The Golden Compass

I always fall into the same trap—shopping on the weekend. As much as I hate crowded places, I somehow always seem to end up doing grocery and other types of shopping on a Saturday. Today, however, I was in a state of nirvana, caused by my 20 km morning run and a total psycho-physical numbness which followed it, so I not only endured the shopping, I sort of enjoyed it. Maybe because it started in the Chapters bookstore—they had a wicked discount on most of the books, our bookshelf space is reduced by 10 new items—and that sort of easy-going atmosphere just carried throughout the day.

We watched “The Golden Compass” on Rogers on demand cable. I wanted to see the movie ever since I first heard about it and the controversy it caused, but missed it in theatres. Apparently some schools in Ontario banned the books—Pullman’s trilogy “His Dark Materials” the movie is based upon—stating that the books deny religion. It is truly amazing that in 21st century, in the country which boasts about its democracy, some organizations and individuals think they have the right to ban certain books. Few years ago Heather Riesman, the owner of the previously mentioned Chapters/Indigo chain, banned Adolf Hitler’s memoir “Mein Kampf” from the country’s biggest bookstore. Although I don’t agree with that, I could sort of understand the reasoning for banishing Hitler’s book. But, having an educational institutions banning books reminds me of the times of Inquisition. Alarming is also that various religious groups are becoming more influential in modern society. Here in Canada tolerance and multiculturalism is always on our politicians’ lips, yet we allow books to be banned from schools and bookstores. What’s next? Burning them publicly? Shame on all of us, Canadians!
The movie is pretty faithful to the story, although it leaves out the culmination and the ending of “The Golden Compass” book. Also, casting Nicole Kidman as Mrs. Coulter is obviously the wrong choice. Aside from Mrs. Coulter being stunningly, almost magically beautiful in the book (which Kidman, with her artificially puffed up lips, is no more), she is also dark haired, energetic and irresistible. And, although Kidman does move around with a certain grace, she is so very blonde in all the meanings of that word. With so many beautiful, smart, dark haired actresses around, Kidman as a casting choice is beyond my comprehension. But, enough—I give her too much credit by writing so much about her!
After the movie, and a lengthy conversation about religion, belief and faith, which inevitably led us to the topic of our family, relationship within the family, beliefs and tolerance, Maggie decided to dive into the Pullman’s books.

At the same time, I exhausted my patience with the “Elijah’s Chair” I’ve been reading. It’s just so naïve and poorly written that I had to stop until there's absolutely nothing else to read. With today’s shopping for the books, that won’t happen any time soon! In any case, I am now reading “Londonstani” by Gautam Malkani. Lots of London’s Paki-gangsta slang, but quite entertaining so far.

Sneaking out

A mental note to myself: when sneaking out from work an hour early, check if the path is clear. It’s not advisable to meet the boss on the way out, as it happened today.
He even wished me a great weekend.

Canada in the news (yeah!)

I’m so proud that Canada finally made the news around the world! Even if it’s about the dufus Foreign Minister, who left confidential documents in the bedroom of his ex-girlfriend. She is known for her cleavage and her ties to the biker gangs. Apparently, she dated the gang leader before falling for the foreign minister Maxime Bernier. Take that, U.S., you’re not the only ones who have stupid politicians. The difference is, Canadian ones screw up only themselves and a few around them, while the U.S. ones screw the whole world. Stupidity is proportional to the power, I guess.

I am desperate to find anything to blog about. There was nothing interesting in my life today. Like every other day, we woke at 6 am, did out morning routine, left to work at 7:15, wasted the best part of the day doing what we dislike, then came back home too late and too tired for anything. I went for a run, took a shower, watched TV, went to bed. Pathetic. Yes, I know more than 95% of the world’s population does the same, or variations of the same. Does that seem wrong? That only about 5% of the population likes what they do and enjoy working?

No news is (not) good news

No news is usually good news. Not in my case though. Dubai sent me an email asking for patience while their HR manager processes my job application. Whatever that means. So, the game is not over yet, nor is the wait, but it grates on my nerves.

Days are clear and sunny, but quite chilly. Persistent wind makes otherwise enjoyable runs really difficult whenever the route turns north. It slowed my 10 km to average 4:51/km. At least I’d rather blame it on the wind than on age.

Seems that the melancholia I dove into while reading “The Cellist of Sarajevo” took such a firm hold on me, that I went on to read “Elijahova Stolica” (“Elijah’s Chair”) written in Croatian. It’s a story about an Austrian writer who learns that his real father was a Jew from Sarajevo, and goes to Sarajevo under the siege to try to find his father, or some clues about who he was. I must admit, after 12 years of reading English only, I am really unused to reading in Croatian, its phrases now seem awkward, its metaphors clumsy. Also, the young author Igor Stiks, plays cheap tricks, constantly hinting what was about to happen next in the story. It’s the writing style I despise. Why am I still reading then? I don’t know! For the longest time I could not watch TV shows or movies about the war in Croatia and Bosnia. Only recently, something heavy lifted off my chest and I can think of my past without feeling the heavy weight of depression. So, I guess, I’m indulging in that newly found freedom and masochistically reading mediocre books to prove to myself that they don’t affect me any more.

A book that might have been

“Bosnians like to remember things that never happened” – Daniel Nikolic, Franciscan priest, Bosnia in an interview to BBC Radio.

The quote from the BBC radio podcast complemented my trip down the memory lane, which I often walked this past week, thanks to “The Cellist of Sarajevo” book. It also illustrates what the book failed to convey: the spirit, the humor, the unbeatable soul of Bosnians. The book paints—correct, but only partial—a bleak, depressing picture of Sarajevo during the siege. The three characters we’re following never meet, don’t have anything in common other than living in Sarajevo, and fail to give the reader the most important feeling of the Bosnian spirit, the true reason behind the survival of Sarajevo. Bosnians were always known as jokesters within former Yugoslavia, and that constant joking kept them alive in the days of darkness. I guess, being written by a foreigner, a Canadian, the book is as good as it gets. One can’t expect an outsider to grasp the subtle humor which carried every individual through the bleak months and years of the siege. I was in Bosnia, albeit outside Sarajevo, during those long years, and I went to the town as soon as the siege was lifted courtesy of British and other NATO troops. And although I like to write, I would never muster enough courage to write about something as sensitive as the siege of Sarajevo, from fear of not conveying the whole picture. The author, Steven Galloway, reminds me of a Canadian officer, a major, whose name eludes me, but whom I met in Slavonija, Croatia, near the front line, in 1991. He was a part of EU team of observers. They were, quite literally, observing the war, the killing, the massacres, between the Croats and the Serbs; that was a year before the war spread to Bosnia. At a dinner during which a fellow photojournalist and myself were invited to join the EU observers’ table, the major stated how it took him full 4 months of observing and talking to people, but now he can finally say he understands about 80% of what’s going on. My colleague and I looked at each other, then he turned to the major and said: “See, the two of us live here for over 20 years, but neither would dare to say we understand even 50% of what’s behind the war. So, you must be either very smart, or very wrong!”
Although I don’t claim Steven Galloway is wrong, I wish he did more of a homework and researched the other aspects of the story. It could have been a good one. If only…

An aftershock?

It has been almost a week since the phone interview with the Dubai paper. I was told then that an HR person will get in touch with me for further steps, to arrange the trip to Dubai for an in-person interview. They’ve been in such a rush to fill that position, I was even told there was no deadline for applying for that job because they want someone right away. And now—nothing. Which tells me that they are not in a hurry anymore, meaning they must have found someone. I can only hope to get a rejection letter some time soon, so I can close that chapter, get the whole thing out of my mind and get on with life.

While I burn DVDs tonight to finish the freelance job for a client, Maggie is browsing the net and, among other things, checks the job postings for me. She found me a very nice one: an online manager-producer for a web site in the States. The problem is in the fine print: it’s for the adult web site. They ask for lot of experience. I wonder if that’s a hands-on position?

Tonight, another earthquake hit Chinese Sichuan province, the same area still under rubble from the last powerful one. The western media calls it an "aftershock". I find it deceiving. To me the aftershocks are the tremors immediately after the earthquake, not a 6.5 magnitude quake 10 days later.

Artisan

I learned the lesson—never run on a Friday evening if I want to go for a long one on a Saturday morning. My 16.28 run seemed unusually difficult and my legs were leaden. The persistent wind didn’t make it any easier. Still, bit by bit I’m getting closer to half-marathon distance.

Maggie is complaining about swollen lips and tongue. She found them to be the side effects of the Benadryl pills she takes for her allergies. I think she’s quite sexy with thick lips. She says she’s suffering. It’s a fair trade, a little suffering for sexiness.

We are strong opponents of cell phone use while driving. Today at the Markville shopping mall, a woman on the phone almost ran me over with the shopping cart. I vote for the cell phone ban while driving a cart in the store!

The highlight of the day was our visit to the Artisan pub in Markham village where we were entertained by a Spanish jazzy duet. They sound much better after a few beers.

Car keys

I thought there’d be no entry for today, since nothing of significance happened at work. Then, just before 3 pm Maggie calls me in the office and says she doesn’t feel well. I tell her to book an appointment with the doctor while I rush out to take her there. To make it more interesting, she books the appointment in 25 minutes time. I’m already breaking the speed records and limits along the way when she calls again, some 10 minutes later. The weakness passed, she feels alright, I don’t need to come. She has to finish something at work. Well, too late, I’m already on the way. I told my colleagues at work that she fainted and I’m taking her to the doctor. “So, don’t you un-faint yourself now,” I tell her. But, she is adamant that I don’t come. At that moment I hit the traffic jam. To the right is a small street with a park which looks inviting. It’s nice and sunny, breezy, but not too cold. I make a quick decision and pull at the street, park at the curb and walk in search of a bench where I could read my book until it’s time to pick up Maggie. After almost 15 minutes of fruitless search with no bench in sight, I head back to the car. The keys, usually in my left pocket, are not there! I check all the places they could be, all the pockets and the backpack, then retrace my steps searching the ground. Finally, at the car I can see them nicely spread on the driver’s seat. Locked and safe. I must have put them there while gathering backpack to get out, and left them on the seat. Sheepishly, I call Maggie, who has the spare keys. She hitches a ride with a colleague and comes to the rescue. And so my boring Friday gets its diary entry.

By profession and by choice, I’m a news buff. My day starts with the 6 am radio news, continues with a quick glance through the morning newspaper and a news podcast on the way to work. I can’t help but complain—the way the news cycles in Toronto baffles me: first the radio and TV bring the breaking news; next day, the newspapers expand on the yesterday’s news; then, TV and radio pick up the newspapers’ story based on their own breaking news and spin it all over again, so the whole thing lasts 2-3 days! It wears out the public’s interest quickly. No wonder everybody hates the press these days.

Today’s Super 7 lottery jackpot is $ 27 million! Imagine winning a lottery on a Friday, then having to wait until Monday to quit the job! What a torture!

The Cellist of Sarajevo

The phone rings shortly after 5 am. With all the commotion about the Dubai job, I keep my mobile on in case they call, though I expect them to do the math and calculate the time difference. Still, I pick up half asleep, and clear the throat before I can squeeze a sound from it: “Hallo?”
On the other side a male voice talks fast in language I can’t recognize.
“Who is calling,” I ask. More gibberish.
“Can you speak English?”
Now a voice shouts in the phone, asking for Dan, or some such.
“Do you know what time is it here?” I am getting seriously frustrated.
More gibberish from which I discern only “…suck my d***” I can’t take it any longer, so I launch into tirade loaded with profanities and punch the phone off button. Then I silence the ringer, but it’s too late. I’m fully awake and too pissed to go back to sleep. And so a hellish Thursday starts.

At work I screw up the sound on a video, then spend almost an hour patching it up. The anchor’s voice sounds like coming from a tin can, but it’s audible enough. As I put out one fire, another starts—a freelance client calls to complain about DVDs I delivered yesterday. They are not playing on their Pee-Cees. Damn! Luckily, I have the video file they need with me and am about to send them, but it’s too big to go through the network. I hop in the car and drive another DVD to them, then rush back to work. As I’m about to leave, they call again. The file works on some of their computers, and doesn’t work on the others. No one thinks of checking their software, they want me to fix the video. So, after work I drive back to their office and burn another batch of DVDs. This time it works.

When Maggie suggests to go for a dinner to a Chinese eatery near by, I readily agree, though I feel guilty—usually we eat at home (cheaper) after my evening run. To make it up and to punish myself for being so easy, I go for a run when we come home, but can’t go for a long one. I’m too stuffed, too tired and too sleepy. The run of 5.3 km will have to do. When I come back, there are cars parked in the alley beside our new fence. The neighbor across the alley is either smuggling cars or doing something else illegal. Every week there’s a different car on his driveway and different shady people stopping by, parking right by our backyard and checking the car. He must have sold at least 4 cars in the last 6 weeks.

Yesterday I finished “Lisey’s Story” written by Stephen King. I admit, I like his writing, his style. “Lisey’s Story” is a nice story about love and letting go, but uncharacteristically mild for Stephen King. On my personal rating list I’ve given it 3.5 stars out of 5. Today, I dove into “The Cellist of Sarajevo”, written by Steven Galloway. It’s about Sarajevo during the war, during the siege. A Serbian mortar (although, the book never calls them Serbs, it calls them “the people from the hills”) kills 22 people in the line for bread. A cellist vows to play Albinoni’s Adagio at the same time each day for 22 days—one for each person killed. I found Adagio on my iPod and played it when I started reading the book. It set me in that melancholy mood I remember so well from my days in Bosnia during the war.

Price of bread is up 10% from the last month. Soon we’ll feel the pinch of food crisis here too. Gas is $1.27 a liter today.

The Call

The call has finally happened! Yesterday morning the man from Dubai called, we talked for a while and he said a woman from the human resources department will get in touch. So, it’s going to be more waiting. My mind is in a swirl, flying to Dubai, then flying back, compiling the list of things that will have to be done: sell the house, sell the car, dismantle this life to start a new one. Both me and Maggie have done that once already, more than a decade ago, and it hadn’t been easy. Nor is it any easier now. The reality is that there’s no concrete offer yet. We are still dancing the first dance, where partners circle each other carefully, matching steps, but shying away from the pirouette. The more elaborate moves will come later. Or, may not come at all. In any case, it is a nervous time thinking about it and waiting for an email, a call, something…

When we came home from work last night, there was a surprise in our backyard. A fence. The builder built the back side fence, leaving the rest for us. It made us both want to scream in despair. The fence is merely 4 ft tall! It gives no privacy, it’s uneven and looks like a child was playing with lumber and nails and built a fence on our yard. Almost every thing concerning our new house has been a small-scale disaster, and this is just the last on the long list of disappointments. It amazes me how many things the builder managed to screw up. I wonder if they get a special bonus for each screw-up? They’d be very rich by now if they did!

Outside our unhappy micro-cosmos the world is the same insane place: the death toll in China keeps rising, passing way over 40,000; down south Obama and Hillary survived another Tuesday election and claimed victories. He won Oregon, she won Kentucky. Obama says it’s over, Hillary says it’s not. Makes me ponder what kind of person goes to politics and runs as a presidential—or any other—candidate? If it’s to judge by the stars’n’striped neighbors, the candidate has to have certain attributes to succeed: must be power-hungry, maniacally egotistic and ruthless. Not really a kind of person you’d let near your daughter…or your grandma, for that matter. Though I can’t fathom what people see in Obama, he’s all but won the primaries. Hillary, on the other hand, still hangs on like a pit bull, her jaws locked, but her bite has gone empty. Dignity seems to be in a very short supply among the president-wannabies. I always thought nothing can be as bad as George W. Bush’s tenure, but now I’m not sure anymore. God help us all next year!

Victoria Day

“You have to love me in my freedom. Love is not about possession, love is a very generous thing, which is about never holding anybody back; it’s about not possessing people, but it’s about actually loving them as free beings.” -Hazel Rowley, author, Tete-a-Tete: Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre

Victoria Day, being this late in May, was supposed to be a warm one. I left early for my run without checking the temperature, wearing only shorts and, luckily, long-sleeved shirt. It was freezing! It took half of the 8.8 km run to warm my arms. Sun was nice and bright, but had a bite and wind only worsened the chill.

This whole past week I was complaining about Toronto being lame, and now I have the proof. Maggie and me drove to the downtown, looking for something interesting to see and do. We ended up at Harbourfront; that’s where the tourists go when they are unfortunate enough to end up in Toronto. And here is all that Toronto’s waterfront had to offer on Victoria Day holiday. Pathetic, I know, but don’t worry—the whole video is less than a minute short. I agree, even that is too much for such a boring content, but that just proves the point!

Today is exactly a week since the devastating earthquake hit China’s Sichuan province. It was marked around the country with 3 minutes of silence. Chinese authorities gave the official death toll of 35,000. With all the missing people—mostly children—the number could soon pass 50,000. In a town near the epicenter, hundreds of children perished when school buildings collapsed. Because of the China’s “one child” policy, most of the students killed in the quake had no siblings and left their parents inconsolable. BBC, reporting from the scene, called them “the lost generation”.

An email explained why there was no call from Dubai yesterday – the job interviewer is sick, he’ll call as soon as he gets better. One would expect the excitement to return with the same force it carried both of us until yesterday, but somehow our kites of expectations fly low this time out of fear they could crash and burn again…

A call that never came

Ahhhhh, what a let-down! The phone interview for the job in Dubai I mentioned earlier this week didn’t happen. After all the planning, daydreaming, excitement and fear, I feel pretty deflated. I spent a couple of hours by the phone which never rang. That reminds me of the really annoying habit of business people in Canada—well, obviously, not only in Canada: when they want to get rid of you, they promise to call you later, and they never do. Why is it so much easier to be a total deceiving asshole, rather than being frank with someone and just say openly that you’re not interested?
However, I don’t think that’s what happened today. If Dubai didn’t want to have anything to do with me, they’d never set up an interview after seeing my resume. Which makes the whole matter even worse, because I simply can’t figure out what is going on. No matter, life goes on, we are back firmly on the ground. Maggie is planning to plant a little garden in the front yard. I am training for a marathon to run before the year’s end. As wild and exhilarating as the whole Dubai thing was, it’s a relief of sort to be rid of it.

Speaking of running—I went 15.26 km yesterday, most of it in farmland around the neighborhood. Little by little approaching the half-marathon distance.

Canada’s national hockey team lost to the Russians in the final game of the world championship. It was 5-4 for Russkies in overtime. Tomorrow will be a day of mourning in the hockey-crazed nation.

Our neighbor has drums in the basement! How do I know? Well, every evening around 10 pm someone is banging quite savagely on them. Although, after living next door from the drummer for over a year, I can hear the improvement. Occasionally, it even sounds like a purposeful rhythm. Though, more often than not, it’s still just a noise with no particular beat to be discerned. Luckily, it ends by 11 pm, but my growing fear is that one day the drummer will find the rest of the band. Considering their ethnic origin—they are Indian—I fear high-pitched female whining which they like to call “singing”. Imagine, living next door to a Bollywood outlet in Markham, Canada!

Victims of the earthquake in China are being shaken and stirred by aftershocks. Or, rather, after-shake. Most of the victims are children who were in school when the earthquake hit. Schools were either too old, or too new, and collapsed easily, burying hundreds of students under the rubble. Apparently, supercharged Chinese economy developed many side-effects, like so called “tofu architecture”. The new developments are being built too fast and with such a low-quality material, they jiggle and collapse like a tofu.

Crazy Canadian goose and Toronto the Lame

For the last couple of days we are laughing at this persistent goose who managed to chase away a fisherman and his dog. In Canada even the geese come with attitude!


In one of my previous posts I mentioned how Toronto is falling from grace as a tourist location. The reasons cited in the survey say that Toronto doesn’t have much to offer. Once you’ve seen the CN tower and the lakefront, you’re pretty much done. So the city hired comedian Russel Peters to act as the spokesperson for Tourism Toronto. What can he do? Probably crack a few jokes about the city so we can officially laugh at ourselves! Wouldn’t it be wiser to work on attractions which could bring the tourists back? Now Toronto is not only lame, it’s laughably lame. This morning CHFI radio hosts Erin and Mike couldn’t understand what’s so lame about Toronto. “There are so many nice places to shop and to eat,” they said. From my own experience as a tourist, eating becomes important when I am tired of sightseeing, and shopping matters only for the souvenirs. Sightseeing would be nice if there were sights to see. Torontonians, it seems, are not only unfriendly, they are quite blind and pretty dumb. When we figure out there has to be more to offer than shopping and eating for tourists to flock to the city, then we’ll be on the path to improve its standing. Until then, “lame” is the right qualifier.

Speaking of food—apparently, raising cost of food worldwide will soon reflect in the restaurants across Canada. This summer, just in time for the tourist season, we can expect reduced menus and higher prices and the worse quality food. Which will add to the Toronto’s list of attributes: lame and laughable with expensive and bad food.

Today I managed to escape from work two hours earlier to start the long Victoria Day weekend. We spent the evening talking about Dubai, about the possible move, about the possible stay and everything in between. In her mind, Maggie is already furnishing an apartment in Dubai, while I’m torn about what to do with the house: to sell or to rent out? I wonder how disappointing will it be for both of us if the offer falls through? We are trying to focus on the positive aspects of staying in Toronto if that happens, but we are both nervous and excited. In just two days our steady, boring (or should I say lame) life in Toronto turned into a whirlwind of excitement.

Job interview

If you were following the running saga of my life, you read about the job offer from Dubai’s paper. The reality of it really hadn’t sunk in until today, when they emailed me to set up the phone interview for this Sunday. I am equally excited and terrified. Who knows, maybe the offer will be so good that I can’t let it pass. Still, the prospect of moving yet again across the ocean makes me nervous. Maggie, however, cheers for Dubai. Well, no point fretting about it until Sunday.

The price of gas is really bugging me. A liter of car fuel is $1.25 today. And raising! The radio is talking about another 30% price hike by July! If it keeps going up like that, I better oil my rollerblades—they are going to be the only transport I can afford!

Since last week we are being bombarded with events celebrating Israel’s 60th anniversary. Well, celebrating on the Jewish side and mourning on the Palestinian side. I can’t help wondering what’s all the fuss about? So, Israel managed to grow into a pocket-size super-power in the region, but I am getting tired of constant nagging of the Jews against the countries surrounding Israel and against anybody who doesn’t think like them. Grow up already, you’re 60 now! Even Einstein had enough of that bull when he said "…the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people ... As far as my experience goes, they are no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power. Otherwise I cannot see anything 'chosen' about them."

Offer from Dubai

Monday night was long and painful. I woke up with a bad stomach ache around 4am and that was it for the night. The morning found me in the bathroom. Felt like zombie for the most of Tuesday. There was a bright point though—a newspaper from Dubai, UAE, contacted me and offered a job. It’s a management position overseeing the online operation for a major English language Arab newspaper. At first I dismissed the thought of leaving Canada, our house and friends, but when Maggie reflected on the past winter and pointed out how much closer we’d be to our families in Europe and Hong Kong, the whole perspective of a job in the dessert changed. Negotiations have started, stay tuned for updates.

The freelance video job I did for a book publishing company is slowly turning into a nightmare. Last night I was burning DVDs for the client until 3am. So if I felt like a zombie on Tuesday, today I fell like a roadkill.

What’s wrong with the planet? The death toll after the cyclone in Myanmar is still raising, now over 250,000. Its rulers are still blocking international aid, which is waiting on Thailand’s border. In the meantime an earthquake ravaged China, killing tens of thousands and counting. Feels like the good ol’ Mother Earth had enough of people-infestation and decided to get rid of some.

Toronto is apparently sinking on the list of the favorite vacation destinations. According to Global TV, tourists find it lame, unclean, uptight and unfriendly. Couldn’t agree more! We could start the improvement by increasing traffic violation fines, curbing the road rage and street racing. It would be too much, though, to ask for smiles. I am not sure Torontonians remember how to smile.

Ahhhhhh, what a relief. After skipping my regular run last night to finish the above mentioned freelance job, I finally did 6 km today and I feel like a brand new person. A very tired brand new person.

Sunday's visitor

Last couple of days were so busy, I barely had time to check my email, let alone blog something. But, I was faithful to my commitment to keep the diary, and jotted down notes for my next entry. In life as uneventful as mine, every bit counts.

We had a very colorful visitor on Sunday morning. It perched on our tree of unknown kind and its yellow “outfit” went in sync with the tree’s new green leaves and red buds. Here’s the photo—meet our friendly neighborhood goldfinch.

It spent quite some time on the branch to Maggie’s delight. She confessed it’s her favorite bird. As for the tree, we found it just before the first snows last winter, planted by the builder (we bought a new house recently). No one ever mentioned that we were supposed to get a tree, so it was quite a surprise to see it in the middle of our tiny backyard. Our surprise turned into anger; how dare they plant the tree without notifying us at all, not to mention not asking for permission. But, when we gave it more thought, we liked the idea of getting a tree for free. Now, if only we could figure out what kind it is…

Longest run

This morning I completed my longest run. I can’t remember the longest run of my youth, but ever since I re-discovered running in November last year, this is my personal longest: 14.26 km. On my iPod+ Nike set I was congratulated by Lance Armstrong for completing my longest workout to date. But even more important than (pre-recorded) Lance’s congrats is the personal victory. About two years ago I suffered herniated disc which pinched a spinal nerve and numbed my left leg. For about a month the leg was numb and although I could walk, I could not control it when climbing the stairs or when getting out of the car, off the chair in the office, etc. More often than not, I ended up sitting on the floor, left leg balking under me. During the 2-month-long physiotherapy I re-gained the feeling in the leg, but it stayed weaker and prone to cramps. Jokingly, I told the physiotherapist that I supposed running marathon is out of question. He smiled and said I could do it if I set my mind to it. Well, judging by the run today, I am on the right path.

After that victorious run we visited our favorite dim sum restaurant Ruby’s in Scarborough. There I found the Ten Commandments for Drinking Tea, which I selflessly want to share with you here:

Maggie, my Asian doll, was in charge for ordering bite-sized delicacies from the passing carts. Sure, I could have done that too, but I’d need to resort to the sign language, because I don’t speak Chinese and the ladies pushing the carts don’t speak English. So I just leaned back and watched Maggie in her element. She asked me why I like looking at her? I could not explain that every move of hers is like a dance of a butterfly in mid-air, and all the pirouettes of her arms, all the nods, smiles and winks are so familiar, yet so new to me that I’ll never tire watching her. Instead, I just smiled.

Ahhhhh, Barcelona! Here we come!
It’s official—we booked the plane tickets, redeemed all the travel points collected on our Visa cards, and come September we’ll be enjoying the vacation in Spain. We’ll have 14 days to explore Barcelona, its Gaudi, Picasso and Dali, its food, life, culture and people. Maggie is busy compiling the list of the places we should see—I’m afraid it’ll grow quite long in the 4 months until the trip, but at least the countdown has begun. We squabble about the hotel booking; we want it cheap and in downtown, but “cheap”, “downtown” and “Barcelona” don’t go together in the same sentence.

I love what I do, but I hate my job!

I love what I do, but I hate my job!
I am a multimedia producer. They say I’m good. But I have no control over the projects I’m creating. I am stuck rescuing other people’s bad ideas and making them look good. As a result, I am increasingly frustrated, stressed and disgruntled. I think it’s time to find a new job. Anybody needs a good video/audio producer and editor?

OK, moving onto more cheerful and definitely more voluptuous subject--a local girl has become the Playboy's Playmate of the Year - Jayde Nicole from Port Perry, Ontario, had all the attributes needed for the title. No wisecrack comments necessary.

Last week I finished Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s book “Love in the time of cholera”. Like any good book, it caused controversy at the online book club on Facebook (mea culpa, I am a member). I’m glad I didn’t read the comments before reading the book, because I really liked it. How puritan Americans and Canadians are when it comes to the matter of love, romance and sexuality, how double-faced and quick to judge! Someone even wrote on the forum how disgusting is the description of the lovemaking of the main characters, both in their late 70s. To me, the only disgusting thing is that comment. I can only wish that my Maggie and me discover the same flame when and if we approach 8th decade.

I love listening to an audiobook during my daily runs. I usually go from 30 min to 90 min, longest runs on the weekend, and I already know all the music on my iPod, so audiobooks are quite a discovery. They keep my mind focused on the plot rather than my aching legs and the whole exercise is less painful. So, when I discovered podiobooks.com, it was like being left alone in a candy store when I was 5 (that, unfortunately, never happened). All the independent, emerging authors’ self-published audio books! There are a few duds, but most of them are quite good. The one that keeps me company now is “7th Son: Book Two – Deceit” by J.C. Hutchins.

Curry

It’s funny how they build houses these days. We bought a new house recently and standing on our porch I can stretch my arm and touch our neighbor’s house. That’s how close they are. The neighbor’s kitchen vent exhaust blows straight into our entrance. To make the matter spicier, the neighbor is Indian. They cook with a lot of curry. And I mean A LOT. I came out on the porch to pick up the newspaper today and in 5 seconds I was exposed to the “smellements” my sweater soak in the scent of curry. It makes me worried that our wall on that side may turn yellow. Maybe I should try subtly to change the neighbor’s diet? I could inconspicuously leave some recipes, maybe even cook some curry-less dishes and leave them at their door, ring and hide…
Alas, instead of me influencing them, the smell of curry made my better half crave Indian food and we ended up ordering a take out from Tikka Tikka, our local Indian poisoner.

If someone ever stumbles across this text many years from now, the most remarkable event to remember would be the U.S. Democratic Party elections for the presidential candidate. We will remember the first black president-wannabe Barack Obama squaring off against the first female president-wannabe Hillary Clinton. Obama reminds me so much of the black president Wayne Palmer from the TV spy series “24”. The problem is that DB Woodside, the actor who plays president Palmer, is too much of an actor, and too little a president, if you know what I mean. He comes across as overly self-confident, even cocky, and pretty empty. The same impression I get after watching Mr. Obama. Not that I’m any more inclined toward Hillary, but luckily no one cares where my preferences lay—I’m Canadian, after all, and have nothing to do with the slugfest down south. Except the fact that usually the whole world pays when Americans choose the wrong guy (see George W. Bush). Let’s hope they’ll be wiser this time around, for everybody’s sake.

Rainy run

Yesterday I had a job in downtown Toronto. So I descended there a bit early, worried I might get caught in traffic, which left me some time for a coffee at a window-seat in the business area. The view was fascinating. I usually avoid rush hours in downtown at all cost. Since I couldn’t avoid it this time, I actually found ways to enjoy it. I watched the tides of people and cars, raising and falling like breasts of the town, breathing people across the intersections, spouting cars along the streets. Sculls of businessmen in smart suits with briefcases would swim to the red light and stop like a single living organism, followed by smaller fish of businesswomen in suits or skirts, clacking their heels and occasionally dragging their wheeled cases. The smaller fish would intermingle with big and, on green, the scull would contract a little, then swim forth, dispersing in the busy morning.

Wednesday was a miserable affair, wet and rainy, not fun for my 8 km run, but I braved the elements and ran. Actually, I quite enjoyed the run—there was no dogwalkers, they all kept indoors with their pe(s)ts. Not that I dislike dogs, I just have hard time with the combination of the dog with the owner, especially when they are attached to each other with a leash. They are a curse for a runner, they tend to separate across the sidewalk, the owner on one side, the dog across and the leash as a perfect obstacle cutting my running route. That’s why I mostly run on the road, to save my nerves and my legs from the dog+owner+leash deadly combo. Anyway, today was a dog-free day, thanks to the rain, and I enjoyed it for the full 8 km.

A Man With a Hammer

"To the man with a hammer every problem seems like a nail"
Mark Twain, as quoted by Newsweek On Air (which I listened on the podcast during my Monday’s run)

Radio plays in the car on the way to work. This morning the operatic pop singer Josh Groban calls the station from one of his tour stops somewhere in Europe. He is often a guest on the show and has taken quite a liking to the hosts Mike & Erin. Besides, it's all great promotion for him. He is a likable kid. But, oh boy, is he talking fast! Like he needs to compensate for all the slow, mellow melodies he delivers on stage. His words come out welded to each other without the space between. I wished he would sing out in his melodious way whatever is that he's trying to say, so I could stop straining to un-weld his words and grasp the meaning.

It’s amazing how some news can grate on your nerves. There has been a cyclone which ravaged Myanmar this past weekend. Another freak weather tragedy, just like the freak tornado in Arkansas last week, which came way too early for the tornado season and killed a few unsuspecting Arkansans. Myanmar used to be known as Burma before its ruling military junta turned it into Myanmar with a single wave of its magic wand, or rather magic tank. The country is in densely populated southeast Asia and could count on higher numbers of casualties than Arkansas. But tens of thousands? And we find out about such astronomical number FOUR days later? Because the military guys, for unknown reason, decided to keep the numbers under the cover, until they became too big to conceal! At least, the ruling gang finally accepted offer of foreign help, which they declined last time when tsunami swiped the country.