rejoice rejoice, we have no choice

While Clifford Olson was on his deathbed, I read a number of posts on Facebook, news sites and articles, where the authors or interviewees rejoiced that he would soon be dead. It's not hard to understand, especially for the families of the 11 children he murdered, but I still couldn't say "YAY!" and cheer. I saw an interview with Howard Lutnick, CEO of Cantor Fitzgerald. He lost his brother along with several hundred of his employees in the World Trade Center. But when asked about the death of Bin Laden, he said he didn't have the same enthusiasm as did those who chanted "USA USA" outside the White house. But, he said, "I am glad that he can no longer, by his own hand, be responsible for any more deaths."

When I was growing up, there was a boy I knew who caused me an incredible amount of suffering. He harassed and tormented me for years and no one did anything becuase he was popular and good looking and I was nobody. He had friends who thought he was great. I did not.

A few years ago, he suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack. I was shocked and suprised, but I didn't feel grief or sorrow. But I realized that he was gone from the earth, and I would never see him again. There was no chance I would ever run into him or find him on Facebook. I didn't feel avenged, as it had been so many years. I hadn't sought revenge, or caused his death. I felt bad for his family but I didn't mourn him. I wondered if it that made me a terrible person.

Later I was chatting via email with a colleague I corresponded with and told her about it. "Why should you feel grief for someone who made your life miserable? You don't have to mourn him. He has other people who mourn him, you don't have to be one of them." Another woman told me about a girl she'd known in grade 8 who made HER life miserable, so much so that she was afraid to go to school. One day, she got to school and everyone was whispering. Apparently, the Bully and her boyfriend had died in an accident during the night.

Later, she said, "My friend and I met during lunch and of course we were shocked, but at the same time, we were almost relieved that we'd never have to be afraid of going to school again. We weren't terrible people. It was like when Hitler died!"

I think the only person now who really has regrets about Clifford Olson is an ex con by the name of Lussier, who tried to kill Olson while in prison in the mid 70s. Now out of jail, Lussier regrets his many crimes and the pain he's caused his family. He had been sexually abused as a kid and when Olson took a very young inmate as a sex slave, Lussier decided it was time to take him out. Inmates disliked Olson for being a predator and snitch. He stabbed Olson who of course survived. He knows that by succeeding he'd have faced another long stretch but it would have been worth it. "Today, all those kids would still be alive."

Dear women of the world, wake the fuck up!

Here's a story for the ages....
http://www.truecrimereport.com/2011/08/robyn_gardner_missing_in_aruba.php

Dear women of the world...maybe it's not such a great idea to go on a beach holiday with a man you've known like five minutes? It's incredible how many crimes could be prevented if we stopped making such rotten choices in relationships, if we stopped being so pathetically needy and gullible and desperate for male attention. The women who let their boyfriends abuse and kill their kids and don't go to the police, because 'he' might get in trouble; the women who let violent criminal move into their homes just so they can have a man in their lives; the men who get hornswoggled by a pretty face and end up getting sucked into killing someone she doesn't like. The women who get involved with convicts, convinced they can reform them...right. Prison failed but you'll succeed.
Women of the world, wake up. This is not an episode of Judging Amy. You cannot reform him, you cannot change him. And if you just met him, then maybe you might want to get to know him before you entrust your body to him? If this poor woman had taken that effort, she'd have known this guy had a long history of criminal and disturbed behaviour. Alas, that may not have deterred her, as has been the case for so many other poor souls. So here's a suggestion: try getting off your back and stand on your feet, ladies. Get a career and spend time in school, not the tanning salon. Your future does not have to lie in someone's come-stained bed. Or worse.

summertime- and cycling fans get screwed again

Nothing like watching the tour to remind you how, as fans of the sport of professional cycling, we continue to get screwed by networks, by cable companies, the crtc and whoever else is responsible for broadcasting what is actually a sport and treating like a silly hobby of interest only to europeans or flakes.

TSN1, available on digital cable, has been broadcasting the tour and also broadcast the Giro d'Italia. However, it's not carried by Videotron. It has been carrying live coverage in the morning (from Versus) and rebroadcasting at night. But alas, not every night. It is frequently preempted by CFL football. Obviously the concept of "stage race" has eluded those in charge; imagine if only one or two games of the hockey playoffs aired?

Canal Evasion broadcasts the tour live every morning and evening, never preempting it for anything, but as a french version of OLN, its schedule the rest of the year is cooking, travel shows and reruns of "Amazing race" dubbed into french. A couple of years ago, they aired the Giro, but abandoned it supposedly due to poor ratings.

In fact, showing only one bike race a year is akin to showing only the superbowl, the world series or the Stanley cup playoffs. The cycling season begins in the spring and ends in the fall. But we get nothing but one race a year because even after all this time, it's not seen as a sport- by networks which routinely broadcast poker and darts. Cyclists bleed even more than hockey players; they don't get halftime, or a bench, or substitutes, or dancing girls, or the sidelines. You get injured, you either stay in and suffer or you're out. Cyclists have ridden up the alps with broken elbows and collarbones and finishes stages while wrapped up like mummies. They routinely defy the laws of physics by riding bikes over roads that, for the rest of the year, are limited to pedestrians or farm equipment. And somehow, it's not seen as enough of a sport to warrant more than a few hours a week, once a year.

The things I don't have time to say

To continue with the cycling theme:
There are things I just don't have time to say when out on my rides, especially when people yell things at me and I don't have time to stop and explain. Usually "watch it" or "excuse me" is all I have time to say. I find that most people don't know what 'on your left' means, but they usually understand 'excuse me'. Which I say frequently but alas, even then, I'm still seen as a bitch roadie. However, I really don't care since my main concern is avoiding accidents.

"You're supposed to stop for me!"
I saw a young boy on roller blades about to launch himself across the path, without looking. I called out "Watch it"! No cursing, no yelling. The mother yelled at me, "You're supposed to stop for him!" What I didn't have time to say was: Uh, no. I simply cannot jam on my brakes and screech to a halt. I could blow my tires and damage my bike. I could cause a pileup which would result in several people getting injured. All because your kid didn't look where he was going. Sorry, but if you teach your kid to look before crossing the road, you can teach him to look before crossing a bike path. That's your responsibility. The world is not going to stop for your kid.

"Get on the bike path!"
Sorry, but I can't always do that.There are times, such as on weekends, when the bike path is so crowded and dangerous that it is better for me to ride on the road. On weekends, the path is clogged with pedestrians, roller bladers, kids, skateboarders, dog walkers and strollers. I have had more near misses and actual collisions on the bike path than on the road. So no, I'm not on the bike path for a reason. And since I'm following the rules and not going the wrong way, I have every right to use the road. And no, I'm not going to ride on the sidewalk and endanger pedestrians.

"We're supposed to share!"
Sharing the bike path means being aware, not walking into it obliviously while texting, or strolling and holding hands and expecting me to slow down behind you, or waiting for you to finish your phone conversation. It doesn't mean you should ignore me and get pissed when I try to warn you out of my way. It is not my fault if you can't or won't pay attention. I want to get home in one piece without any incident and I do my best to make sure that happens. If I warn you, it's because I am in fear for my safety. You might want to consider looking up when you cross the path and turn off the Blackberry. I might be able to avoid you but some other guy might not be so nice and take you out. Just saying.

That time once again

It was the Tour de L'ile on sunday which, as a cyclist I regard as an annoying nuisance. It serves no real purpose except to convince drivers and pedestrians that cyclists are one big inconvenience. But it's utterly deceptive as well, because for one weekend, cyclists are given a false environment where the roads are free of traffic, garbage, broken glass and other hazards. Come Monday, we're on our own with potholes, construction, bad intersection and bike paths littered with junk, riddled with potholes and choked by weeds. For all the promotion of how bike friendly we are, and we are so, compared to many cities, we aren't helping out much in the daily aspects. There are still, for example, insanely bad intersections of bike and road, such as the one in Lachine at ave de La Musee. At that intersection, nothing but stop signs control four-way traffic and an intersection of the bike path. The construction on the Peel Basin is STILL going on; not only is there a detour through the old port, cyclists still have to cross a gravel path. I am not fond of the thought of riding over that gravel and risking puncture and there seems to be no way to determine if or when it will be finished or why they can't simply pave that sector. And those of us on the bike paths who want to ride more than 2 miles an hour now have to worry about a new hazard to add to the rollerbladers, strollers, kids, dogs and mopeds: rollerbladers, stroller pushers, kids, teens, pedestrians and dog walkers yakking on cell phones, plugged into ipads or walking across with their heads down, texting. I yell them out of my way and if I seem a bitch, sorry- I just want both of us to get home in one piece.

I can't find my way home

I never did find a new apartment, electing instead to remain here. Rents in NDG have gone skyward and I realized I would be spending all my money on rent. Just a month after my last entry, my washing machine died. The transmission was completely gone but I did get at least ten years out of that machine. The dryer still worked, however. The closest laundromat is several blocks away which meant lugging bags of laundry to the bus. The month of May was entirely occupied with apartment hunting, lugging laundry and drying to stay dry since it seemed to rain at least 2 inches a day. It would have been better had there been a laundromat closer to where I lived, but this meant having to actually hang out there. I always bring something to read, but there was almost nowhere to sit. One of the more unpleasant aspects: single twentysomething/teen mothers/parents, always pasty and miserable. They either scream at their kids or ignore them while the kids get bored and play with the dryers. One twenty something dad ignored his kid while he alternately played games on his laptop and stared at my chest.

I finally managed to find a refurbished washer and dryer at an outlet in Verdun which will be delivered tomorrow. I will however, miss going to Dad's for bagels and the best brownies I've ever had.

the search continues

I am now looking for a place to rent in NDG. I decided to slow down a bit on my workload for the month of April so I could focus on apartment hunting and some medical appointments. My goal- to find a place by some time in May.

Last week I took the 103 along Monkland to see a 4 1/2 and had to get off the bus and walk for 12 blocks when the bus sideswiped a car on Monkland (no one was injured).

Fortunately, I made it on time. The apartment, on the third floor of an 8plex was in good condition, bright and pleasant...but the building was a dump and smelled like the lobby of my great grandmother's apartment building. The location was also iffy. It also faced the graffiti covered backside of another building that looked like a set from THE WIRE.

Today it was a 3.5 and 4.5 in a lovely duplex, lovely exterior, great location, reasonable rent. This was the opposite. The building looked great but the apartments were small and cramped and in poor repair. Doors didn't close, cabinets didn't close, paint was peeling on the bedroom ceiling (probably water) and it badly needed a paint job. The previous tenants had painted the kitchen bright yellow. There was no washer dryer OR connection and no room for any washer dryer anyways. There is a laundromat next block over. It was dark and poorly lit and I knew it would be stifling in the summer.

My own washing machine died two weeks ago. It was at least 15 years old but the transmission died. I had a back load of laundry which had accumulated while waiting for the repairman- I'd assumed it was fixable. I now had to find places to do laundry. One is my mother's apartment building, which I've been to a couple of times. The machines there are huge. The downside is having to explain just about everything in my life including why certain things are in my laundry. The other: my sister who has a washer and dryer in her apartment. However, when I've asked if I could come over, she will vaguely say, "Maybe" or "we'll see". After 40 years, I know this means never. The other option is the laundromat, the very same one where I would be bringing my wash if I lived in that ratty duplex.


I have to lug bags of laundry and head to the laundromat several blocks away. While my clothes wash, I walked around the area looking for rentals. With a huge backload of laundry, it has amounted to a huge time drain while I need to find a place to live. So, until that day arrives, I will make use of their pick up and deliver laundry service. It will make my life suck just a tiny bit less.

The Lucy show

Every once in a while there are those periods where my life resembles an episode of Lucy or the Lucy Show. Last week for instance: my ancient washing machine died. While I awaited the visit of the repairman (who gave me the diagnosis) i knocked a beer glass off the counter and it broke. I had to vacuum up glass. Then my cheap sunglasses fell and broke. This was all in the space of an hour. At those times I simply go WWWAAAAAAAAAAAH! and channel Lucille Ball.

The transmission on the ancient machine is gone and now, in addition to apartment hunting, I now have to traipse around looking for places to do laundry. Unfortunately, my neigbhourhood is not exactly blessed with laundromats. The nearest is several blocks away, which means lugging heavy bags of laundry on a bus. I also go to my mother's and use her machine. This is not exactly how I intended to spend the month of April but after a very busy work month in march, I had already decided to slow down a bit. I am looking for an apartment and now, I have to find a rock on which to beat my washing.

The long, glum winter was also fraught with domestic disasters: a noisy valve somewhere in the building kept me up at nights in January. My phone service crapped out for three days in February. Now I'm a wandering Laundry Jew.

Of course, I could always look on the BRIGHT side, as everyone insists you do when your life just sucks canal water. The machine didn't blow up and flood the place or start a fire (Sitting amidst a flood of suds- that would have been Lucy!). It's not winter so all that shlepping around won't be in the freezing cold. And I have at least three places I can do laundry. Which is what I'll be doing tonight. Laundromat on a saturday night. That's not Lucy, that's the potential serial killer on Law and Order SVU.

In honour of Valentine's day...an old favourite. The Male Space time Continuum

You meet a guy, you hit it off, you let him know you like him. Maybe you even say, "I like you". And then he vanishes, never to be seen or heard from again. No phone calls, no emails, or perhaps some embarrassed sounding email about how busy he is and just doesn't have time to date.

Where do these men go? to the Male Space-time Continuum.

What is this place? Where is it? how to they get there? no one really knows except the men who go there and they're not telling.

In the Wizard of Oz, the charm is "There's no place like home." In the old TV commercial, it was "Calgon, take me away." To send a man into the Continuum, you have to tell him you like him, but there are other keys to the kingdom. Sometimes, they simply vanish there after having an orgasm inside you. There is no set pattern.

The Continuum itself is a giant basement with several giant tv screens which show 24 hour sports. Men sit around in their underwear, with served beer and chicken wings served by nude Playboy, Penthouse or Sports illustrated models who are also deaf mute. There are no cell phones, email or communication devices of any kind.

It's not surprising that they don't want to leave. However, they don't always remain indefinitely. It depends on what sends them there. If you tell them you like them, it could be good for a term of a few months, after which they will resurface at their convenience and when they run out of underwear. Telling them you love them or that you want to have a child with them will most certainly result in an indefinite terms and you will have to find someone else or resort to a surrogate or frozen eggs.

The Continuum is not for men only. There are women there, sent by men who, on the first date will Take It Out or who insist on describing their latest exploits on World of Warcraft in detail. Women in the Continuum sit around in their underwear, drinking beer and watching sports without men expressing surprise that they actually know the meaning of Earned Run Average.

The Continuum is also known for its mammoth piles of socks, sent there by clothes dryers worldwide. You may run out of underwear, but in the Continuum, neither men nor women will be sockless.

Why love my neighbour?

For the past two weeks, a backhoe has been operating across the street at the Mackay center, where they are obviously doing renovations of some sort. Unfortunately, they are working on the weekends and the backhoe begins at 8 am and continues for most of the day.
I am fortunate, as my bedroom is in the back and I live in a basement. However, not everyone on the street is so blessed. Since the employees of the school are not here on weekends, they aren't woken up by this din and it seems that whoever contracted this work didn't consider the area residents. Perhaps we might not want to hear a backhoe on a weekend morning. They probably don't have to consult the area residents and so they didn't. They likely don't NEED to have the workers there on a weekend, but probably WANT the work done more quickly.

Last summer the smell of tar from their roof wafted into my living room for 2 weeks. They had to get it done by the time the students returned. Understandable. It also didn't make any noise, even if it did stink. However, this is an assault, and truly disgusting. No one complains about the lack of parking or the buses since everyone is aware of the school and its purpose. Unfortunately, they don't seem to have given us the same benefits. I don't care what kind of school they are. They are shitty neighbours, no better than the screaming couple, the lunkheads with bratty kids or the guys who have all night parties. For what it's worth, and I doubt it will do any good, I plan to give these good people a phone call on Monday and inquire as to the status of their renovations.