Notes From My Underground and the Death of Ideals


Ever since I read Camus in the tenth grade I have been in love with ideas and philosophy. Often I have registered my lament on this web site over the fact that ideology seems absent in our lives, save in the area of advertising and marketing. I have made specific reference to how politics in my country seem more like job interviews where party leaders give the answers that the public wishes to hear in a bid to become the CEO of the country. The more ideology I read contrasted against my observations of society at large, I am both erroneous in stating that ideology is completely absent and that I should be careful as to what I wish for.

…Needless to say that as I continue to evaluate my belief in ideals that I allow my pallet to slum it as I sip on a glass of The Famous Grouse – a blended scotch whiskey which is largely symbolic against the legacy of single malts. To quote the Lowest of the Low “my heroes have all become pathetic clowns/ and I’m feeling far too lost to feel too profound…”

I have witnessed ideology applied in three different elements: university, the Correctional Service and as a School Teacher.

University inspired me as I spent close to nine years of my life through a couple of degrees and courses, examining the writings and thoughts of many major and minor thinkers in the academic realm. I remember the sense of revolution that guided me through my first undergraduate degree as I became a party member of the left-leaning New Democratic Party, inspired to move forth for the betterment of humanity and full of the optimism that characterises youth. Though never even remotely a Communist, I did admire the spirit of the Russian Revolution and Republicans who fought the Fascists in the Spanish Civil War. Though my enthusiasm waned somewhat when out of university, my spirit remained dedicated. Augmented by youth and traveling about the globe, I held fast to my ideology which was largely humanitarian. By the time of completing my last degree, however, the seeds of disenfranchisement began to germinate.

It was through a perverse course of events that lead me into the role of a Correctional Officer. I had begun by pursuing my ambitions to help educate those whom society had written off – namely the lower income individuals and those in prison. After working with the aforementioned individuals in the community for a little over a year, I spent six months teaching inmates at a maximum security prison. The Chief of Education liked my work and told me that I should look at becoming a Program’s Officer, where I could teach cognitive skills and anger management, in addition to other holistic educational courses. The easiest route to do this was to get in with Corrections Canada, with becoming a Correctional Officer being the key to the door.

I worked as a Correctional Officer for nearly five years, and was both a Crisis and Hostage Negotiator, as well as spending a period as a member of the tactical team (IERT). Through this epoch, I was exposed both to the true faith of humanity in its lowest form, as well to ideological ignorance at its peak. The inmates altered my view of humanity in a detrimental way, causing me to no longer believe in the inherent goodness that I thought existed somewhere beneath our social actions. Then there was the policy makers. Never could the distance between the front lines be further from the boardroom in a manner that would make the Generals of the First World War look like military strategical geniuses. The Commissioner of the Correctional Service and all their petty civil servants who attempt to justify their jobs tow a dangerous and unbelievable party ideological line. Through espousing that the Service believes that “all offenders have the potential to become law abiding citizens”, they have made some unbelievable policies (some of which have recently been rescinded). For example: inmates got to design the uniforms Guards wore in an attempt to make encounters less threatening. The result: Officers looked like managers at McDonald’s. Other gems included Officers not being permitted to wear stab proof vests or handcuffs because they were considered “threatening” and did not foster a trusting environment (did I mention that this is in a maximum security prison where all the inmates are in for violent crimes?!).

In a nutshell, everyone does not have the potential to become a law abiding citizen – take sex offenders for example. The system is not one to correct or reform as there is no accountability. In a nutshell, “humane control”, as prescribed by the Service, should include the death penalty because, quite frankly, that is the most humane course of action for many, especially pedophiles.

So I left the security of my job in the prison to become, once again, a Teacher. Again, I work with kids who are classified as “special needs” due to some cognitive or learning disability. I believe strongly in my work as I know from experience that this is the one place where I might make a difference. Don’t get me wrong, I see plenty of potential future inmates in my classroom, but I will work like a madman to steer these children off this course. I’m no saviour, nor do I have a messiah complex. What I do believe in is giving these young people a positive education and hopefully to instil some kind of spark or confidence in them so that they might make the right choices.

Again, however, as a Teacher, I find myself in the trenches. There are two ideologies that run our education system: one is government based and the other lies in the school board. The government is all about money and, despite promising more to fund the development of our most precious resource, it never happens. I’m not talking about paying Teacher’s more, but rather paying more teachers and giving more toward school resources. An average class is given $30,000 a year funding while the government shells out $120,000 per year on average per inmate in a maximum security prison.

The second group are the more ideologically based school boards. These are the folks who look at research and all the wonderful things it tells us and continuously rains them down the line to those in the front line. This stuff isn’t all bad, in fact it’s all rather good. The problem are teachers being forced to implement more and more in the same time frame while transforming an art form into a science. The thing is, anyone can disseminate information, but not everyone can teach. Likewise, there is no cookie cutter version of a teacher that we can mass produce, in spite of various Educations attempting to do so. Some of the worst teachers I ever had was throughout my Education degree. Then there was the hypocrisy of it all. At university I paid for my education. One of the course I had to take during my Education degree was in Assessment. This course preached that teachers should base their assessments in a variety of ways to address the differences in learners (auditory versus visual, etc.). It repeated over and over again that, though convenient, teachers should never use multiple choice exams as they don’t allow for one to demonstrate their thought processes, etc. It preached to sample learning often and facilitate this through smaller class sizes to allow for a greater one-to-one attention. First off, I agree with every word of this and do my best to apply this in my practise. The hypocrisy: I was one of 300 students in this class. We were graded by the scores achieved on two lengthy multiple choice exams. Such is the reality of my profession. Whenever I attend a professional development day, I am left wondering how some of the presenters (not all) out of touch or where they ever find the time to put into play all the latest educational trends. This is all harmless until it is imposed on your classroom.

My rant ends with a last idealistic gasp. My wife, who does administrative work for a theological college, is often telling me that I should take some of the courses they have on offer. I’ve been giving some thought to getting a Masters of Theology and becoming a United Church Minister, in spite of my atheism. But Nietzsche tells that this particular market might still be viable in that “God is dead; but looking at the way Man is, there will probably be caves for thousands of years to come in which his shadow will be seen.” O my kingdom to live with Dostoevsky’s Underground Man!

Discontent


Looking out my window at the snow that’s been falling since yesterday, feeling like my health is returning as I’m mid-way through my second course of antibiotics prescribed for the bronchial infection that’s plagued me for a month now, words from Shakespeare come to mind: “Now is the winter of our discontent”.

I feel like I am at some sort of crossroad in my life. A large part of this is due to my recent career change as I have made the transition from Correctional Officer to Teacher. Being less than two months from my 38th birthday also has something to do with it. Slop onto the pile one of my best friends being operated on for prostate cancer this past week, my Mom’s battle against breast cancer this past year, parenthood, ten years of marriage, the onset of my least favourite season and my usual intense forays into literature, one has the complete pallet from which my mind’s canvass is painted and awaiting interpretation.

My career change is the cause for many emotions. For example, I find myself shying away from many of the activities I began as a Correctional Officer of a pugilistic nature. My interest in Buddhism and a desire to obtain the combative tools necessary for survival in a Maximum Security Prison lead me into the Martial Arts where I trained in Judo, Kali, Taekwondo and finally Boxing (which I am still training in). Then, the other week (as mentioned in a previous entry on my Blog), I was watching the UFC and found myself repulsed by the whole thing – absolutely disgusted. Perhaps it was my state of mind, influenced by being sick, I thought to myself. Yet still, I have no desire to watch UFC and am questioning whether I want to continue on in Boxing. I still enjoy Boxing as most of it is working out with a skipping rope and bags, and it’s great for fitness. Light sparring still appeals as well. In spite of this, I still find myself asking whether or not I care to continue.

My lack of enthusiasm seems to be permeating through training in general. I went with my dogs for an easy 45 minute run through the snow earlier today, but my motivation to do so or even to go to the gym is waning. I think part of my lack of motivation is underlined by the fact that, when I get ill, I tend to get very ill (again, see my earlier missive for the number of times I’ve ended up in the hospital due to flu, etc.). I am so frustrated by the fact that I eat healthy foods, do holistic practises like Yoga and meditation, take supplements for preventative purposes drink in moderation and still get sick more often than most and with considerably more intensity. Further to this, in the past two years two of my friends in their mid 40’s were diagnosed with prostate cancer. My good friend who had surgery this past week is a model of health – non-smoker, tri-athlete, etc. A few years back, another dear friend of mine was treated for breast cancer in her mid 20’s – she was a non-smoker and had no family history of the disease. Honestly, though one can’t deny the logic that things like smoking are harmful, you really have to wonder if our health is more of a predisposition as opposed to a reaction to vice and diet.

Changing careers back into Teaching has been fairly smooth, though it is difficult to do so at my age. The hardest part is dealing with policy makers who are attempting to take the art of Teaching and make it into a science. The main gripe of most teachers is that we are constantly being asked to do more but without being given the resources to do so. Teachers are nothing special in this regard as my colleagues and I in Corrections were asked to do the same, as is the Canadian Military over in Afghanistan. It’s amazing that the government funds a classroom of 30 students for $30,000 per year, yet spends an average of $120,000 per inmate in a federal maximum security prison. In any case, you see the same thing in many professions, so teachers needn’t be the only ones complaining. I guess that my main complaint is that I feel like I’ve been in the trenches and on the front lines for my entire career and have been fighting the battle of balancing the job at hand with the ideologues who constantly trickle down their latest great idea based on what their research shows. Did we not learn anything from Communism – a great policy on paper but, when released upon the masses, results in a monster.

Perhaps I’m weary of jumping through hoops. Certainly, the continuation of my contract is a significant stress upon me, in addition to learning curriculum and dealing with latest idea trickling down from the Superintendent. I guess, by 38, I kind of hoped I would have had most of my dues paid as opposed to be just starting out.

Teaching has caused me to make my way back into my artistic headspace as I find myself being strongly pulled into my desires to pursue the creative. The problem is finding the time and resources to do this. I’m spent after a day of teaching, coupled with the demands of being a husband and a Father. I’m nobody special in this regard, but I am also not the type to be contented in sitting in front of the television with my feet up after a long day. A friend of mine asked me recently what ten things I’d like to do before I die, and I couldn’t answer. Part of this is because I could probably list a multitude of areas, each packed with aspirations: travel, music, writing, reading, sports, etc. Again, time, money and the onset of aging don’t permit most of this. What does that say about life if you can’t find time to live?

“The winter of our discontent” indeed.

Shane MacGowan

My wife came home the other day and told me that, as she was driving listening to the college radio station (CJSR), they played a solid half hour of The Pogues. My initial reaction to this was “Oh my god – Shane MacGowan must’ve died!” and frantically searched the Internet for something to either confirm or deny my thoughts. I was very much relieved to learn that Shane is still alive (though given his troubles with alcohol and drug abuse I won’t say ‘well’) and performing.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Pogues, pay a visit to http://www.pogues.com/ for a list of their CD’s, etc. In a nutshell, the Pogues were pioneers in combining the rawness of punk rock with the melodic and lively sounds of traditional Irish music, and eventually went on to evolve their sound through the incorporation of World music (Middle Eastern and Spanish for example). Shane left the group after their first few and greatest recordings to strike it out on his own with his band, The Popes.

In spite of his self-abuse, I believe that Shane MacGowan is one of the greatest folk writer’s of the 20th Century, along the likes of Bob Dylan. Shane wrote some of the most beautiful ballads and tumultuous drinking songs, with the odd political statement, in the entire folk canon.

In any case, my words could never be adequate in the whole Poguetry experience – check out some of their stuff and, if they are making a rare and united appearance, check them out! I’ve seen them twice in the post Shane days with Spider Stacy up front and, though a great show, it was like putting Famous Grouse next to Langavulin! (scotch drinkers know what I'm on about !) All I can say, as I watch my musical icons get old and die as with Joey Ramone, Kirstey McColl and Joe Strummer, thank god we’ve got some Shane left!

Poor, Pitiful Me


Most folks who know me well would probably agree that I am incredibly intense in all that I undertake, and this include when I get a cold or a flu. Typically, though I’ve not managed to do so since 2002, I’ll end up in the hospital on an IV drip for dehydration. My worst go resulted in a spinal tap and positive diagnosis of viral meningitis in 1997, another spinal tap and negative meningitis result in 2001, being 911’d to emergency with an extreme fever in 1999 and two different bouts of pneumonia. Get the picture?

I've just clawed my way out of bed for the first time since Sunday, afflicted by another virus from hell. I know that it's going around, so here's hoping none of you catch it – such is the nature of the Global village. It is a wonderful ailment that has been with me for nearly 3 weeks now. Up until Thursday, it was much like a head cold, then it hit the bronchia’s. I went to the medicentre Monday, got antibiotics, whose side affects may [and did] include vomiting and the Hershey squirts. Outside of that, flushes of hot and cold, a general feeling of death warmed over and pure and utter exhaustion. I've managed to take the week off school, which of course has me stressed to the nines. It's been so bad, quite honestly, that death would've been welcomed (and I say this with minimal hyperbole). Oh yes, seriously twisted dreams and flashbacks have also been part and parcel to the whole thing.

Of course, lying there made me realise how weak and pathetic I am. I'm a bit ashamed that I'd have been perfectly willing to cash in my chips while I see others fight for their lives in war or with terminal illness. I'm also reading a Margaret Atwood novel, The Blind Assassin, which tends to make one want to give up on life anyway - she must be part Icelandic...But seriously, while telling my Mom about my woes over the phone, after she’s just gone through chemotherapy and radiation treatments for breast cancer, made me feel like a real loser, but, in spite of this awareness, I was unable to put things in their proper perspective. Perhaps I was wallowing in self-pity, oblivious to my Buddhist teachings about those things in life over which we have no control. Perhaps Black Flag screamed it out best: “I get so wound up, I feel so let down”. Essentially, when I enter despair I do so with the same passion that I approach other undertakings.

Daytime television, of which I've watched very little, has improved I must say, though I still can't stomach it. I am addicted to TV5 though which is channel 93 here and comes from France. The programmes are terrific - much like the BBC - and the news actually covers the world as opposed to the propagandist adventures of the United States of America and it's bumbling side kick, Canada. All told I didn’t watch that much. I did watch a few episodes of The Ultimate Fighter, and felt a mild disgust at myself and my recent forays into pugilistic pursuits. I am so not a man’s man when it comes to sport. I always look for the academic, hence my love of Soccer, Rugby, Football and Baseball with their endless tactics, strategies and one on one duels. I used to feel that was about Mixed Martial Arts and Boxing, but all I seem to see there now are egos, sex and blood. Fuck, it must be Margaret Atwood messing with my mind and fiddling with my fever!

In the end, I’m on the mend – sitting upright and ready to brave the day. As is usually the case, I tell myself that I need to slow down. One of the administrative support women at my school told me about burning the candle at both ends and how it will catch up to you, especially, as I near 40, the candle ain’t all that long! She’s right. I’m intense at school from the time I arrive (usually one of the first) until I leave (usually one of the last), then I hit the gym or boxing and cap things off with an evening of family. Training injuries (see my entries this past January), have caused me to ease up slightly, but I know, with my disruptive sleep patterns and insomnia, that I take far more out of the tank than what I put in. I also live way too clean. Seriously – junk food is a rarity and my partying is curling up with a book or my guitar for half an hour with a finger of single malt or glass of red wine. Reading in today’s’ paper about Cuba’s oldest man passing away at 126 gives some insight on long and happy lives. In fact there is a study on a particular part of Cuba where extensive numbers in the population are centurions. They attribute their longevity to eating lots of vegetables, they indulge in cigars and coffee but drink only small amounts of alcohol. It’s interesting further to read of how things like fatal peanut allergies are being attributed to our hyper-hygienic lifestyles in the West. In my opinion, I think enjoying life is the key to longevity, and that involves kicking back and not taking things too seriously. Very difficult in modern day Canada with mortgages, and whatnot. Still, that is to be my goal. Until then, I will sign off with a verse by the Pogues: “If I should fall from grace with God/ Where no doctor can relieve me/ if they stick me in the sod/ and the angels won’t receive me/ let me go boys/ let me go boys/ Let me go down in the mud till the rivers all run dry”.

Canadian Quilting


Most Canadians will say that our nation is a cultural mosaic in which many different backgrounds co-exist in peace for the most part. I would say that this is a fair assessment. The issue I have with this is two-fold: (1) we have never truly solidified ourselves as a proper nation and (2) our present day laws are clouded by political correctness and a sense of righting former wrongs by making some cultures more equal than others.

Who are Canadians? I am as equally responsible in clarifying this statement, digging back into my family tree for a sense of belonging. Though I tend to lean more toward the Celt in me, I’m pretty much an even split of Scottish/Northern Ireland Protestant and German-Dutch. I grew up in Halifax where all these cultural influences were present. I developed a passion of Celtic music, even though my family hails from a very German part of Nova Scotia. Certainly, in short stints living in Ireland and England, I felt more at home than I did and still do living now in Edmonton. I love single malt Scotch and Guinness is my favourite beer, yet my favourite foods are spicy and as far from the European palate as one can get.

This description of myself falling all over the cultural spectrum is similar in most second or greater generation Canadians. This leads to my first point: cultural identity is not political in nature nor is it inherent in race. Your culture is the manner in which you live, full stop. In the United States, most people rally around the Stars and Stripes, Fourth of July parades and memories of both a Civil War and War of Independence. In essence, their was a nation forged in blood and fire. Canadians… well, just more or less seemed to become what we are, attaching labels like “Italian-Canadian” or “Chinese-Canadian” for some kind of cultural connection (this is perhaps personified in Bayern Munich's Owen Hargreaves who was born and brought up in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, but, when offered to play for the Canadian National Soccer team, decided for marketability that he'd draw on the nationality of his Mother and play for England instead. I can understand why most English fans booed him at this summer's World Cup, given that Hargreaves has never even lived or played in England. Then there was Lennox Lewis - a bit more legit perhaps, but still!). Certainly there was some cohesion amongst the first Europeans and French united against British while having no regard for the Native Peoples living here before them. But, in modern Canada, where Queen Elizabeth II is the official (yet symbolic) head of state, there’s a minimal affiliation with that whole “Commonwealth” outlook. It would appear that the Quebecois are the only truly solidified group in the country and they create laws (such as Bill 101 which permits French only signs) and as certain sense of isolation that make up the fabric of le pure laine. The white Anglo-Saxons have stories of courage of valour through two World Wars and of course Paul Henderson’s goal in 1972 when Canada defeated the USSR in Hockey. In the end, I don’t believe that there is a strong bond that makes everyone in this country rally in support of.

I believe that a large cause of our national identity crisis is a government that has bent over backwards to ensure that people could come here with their culture and live as they like, without fear or persecution. I’m all for this. The problem, however, is that we have sacrificed many important things in an effort to make all of this happen. We have children placed in mainstream classrooms who can not speak English or French, which is not fair to the student nor the teacher. Ethnic groups all come to big cities and live in certain areas which leads to those inhabitants never learning the language or culture of their new country. I am all for immigration – my wife is an immigrant. But what we are creating are essentially becoming urban ghettos and, as I am observing in our local Sudanese community, facilitating the growth of ethnic gangs.

How we treat First Nations people in Canadian society must really be looked at. I believe that there is a part of that particular group who have politically charged the perception of Native culture and the government is feeding them with tax payers tax dollars to spread their message. In a typical school where The Lord’s Prayer and National Anthem are not allowed because of religious sectarianism, we regularly have Native spiritual ceremonies such as smudging and the eagle feather. I came out from working in the prison system which is rife with Aboriginal gangs and they believe that they are carrying out the elder’s teaching by selling drugs and whatnot. They feel that these are strikes against white oppression and the theft of their culture, meanwhile they misappropriate hip-hop culture for themselves. Honestly, what do we think will create a greater cultural alienation for Native People’s – stick them on reserves and tell them that they are completely different from everyone else, or try to assimilate them successfully? 8-10 Billion dollars each year goes to Native Bands from the Canadian Government. I have absolutely nothing against Native people, but they need to live in the here and now. That doesn’t mean we forget the horrors inflicted on their people such as residential schooling. The point is, just like the Irish got over the Famine, coffin ships and years of war with the English, Native people need to stand up, be proud and move forward with the rest of the world.

Reading over much of what I have written here, I am certain that there are those who will misrepresent my views as being xenophobic and right wing, when, in fact, I am calling for the exact opposite – unanimous harmony while living and letting live. It’s the difference between several pieces of fabric and a quilt that has been woven together. The latter is what I dream of, but every quilt needs backing and so long as political correctness replaces humanitarian frankness and honesty, the Canadian quilt will continue to be riddled by drafts.

How Scrambled Is My Egg


I can feel my Fall frump upon me, brought on by a nasty cold coupled with the cooler temperatures and a sense of inner figidery. I watch very little television, but, when feeling blasé, I tend to tune in a little more frequently.

In all honesty, the only programmes I truly enjoy are good dramas, documentary and sport. The first two, in a sea of nearly 100 channels, are difficult to come by with any consistency. The latter – that is to say sports that I am interested in – are nearly impossible. The fact is, my favourite sports to watch include Rugby, Soccer, Australian Rules Football, Gaelic Football, etc., which aren’t exactly staples in the North American market which is dominated by American Football, Baseball, Basketball and Hockey. Don’t get me wrong, except for the NBA (I believe the circus is cruel and inhumane with apologies to Steve Nash...), I do enjoy most North American sports, but given a choice between a Rugby or American Football match, Rugby would win every time. Now there is Fox Sports which I could get for an extra arm and leg each month from my cable provider, but we presently pay too much as it is for how little we get.

Now I would remain silence in my misery if it wasn’t for a few major points of note. First and for most, the sports networks we presently have (there are three of them) show excessive amounts of poker, darts and bowling which, I’m sorry to say, simply don’t justify themselves. Then there’s Golf (which I despise) and Auto Racing (which is just as bad) that are on local sports networks regularly IN ADDITION TO HAVING THEIR OWN 24 HOUR CHANNELS! If this is not evidence that there is no god I don’t know what is! There is TVA that is in French (which I can fortunately understand for the most part) that have some Rugby coverage from France (if I can get my timings correct), and TLAT for a bit of Italian Soccer, but if I want to see what’s happening in the Australian AFL or NRL, or the GAA in Ireland I’m hooped. Is there any bloody wonder why I have a “Kill Your Television” sticker on my vehicle? For heaven’s sake, are there not enough folk over here from Rugby playing nations that they can’t justify pre-empting the Sarnia Darts Co-Ed Open Invitational for 80 buggering minutes???! And PLEASE – don’t preach to me about satellite!

Okay, so it would appear that I’ve hit a nerve and need to walk away from the Satan box and read a book. Enter my next conflict. I’ve been in a book slump ever since I finished reading a second Peter Robinson novel. Prior to that I was really into a Harry Turtledove alternative history series of which I waiting for the next three books to hit mass paperback. I flitted around with another Robinson novel for a few pages, put it down and then picked up another of Turtledove’s alternate fiction novels, putting that down as well, unable to get into either. Perhaps it’s the phase of the moon and this cold, who knows. Anyroad, I picked up Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin while visiting a local bookstore where I spent the afternoon marking Mathematics tests and drinking Starbucks coffee, have read a few pages and like it so far; hoping my slump is ended. I think that when I am without a good book that I am most out of sorts. Certainly my love of reading explains largely my lack of civility toward television. I admit that I am a bit of a snob that way, but hey – at least I can see myself for what I am.

My goodness, it looks like I’m writing with a fever straight out of Dostoevsky here with my ranting. Oh well, there’s no harm in it I suppose and I’ve yet to enter any diatribes, protesting that 2+2 is not 4 (see Notes From Underground if you missed the link here). Alas, ex ovo omnia!

Masochism World


Another week in the trenches teaching and, though I’ve not consulted with a calendar, I reckon that we are due for a full moon based on the behaviour of my students and my wee one at home. I’m a bit on the frumpy side this morning as I have the cold that everyone else seems to have, and it’s one of these infections that shows itself, goes away almost entirely, then returns, moving from the head and throat and into the bronchials. If I was religious, I’d ask the Church or Mosque or whatever (as my union representative) to consult with (G)god(s) and see if we couldn’t simply have our sick time tacked on to the end of our lives where we can opt to either dwell in misery or simply save money and die early. Alas, it just doesn’t work like that.

Further to my frump, our four year old had a tantrum at 05:45 this morning – very much in the egocentric phase of development where the ‘self’ is on some kind of hyperbolized cerebral steroid or whatever you want to call it.

I know, in the end, one must make light of such situations. As Buddhist teachings tell, there are some things we simply must accept (getting sick, growing old, etc.), so, vent, make light and get over with it. Certainly, if I want to expand my thoughts beyond my own little egocentric self, I am quick to realize that I’m very fortunate overall. I look to my Mom who is recovering from breast cancer (just finished her radiation and all the diagnosis are excellent), one of my friends had to have surgery last year for prostrate cancer, and another of my close mates is having the same procedure done in two weeks time. Then there’s the rest of the world. Life really is fucked-up when you look at it, and, with all the trials and tribulations accentuated by suffering, one quickly sees why many turn to religion in an effort to make sense of it all. Leads me to dwell on Sartre and Camus who examined the premise: “because we die, life has/ has no meaning.”

…Wow, I’m thinking way too much with only two sips of coffee in me! Sure, it’s not life that’s fucked-up, but rather me! Think I’ll make my best of it this evening while my wife is out at volleyball and the wee one is in bed. I’ll try my new “deep cold voice” out in my basement with my guitar and try a to re-invent Mr. Egg Paranoid (my stage name from my days fronting Ick On Fish in the mid 1980’s) with a spot of 15 year old Glenfiddich – pure Poguetry and masochism! Yeaaaahh.ach-ach-ach-ach…..

Cages


Yet another mass school shooting this week in the U.S. and I have to ibid my missive of a few days back. Interesting that the media doesn’t pick up that more people have been killed this year by insane gunmen at schools than by international terrorists (excepting those troops put in Iraq and Afghanistan), and that this is simply a sub-category of the overall murder rate (my city has had something in the vicinity of the mid to 20’s in regards to homicides this year alone). To be direct, sod the hullabaloo about Al-Queada, and let’s address the urban terrorist issues and social problems saturating our communities.

Perhaps it is the deterioration of the “community” as a whole that is part of the problems. In my little suburban niche, though surrounded by people, we really only know 2-3 of our neighbours. The fact is, we no longer have the communities where people know each other, offering familiarity and safety. We can see this self- isolation everywhere in urban settings – people listening to ipods on the bus, socializing done through email and in chat rooms where we will dialogue with strangers who, should they have been encountered on the street without the microchip buffer to protect ourselves, we would never speak with. It’s a catch-22 really, the whole fear of being friendly, I suppose. But the question remains, what happens when we cage social animals such as ourselves?

Tossing Around Tunes


Like most four year olds, my daughter, Enya, is a steady stream of consciousness from the time she pops open her lids at 06:30 until she plops her noggin down at half past eight in the evening. She’s a pretty happy child most of the time, quite often breaking into song as she plods about. I must say I was a bit taken aback (with pride mind you) when she was roaming about the house melodiously singing a tune by The Tossers, repeating the refrain “There’s no drink, there’s no booze and it’s no fun” over and over. She’s also memorized a considerable amount of Great Big Sea’s catalogue and much of Bruce Springsteen’s new album (“Old Man Tucker” seemingly her favorite). I’m so happy to see her not only tapping into her Celtic blood, but to just be so free with song. Certainly my biggest regret was waiting until my 30’s before actually learning to play an instrument. Nothing sets my sprits higher than sitting down with a cup of coffee, tea or dram of Laphraoig and belting out a tune or two.

There are no wiser words than those of Bob Marley: “One good thing about music, when it hits you feel okay!”