, whose farts smell like cheap beer, and who always keep at least one hand in his pants pocket. And why is he your Uncle when he doesn’t seem to be related to anyone else in your family? But I digress. I’m talking about Mr. Claus and his sleigh full of consumer products. Yes, it’s time for that annual purchasing orgy known as Christmas shopping. Luckily for me, I’m mostly done. Although I still have a wee bit more shopping to do, everything I bought is wrapped and boxed and ready. Heck, they’ve been wrapped for so long, I’ve forgotten what they are. So I will now ride past the malls with smug impunity, knowing that while others are frantically pursuing the perfect gift, Visa is already screwing me at a rate of 18.5%. Ho. Ho. Ho.

Observations and Other Delusions: Ear Rings

I've lived with two women in my life: my (now) ex-wife, and later, a (now) ex-girl friend. My ex-wife and I parted fairly cordially as far as these things go. We talk, we email, we visit, we get on fine. My ex-girlfriend don't talk and don't email and don't visit. Some might say she was a crazy madwoman. I wouldn't say that, but I sure don't have any enthusiam or will to argue the point. When my wife and I split, I got my ear pierced. It seemed like a harmless yet visible way to mark a demarcation in my life. My ear is pierced to this day. When I split from my "crazy" girlfriend, I got my ear pierced again. This time, the piercing got infected and turned quite nasty. It swelled up, turned beet red and was full of pus. I'm sure there's a moral in here somewhere.