Pound For Pound

F.X. Toole, the author of the celebrated short story on which the Oscar winning movie "Million Dollar Baby" is based, wrote "Pound For Pound" on stolen time. He died from cancer before he could re-write the final draft of the novel. Nevertheless, it is an interesting and deeply human story about boxers and trainers who dream to make it big despite all the punches life throws at them. The book makes me wonder about the profile of people involved in professional boxing. I don't mean promoters and managers, I mean the athletes and trainers, all of whom seem to come from a poor background, some honest to the core, others cheating at every step. While the richies turn to golf and tennis, the poor end up in the rink, with the gloves on. That, appropriately, brings to mind Paul Simon's verses:
"In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade, and he carries the reminder of every glove that laid him down or cut him 'till he cried out in his anger and his shame: 'I am leaving! I am leaving!' but the fighter still remains..."

The Bench

I had a video shoot in the business district in downtown Toronto, just like every Wednesday. It was an early affair, and lasted about an hour, so I was back home around 1:30 PM. Since I had to pick Maggie up at 4:30, I changed into my in-house shorts, kicked the legs up and read the book. I'm laboring through Ann-Marie MacDonald's "The Way the Crow Flies". It's a big book, some 800 pages. MacDonald is setting up the plot for so long that I left and re-started the book twice. By the page 300 nothing really happened. My eyes slipped and stumbled across the pages. Slowly, I dozed off. When my eyes sprung open the digital display of the clock was laughing at me: 4:15. I rushed out in my house wear. Of course, as it happens in such situations, the traffic was worse than usual. After several of Maggie's exasperate phone calls, I was finally there half an hour late, with a shamed smile and lowered eyes. Maggie made me go with her to a nursery, as a punishment. And so I went. I successfully dodged buying more plants, but capitulated when we came across a garden bench. It seemed to have been made for our porch.
"Imagine having our nightcap drinks sitting on it on our porch," said Maggie.
We assembled it as soon as we came home.
It was a very costly punishment for oversleeping. I'll make sure the alarm is set next time I feel relaxed with a book.

Deflated

Tomorrow will be 2 weeks since I was at the job interview with a broadcasting company. They said they'll decide who will be hired within two weeks. I have a feeling if that was me, they'd call already. I tried not to think about it and told myself the chances were slim. Still, I can't help but feel deflated. What a party it would be if I could escape from my current job! Getting up every morning and going to that place feels like going to execution, which by the end of the day gets postponed until tomorrow. Damned mortgage, bills and dependence on steady income which keep me enslaved!

Getting younger

Last Friday our family doctor called Maggie and me to visit and go over the results of our annual check-up. I must admit, I was a little nervous that something bad has crept from our blood or urine tests. A year ago I had high cholesterol and the doc strongly suggested I change the diet. Maybe it didn't work?
It turned out that she only wanted to see us to compare the results from last and this year. I am officially younger! My cholesterol is normal, heart rate lower, blood pressure and all other test results show significant improvement from the previous year. My past 9 months of constant running finally paid off. Now if I could only somehow iron out the lines around m eyes and the rest of my face. Oh, and re-grow some of my thinning hair.

Canadian Olympic dream: cash.

L'important n'est pas de gagner, mais de participer. (The important thing is not to win, but to take part.) - Baron Pierre de Coubertin

What ever happened to that famous motto? For me--a former athlete, sports fan and a huge phys-ed buff, going to the Olympics just to participate, is a dream that'll never come true. I know many athletes who train for 4 years just for the chance to go and compete. The norms to qualify for the Olympics are usually so high that just getting there is enough of an honor. But, not for the Canadians! Canadian Olympic team is getting ready for the trip to Beijing, where the Summer Olympic Games start on August 8. This year they "turned the page" and boast about "going to win". The reason? The Olympic sports need more cash, and cash follows the medals. I hate to think what will happen when all the boasting doesn't produce the expected result, when the athletes who went to China to win a medal return empty-handed. I don't think it's fair to put such expectations and pressure on the athletes. The Olympics should primarily be the celebration of sport.

As with everything else, the pressure to make money takes over the sports. In Canada, where "sports" means ice hockey, and the plural comes from different hockey leagues, there's precious little interest for any other form of sweating and competition, save the beer-drinking contest. And although contemporary Olympic sports may be threatened at the moment, their long-term popularity is guaranteed even in Canada. With the global warming soon there'll be no ice to keep the beer mug on, let alone to skate on it. The beer drinkers will have to turn to the summer sports for their dose of sportsmanship from the TV screen, and what's better to go with beer and popcorn than the Olympic games?

Karadzic: update

Just a quick update to my yesterday's rant: Radovan Karadzic decided to defend himself at the Haag War Crimes Tribunal. Like his political mentor Milosevic, he probably thinks his intellectual capabilities can outclass any of the world-class prosecutors the tribunal can throw at him. The self-confidence of Serbian war-time politicians knows no boundaries. The only thing larger than their boastfulness is their ego, but the two come in a package anyway.

So, either Karadzic believes he is smarter than anyone he'll face in Haag, or he believes he's innocent. But, if he thinks he's innocent, why was he hiding for 12 years? Or, maybe he knows how much blood is on his hands and decided to mock the whole process by choosing to defend himself. Since there's no hope of the death penalty, I wish him some slow progressing terminal disease to eat at him for long time and with a lot of pain. A cancer would do him just fine.

Hang him!

Bosnian monster Radovan Karadzic is finally captured. He was the president of self-proclaimed Serbian Republic within Bosnia, the man who authorized the 4-year siege of Sarajevo, the man behind organized rape where Bosnian women were systematically raped by their Serbian captors and held captive until they were in such a high pregnancy that abortion wasn't possible. They were then released to give birth to “more little Serbs”.

Karadzic and his military sidekick general Mladic were behind the massacre of Muslim men and boys in U.N.-protected enclave of Srebrenica. More than 3000 men were taken away right in front of the Dutch U.N. soldiers, to be slaughtered and dumped into several mass graves. U.N. did nothing to stop the Serbs.

Karadzic and Mladic successfully avoided capture for 12 years and no one really believed they'll ever come to answer for their crimes. Karadzic's capture really is a big surprise. With such an impressive portfolio of crimes, he deserves no trial, but outright death sentence. Execution should be public, so the thousands of survivors of his bloody plans could watch and get at least some satisfaction for the suffering he caused.

But the war-crime tribunal can't hand out the capital punishment! There are no death sentences in European Union. All we can hope for is that the tribunal will exhaust Karadzic until his heart just stops dead, the way they did with Milosevic. Somehow, even that doesn't seem right. It may sound cruel, but I would be satisfied only if I see him hanged. And I know there are many hundreds of thousands who think this way.

A breastful day

Toronto Distillery Summerfest is in full swing, the Distillery District erected many stages throughout the cobble stoned pathways and squares and many more or less anonymous bands are trying to capture the visitors' attention. Sleeman beer brewery is the main sponsor, making sure everyone is in good spirit.

An interesting band performed on the main stage in the early afternoon. "Dr. Draw" features the front man on a violin, backed up by a rock band. The violinist was electrifying, playing an opus of classics with the modern beat, Russian folk songs and some unrecognized pieces which could easily be Dr. Draw's own brew. He wasn't exactly Vanessa Mae, but for a Toronto Distillery stage he was a welcome refreshment.

Other than Dr. Draw's performance, today will be remembered by breasts. Some of them came into my field of vision unprovoked and uncalled for, others I glanced from the corner of my eye. A few of the latter instances were the cleavages of the Sleeman's young hostesses selling beer and sandwiches. The organizers must have had special requirements in that regard, because I don't believe so many of the busty young girls happened to work the stands by pure chance.
The other instance is the one I intend to rant about. As Maggie and I sat down with coffee and dessert, a triple-D young mom by the table next to us took her infant baby from the stroller and flung out her oversized breast into poor baby's face. The cafe we were sitting at has tables in the corridor leading to the public washrooms. On a hot day like today, many people were passing by to refresh themselves.
I know that feeding a baby is a natural thing, but shouldn't mothers try to show a touch of modesty in that regard? There were several options a civilized mother could have chosen: to turn her back to the passing crowd; to take her chair closer to the wall and turn away from the crowd; or imagine actually going to the ladies room to feed the baby! None of it occurred to the shameless woman sitting next to us; she faced the busiest part of the passage, exposed to everyone who bothered to look. I made a point of turning away the chair so I wouldn't see this public display, but some of the older and less considerate men passed by several times and stared openly. DDD-mom was unfazed and went on with her business.
When she was done, she moved with the baby and the stroller down the corridor, then sat by another table straight in front of me and did it all again. I admit, I looked. It was a huge, flashy specimen with enormous areola. I felt sorry for the tiny baby boy choking on it. No wonder he fell asleep somewhere mid-way through the lunch. Those heavyweights would knock out a grown up man too.

Don't think I have anything against breasts. On contrary! I like them, just find it really weird to have such an exhibition in such a public place. The Distillery is, after all, a high-end place with lot of expensive boutiques and art galleries. It is also a big tourist attraction, bound to be crowded at all times. In short, it's a place where breasts should be kept under wraps. And cleavages? They get my blessing!

Mosquitos

Our enjoyable evening drinks on the porch met with a serious mood-spoiler yesterday: mosquitos. We braved persistent buzzing and bites for about half an hour and made a strategic retreat when we couldn't take it no longer. My legs and arms were covered in itchy bites. Maggie was smarter and wore long sleeves.
But today we found the way to enjoy our favorite evening pastime--we bought an anti-mosquito lantern. It's a regular candle-lantern with a little slit on top where a mosquito repellent strip is inserted. The repellent emits smoke when heated by the candle, and apparently mosquitos don't like the smell of it. It worked like a charm! There was not a single mosquito for over 2 hours we spent on the porch working through a bottle of red wine and talking like we haven't seen each other for months.
The wine makes blogging a bit challenging, but I'll sleep like a baby without scratching my skin off.

Job interview

So, I had a job interview this morning. Questioned by four people for a little over an hour, I felt like I've never talked this much before. A national broadcaster opened a position for multimedia product manager and I auditioned. Now, I never performed a job interview in front of so many people. As a matter of fact, until now that was always a one-on-one affair, so this was slightly unnerving. But, the interviewers were really a pleasant bunch and I left with a good feeling. Even if nothing comes out of it, it was a pleasant and worthwhile experience. I learned the questions being asked at an interview and will be ready for them next time.
Anyway, they are supposed to let me know the score within two weeks. Keep tuned.

Moonlit drinks

We developed a new summer-habit: every night before sleep we sit on the porch and have a drink. It started just after we finished the garden. We sat on the porch stairs and enjoyed the evening and the new garden. The habit caught on and we are out every evening, when no one else is around and the only witness is the moon. As of today, it became even more pleasant. Maggie bought a couple of folding chairs--concrete stairs become increasingly tough if you sit on them for longer time. It is so peaceful to sit in our sleepy neighborhood late in the evening and study the moon which every night shows a sliver more of its celestial body.

Half-marathon

It's amazing how days blend into each other. There's nothing in the past week to make it outstanding. Oh, except Wednesday. We went to a blood lab and gave blood, a part of the annual checkup. They took quite a bit--I believe 7 vials--from each, me and Maggie. Now we sit and await the results. Actually, they will call us only if something is wrong. So, with a little luck, there'll be no call from the doc.

Today I finally pushed myself over the half-marathon line. I ran 22.1 km in just under 1:50. It felt wonderful, my longest run so far. I needed a few hours to regenerate, but other than that everything was the same as after the shorter runs. But, although the half-marathon went better than expected, it also showed how far I am from the full distance. I felt like I could have gone another 5 km, maybe--and that's a big maybe--even 10 km more, but the legs would definitely not carry me for another 20 km. So, the dream of running a marathon will have to wait to be fulfilled.

Maggie spent the day "planting" a plastic liner to line up the garden bed. She explains that's supposed to prevent the grass to grow back onto the fine soil we bought for our fine plants. Speaking of which, some of our "fine" plants are showing signs of exhaustion. Two specimens (don't ask me which, I can only tell a tree from a flower, if the tree is big enough and the flower small enough) are quite withered. Maggie hopes they'll re-generate and miraculously spring to life. I'm cautiously pessimistic--if they were not in the ground already, I'd bury them.

Order of Canada

Some things drive me mad in this new homeland of mine. This is one of them.

Last week Dr. Henry Morgentaler, proponent of the women's right to choose the abortion, received the Order of Canada, Canada's highest civilian honour, for his work and fight to give women the right to choose. Right away, a B.C. priest Lucien Larre returned his Order of Canada in protest. Well, one can understand a priest not wanting to be in the same category as the abortion specialist. But it doesn't stop with the priest. Today, a former New Brunswick lieutenant-governor Gilbert Finn says he'll return his Order of Canada in protest. Now, that's a little too much for a righteous observer such as myself. If those politicians are so narrow-minded and so intolerant towards the difference in opinions, then maybe they didn't deserve to bear the Order of Canada in the first place. It is supposed to be rewarded to special people for special services to the country. I don't think that intolerance and ignorance feature on the list of the characteristics for the bearer of the Order of Canada. So, if they want to return the medal – let them! It was rewarded to them by mistake!

Finger

This is one of the first memories I have of Toronto.

I was new in town, just a few weeks since I came from Calgary. I was driving through a nice neighborhood on a beautiful June afternoon and stopped at an intersection. An old woman was crossing the road slowly, leaning on a walker. Her hair was completely white, her shoulders bent, her wrinkled hands were squeezing the plastic handles of the walker like her life depended on it. Her feet were shuffling on the pavement, inching forward. I might have had enough space to pass before she crawled into my path, but I wasn't in a hurry and didn't want to startle her. So, I watched her labor across and, when she came right in front of my car, she gave me a twisted grin and raised the closer hand, leaning shakily on the other side. Before I could wave back, her arthritic fist crumpled into an unmistakable gesture: she was giving me the finger! The expression on her wrinkled face I mistook for a grin, was actually a scowl.
She was risking her fragile balance to give me the Toronto's favorite "greeting". I was so shocked by the unprovoked gesture that I sat there for almost a minute after she shuffle-squeaked away.

Devil May Care, but why should I?

Devil May Care by Sebastian Faulks
I am quite disappointed with the book. There was a big hoopla about Sebastian Faulks writing the first James Bond novel since the death of its creator Ian Fleming. Maybe the expectations were too high? Maybe we are all so influenced by the 007 movies, that leaping back in time into 1960s seems unrealistic. It's hard to get in the mood of the book at the time of the cold war, without mobile phones and other super-gadgets that made movie-Bond so attractive. Especially since we all know the book is contemporary, just written, its ink still wet.
In addition, the story is naive, the plot too simple and too predictable, the villain too unforgivably bad without the clear reason to be bad and there's no suspense. I guess I endured through this book in the memory of the original Bond books from my youth, but will not repeat the mistake, unless the Fleming estate changes the author.

A rant about economy

General Motors, the embodiment of the American dream, is on the verge of bankruptcy. The fuel prices and economy downfall, helped with crooked American home loans which turned stinky earlier this year, make Americans dream small. Small cars, for example. And the GM brass, who for some reason failed to notice that they are not dictating the rules of car industry and American economy any longer, didn't adjust. They kept the "dream big or die" motto, and kept rolling out monster trucks, SUVs, and other fuel suckers. In the meantime American consumer started buying smaller cars. So today--surprise, surprise--GM announced they'll start making a small car in North America, which is supposed to turn their fortunes around. While it's nice to see the conceited Americans humbled into submission, it makes you wonder how come it took them so long to see what the rest of the world knew for years?

Apparently, the main culprit behind the GM's misfortune, and all the price hikes and inflation worldwide is the high price of oil. Which is not driven by greater demand than supply can handle. It is driven by speculation. Those people in suits who think they can predict the value of things, they figured that it can't be long before the demand for oil will surpass the supply, so why not get the prices up right now? Gosh, how I hate the stock market! It drives me nuts, the idea that the value of things are being decided by the guys who, I guarantee you, can't foresee the future, and are not even imaginative enough to guess it! No matter how many people are involved in stock market, they are still only people. They are prone to panic, especially because everything in stock market is the matter of their own financial well-being. I wish we could have things back the very old fashioned way, when the value of a company was determined by the value of its assets and its product at present, and not on a wild prediction where the sales could go in future.

Hatred

I can finally and officially announce: the first phase in our gardening endeavor is over! The last 2 cubic yards of soil and 2 cubic yards of mulch were delivered yesterday. The thing is--we ordered only ONE cubic yard of mulch. And even that was a bit much. So we are stuck not only with more mulch than we can use, but more than we can even store. Since it was free anyway, we'll try to offer it to the neighbors. As long as I don't need to shovel it to them, it's fine!

Last Sunday Spain won Euro Cup and today on FIFA's rating list they rate first! They deserved the title. It was a pleasure to watch the young and energetic team playing inspired football. In the final they beat lame Germany 1-0, although they should have won with much bigger score with all the chances they had. In the quick video summary of the game there wasn't a single opportunity for the Germans. It was Spain who had all the chances and near misses. We'll celebrate this September in Barcelona.

I got a call from the national broadcaster for a job interview in two weeks. It is a management position, I will write more about it after the interview.

I have a colleague at work who is Taiwanese born American and soon-to-be Canadian, when his triple citizenship application is processed. Of all the countries he is a citizen of, he gets upset the most about Taiwan and its ongoing cold war with China. I made an innocent remark about the first Chinese female tennis player who reached the semi-finals at Wimbledon this year, and he went ballistic about Chinese oppression and how he wishes them all nuked and destroyed... My jaw dropped. I always find those ultra-nationalists funny. It's easy to be brave and bang your chest for Taiwan while awaiting Canadian citizenship some 7,500 miles away. It was such a strong sense ofdeja vu , that hate speech in my own office. It reminded me of the war I've been through, the madness that spread amongst the good people I once knew. It's really troubling how much hatred floats around the world, even in this lame country of the maple leaf.

Happy 141 birthday Canada!

It has been a few days since I blogged last time. It's not that I had nothing to say--I was so exhausted that I could not bring myself to stay up and type. Besides, my fingers and hands hurt so much that I'm not sure if typing would have been possible even if I could stay awake long enough. What happened is: last Friday we got delivered 2 square yards of top soil and a six-square-yards large container for gardening. It was for Maggie's front yard gardening project. We spent the whole weekend digging up the dirt from the front yard. The problem was that the container and top soil were behind the house. We had to lug a plastic box which we loaded with excavated dirt the length of the house to the container. The dirt consisted mainly of clay soil, rocks and bricks. Each load weighed about 50 kg. Both Maggie and me had very sore backs by the end of each day. On Sunday, finally, the digging was over. We filled the six-square-yard container to the brim. Of course, it's simple math: 2 square yards of the top soil wasn't enough to fill the excavated garden, but it was enough to plant several plants and keep them in place. After more than 12 hours of work on Sunday we couldn't wait to crawl to bed and get some rest. Alas, we must have been drained beyond exhaustion, because neither one of us could fall asleep.

Sore and tired we went to work on Monday. It was a workday enveloped in haze of half-dream. I only remember being very slow and agitated with the smallest things. Since the whole gardening thing isn't done yet, we went to order more soil, which is supposed to be delivered on Wednesday.

Today, after full 12 hours of well deserved sleep, we woke up to Canada Day, which is a national holiday. The country we chose to call home is 141 year old. After the late breakfast we jumped into the car and went to Kingston, which was once upon a time the capital of Canada, to see the celebration. It was pretty lame, with a band playing in the port in front of the town hall and a few Canadians, dressed in red and white with maple leafs everywhere rocking in the rhythm and singing out of tune (along with the band which was also out of tune). The pleasant surprise was a band called "OKA" from Australia, which performed pop using some native instruments. I will try to upload the video of them later this week.

We were back home in time for fireworks. I had to alter my running route, because the people blocked a few intersections to launch their rockets and firecrackers. It was a fantastic feeling, running in the dark with all the fiery flowers exploding in the air around me. It almost felt like the neighborhood celebrated my run! Yeah, right! I wished I could have shared that moment with Maggie, but she opted to stay at home, tired from the trip.