I recently watched a rather large three year old exclaim, “cats love me!” and then proceed to mount a murderous looking cat for a ride.
Yeah, sometimes it’s possible to be completely oblivious to the world.
Another example of this witnessed obliviousness occurred when I was at the library and some guy was sharing his terribly inappropriate dating strategies at a volume that suggested he was trying to contact the international space station to inform NASA of how he picks up, in his own words, “hot chicks, dude...like tens and twelve’s...even though I’m technically only an 8 or an 8.5 on a good day.” (Huston, we have an asshole).
Also notable was when I saw someone use an open laptop as a triangular-umbrella substitute in a heavy thunderstorm.
Alas, while I may be the witness to a lack of awareness in people, I’m certainly not immune, as the following examples will surely illustrate.
When the weather started to improve this season, I took an extended walk to work. My leisurely stroll included warm sunshine, chipmunks darting out on pebbled pathways, the smell of freshly cut grass, and I even got to stop for coffee and the paper. This is the kind of morning I dream of. Relaxing, refreshing, and a bit ridiculous considering it goes something like a Claritin commercial and I half expect people to begin prancing around in grass fields and literally stopping to smell roses.
My fairytale morning came to an abrupt end as I was hit by the frigid cold air conditioning when opening the door to the office. I wish my present-self could have told my past-self five things at this moment:
1. Your little leisurely morning, yeah...it ends now. Hope you enjoyed it.
2. You’ve forgotten something fairly significant.
3. You probably shouldn’t have stopped for the coffee which you’ll spill on your pants in ten minutes.
4. You should stop listening to Lady Gaga’s Alejandro. Seriously. Give it a rest.
5. You’ll regret that you took your sweet time to get here. (Wait for it...)
As I walked closer to my cubicle, it became very apparent that something wasn’t right. My desk phone was unplugged and it sounded like there was a deafening car alarm going off inside my desk.
Turns out I had completely forgotten about setting an alarm on a device which I had locked in my drawer. So, while I was off gallivanting with the woodland creatures, my coworkers had been suffering an intense loop of the worst sound on the planet every thirty seconds for an hour.
Awareness. It’s a very valuable feature which comes on most updated versions of human being.
This event in mind, it seems as though the working world is attempting to teach me about being aware. Unfortunately, I’m only clueing in now.
While I’ve been staring at my computer daily, cursing excel spreadsheets, I’ve also been mindlessly eating with my free hand. I’ve taken up eating junk food like it’s a professional sport. Like I’m training for the fatty-triathlon (which for the record would hypothetically take place at a Burger King and include corn-dog, cake, and pasta eating contests).
It was Thursday of the past week while opening the wrapper of a Wunderbar when I realized in an “ah-ha” moment that it was my third in the week (WHAT THE WHAT!!?!). At this point in the day (approximately 3pm) I’d also consumed 2 cafe mochas. These mochas are made from sugary syrup the consistency of 1 part Nesquik and 3 parts mud. It should also be noted that I am mildly addicted to the cheddar Crispy Minis from the vending machine.
I’d continue to effectively demonstrate my addiction with a list of what I’d eaten this past week, but i’m fairly embarrassed and I’m sure you’ve gotten the point. Suffice it to say it involved 2 A&W teen burger combo meals. (Don’t ask.)
In another act of ignorance, I nearly arrived that very day dressed in the exact uniform of a popular electronics retailer. I’d realized before I left the house that it looked as though I was about to sell someone a netbook they didn’t need, dressed as a replica of a Best Buy manager.
I think I may be improving in terms of my awareness, but I’d like to encourage you all to start clueing in those around you who may be about to cash in on their third mocha mud beverage. Seriously folks, you could save some cats.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Where the Wild Things Are
A friend once told me her mother keeps a baseball bat by the entrance of their house because she once opened the door to find an aggressive and self-assured flasher.
Random things can happen any time we open literal or figurative doors to the world and because of recent incidents, I believe it’s time to explore the various species that have appeared on my doorstep in the past few months.
Each time I open my door lately there seems to be an evolution of the kind of surprise waiting on the other side. That is to say, each subsequent instance, the item found on the doorstep is odder or more mysterious than the one before.
It began simply enough, as one evening my housemates and I noticed there were ducks on our front lawn. There is nothing particularly disturbing or interesting about ducks, and suffice it to say that we fed them in hopes of keeping them as endearing pets of the outdoor sort.
From that moment on, it was as though those ducks told all the other creatures of the city that our doorstep was awesome and we distributed the best bread around.
For instance, one night, when putting the garbage out by the curb, I walked two steps outside the front door and found myself frozen in fear as a skunk, barely visible in the dark, stared up at me as if to say, “go for it, make my day”.
Shaking and wide-eyed, I placed the garbage down slowly while talking to the skunk the way hostages speak to knife-wielding criminals; struggling to keep my voice as calm as possible.
“You don’t want to do this...I’m going to slowly back away from you...I’m going to ask that you stop twitching like that.”
It took a good twenty minutes of staring out from the front window, garbage in hand, and popping my head out the door while making, what I assumed to be, terrifying hissing noises to bore the skunk to the point where he figured he’d go annoy another crazy person instead.
In the pattern of the creatures at my front door becoming increasingly strange, my second encounter with our ducks occurred a few weeks after the skunk. This time I opened the door to find them waddling around in the grass looking up expectantly. As I locked the door behind me, a deep voice came out of nowhere:
“Don’t scare the ducks!”
“Bah! Holy shh- I’m the one being scared! Didn’t see you there.”
Our next-door neighbour, a lone 50 year old with whom we share a small front porch, was standing there staring at the ducks. I had started on my way to class when he stood in front of the steps and began with his philosophy on ducks.
“They mate for life you know, ducks.”
“wow, fascinating.”
“yes, there are always two, see.”
“yep, that’s nice.”
“They fall in love like humans. You’ll often find at the side of the road one duck will be pecking at the carcass of another duck. They don’t understand death, you see. They just wonder where their love has gone off to.”
While this may have been charming sentiment from any other elderly man, I was late
for class and, quite frankly, our neighbour is one of the species we are never thrilled to find at our doorstep.
Though he has an exceptional ability to yap away about ducks, our previous encounter with him was when he had come over to apologize.
There was a loud tap at the door and when I had answered he put on what he imagined was a pleasing nasal tone and said with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader, “Oh heyyyy girrrlllll!”
For the record, I nearly lost it right at that moment.
He proceeded to apologize profusely (without ever mentioning why) while flapping an envelope around. Turns out he had “accidentally” read our handwritten, personalized mail.
According to Snoopy, he got three quarters of the way through the mail addressed to a girl before realizing it wasn’t for him.
From ducks to more dangerous critters (skunks), to the downright strange (old dude), there have been many mysterious things outside our door, but none more mysterious than what we have deemed “the orphan”.
About two weeks ago my housemates woke to find a large potted plant placed strategically in front of our door. In a Herculean state, this indoor plant was orphaned and so we took it in as one of our own. We named him Oliver, Ollie for short, and now he graces the patio out back.
I like to think the gods have sent us the mystery plant. That, or the secret service has planted a nanny cam and we are now in an awkward situation.
While the items that appear on our doorstep are certainly strange and often begin uncomfortable interactions -- I’m not necessarily proud of speaking to that skunk -- at least there hasn’t been any reason to start keeping a blunt object by the door. Yet.
Random things can happen any time we open literal or figurative doors to the world and because of recent incidents, I believe it’s time to explore the various species that have appeared on my doorstep in the past few months.
Each time I open my door lately there seems to be an evolution of the kind of surprise waiting on the other side. That is to say, each subsequent instance, the item found on the doorstep is odder or more mysterious than the one before.
It began simply enough, as one evening my housemates and I noticed there were ducks on our front lawn. There is nothing particularly disturbing or interesting about ducks, and suffice it to say that we fed them in hopes of keeping them as endearing pets of the outdoor sort.
From that moment on, it was as though those ducks told all the other creatures of the city that our doorstep was awesome and we distributed the best bread around.
For instance, one night, when putting the garbage out by the curb, I walked two steps outside the front door and found myself frozen in fear as a skunk, barely visible in the dark, stared up at me as if to say, “go for it, make my day”.
Shaking and wide-eyed, I placed the garbage down slowly while talking to the skunk the way hostages speak to knife-wielding criminals; struggling to keep my voice as calm as possible.
“You don’t want to do this...I’m going to slowly back away from you...I’m going to ask that you stop twitching like that.”
It took a good twenty minutes of staring out from the front window, garbage in hand, and popping my head out the door while making, what I assumed to be, terrifying hissing noises to bore the skunk to the point where he figured he’d go annoy another crazy person instead.
In the pattern of the creatures at my front door becoming increasingly strange, my second encounter with our ducks occurred a few weeks after the skunk. This time I opened the door to find them waddling around in the grass looking up expectantly. As I locked the door behind me, a deep voice came out of nowhere:
“Don’t scare the ducks!”
“Bah! Holy shh- I’m the one being scared! Didn’t see you there.”
Our next-door neighbour, a lone 50 year old with whom we share a small front porch, was standing there staring at the ducks. I had started on my way to class when he stood in front of the steps and began with his philosophy on ducks.
“They mate for life you know, ducks.”
“wow, fascinating.”
“yes, there are always two, see.”
“yep, that’s nice.”
“They fall in love like humans. You’ll often find at the side of the road one duck will be pecking at the carcass of another duck. They don’t understand death, you see. They just wonder where their love has gone off to.”
While this may have been charming sentiment from any other elderly man, I was late
for class and, quite frankly, our neighbour is one of the species we are never thrilled to find at our doorstep.
Though he has an exceptional ability to yap away about ducks, our previous encounter with him was when he had come over to apologize.
There was a loud tap at the door and when I had answered he put on what he imagined was a pleasing nasal tone and said with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader, “Oh heyyyy girrrlllll!”
For the record, I nearly lost it right at that moment.
He proceeded to apologize profusely (without ever mentioning why) while flapping an envelope around. Turns out he had “accidentally” read our handwritten, personalized mail.
According to Snoopy, he got three quarters of the way through the mail addressed to a girl before realizing it wasn’t for him.
From ducks to more dangerous critters (skunks), to the downright strange (old dude), there have been many mysterious things outside our door, but none more mysterious than what we have deemed “the orphan”.
About two weeks ago my housemates woke to find a large potted plant placed strategically in front of our door. In a Herculean state, this indoor plant was orphaned and so we took it in as one of our own. We named him Oliver, Ollie for short, and now he graces the patio out back.
I like to think the gods have sent us the mystery plant. That, or the secret service has planted a nanny cam and we are now in an awkward situation.
While the items that appear on our doorstep are certainly strange and often begin uncomfortable interactions -- I’m not necessarily proud of speaking to that skunk -- at least there hasn’t been any reason to start keeping a blunt object by the door. Yet.
Friday, April 30, 2010
You Had Me at Hello
I have never understood why anyone would hypothetically choose invisibility for a superpower. In my books, invisibility does not qualify as a superpower because of the lame factor involved. Sure you could overhear conversations, or go just about anywhere you wanted, but you don’t necessarily have to be invisible to do these things. While going unnoticed may be tricky, stealth is the valuable skill involved not translucency.
Besides that, if you were invisible you’d feel weird. It would be like when you wave at someone you think is waving at you, only to find out that when you look carefully they’re waving at someone behind you. See - you’d feel dumb.
You have to trust me on this one because I have endured an awkward experience in which I was invisible. It occurred at my old part-time job when my manager asked if I would be the greeter at the front of the store.
“All you have to do is say hello to every person who walks in that door, do you understand?”
“Yeah, got it, thanks.”
Let me assure you, even though this job seems relatively harmless - heck you may even consider yourself a fairly friendly/approachable person - this is one of the weirdest jobs you can agree to do. If a troupe of reality television stars asked you to live for a week with them, do so and endure unfounded egos the size of Mars rather than be a greeter. Eat live lobsters or listen to James Blunt on repeat, just avoid being the greeter. Okay I may be exaggerating for effect here, but consider the following:
Unsuspecting, I went to the entrance of the store and stood waiting awkwardly. When the automatic doors opened to reveal an old man I immediately stood up straight and said, “hello there sir!” a bit too enthusiastically for 9am. Nothing would have been terribly wrong with this statement if the man had not been about 12 feet away and shuffling at a snail’s pace to where I stood.
While he made his way over and I aged 4 years I asked, “How are you today sir?”
“Toilets,” he grunted.
“Oh right, uhhh, those are at the other end of the store, all the way at the other side.”
“How much do they cost?”
“Pretty sure we’ll let you use them for free sir!” I laughed
“No not to use, to buy!”
“Ohhh I’m sorry, those are just toward the back, straight down that isle,” I pointed and felt adequately embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes and started shuffling away from me just as an elderly woman approached holding the hand of a young girl.
“Where are the shopping carts shaped like race cars? I’ve been walking around forever looking for one of those things”
“I think you can find those just outside the front...not sure how many there are though, they may all be taken”
“pshhht,” she said, and I experienced the second eye-roll of the morning while she waddled away toddler in toe.
During the next few minutes I imagined the little girl pushing the old lady in a shopping cart into the side of a parked car at full speed.
The automatic doors were flooded with people at around 9:20am and I said hello around 15 times and felt like a bobble head nodding and smiling like a goon. This is when you start feeling invisible. People walk by and do one, or a combo, of the following things. They glance at you sideways and glare, they laugh, they stare straight ahead, or they glance at you and then look up at a spot on the ceiling to avoid having to reply in any way. In other words, they feel as awkward as you do.
There are exceptions who may mock your enthusiasm, stare you down, or look scared to death, but my favourites are the ones that can’t stop checking themselves out in the television monitor above as they strut in. Overall, you just feel like a class-A moron saying hi to people who are making clear effort to get their fifteen seconds of fame on a security video.
The last family to walk through the doors passed me as I said “good morning” and the wife smiled and nodded while the family was led toward the light bulbs. Just as I thought the stampede was over I heard someone ask aggressively, “did she say hello to you?”
The man with an entire Nascar themed outfit turned around and asked, “Aren’t you the greeter?”
“Uhh, ye–“
“Well you didn’t say hello”
I thought he was joking (seriously – who does this?) so I smiled and laughed a bit.
“You think this is funny? What do you get paid to do, just stand here?”
I had just started to think about complimenting his Nascar travel mug when his wife insisted with a “z-snap”-like gesture, “Craig, she said hey okay! What is the issue?”
“oh, she did?...oh okay,” and Craig turned around and walked away leaving me to stand and await another surprise attack. Thanks guy.
It wasn’t long before the old cranky was back. This time she had the little girl sitting in the front of the race car cart. She rolled toward me and got right up in my personal space.
“I see you found a race car! Lucky you’ve got a great little driver!” I said as though I was auditioning to be world’s spunkiest student.
In her smoker’s voice she grumbled, “are you kidding? there isn’t a steering wheel on this one and I had to wipe it down myself because it was soaked outside! UGH!” while she rolled away in a coughing fit.
I wanted to say in the most condescending tone known to man, “you know, those steering wheels are just pretend...they don’t ACTUALLY steer the cart right?” but instead i mumbled, “yeah life’s rough.”
Ten o’ clock finally arrived and some poor soul with an unknowing grin came to assume my post and while walking away I noticed that when saying hello to people when in another part of the store, people always say hello back. Why is it then that the greeter is treated like they are holding anthrax?
That fateful day taught me a lesson; I learned that if granted a superpower I would perhaps chose teleportation. This power would zap an individual away from any awkward situation and place them in their destination of choice. I for one would use this power to avoid certain interactions at all costs. Although, on second thought, concussion beams or telekinesis would also be useful abilities.
Besides that, if you were invisible you’d feel weird. It would be like when you wave at someone you think is waving at you, only to find out that when you look carefully they’re waving at someone behind you. See - you’d feel dumb.
You have to trust me on this one because I have endured an awkward experience in which I was invisible. It occurred at my old part-time job when my manager asked if I would be the greeter at the front of the store.
“All you have to do is say hello to every person who walks in that door, do you understand?”
“Yeah, got it, thanks.”
Let me assure you, even though this job seems relatively harmless - heck you may even consider yourself a fairly friendly/approachable person - this is one of the weirdest jobs you can agree to do. If a troupe of reality television stars asked you to live for a week with them, do so and endure unfounded egos the size of Mars rather than be a greeter. Eat live lobsters or listen to James Blunt on repeat, just avoid being the greeter. Okay I may be exaggerating for effect here, but consider the following:
Unsuspecting, I went to the entrance of the store and stood waiting awkwardly. When the automatic doors opened to reveal an old man I immediately stood up straight and said, “hello there sir!” a bit too enthusiastically for 9am. Nothing would have been terribly wrong with this statement if the man had not been about 12 feet away and shuffling at a snail’s pace to where I stood.
While he made his way over and I aged 4 years I asked, “How are you today sir?”
“Toilets,” he grunted.
“Oh right, uhhh, those are at the other end of the store, all the way at the other side.”
“How much do they cost?”
“Pretty sure we’ll let you use them for free sir!” I laughed
“No not to use, to buy!”
“Ohhh I’m sorry, those are just toward the back, straight down that isle,” I pointed and felt adequately embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes and started shuffling away from me just as an elderly woman approached holding the hand of a young girl.
“Where are the shopping carts shaped like race cars? I’ve been walking around forever looking for one of those things”
“I think you can find those just outside the front...not sure how many there are though, they may all be taken”
“pshhht,” she said, and I experienced the second eye-roll of the morning while she waddled away toddler in toe.
During the next few minutes I imagined the little girl pushing the old lady in a shopping cart into the side of a parked car at full speed.
The automatic doors were flooded with people at around 9:20am and I said hello around 15 times and felt like a bobble head nodding and smiling like a goon. This is when you start feeling invisible. People walk by and do one, or a combo, of the following things. They glance at you sideways and glare, they laugh, they stare straight ahead, or they glance at you and then look up at a spot on the ceiling to avoid having to reply in any way. In other words, they feel as awkward as you do.
There are exceptions who may mock your enthusiasm, stare you down, or look scared to death, but my favourites are the ones that can’t stop checking themselves out in the television monitor above as they strut in. Overall, you just feel like a class-A moron saying hi to people who are making clear effort to get their fifteen seconds of fame on a security video.
The last family to walk through the doors passed me as I said “good morning” and the wife smiled and nodded while the family was led toward the light bulbs. Just as I thought the stampede was over I heard someone ask aggressively, “did she say hello to you?”
The man with an entire Nascar themed outfit turned around and asked, “Aren’t you the greeter?”
“Uhh, ye–“
“Well you didn’t say hello”
I thought he was joking (seriously – who does this?) so I smiled and laughed a bit.
“You think this is funny? What do you get paid to do, just stand here?”
I had just started to think about complimenting his Nascar travel mug when his wife insisted with a “z-snap”-like gesture, “Craig, she said hey okay! What is the issue?”
“oh, she did?...oh okay,” and Craig turned around and walked away leaving me to stand and await another surprise attack. Thanks guy.
It wasn’t long before the old cranky was back. This time she had the little girl sitting in the front of the race car cart. She rolled toward me and got right up in my personal space.
“I see you found a race car! Lucky you’ve got a great little driver!” I said as though I was auditioning to be world’s spunkiest student.
In her smoker’s voice she grumbled, “are you kidding? there isn’t a steering wheel on this one and I had to wipe it down myself because it was soaked outside! UGH!” while she rolled away in a coughing fit.
I wanted to say in the most condescending tone known to man, “you know, those steering wheels are just pretend...they don’t ACTUALLY steer the cart right?” but instead i mumbled, “yeah life’s rough.”
Ten o’ clock finally arrived and some poor soul with an unknowing grin came to assume my post and while walking away I noticed that when saying hello to people when in another part of the store, people always say hello back. Why is it then that the greeter is treated like they are holding anthrax?
That fateful day taught me a lesson; I learned that if granted a superpower I would perhaps chose teleportation. This power would zap an individual away from any awkward situation and place them in their destination of choice. I for one would use this power to avoid certain interactions at all costs. Although, on second thought, concussion beams or telekinesis would also be useful abilities.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Ain't No Party like an S-Club Party
As you grow up there is an implied rationality you must adopt to function normally; no jumping on couches, no tantrums, and no odd costumes at work. Although celebrities can get away with these things (Cruise, kanye, and Bejork), the average individual has to leave childhood behind.
We may not be children anymore, but the amygdala (the part of the brain connected with fear and emotional response) technically never develops or changes. This is why, even though we are older and (arguably) wiser, we are still susceptible to acting like children in situations where emotions run high.
As exams approach each term I go through a nostalgic phase. Although I should be cramming and stressed out like most other students, I only have to hear the words “Mighty Morphing Power Rangers” and childhood comes flooding back. I de-stress by imagining how great it would be to have a reading week where instead of a vacation, I could have a week of classic YTV programming, Skip-It at recess, Pogs, Goosebump books, Backstreet Boys, and Happy Meals.
Growing up in the 90’s was glorious. For instance, the single greatest day of the summer when I was 7 was when I got the Spice Girls Cassette for my Walkman. Singing “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs while rollerblading until the sun went down - those were the days.
Needless to say, television was a big part of life for any child of the 90’s because it provided expectations for the future. For instance, I imagined I’d have a teacher just like Mr. Feeny when I got to high school. All my future best friends and I would hang out at the Sugar Bowl from Arthur and we’d sip Chug-O-Freezes and go on crazy impossible field trips with an Arnold dude no one liked much. We'd also finally discover the true identity of Ghost Writer and where Carmen Sandiego was hiding.
My brother and I would imitate the Sailor Scouts and Tuxedo Mask, we would watch Miss Frizzle get stuck in cakes and teach about bats, and we would fight so much during the commercials for Power Rangers that eventually my mum had to shut that one down (turns out I’d make a fine pink ranger...sorry, Gary).
If we weren’t watching television, we were outside riding our bikes or replicating what we saw on TV. My favourite enactments were when we’d rearrange clothes, furniture, and household items on the floor and when asked, “what the heck is this?” we’d enthusiastically reply (in English accents no less) “THIS IS AN ART ATTACK!” To our parents’ dismay, any time was craft time and we were always looking for “loo roll and PVA glue” as I suspect many other 90’s kids were simply because Neil convinced all of us that we were born to create sticky messes worthy of the Louvre.
Overall, the 90’s was a time when pizza was still a thing at McDonalds. A time when I would choose a Barbie for my Happy Meal while the rest of my cousins chose Hot Wheels with which to run over McBarbie. It was a time of Dr. Lipschitz and Reptor on Ice. A time when grocery store visits were packed with questions like, “can I PLEASE have gushers, dunkaroos, and a Lunchable JUST THIS ONE TIME?!” (always no for the record, although I did manage a yes on Fruit Roll Ups one time...one sweet, sweet time).
Alas, childhood technically came to an end a while ago and there are few times when you can truly get it back. I find I come closest to it when the spring comes around and all you want to do is play outside. Even though trying to get your childhood back is about as practical as the name Topenga, I do hope that every once in a while you take a break from studying and think of the days when wearing your Northern Getaway sweatshirt with kittens and popsicles on it was totally rad.
We may not be children anymore, but the amygdala (the part of the brain connected with fear and emotional response) technically never develops or changes. This is why, even though we are older and (arguably) wiser, we are still susceptible to acting like children in situations where emotions run high.
As exams approach each term I go through a nostalgic phase. Although I should be cramming and stressed out like most other students, I only have to hear the words “Mighty Morphing Power Rangers” and childhood comes flooding back. I de-stress by imagining how great it would be to have a reading week where instead of a vacation, I could have a week of classic YTV programming, Skip-It at recess, Pogs, Goosebump books, Backstreet Boys, and Happy Meals.
Growing up in the 90’s was glorious. For instance, the single greatest day of the summer when I was 7 was when I got the Spice Girls Cassette for my Walkman. Singing “Wannabe” at the top of your lungs while rollerblading until the sun went down - those were the days.
Needless to say, television was a big part of life for any child of the 90’s because it provided expectations for the future. For instance, I imagined I’d have a teacher just like Mr. Feeny when I got to high school. All my future best friends and I would hang out at the Sugar Bowl from Arthur and we’d sip Chug-O-Freezes and go on crazy impossible field trips with an Arnold dude no one liked much. We'd also finally discover the true identity of Ghost Writer and where Carmen Sandiego was hiding.
My brother and I would imitate the Sailor Scouts and Tuxedo Mask, we would watch Miss Frizzle get stuck in cakes and teach about bats, and we would fight so much during the commercials for Power Rangers that eventually my mum had to shut that one down (turns out I’d make a fine pink ranger...sorry, Gary).
If we weren’t watching television, we were outside riding our bikes or replicating what we saw on TV. My favourite enactments were when we’d rearrange clothes, furniture, and household items on the floor and when asked, “what the heck is this?” we’d enthusiastically reply (in English accents no less) “THIS IS AN ART ATTACK!” To our parents’ dismay, any time was craft time and we were always looking for “loo roll and PVA glue” as I suspect many other 90’s kids were simply because Neil convinced all of us that we were born to create sticky messes worthy of the Louvre.
Overall, the 90’s was a time when pizza was still a thing at McDonalds. A time when I would choose a Barbie for my Happy Meal while the rest of my cousins chose Hot Wheels with which to run over McBarbie. It was a time of Dr. Lipschitz and Reptor on Ice. A time when grocery store visits were packed with questions like, “can I PLEASE have gushers, dunkaroos, and a Lunchable JUST THIS ONE TIME?!” (always no for the record, although I did manage a yes on Fruit Roll Ups one time...one sweet, sweet time).
Alas, childhood technically came to an end a while ago and there are few times when you can truly get it back. I find I come closest to it when the spring comes around and all you want to do is play outside. Even though trying to get your childhood back is about as practical as the name Topenga, I do hope that every once in a while you take a break from studying and think of the days when wearing your Northern Getaway sweatshirt with kittens and popsicles on it was totally rad.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Happy Eas...whoa what is that!?
Most people have a novelty childhood photo with a mascot and these photos are never very good, but in retrospect very hilarious. Be it a photo with the Santa at the mall or (in my case) Tommy Pickles at Canada's Wonderland, it is inevitable that the kid's face in the photo is expressing complete horror at having to sit beside something so large and ultimately, terrifying.
Well, this week the front page of my local paper featured the following picture of the Easter Bunny with some hyperventilating children whose expressions said "please don't eat us!"
While I can't publish these kids' faces, I'm sure this picture tells you all you need to know. I mean, for real? All I could think while looking at the paper was, "why would you expect anybody to be pleased about taking a photo with this...thing?"
Needless to say, this Easter season resulted in some hardcore childhood phobias. I'm sure someone on a committee somewhere suggested a petting zoo or baby chicks for kids to play with, but no - let's get a fuzzy psycho suit instead. Kids love that stuff.
Happy Easter folks!
Well, this week the front page of my local paper featured the following picture of the Easter Bunny with some hyperventilating children whose expressions said "please don't eat us!"
While I can't publish these kids' faces, I'm sure this picture tells you all you need to know. I mean, for real? All I could think while looking at the paper was, "why would you expect anybody to be pleased about taking a photo with this...thing?"
Needless to say, this Easter season resulted in some hardcore childhood phobias. I'm sure someone on a committee somewhere suggested a petting zoo or baby chicks for kids to play with, but no - let's get a fuzzy psycho suit instead. Kids love that stuff.
Happy Easter folks!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Lookin’ Fly
One of the many perks of being a co-op student is the opportunity to suit up every once in a while and look like a million bucks on the outside; all the while, crumbling like a stale donut on the inside. Co-op makes you nuts, but there are moments after you suit up when you think to yourself, “Damn, today you look like a pro.”
Although over-thinking is involved in the pre-interview process, (i.e. how to get to the office? Which bus route is fastest? How do you spell this dude’s name?) there are always things you never consider until the morning of. Things such as:
“Are these dress socks black or navy? If these are navy they don’t match and now I’m gonna look like a moron. Awesome.”
And inevitably, after spending more time and hairspray than normal to ensure you look nothing like Mickey Rourke, it is always a windy day.
FACT: interview days are the windiest.
I had to walk quite a distance to get to the office from the bus stop and it was a significantly breezy spring day. By significantly breezy, I mean it was so windy I felt like I was in the movie Twister and was imagining that any moment a cow was going to fly by.
After signing in early at the reception desk in the shiny glass lobby I headed to the washroom to freshen up from my walk through the windy parking lot. A few deep breaths and a panic attack later, I headed back to the lobby where my interviewer had just come out to get me.
I was led to a lounge where we discussed the job description and qualifications. The interview was going well and the interviewer (let’s call her Janet) was all smiles, nods, and laughs. She seemed pleased with my past experience, but after about 20 minutes the little voice in the back of my head started to sabotage the interview.
You know the one, the interior narrative that goes on in your head and freaks you out while your outside voice is yapping away about your skill set and volunteer experience. It went something like this:
Janet: Well the successful candidate would be performing various tasks including…blah blah blah
Little voice in head: “oh crap, what is this lady’s name again?”
Me: Yes, I’m glad that the position involves so much creative freedom.
Little voice in head: just don’t say her name when you say goodbye, it won’t matter...Why isn’t she wearing a name tag, argh! Oh great, that sock IS navy…way to go genius.”
Me: I think the job aligns nicely with my core competencies.
And that’s when things got weird…
Janet (squinting): ummm, could you do me a favour?
Me: uh, sure.
Janet (motioning with her hands): could you just flick your hair like this (she began demonstrating).
I brushed my hair with my hand, confused.
Janet: yeah…okay, if you could just do that again, this time a little more forcefully…
At this point I am flicking my hair around and getting that terrible feeling that suggests something embarrassing is about to happen.
I hear her mumble something like, “I think you’ve got a fly or something in your…” and I am truly beyond mortified when she rises out of her chair to brush away whatever it is she sees out of my hair.
“You had a fly in your hair,” she said with a laugh.
Little voice in head: OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT’S OVER! IT IS TOTALLY OVER! A FLY? WHAT THE WHAT?”
Me: oh my - - that’s super embarrassing…wow. I’m…I’m really, sorry about that. It was ultra-windy outside and I walked here and now I’m…yep. Shut it down”. *insert nervous laugh*
(I mean really, what the heck do you say?!)
Janet laughed and told me not to worry about it. Despite myself, I did laugh. I mean, come on, who does that? In the history of interviews I’m sure there have been some weird ones, but a random fly in your hair that the interviewer flicks out for you? Unbelievable.
The interview went on and, oddly enough, I left the office feeling pretty good about my answers and terrible about the horrifying moment. But, it was now out of my hands. It was over. She either liked me or didn’t, but it was done and life could go back to normal-sauce now.
A few days later I received notice that Janet wanted to hire me. Let’s face it - must have been the suit.
Although over-thinking is involved in the pre-interview process, (i.e. how to get to the office? Which bus route is fastest? How do you spell this dude’s name?) there are always things you never consider until the morning of. Things such as:
“Are these dress socks black or navy? If these are navy they don’t match and now I’m gonna look like a moron. Awesome.”
And inevitably, after spending more time and hairspray than normal to ensure you look nothing like Mickey Rourke, it is always a windy day.
FACT: interview days are the windiest.
I had to walk quite a distance to get to the office from the bus stop and it was a significantly breezy spring day. By significantly breezy, I mean it was so windy I felt like I was in the movie Twister and was imagining that any moment a cow was going to fly by.
After signing in early at the reception desk in the shiny glass lobby I headed to the washroom to freshen up from my walk through the windy parking lot. A few deep breaths and a panic attack later, I headed back to the lobby where my interviewer had just come out to get me.
I was led to a lounge where we discussed the job description and qualifications. The interview was going well and the interviewer (let’s call her Janet) was all smiles, nods, and laughs. She seemed pleased with my past experience, but after about 20 minutes the little voice in the back of my head started to sabotage the interview.
You know the one, the interior narrative that goes on in your head and freaks you out while your outside voice is yapping away about your skill set and volunteer experience. It went something like this:
Janet: Well the successful candidate would be performing various tasks including…blah blah blah
Little voice in head: “oh crap, what is this lady’s name again?”
Me: Yes, I’m glad that the position involves so much creative freedom.
Little voice in head: just don’t say her name when you say goodbye, it won’t matter...Why isn’t she wearing a name tag, argh! Oh great, that sock IS navy…way to go genius.”
Me: I think the job aligns nicely with my core competencies.
And that’s when things got weird…
Janet (squinting): ummm, could you do me a favour?
Me: uh, sure.
Janet (motioning with her hands): could you just flick your hair like this (she began demonstrating).
I brushed my hair with my hand, confused.
Janet: yeah…okay, if you could just do that again, this time a little more forcefully…
At this point I am flicking my hair around and getting that terrible feeling that suggests something embarrassing is about to happen.
I hear her mumble something like, “I think you’ve got a fly or something in your…” and I am truly beyond mortified when she rises out of her chair to brush away whatever it is she sees out of my hair.
“You had a fly in your hair,” she said with a laugh.
Little voice in head: OH MY GOD!!!!!! IT’S OVER! IT IS TOTALLY OVER! A FLY? WHAT THE WHAT?”
Me: oh my - - that’s super embarrassing…wow. I’m…I’m really, sorry about that. It was ultra-windy outside and I walked here and now I’m…yep. Shut it down”. *insert nervous laugh*
(I mean really, what the heck do you say?!)
Janet laughed and told me not to worry about it. Despite myself, I did laugh. I mean, come on, who does that? In the history of interviews I’m sure there have been some weird ones, but a random fly in your hair that the interviewer flicks out for you? Unbelievable.
The interview went on and, oddly enough, I left the office feeling pretty good about my answers and terrible about the horrifying moment. But, it was now out of my hands. It was over. She either liked me or didn’t, but it was done and life could go back to normal-sauce now.
A few days later I received notice that Janet wanted to hire me. Let’s face it - must have been the suit.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Preparation is Key: The Checker's Nightmare
Everyone has a functional quirk. Some people are excessively neat or untidy, some are collectors or hoarders, some are list-makers, and the qualities seem to get stranger and stranger. I am a compulsive checker. Certainly not to the point where the impulse is debilitating, but I check to ensure I’ve got my keys, wallet, cell phone, and other items of importance in their designated places and pockets.
The habitual checking is a fairly handy trait and I assume it is something embedded in my psyche from early on. As a kid I seldom lost items because each item had a “home” and before leaving anywhere I always performed the typical three second check for these accessories (Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Etc.). This organizational system gets more challenging in the winter season because you have mittens, scarves, and hats to keep track of; not to mention, winter jackets usually have more pockets granting you more potential places to carry random things. Overall, your skills as a checker are significantly tested in the winter.
So what happens when a checker encounters a dilemma where they are at a loss for items? Well from experience, I’ll tell ya - it’s not pretty. I’ll forewarn you that the following situation involved a cheesecake, a bicycle, and a rodent; it also ended with the question, “Jen, why aren’t wearing any shoes?”
It began as I set out for the shops on a sunny, but chilly, mid-fall Saturday. I ran a few errands and was feeling pretty adventurous, so I purchased a random cheesecake. After a quick pocket check, I returned home with everything in order.
I went into the kitchen, removed my shoes and jacket, and started putting things away. While unpacking, I noticed that the garbage needed to be taken out so I brought it down to the garage.
Now, quirks may be universal, but there is another strange phenomenon of human behaviour which occurs when one returns to a door (a garage door, let’s say) only to find it has automatically locked upon closing. This individual inevitably goes mad trying to open the door despite what is understood as a losing battle. Naturally, I adopted this behaviour and was banging on the door of my empty house as though by some miracle it would swing open.
After about six minutes of yelling at inanimate objects and cursing the universe, I began sizing up my situation. I reached for my pockets...nothing. No keys, no cell phone, no money; and because I had not expected to end up locked in a garage, no shoes. Welcome to the checker’s nightmare.
The garage full of old furniture, bicycles, and huge spiders was cold, so I opened the garage door and ran up the hill to the front steps to try my luck at what I already assumed would be a locked front door. Yeah, no luck there either.
It also didn’t help that I had no sense of time, because the battery in my watch had stopped - my procrastination over getting a new battery made time stand still at 11:35 since the beginning of the summer. For the record, the oven clock read 1:47pm when I was in the kitchen unpacking mere moments ago.
In any case, if I didn’t get creative soon, I was going to end up sitting on the front steps of the house for hours waiting for someone to come home.
As my hunger increased, my crazy did too and I considered the following plan: step 1: use the bike in the garage to go to the library, step 2: get a donut, step 3: use internet to alert roommate of situation and have her come home and save me.
This plan was initially appealing until I returned to the garage and realized two things. One – riding a bike with spiders all over it with no shoes was bound to be a horrible experience, and two – There was a long, brown creature chewing its way through the garbage I had set down earlier!
After sufficient screaming and what looked like a twitchy dance-seizure, I realized the bike-to-library plan was out and I was unable to escape the beady-eyed rodent now darting around the garage. I stared at him for a while, and then started issuing threats. I named him Ricardo.
I’m not sure how long I was out there, but the sun was setting and I was shivering on the front steps again. Some guy on a bike went by and I called out to him asking for the time. He looked at me, laughed, and pedalled on (thanks, guy).
I imagine at this point I looked like a mumbling cave person staring through the kitchen window at my now melty cheesecake. This was when my mind kept echoing what my roommate said that morning:
“I’m not going to be home until about 5, and I can’t find my keys...You’ll be home right?”
The habitual checking is a fairly handy trait and I assume it is something embedded in my psyche from early on. As a kid I seldom lost items because each item had a “home” and before leaving anywhere I always performed the typical three second check for these accessories (Keys, check. Wallet, check. Phone, check. Etc.). This organizational system gets more challenging in the winter season because you have mittens, scarves, and hats to keep track of; not to mention, winter jackets usually have more pockets granting you more potential places to carry random things. Overall, your skills as a checker are significantly tested in the winter.
So what happens when a checker encounters a dilemma where they are at a loss for items? Well from experience, I’ll tell ya - it’s not pretty. I’ll forewarn you that the following situation involved a cheesecake, a bicycle, and a rodent; it also ended with the question, “Jen, why aren’t wearing any shoes?”
It began as I set out for the shops on a sunny, but chilly, mid-fall Saturday. I ran a few errands and was feeling pretty adventurous, so I purchased a random cheesecake. After a quick pocket check, I returned home with everything in order.
I went into the kitchen, removed my shoes and jacket, and started putting things away. While unpacking, I noticed that the garbage needed to be taken out so I brought it down to the garage.
Now, quirks may be universal, but there is another strange phenomenon of human behaviour which occurs when one returns to a door (a garage door, let’s say) only to find it has automatically locked upon closing. This individual inevitably goes mad trying to open the door despite what is understood as a losing battle. Naturally, I adopted this behaviour and was banging on the door of my empty house as though by some miracle it would swing open.
After about six minutes of yelling at inanimate objects and cursing the universe, I began sizing up my situation. I reached for my pockets...nothing. No keys, no cell phone, no money; and because I had not expected to end up locked in a garage, no shoes. Welcome to the checker’s nightmare.
The garage full of old furniture, bicycles, and huge spiders was cold, so I opened the garage door and ran up the hill to the front steps to try my luck at what I already assumed would be a locked front door. Yeah, no luck there either.
It also didn’t help that I had no sense of time, because the battery in my watch had stopped - my procrastination over getting a new battery made time stand still at 11:35 since the beginning of the summer. For the record, the oven clock read 1:47pm when I was in the kitchen unpacking mere moments ago.
In any case, if I didn’t get creative soon, I was going to end up sitting on the front steps of the house for hours waiting for someone to come home.
As my hunger increased, my crazy did too and I considered the following plan: step 1: use the bike in the garage to go to the library, step 2: get a donut, step 3: use internet to alert roommate of situation and have her come home and save me.
This plan was initially appealing until I returned to the garage and realized two things. One – riding a bike with spiders all over it with no shoes was bound to be a horrible experience, and two – There was a long, brown creature chewing its way through the garbage I had set down earlier!
After sufficient screaming and what looked like a twitchy dance-seizure, I realized the bike-to-library plan was out and I was unable to escape the beady-eyed rodent now darting around the garage. I stared at him for a while, and then started issuing threats. I named him Ricardo.
I’m not sure how long I was out there, but the sun was setting and I was shivering on the front steps again. Some guy on a bike went by and I called out to him asking for the time. He looked at me, laughed, and pedalled on (thanks, guy).
I imagine at this point I looked like a mumbling cave person staring through the kitchen window at my now melty cheesecake. This was when my mind kept echoing what my roommate said that morning:
“I’m not going to be home until about 5, and I can’t find my keys...You’ll be home right?”
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