At the Toronto's Beaches neighborhood a bunch of hungry coyotes looking for snacks past winter came across a chihuahua and turned it into chewhuahua. They did the same to some other pets and the people were outraged. The police got involved and the three culprits were apprehended. They were supposed to be put down, but the people spoke again (though sometimes it would be better for people to just shut up) to save the lives of the predators (so they can chew some more huahua).
The decision was made to take the coyotes far from Toronto. Someone pointed out that Ohio recently had the same problem and did the same thing: exiled the coyotes some 100-ish kms away from town. Next week the beasts were back. Apparently, they returned to the pack and source of fast and free food.
It remains to be seen if the Toronto coyotes will beat the time the Ohio ones clocked for the return.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Running with the book thief
I started listening to The Book Thief audiobook by Markus Zusak. It's superbly read by Allan Corduner and it made me grin all along my 16km run, so much so that the passers-by smiled and waved at me, thinking I'm grinning at them.
The book is classified as the young adult fiction (does that mean I could consider myself a young adult, since I like it so?) and is narrated by Death! I know, it should be creepy, but it's actually charming! For example, there's the part when Death contemplates taking a vacation in some densely populated tourist area, then concludes that it probably wouldn't be welcome. I'm only an hour and a half into the story and so far we're following the German side of late 1930s and during the WW2 through the main character--a 10 year old orphaned German girl. If it continues in the same manner, I will immensely enjoy next 13 hours of running.
The book is classified as the young adult fiction (does that mean I could consider myself a young adult, since I like it so?) and is narrated by Death! I know, it should be creepy, but it's actually charming! For example, there's the part when Death contemplates taking a vacation in some densely populated tourist area, then concludes that it probably wouldn't be welcome. I'm only an hour and a half into the story and so far we're following the German side of late 1930s and during the WW2 through the main character--a 10 year old orphaned German girl. If it continues in the same manner, I will immensely enjoy next 13 hours of running.
SPA on wheels
Ah, the things people do while driving to work! I've seen it all: eating from a plate or a bowl held in lap; shaving; rummaging through things on the next seat, or even on the back seat; and, of course, women doing their hair, uncurling the curlers, applying make-up. All of that on the highway in quite significant speed.
This morning we passed by a Honda Accord with four ladies aboard and all of them--driver included--held little mirrors to their faces and were busy with brushes and pencils. It brought the idea for business--imagine a cosmetic salon on wheels! A van that would pick up a lady on her way to work, a cosmetician inside would do her hair, make-up and nails by the time she reaches her workplace. As the business grows, a massage table can be added and, for longer commutes, maybe even a soak-in tub.
This morning we passed by a Honda Accord with four ladies aboard and all of them--driver included--held little mirrors to their faces and were busy with brushes and pencils. It brought the idea for business--imagine a cosmetic salon on wheels! A van that would pick up a lady on her way to work, a cosmetician inside would do her hair, make-up and nails by the time she reaches her workplace. As the business grows, a massage table can be added and, for longer commutes, maybe even a soak-in tub.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Losing to win
This recession is getting the best of me. I totally neglected my blog. Pretty much like everyone else, we are laying low, trying to consolidate our expenses and not to think what would happen if either one of us loses job. Which brings me to the point--some months ago I was interviewed for a job at CBC. I even blogged about it here. I was later told by one of the interviewers that their decision came to me and one other candidate and that the other one won at the end. Well, last week CBC terminated around 800 jobs across the country and the position I interviewed for is gone. Funny, sometime losing means winning at the end.
P.S.
A colleague with an overwhelming sense of self-importance concluded that the corporation which owns our newspaper will file for bankruptcy protection this summer. Although he is not the person I trust wholeheartedly, this is not the first time such rumor circulates, but this time it was followed by unsettling news on the public TV saying that our company plans to restructure this summer. I wonder what exactly "restructuring" means.
P.S.
A colleague with an overwhelming sense of self-importance concluded that the corporation which owns our newspaper will file for bankruptcy protection this summer. Although he is not the person I trust wholeheartedly, this is not the first time such rumor circulates, but this time it was followed by unsettling news on the public TV saying that our company plans to restructure this summer. I wonder what exactly "restructuring" means.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Bunnies at large
I woke up at 6am to go for my long weekly run (29 km). As I opened the door to the backyard, a small brown rabbit looked at me. I walked toward her, but she wasn't at all perturbed and moved slowly away step by step. Or, should I say hop by hop? At the fence another brown bunny of the same size (a brother? a sister? a lover?) joined the first one, and the two of them hopped away across the neighbor's lawn and into the thinning darkness of the predawn.
That, at least, solves the mystery of the strange poop we found in the backyard a week ago.
That, at least, solves the mystery of the strange poop we found in the backyard a week ago.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Living in Recession
Working in a media company isn't a good thing these days. With the economy downturn advertisers, its main source of income, turned away. As a result, we are in a dire position. Banks blocked the loans. There was a deadline by the end of February to come up with a solution for the company's financial problems. That deadline is now extended for 2 weeks. There are rumors that some assets will have to be sold, and some liquidated in order to re-pay the debt. Suddenly, my job doesn't feel safe any longer. I mean, as safe as it is within the company, it won't help much if the whole firm is shut down. Of course, the situation is the same everywhere else in the industry, so chances of finding other job of the same level is literally non-existing. I think I saw a neighborhood coffee shop is looking for help. Here I come. Cafe Latte anyone?
Traffic
I don't get the traffic in Toronto! We always leave home at the same time. On Mondays and Tuesdays the ride to work is usually nice and easy. On Wednesdays, however, it's slow and seems like there are more cars on the road. Aren't those same people working 5 days a week? Where are they on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays? Maybe they are sleeping in, and wake up early only in mid-week? Whatever the explanation for this phenomenon is, I hate driving to work on Wednesdays.
A tiny satisfaction today happened during the unexplained slowdown on the road. It turned out to be caused by the police who stopped a BMW. Maggie and I both cheered them and high-fived each other. BMWs are not only a status symbol on the streets of Toronto, they are the asshole-markers. Let me explain: for example, if someone is tailgating you, or cuts you off, or simply drives erratically with no regard for others, chances are in almost 50% of those cases the car is a BMW. The brand has become a license for its owner to do as he/she pleases in traffic. It's almost like telling us "I have a Beemer, therefore I have money, and with money comes power, and with power comes importance, and since I'm more important than you, I'll drive as I please and you get out of my way." That's why every Beemer pulled aside by the cops is a small victory for the rest of us.
A tiny satisfaction today happened during the unexplained slowdown on the road. It turned out to be caused by the police who stopped a BMW. Maggie and I both cheered them and high-fived each other. BMWs are not only a status symbol on the streets of Toronto, they are the asshole-markers. Let me explain: for example, if someone is tailgating you, or cuts you off, or simply drives erratically with no regard for others, chances are in almost 50% of those cases the car is a BMW. The brand has become a license for its owner to do as he/she pleases in traffic. It's almost like telling us "I have a Beemer, therefore I have money, and with money comes power, and with power comes importance, and since I'm more important than you, I'll drive as I please and you get out of my way." That's why every Beemer pulled aside by the cops is a small victory for the rest of us.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Marathon training and coyotes
My marathon training started on Feb 1st. It's been an exhausting month with running distances increasing almost on daily basis. In the meantime I failed to register for Around the Bay race - 30 km in Hamilton on March 29. I waited too long and when I finally made up my mind to join in, the race was fully booked. It would have been a nice time test for the marathon.
The weather is also weird, it was +8 C today, it's going to be -17 tomorrow morning for my run. I am tired of snow and ice, slippery roads, slush and mud. I am tired of wearing ski mask during runs, of gloves, running nose and breath that ices on my eyebrows. I am so ready for Spring.
Occasionally, we see a coyote at night strolling through our sleepy street, hungry and tired of this long winter. Haven't heard of any cat or small dog missing in the neighborhood. In downtown Toronto people were leaving food for coyotes until they started killing pet cats and dogs. Now those same people who fed them want the cops to exterminate the beasts. Hope it won't go that far up here. Our community is next to a conservation area, that's where our coyotes come from. Hopefully they won't get too comfy going through our garbage. All I need is to have a fury predator chasing me around the neighborhood. Undoubtedly, that could improve my running time, but I'm not quite certain it's the preferred training method.
The weather is also weird, it was +8 C today, it's going to be -17 tomorrow morning for my run. I am tired of snow and ice, slippery roads, slush and mud. I am tired of wearing ski mask during runs, of gloves, running nose and breath that ices on my eyebrows. I am so ready for Spring.
Occasionally, we see a coyote at night strolling through our sleepy street, hungry and tired of this long winter. Haven't heard of any cat or small dog missing in the neighborhood. In downtown Toronto people were leaving food for coyotes until they started killing pet cats and dogs. Now those same people who fed them want the cops to exterminate the beasts. Hope it won't go that far up here. Our community is next to a conservation area, that's where our coyotes come from. Hopefully they won't get too comfy going through our garbage. All I need is to have a fury predator chasing me around the neighborhood. Undoubtedly, that could improve my running time, but I'm not quite certain it's the preferred training method.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Question of Religion
I'm listening to a BBC's podcast "From Our Own Correspondent". It's the last week's episode; I'm a little behind on my favorite audio-fix. One of the story is from Lebanon. Several couples there staged a fake civilian marriage ceremony as a demonstration against the religious-only marriage enforced in the country. Civilian marriage doesn't exist in Lebanon. Each religious entity creates rules for the marriages of its flock. That way the Muslims are married under the Islam laws and Muslim men can have up to four wives, while Christians and Jews are stuck with one. Christians complain that divorce is all but impossible to obtain from the church, and so on...
I grew up in a country called Yugoslavia. It doesn't exist anymore, gone up in the smoke of war. It was a peculiar mix, that Yugoslavia, made up of six different nations in the form of its six republics, spanning across three religions: Roman Catholic, Orthodox Christian and Islam. To make it all more interesting, the political order of the day was socialism. Growing up in that hodge-podge of cultures and religions, we boys from Zagreb (population about 700,000) were blessedly oblivious of the religious differences. Zagreb was on the Roman-Catholic side of the country, so we went to the midnight mass every Christmas, but our main goal was to install ourselves next to some cute girls so we can hold their hands when the time comes to "share peace with thy neighbor" and, if we're lucky, that could lead to a conversation afterward and possibly a date in a less pious environment. That was pretty much the extent of our religious zeal.
My closest friend at the time, Bruno, was marrying a girl he met at the university, and I was asked to be the best man. Since the bride was from a village near the border with Serbia, the wedding was being held in her village. It was going to be conducted in the church. Before we all lined up at the altar, the priest called the best man and the maid of honor to the little alcove behind the altar where we had to sign the papers as witnesses. I gave him my name, DOB and address; he then turned and asked what was my religion. And there my mind failed me. For the life of me I couldn't remember what we called our religion. We referred to the church only as "the church". I was so ignorant of the fine nuances that distinguished "our" church from the "Serbian church" that I wasn't even sure which one was the one the bride and the priest belonged to. My mind racing and still drawing blanks, the priest and the maid of honor looking at me patiently, I pull what I hoped to be a smug smile and said: "My religion? The TRUE one, of course." The priest smiled a satisfied smile. I peeked over his shoulder as he wrote "Roman Catholic" next to my name. Just like that. I could have declared myself an Orthodox and I don't think I'd care much. When it was the maid's turn to declare her religion, she looked at me, smiled and said "The TRUE one!"
When the war in Yugoslavia broke out few years later, the country ripped apart first at the seam which held together the catholics and the orthodox. The bride's village fell to Serbian hands and, since it was a predominantly catholic village, all the villagers were expelled, their farms taken by the orthodox neighbors. Only then I understood the smiles both the priest and the maid of honor gave me that day at the church. I declared myself as one of them in the divide I didn't even know that exists.
I grew up in a country called Yugoslavia. It doesn't exist anymore, gone up in the smoke of war. It was a peculiar mix, that Yugoslavia, made up of six different nations in the form of its six republics, spanning across three religions: Roman Catholic, Orthodox Christian and Islam. To make it all more interesting, the political order of the day was socialism. Growing up in that hodge-podge of cultures and religions, we boys from Zagreb (population about 700,000) were blessedly oblivious of the religious differences. Zagreb was on the Roman-Catholic side of the country, so we went to the midnight mass every Christmas, but our main goal was to install ourselves next to some cute girls so we can hold their hands when the time comes to "share peace with thy neighbor" and, if we're lucky, that could lead to a conversation afterward and possibly a date in a less pious environment. That was pretty much the extent of our religious zeal.
My closest friend at the time, Bruno, was marrying a girl he met at the university, and I was asked to be the best man. Since the bride was from a village near the border with Serbia, the wedding was being held in her village. It was going to be conducted in the church. Before we all lined up at the altar, the priest called the best man and the maid of honor to the little alcove behind the altar where we had to sign the papers as witnesses. I gave him my name, DOB and address; he then turned and asked what was my religion. And there my mind failed me. For the life of me I couldn't remember what we called our religion. We referred to the church only as "the church". I was so ignorant of the fine nuances that distinguished "our" church from the "Serbian church" that I wasn't even sure which one was the one the bride and the priest belonged to. My mind racing and still drawing blanks, the priest and the maid of honor looking at me patiently, I pull what I hoped to be a smug smile and said: "My religion? The TRUE one, of course." The priest smiled a satisfied smile. I peeked over his shoulder as he wrote "Roman Catholic" next to my name. Just like that. I could have declared myself an Orthodox and I don't think I'd care much. When it was the maid's turn to declare her religion, she looked at me, smiled and said "The TRUE one!"
When the war in Yugoslavia broke out few years later, the country ripped apart first at the seam which held together the catholics and the orthodox. The bride's village fell to Serbian hands and, since it was a predominantly catholic village, all the villagers were expelled, their farms taken by the orthodox neighbors. Only then I understood the smiles both the priest and the maid of honor gave me that day at the church. I declared myself as one of them in the divide I didn't even know that exists.
Feeling Spring(y)
The snow melted! Well, okay, not entirely, but it's significantly reduced to dirt-grey patches in all the shady corners of the city. We even had a couple of days last week with +7 C temperature, to remind us that there are seasons other than winter. Even now, when we're back to -10 at night, we still feel warm inside.
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