I Don't See Anyone Else Laughing...

I watched the Oscars in their lengthy entirety last night for the first time in years. I can usually watch a couple of hours but eventually, the hypocrisy and the speeches just wear me down and I have to turn it off. I was excited about last night’s broadcast because, not only would we not have to deal with Billy Crystal’s shlocky musical numbers, but Chris Rock happens to be one of the funniest people ever and the sheer potential of what he might say was enough for me to sign up. From his first “sit your asses down” it was clear he wasn’t going to sell out completely. I liked his opening speech. It was by no means Chris Rock at his best, but it had his trademark edginess and it obviously made a lot of people uncomfortable. Essentially, he approached the entire event with a healthy sense of irony. The problem, of course, is that there is very little irony in Hollywood.

To a fan, it seemed the awards kept getting in the way of Rock’s stand-up. After the initial bit, his involvement was limited to brief introductions that, while funny, went largely unnoticed by the audience and the presenters. When he introduced Halle Berry saying that she was the star of the eagerly anticipated “Cat Woman II” she didn’t even crack a smile. When he introduced Penelope Cruz and Selma Hayek as the evening’s four hottest presenters, there was barely a titter. It seemed the problem wasn’t that the audience didn’t think his jokes were funny, they just didn’t notice they were jokes. For every Clint Eastwood chuckling, there was Renee Zellwegger trying desperately to breathe. For every Charlie Kaufmann rushing to get off the stage, there was a filibustering Jamie Foxx waiting in the wings.

It wasn’t all seriousness, when Chris Rock introduced Jeremy Irons as one of the great comedic talents of our time; Irons walked up to the mike and thanked Chris saying it was nice to finally be recognized. That’s what you do with a joke. You acknowledge it, you smile and you move on - because, after all, it’s only a joke. Someone really needs to pull Sean Penn aside and explain this concept to him because at some point, somewhere after Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Sean Penn lost his sense of humour. Sean, everybody knows who Jude Law is. That’s why it’s funny. Get it? Come on. Sure you do. If he’d been talking about Ryan Gosseling, it wouldn’t have been funny. If he’d picked James Franco as his foil, it wouldn’t have worked. And that’s because a lot of people don’t know who they are. But everyone knows who Jude Law is and that makes it a joke. Now you get it, right?

Hilary Swank didn’t have time to laugh. She was far too busy reminding us that she grew up in a trailer park and that she had a dream of being an actor. She also had to remind us that she really, really loves her husband even if she didn’t thank him the last time she won. But I shouldn’t be too hard on her, she was wearing the evening’s ugliest dress and she might have known it.

Regardless of who hosts, the least funny parts of the evening are always the speeches for Best Actor and Best Actress. I think in future events, rather than the time clock, which none of the winners in these categories ever even glance at; the prompter should flash Nobel Prize winners and their accomplishments. Perhaps this would provide the Hilary Swanks and the Jamie Foxxs with a touch of perspective. Perhaps it would humble them enough that they would limit their acceptance speech to less than five minutes. But then again, they probably wouldn't notice.

There were plenty of other memorable moments throughout the night. Finally catching a recognizably French word somewhere toward the end of Beyoncé’s song was pretty funny. Seeing Side Show Bob signing Accidentally in Love was funny too. Natalie Portman’s dress (which I believe came off the set of Gladiator) was worthy of a chuckle. But, over all, despite Chris Rock, Robin Williams, and all of the other people who are able to maintain perspective, the Oscar’s just aren’t ever going to be funny. And that’s because you can’t make a show funny if your live audience is taking it all too seriously. The people (or at least those sitting in the front rows) at the Oscars are not interested in the show. They want to know if they are going to win. They want to show up on TV, in magazines, and in the best-dressed lists. They want to be seen and remembered. But above everything else, they want to avoid any whiff of controversy. They do not want to be seen laughing at something risqué and thus alienate their fan base. Luckily, many of them were at least successful in that. Ultimately, if you don’t know it’s a joke, you probably won’t catch yourself laughing.

As I turned off the television after the whole gory event, I found myself thinking that maybe that wasn’t the point. Despite all of my nasty asides throughout the evening, I realized that the Oscars did show me one thing: movies are unquestionably more than the sum of their parts. The fact that it is possible to take the Sean Penns and the Hilary Swanks of the world and still make something moving and entertaining is testimony to the fact that movies really are magical and maybe that is something to celebrate. All right then, let them have their night. But maybe next year, I’ll spare myself the agony and I just won’t watch.

Serenity Now!

For many of us, the weekend stands as a precious oasis within a desert of routine and obligation. Alarm clocks, meetings, trains, car pools and a variety of other factors force us to be somewhere at a certain time from Monday to Friday. On bad weeks, by Friday, you’ve become exhausted with the routine of your commute and with the burden of your responsibilities. These are the days where the fact that you spend five days at work and only two at play seems like a cruel irony and a bitter injustice.

I’d like to be a Buddhist. I’d like to think of myself as a blade of grass - going through life allowing the wind to push me to and fro. Rising again as the rain falls upon me even after a shoe has trampled me into the ground. But I have to come to terms with the idea that my version of being a Buddhist may be somewhat narrow. Perhaps Buddhism is not limited to wishing bad karma on those who annoy me? Maybe asking someone to “get the hell out of my way” on the streetcar is not a Zen approach to life?

These are days when the distance between the person I’d like to be, and the person I am acting like feels very great indeed. When someone does something mean or stupid to me and instead of letting it go, I allow it to ruin my day. It would be nice if there were a magic bullet for not letting people get to you, for just letting it all wash over you. Yet instead of taking the high road all the time, I find myself sinking below the standard I’d like to think is mine. Where I call someone names or make rude allegations about their mother (and often, not even to their face where they could at least defend her honour).

Ultimately, I think that’s why we need the weekend - that two-day hiatus from dealing with other people’s problems. Knowing that tomorrow I’ll get up and hang out with Mr. Titswiggle in the sunshine (or not) of our living room, lingering over cups of coffee and making no great plans for the day makes it a little easier to bear the realities of public transit, sneaky colleagues and my insurmountable workload today. I hate to resort to clichés but thank god it's Friday!

The Art of Keeping a Straight Face

If you live in a Northern Climate, this is about the time of year when you begin to lose your mind. When you can’t believe the cold it isn’t over yet and that it’s likely to keep going for at least another month. When your boots, scarf and mittens become your least favourite objects, and the weight of your winter coat makes you think Atlas had it easy. If you go shopping, pretty spring clothes surround you, tempting you with their carefree nature. Sure, you can buy that light pink silk t-shirt now, but it will just sit in your closet, mocking you as you once again don the turtlenecks and wool sweaters you’ve grown so tired of wearing. There isn’t a cure for the winter blues. You’ve got options for coping, but coping is the best you can hope for.

Some people play winter sports. They ski, snowboard or go snowshoeing. They own snowmobiles and speed drunkenly across frozen lakes and think bizarre thoughts like “why is winter only 4 months long” (that’s bizarre because those of us who don’t love the season think it lasts for six). Many will save their pennies to take off to warmer climes during the cold months. They gather in Florida, Mexico, Cuba and the Dominican Republic desperately soaking up a week, or maybe two, of sunshine, which they hope will tide them over until the days lengthen again. For others, the solution lies in the idea that if only you could keep yourself occupied, you might not notice the weather as much - your busy schedule would somehow sweep you out of winter and into spring.

This winter has felt very long. It’s been hard to drag myself to the gym and do the things that keep me busy and away from the comfort of starchy foods and television. On Tuesday, I got a call from a friend suggesting a diversion from our winter blues “let’s take The Art of Stripping” said Juggsy Laroue. Stripping, of course, is the new fitness rage. Terri Hatcher’s been on every talk show strutting her stuff and Carmen Electra just launched a stripping fitness video so it’s officially the Pilates of 2005. Taking the class seemed a good idea since the cost wasn’t exorbitant and, if nothing else, we were guaranteed a laugh. Last night was our first class and I have to say, as far as fitness experiences go, stripping ranks pretty low on the pole. It turns out that slinking around on a floor and touching yourself constantly isn’t a cardio workout. However, I’m not sure that’s the point. Any class that starts with the instructor’s guarantee that “after this class, you’ll be a real sex kitten” isn’t necessarily implying tighter abs.

The class was an interesting blend of women of all ages and shapes. Most were clad in standard workout attire with some in baggy tracksuits and others in the latest LuLulemon gear. A few of the attendees took the stripping part really seriously and one woman wore a bra and hot pants to the class (I’m convinced she’s a real stripper just getting her certification up to date). With the exception of a very few, most of us were struggling to keep a straight face. It turns out that the hardest thing about stripping is avoiding falling into hysterics at the sight of yourself in the mirror. This is the only fitness class I’ve ever taken where the instructor says things like “now stick your chest and your ass out”, “don’t be afraid to touch yourself”, and “this is my boyfriend’s favourite.”

I, like many of the other attendees, spent the first fifteen minutes trying to control my laughter. Another attendee had apparently gotten serious about the class and turned to me in annoyance and shushed me. This, of course, sent Juggsy into peels of laughter, which didn’t help me to control myself. By the time we got to the part where we watched each other doing “wall slides” it was clear the best ab workout was going to result from the constant hysterics we were in, rather than the class itself. Wall slides consist of putting your “ass”, shoulders and head up against the wall with your feet slightly forward and your legs spread shoulder length apart while standing on the tips of your toes (aka the stiletto posture!). You then slither up and down the wall while touching yourself. For some reason, when the instructor did it, it looked dead sexy but whenever Juggsy or I took a turn, it was impossible for the slider, or the watcher, to maintain any type of control. Something was definitely getting lost in translation.
I don’t know if it will beat the winter blues but I do know that this class will be fodder for party jokes for the remainder of my life. I realized last night that where I thought I was completely at ease with the thought of myself as a sexual being, I’ve got some road to travel before I unleash my true sex kitten. At this point, I’m leaning more towards a sex-laughing hyena but I’m working on it.

Oh, Grow Up!

One of the side effects of adulthood is that you stop believing that grown-ups know everything. You begin to recognize that life is not the straightforward picture you’d imagined as a child. Living happily ever after isn’t magically guaranteed when you get married (but thanks very much to all the fairy tales that perpetuated that story). Your dream job might, in fact, just be a job – great some days, annoying on others, peppered with peaks of enthusiasm and bouts of mild depression. You lose your ability to trust wholeheartedly in your leaders and begin to see the world through a filter informed by experience. For some of us, that filter is like cheesecloth - only the finest particles can squeak past our skepticism. For others, and I’m going to contend this results from a lack of imagination, the filter is like an old colander from the dollar store that someone should have thrown out years ago - everything gets through.

As children, many of us assume adults know everything and that they can help us resolve any situation. I remember one instance, when I was about eight, my friend and I had run home screaming in fear from “The Louis Street Gang.” We imagined the streets of our small Northern city were teeming with dangerous characters just waiting to pounce on us and on this particular sunny summer morning, two teenagers had shouted something at us as we crossed a street. We were convinced that they were coming after us. That the Louis Street Gang had our number and that we would be kidnapped and murdered momentarily. As we rushed up to the house and blurted out our fears to my mother, she smiled and said she would take care of us. I’m ashamed to admit that we said “but you’re a woman and there were two of them”. My mother, assuming a boxer’s stance, burst into a chorus of “I am woman, hear me roar” and all of our fears were assuaged. That was nice. But growing up brings with it a healthy dose of cynicism. At some point along the way, children encounter adults who make them realize that not all adults are kind, smart and funny. That sometimes, adults are mean, insecure or misguided. For me, it was one legendary teacher who rammed the point home in the fourth grade. I haven’t been quite the same since.

I’m not lamenting my loss of innocence. A healthy distrust of authority and of others is a great tool in life. You can’t really believe in yourself if you think someone else already has all the answers. Yet, occasionally, you encounter someone who just hasn’t had that moment yet - an adult who may never learn to filter the genuine from the fake. These people will always believe in the management team of the company they work for. They’ll watch Oprah and never once get annoyed. They’ll hear an interview with Gwyneth Paltrow and will think “what a nice person she is”. They’ll say things like “well the President knows things we don’t know so we should trust that he’ll make the right decision”. In some ways, it must be reassuring to feel that things are as they should be. But, at the same time, this is dangerous thinking. This is the thinking that leaves children in the hands of Michael Jackson or a “trusted’ priest overnight. I suppose there must be a happy medium somewhere, a way to remain skeptical without continually erring on the side of cynical. However, if I have to choose one or the other, I’ll leave my eyebrows raised and keep asking questions. Because, ultimately, you can trust in yourself and, as much as possible, you should also trust in the people you know and love. But don’t trust in someone because of his or her job title or function. You are woman (or man). Roar a bit. See what happens.

You Call that Work?

There is an unwritten rule somewhere that a certain percentage of the time you spend at work doesn't involve working at all. We all know that no one can be productive for 8 hours straight without suffering some kind of a complete mental breakdown. The human mind needs diversion. A chat, a cup of coffee, a quick surf of the internet (every office worker's best friend). I'm not talking about an illegal amount of distraction, just enough to get you through your day. Some people smoke, others go for a walk. Some people spend all day emailing their friends while others wander the halls looking for office supplies and bothering their colleagues along the way. You can think of this time as unproductive, but that would be shortsighted. Sure, those fifteen minutes didn't close any deals, create any new opportunities, or cross anything off the task list, but (let's not lose sight of this) it was refreshing. It picked you up enough to keep going until you could safely turn off your monitor and head home. Employers should never overlook the benefits of "wasted" time.

However, that said, there are certain distractions that are difficult to justify. Yesterday, as I walked down a hallway, I saw a colleague rearranging the push pins on her corkboard. There was nothing on the corkboard save for about two-dozen multi-coloured pushpins. She was placing them into two neat rows at one end of the board. From what I could tell, there was no colour coding going on, the point seemed to be the alignment rather than any discernable pattern. Now, I've done my share of surfing, chatting, and emailing in my illustrious career. I've rearranged the papers on my desk to avoid making a difficult phone call. I know about avoidance techniques. But in all my years of gainful employment, pushpin art has never figured into my repertoire of diversionary tactics. Possibly because when someone walks by your office and you are surfing the net, they can’t really tell that you aren’t working. You could be doing research, looking up a number or a word or doing any number of the other work-related tasks that are facilitated by the web. It’s pretty hard to mistake playing with pushpins for anything else. Play at work, people. Play all you want as long as you can still get your job done. But, for your salary’s sake, if you are going to play, at least play smart.

Why do you ask?

My nephew is an endlessly fascinating source of entertainment to me. He makes me think of the Talking Heads song where playing with a baby is described as "having fun with no money". The child can bob about when music is turned on and I will be overwhelmed with happiness at the appearance of his tiny body bouncing up and down to the rhythm. He can make me laugh by smiling and he is deemed a genius for repeating any sound I've made. He's going through a biting stage right now and even the agony of his vice-like grip on my hand can't make me angry with him. I choose, instead, to interpret his bites as marks of affection (deep, throbbing, red marks of affection).

Frankly, the job of an aunt is the easiest one in the world. I swoop in when I can, love him to bits, and swoop back out leaving diaper changes, teaching the difference between right and wrong and all the rest of the hard stuff to his parents. Someday, I can be "the one who teaches him to make fun of authority", or "the one who reveals that chocolate cake makes a great lunch". These are some of the legacies I look forward to passing on to him. It's hard for me to imagine that my sister can love this little guy more than I can but even while I struggle with the concept, I can look at her looking at him and know that it is true.

However, anyone who tells you that being an aunt (or an uncle) is good training for being a parent is a lying fool. There are a multitude of reasons why this is simply not true. Yes, you can practice changing a diaper. You can stay up all night with the sick child you are babysitting. You can share the emotions of the parents through a child’s successes or failures. There are many things that being an aunt or an uncle can help you to conceive, but as I observe the many mothers in my life, I am becoming painfully aware of the most difficult aspect of parenthood and the one that I, as an aunt, will never encounter. That is, of course, other people. Or, to be more specific, other people and their notions of how your child should be raised. Here are some of the questions that I just don’t have to deal with:

How long will you breastfeed? (You are, of course, breastfeeding aren’t you?)
Have you taught him/her sign language? (You realize that really helps them to learn faster and could impact their University admittance.)
Is he/she crawling/walking/talking yet? (Oh, really? Hmm, that’s interesting.)
Is he/she taking swimming lessons? (You know, it’s a very important skill for a six-month old!)
What does he/she eat? (Formula, whole milk, trans fats, refined sugars, garlic, tomatoes, peanut butter – name a food under the sun and someone out there will be able to tell you why your child should never/should always eat this food. Odds are that if you survey 20 people, you’ll have at least two who will completely contradict each other)
How does he/she sleep? (Through the night? How many naps? For how long?)

The underlying implication of every single question is that there is a right answer and a wrong answer and the questioner is simply waiting for your response in order to judge you more accurately. And judge you they will. We’ve all met people who lack a proper social filter. People who will ask the most inappropriate questions or make the most awkward comments. We get used to those individuals and try to ignore most of what they say. However, when you bring a baby into the equation, even the most rational, non-judgmental person can lose their perspective on what is, and isn’t, their business. From the colour of his pants to the flavour of his first birthday cake, people are going to weigh in on your child’s life whether you like it or not.
I can’t think of a real solution to this problem but I’ve got some suggestions. I’m not sure if they do or not, but I think all pre-natal classes should include a section on replying to invasive questions. Amongst the pushing strategies, breast-feeding information and alternate delivery method movies, there should be another section where expectant parents hold each other close and repeat to each other “Why do you ask?” over and over until the are engrained. Push. Push. Why do you ask? Push. Push. Why do you ask? Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And for those of us who don’t have children and who are gazing down on the smiling face of someone else’s child, before we say anything at all, we should ask ourselves why we want to know. Nine times out of ten, we probably shouldn’t be asking at all.

Wherein Technology Lets Me Down

It’s hard to work for a living. I think no matter how much you like your job there are days when you just don’t want to do it. Days when lying in bed and reading a book or spending all day watching movies just seems like a better use of your time. When dealing with other people’s insecurities, issues and needs just doesn’t inspire your passion. I used to have a colleague whose email signature read: “Love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life.” Bastard. Who needs to read that in the middle of a busy day? Who needs to be reminded that there is probably something out there you’d enjoy more, if only you could think of it? What colour, exactly, is your parachute?
Today, however, even such an annoying email would have been a welcome sight. Instead, I spent the better part of my day on the phone with our systems department trying to understand why my Outlook was completely crashed. Throughout the course of the day, I had to hear at length about how this wouldn’t have happened if my Inbox weren’t 1.3 gigs large. It took a lengthy self-flagellation session to convince our systems department that I was sufficiently repentant for my bad behaviour and that I deserved to be assisted. Frankly, I don’t want to know what a gig is. I don’t care. If they don’t involve a concert or a stand-up comedian, I’m just not interested in gigs. I would like to write something down and send it to the person who needs to read it. I want to look at a calendar and know what meeting I’m supposed to be in. If my mailbox, calendar, task list and everything else I depend on to do my job will crash when it gets past a certain size, why doesn’t it warn me? (Note that this is a rhetorical question. If you know the answer, please don’t send it to me.) These tools are supposed to make us more effective and efficient, and they often do. But at other times, our utter dependence on them makes us realize that without these tools, we don’t really have a job. There was a brief moment earlier today when it looked like the whole thing was irretrievable and it occurred to me that this was when I’d get to explore what else I’d like to do. Because if working for a living sometimes feels like torture, recreating and rebuilding the history of everything you’ve done within one company, trying to track down all of the contacts you’ve made over time, and dealing in perpetuity with the idea that “this would be so much easier if only I hadn’t lost…” would be more than I could bear. I’m glad I can keep my head in the sand just that much longer and leave my parachute tucked away in a corner. There is something to be said for the status quo. While I’m at it, though, maybe I’ll take tomorrow off and read a book…

These Boots are Made for Walking?

The warm spell has passed and it's snowing outside which meant that I walked to work this morning through a veritable Christmas card. Picture the scene: the trees were covered in a light veil of snow, their dark trunks contrasting with the white blanket that covered the ground. As I walked, my footsteps made their marks on the untouched carpet leaving their evidence of my passing (yes, there was only one set of prints, no Jesus wasn't carrying me). It's nice to briefly enjoy winter because, frankly, living in a Northern Climate isn't easy - it carries its host of inconveniences and headaches. While I was comfortably clad in winter gear from head to toe, I observed pictures along the way of Winter gone horribly wrong. I know it's hard to put away the strappy sandals and the swirly summer skirts as the weather starts to cool. It's difficult to look in the mirror when you are covered in a hat, scarf, bulky winter coat, mittens, thick wool tights and water resistant footwear - "man, I look fine today!" are not the words that come to mind. Yet, there is something to be said about arriving safely at your destination without suffering the agony of frostbite or a bruised tailbone. My father used to harass my sisters and me with the phrase "style or comfort, girls" which he would repeat ad nauseum throughout the colder months. Today, I saw the poster girl for that phrase. I first noticed her coming towards me from a distance. She was clad from head to toe in the uniform of many Torontonians: black, black and more black. Her long dark hair was pulled back, her winter jacket was sleek and fitted and was only slightly shorter than her black pencil skirt. Below her skirt, only a small portion of her black stockings showed before leading into her knee-high, kitten-heeled boots. It was a fine outfit for a picture. It was a terrible ensemble for negotiating the snow-covered sidewalks. She clutched her coffee cup in one hand as she extended the other, maintaining a precarious balance as she hobbled along taking dangerous, flat-footed steps to avoid slipping. I don't think that was the effect she'd hoped to create as she'd dressed that morning. I don't think she'd pictured a tight-rope walking, black-clad clown as she stepped out into the snow that morning. Honey, those boots aren't made for walking, I thought smugly as I stomped past her. It isn't always a one or the other equation but if it had to be, she could take style, I thought, I'll take comfort.

Back of the Line Lady!

This morning, I went to my local dinner to grab my regular breakfast: toasted tomato on whole-wheat bread. I'd placed my order and my bread was toasting when a woman in her 70s or 80s walked in. Even as I'm still talking to the woman behind the counter about my order, the elderly woman walks up to the counter and begins to place hers. "A small coffee and a toasted bagel with jam and butter on the side" she says over both the cook's and my voices. I can see the cook's dilemma, she wants to be polite to the old woman but she doesn't want to be rude to me. She compromises by nodding at me and then turning to the old woman who is saying "I'll pay now, and then you can bring it over to me." This is a lunch counter, not a restaurant. There is no table service in this establishement yet that doesn't seem to bother this woman. Now my toast is ready and the woman continues to explain in detail how she wants butter and jam "on the side". "Yeah, we heard you lady!" I shout in exasparation. Okay, that's not true, I said nothing at all. But know this: I wanted to shout it because I really didn't want my toast getting cold. The cook grabs my toast and brings it over to the counter. She's about to make my sandwich when the old woman starts to hand her money over. Keep in mind that the cook hasn't yet entered the woman's order - she's not even standing close to the register. She's standing in front of my toast where she belongs! Again, conflicted, the cook leaves my toast cooling on the counter and goes back to the lady who is about to drop her change on the floor if no one takes it from her. Again, she repeats her toasted bagel order. Now, clearly flummoxed, the cook pours a small cup of coffee which she hands to the woman before going back to the counter to slice and toast her bagel. All the while my toast sits abandoned on the counter. The old lady continues to explain to the woman behind the counter about how she can bring her "on the sides" and her "bagel" to her when she's done and heads slowly off to her seat. I'm aware that it isn't easy for this woman to move and that she requires a cane to walk over to her seat. I know she's lived a long life and probably deserves her breakfast before I do. But at the same time, aren't we Canadians? Are we not famous the world over for our respect of the queue? Don't we grow up with the ingrained understanding that if someone is in front of you, you must wait politely for your turn? Is this not the foundation of our society? I debate explaining this to her but decide against it for two reasons: 1) She might not hear me anyway; 2) Maybe her eyes are going and she just didn't see me in the first place.

Love is in the Air

Valentine's Day strikes me as the "make or break" day of all bad relationships. By bad relationships, I don't mean wife-beaters and abusers, or normally decent relationships going through a rough patch. By bad relationships I mean the legions of naive souls who got married because it was "the right time" or "the thing to do". Who married someone they had nothing in common with because that person matched their 23 year-old idea of what perfect was (or even worse, their parents' ideas of what perfect was). I mean those of you who share your lives with someone to whom you have little to say, someone with whom you have no desire to spend a concentrated amount of time alone. However, since you've got 2 kids, a mortgage and no imagination of a life that could be better, you go out for dinner and have sex on a few occasions throughout the year to prove to each other - and mostly to everyone else - that you are the perfect couple.

All year, he's been cheating on you with whoever will let him while you've been developing an addiction to online gambling and vicodin. But today is Valentine's day. So tonight, you'll don your La Senza/La Perla lingerie (depending upon your income bracket) and he'll present you with jewellery/flowers/a car (depending upon your income bracket) and you can pretend that everything is perfect.

Aah, Valentine's Day - it's so romantic!

I say out with six-dollar cards and foil-wrapped chocolate hearts. Out with over-priced long-stemmed roses that won't last out the week. Out with fighting for reservations or rushing through desert so you can be done on time for the second seating. Out with the heart-covered lingerie and the laced-covered thong (ah, that's a relief!). Tell your partner you love them every day you are with him or her. And if you find that hard to do, maybe you should find someone who makes you want to say it.

Meeting Etiquette

I've decided to compile a list of helpful pointers for how to behave in work meetings. If you aren't a fool, you'll probably think that everything here is simple common sense. However, in just over six years of attending countless meetings, I've observed some very troublesome behaviour. I believe that if we all just try a little harder, we can avoid wasting everyone's time. (Note that by "we", I really mean you.)

1. It is not necessary to paraphrase what someone else has just said. Assume that if you understood it, your colleagues have also. Unless someone asks a question, once a point has been covered, it's been covered. Move on.
   
2. Do not feel the need to comment simply because you have been invited to attend a meeting. Listening carefully and ensuring your concerns are being addressed is active participation. For this reason, don't feel that you are contributing by asking stupid questions. As a guideline, you should know that if you begin any sentence with "I know this isn't what this meeting is about but..." you need to shut up.
   
3. Be on time. I realize that you are the most important person in the universe and that your issues are far more critical than everyone else's, but if the meeting begins at 10AM, be there for 10. There may be some occasions where circumstances beyond your control will force you to be late, but these should be the exceptions. Look at the clock when you walk into a meeting, if you are consistently more than 5 minutes late, you should know that the rest of the people in the room probably think you are an ass.
   
4. Don't bring up issues that affect only you in a meeting of more than 3 people. Just because something is annoying to you or making your life difficult, it doesn't mean the rest of the group wants to know about it. Catch up to people after the meeting and ask your questions then.
   
5. Don't interrupt. If you walk by a closed door and can tell that people are meeting within, don't walk in. Don't assume that because you think your issue is critical, that others will agree. I'll make it easy for you, you are allowed 3 walk-ins per calendar year. If you find yourself interrupting more often than that, you should know that you've got bad time-management skills. After all, everyone else already knows this.
   
6. Don't take care of personal hygiene in a meeting. Flossing your teeth, adjusting your package, clipping or biting your nails, picking your face, and a host of other such activities are disturbing to your fellow colleagues. Stop it. Stop it right now!
   
7. Shower. Pursuant to item #6, of course, you are not to shower in the meeting. However, if you do attend meetings on a frequent basis, do your colleagues a favour and use proper hygiene when outside the office. Wash your clothes, bathe, shampoo, rinse and repeat. Nobody likes to be in a meeting but people really don't want to be in a meeting with you because you stink!
   

What's the Buzz?

Whatever industry you work in, you've probably got a language of your own. A list of terms that are understood throughout your organization to mean certain things. A new hire will have to spend their first few months on the job figuring out that lexicon. These words, acronyms, and terms become a virtual symbol of belonging and while they can be annoying, they are unavoidable. But then there are the buzz words. The backbone of bullshit bingo, if you will. Words or expressions that pop up in a meeting once or twice and then metastasize throughout the organization until they become ubiquitous. I actually once was in a meeting and heard someone utter the words "folks, we are living this in real time". Since then, I've heard this phrase repeated several times. How else, exactly, can one live something? Can you experience something in fake time? NO, YOU CAN'T. How does a thinking person with a reasonable mastery of the English language find themselves uttering such nonsense? Even worse, how does a person with a modicum of intelligence hear such a saying and think "I'm going to have to use that one"? Stop the madness! Say what you mean. Instead of telling people to "think outside the box" why not say "let's be creative" or, better yet, suggest an original idea. Don't "utilize" or "leverage" things. "Use" and "re-purpose" them, like the rest of the world does. You don't sound smarter through your parroting of every business book ever written. You sound like an ass and some of us are on to you.

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

The storm had left yesterday's sidewalks a mess of snow and given the virtual carpet of shit that lay underneath, I decided not to walk to work and opted for the TTC instead. The TTC - my chariot and the thorn in my side. I bought tokens on the way in and after I'd handed over a 10 dollar bill, the transit worker pushed his little magic button and the tokens came down the shoot. Ten of them. Ten tokens for 10 dollars? That's not right. Now, these are the situations where even I falter. I can give back the tokens and "do the right thing", or I can keep them and enjoy the delicious feeling of having gotten away with 5 free tokens. There was a line behind me so I had to decide quickly. I took the moral high ground, pocketed my 5 tokens, and attempted to hand the others back to the attendant, "you gave me too many" I said. I was greeted with a total blank stare. "You gave me ten tokens" I repeated and was rewarded with an "uh?" Now, I have a choice to make, I can take the tokens back which will serve him right for his total lack of comprehension, or I can just walk away. Neither option felt right. Here I was, doing the honest thing and instead of being recognized and applauded for my integrity, I'm being stared at as though I've suddenly sprouted antlers. I dropped a token in the slot and returned 4 tokens to him. I figure that an honest soul, such as I clearly am, deserved at least one free ride.

The Walk of Shit

I walked to work this morning and spent a good portion of that walk cursing dogs. "Fucking Dogs" I said as I avoided ice slicks and piles of shit. It's been warm lately and the melting snow has left its glaring evidence of dog owners too lazy to clean up after their beasts. I'll admit that the ice slicks have nothing to do with the dogs, but the combination of these two hazardous substances made the walk in something out of a bad, smelly video game. I can understand the human reluctance to pick up a steaming pile of excrement. This alone is the reason I will never own a dog. I will clean up only after myself (of course, I'll change my nephew's diaper in an emergency, but once that kid turns two, he's on his own). However, since you have made many proclamations about the joy and happiness this loving animal has brought into your life. Since you have shown around "cute" pictures of your dog in a Santa hat, or with reindeer antlers. Since you have shared with others how your beast is so "smart" and "loving" and really, really has his own "personality". Then you must place your delicate hand in a fucking plastic bag and pick up after your best friend. It's snowing out? It's cold? TOO BAD! On behalf of the citizens of Toronto the not-so-clean, I thank you in advance.

Love and the Workplace

I saw the cheaters come in to work together today. He's married, she isn't and everyone seems to "know" that they are getting it on. Rumour has it someone once walked in on the act but as I have never witnessed it, I can't say for sure. Part of me thinks if you were having an affair, you wouldn't be so blatant to walk in together every morning. But, then again, my experience is limited here. Anyway, the worst part of it is that the idea of sleeping with either of them is really unappealing. I think only attractive people should have affairs. I mean, if you have bad posture, a lisp, glasses and a shit personality, shouldn't you thank the stars that you found a wife and keep your pants on? Conversely, is it so bad to be single that someone would chose to be a side dish to said slouching, lispy, bore rather than the main meal to someone with a limp? Hard to say. Of course, he probably doesn't know he has a bad personality and she might have lost faith that her limping prince is somewhere out there. I was going to ask but instead, I simply complimented her on her coat, and walked in to work.