It is hard to write about Perfect Moments when I am somewhat cooped up at home. After returning from Colombia, it seems that work wanted me to spend another week in self imposed isolation. I get it. However, since all of the students come from abroad, and they weren’t asked to self isolate, I questioned it. I certainly understand not endangering my co-workers, but ….again, all of our students come from other countries and they arrive every week.
This all became a moot point now that my work is going to close the school for two weeks. I am not sure what led up to this decision, but I suspect it had something to do with teachers fearing for their safety, and then asking their representatives to do something about it. Again, that is mere speculation because nothing seems to be done with any real transparency.
So, as far as I know, online teaching will begin. I predicted that this is where we were headed anyway. This just speeds up the process before the technology, training and resources are really in place.
Why an I telling you all this? Besides a few jokers, this community that I am part of has proven to be the more level headed and thoughtful than the others I belong to.
With my vacation report finished, I need to write about something rather serious. The events which I am going to describe happened on Monday evening. Normally I am not too fussed about exact dates because I am reporting about something positive and exactly when it happened is not too important. The positive event and the hopeful inspiration it provides are not connected to any specific point. This is different.
On Monday, after going for an ice-cream with my girlfriend I noticed that the price of gas had dropped considerably since before my vacation. The price of a litre of gas was below a dollar and I cannot remember a time like that. My girlfriend explained that this was part of the phenomenon of the Covid 19 virus and some moves being made by Saudi Arabia to gain market share.
I passed a likely gas station that had gas on for 99 cents a litre. I figured that the hysteria would likely continue and figured the price would be lower the next day. My girlfriend remained sceptical. I came to another gas station and the price was 94 cents a litre. On impulse, and despite my (incorrect) belief that it would go even lower, I decided to visit that one. That’s when things got serious.
After pumping my gas, I entered the station building to pay for it and collect my loyalty points. What I stumbled into was something bizarre. The previous customer was shouting at the clerk. Though it is terrible, I have seen it before. People often complain about prices to the people who have no responsibility for setting them. Sadly this was something completely different.
He was shouting about not wanting to take something from her hand–I assumed it was the receipt. He started shouting that he didn’t want the Corona from her. The clerk was shaken. It shouldn’t matter but the woman was from Iran. The customer was from India. Do I suspect that some of what is being spread in the media is responsible? Sure, but it just seemed so bizarre to me.
I approached the counter and asked if she was okay. I don’t like prejudice and racism to begin with, but this goes beyond what I normally see. This made me feel like people were not really getting the main message.
I thought back to my visit to the Chinese food place a few weeks back and how empty the normally full place was. I understand people being wary of travellers from cities and countries with outbreaks, but this woman had obviously been working at this job for some time. Her English was good and I am pretty confident that she had been in the country for a year or more. This is also how I felt about the people at the restaurant.
So, I approached her and gave her time to relax and didn’t rush her on the payments. She still had a little venting to do, so I let her do it. I agreed that this virus and the news about it were upsetting to lots of people and there were going to be some overreactions. Sadly, I doubted it would be the last time somebody would react badly to her.
Of course, if this guy was so worried, why didn’t he just use the pay at the pump technology? Maybe he bought a scratch ticket and objected to her touching it rather than get a receipt. Of course, someone had to stack them in the display file, so his argument was a little stupid.
As a thank you to me, she gave me a free car wash. Not just any car wash, but the deluxe one with multi-coloured foam. It was nice to get the car washed for free. Sadly, it rained the next day.
When exiting the station, we drove by the booth and waved at the lady. She seemed genuinely happy that we took the time to stop by. Now, I just wondered how bad it would get.
As I write this, the NBA has suspended their season and other sports leagues are talking about doing the same. I understand the desire, but I wonder if this is as bad as the flue–which we take no precautions for except the flu shot.
I also noticed a shortage of TP at the stores. Did I miss something? Does Covid 19 make you go to the bathroom more?
Have you witnessed any strange behaviour due to the virus or the news about the virus? How concerned are you?
We arrived in Medellin around six, maybe earlier. The flight was quite nice. I forget how much of a novelty it is to board and deplane on the tarmac. The view of the country was beautiful.
Since we were trying to make up time we lost, they sent us on the bike ride. We were doing it after dark, which was a first for the company. I give them credit, they armed us with lights, a big bottle of water, a scarf for the fumes, and a reflective safety vest. I was really enjoying it, but I wondered about the safety of the thing for others.
The beginning was a bit scary, but eventually we found our way to the bike paths, which are quite developed and set apart from traffic. We covered quite a distance, which I captured a bit of on my action camera. I also started Strava, but forgot to turn off when we were done, so I deleted it.
We saw many interesting buildings and learned about some of the great initiatives being taken to improve Medellin for everyone.
For dinner, after the ride, we had a curious mix of fruit, granola, and yogurt. My stomach and other parts have still not recovered, so I approach each meal with caution.
We finished the tour and went for drinks at a local place. I think the name was Taicho. The area our hotel is in is a raucous nightclub zone, and the odd pairing of tourists with skimpily attired young women (as well as similarly dresses women approaching men on the street) indicates the world’s oldest profession is alive and well here.
Let’s just get it out of the way right from the beginning. There is no Perfect Moment today. Of course there is one, but it just cannot rise out of the gloom that my feelings are trapped in. Am I being melodramatic? Yeah, just a little.
I was rooting for the Toronto Maple Leafs in this years’ playoffs and sadly, they were eliminated tonight. Their playoffs are over and my interest in watching the rest of them has dropped off considerably. I am very disappointed.
Some might argue that I shouldn’t put so much of my emotion in rooting for sports or individual athletes and that my time would be better spent on other endeavours. While that may be someone’s opinion, it just doesn’t ring true for me. We all need heroes. We all need a place to put that rooting energy. I’ve lost it for many sports, but hockey still holds my interest.
Thank you for a great season Toronto Maples Leafs. I hope next year brings the Stanley Cup.
Thank you everyone for reading about my adventures in Costa Rica. Your comments and encouragement were especially rewarding. I was really on the fence about the trip before going–despite already paying for the thing. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was another emotion that I cannot put a name on. Either way, I am very glad I went. I did some extraordinary things there and based on the bruises and scrapes, probably wouldn’t be able to do them had I put it off too much longer.
Though I survived the bumps and lumps, I was felled by something else. Shortly after I came back, I succumbed to the flu. I don’t know if it was because I was rundown from my vacation, or if the change in temperatures got me (if that could actually do it?). Maybe I should have slept more.
As a Canadian, I expect the flu once every winter, or every other winter. This year, it got me bad. My joints ached, my appetite fell to nothing, and the chills shook me for hours, or what seemed like hours. It was truly horrible. I didn’t get the flu shot, but now I definitely think I should have.
I am quite lucky that I have people who care about me and did a nice job of looking after me when I wasn’t stubbornly looking after myself. I can be irascible when I feel good, so I can’t imagine I am any better when sick.
I wish I could say I bounced back quickly, but that wouldn’t really be the complete truth. I am much better, but bounce seems to imply a kind of speedy turnaround. I would characterize it as having clawed my way back to a reasonable level of health. I’ve got a few more steps to make. I wouldn’t characterize it as a marathon or something gruelling either.
As for the lack of Perfect Moments, well, aside from losing weight, there isn’t much one can comment on from a sickbed. I also didn’t have the energy or motivation to blog. Tomorrow is another day, though.
If you’ve ever had a grumpy day, I think this post will help you.
If you don’t know what I mean by a grumpy day, I truly envy you. A grumpy day is when things in the universe conspire to make you angry or frustrated or bothered. It isn’t a depressing day, just an annoying one.
It didn’t start out as a grumpy day. It started out quite well with my cat sleeping on me as I awoke under my warm covers. I had a wonderfully hot shower and the kink in my neck seemed to disappear. I had time to drink multiple cups of coffee and watch a bit of Sumo on the computer. I got in a decent breakfast, had time to shovel the sidewalk, and even managed to cobble a relatively healthy lunch together to take to work. Not a bad day at all.
So, where did it all start? Sadly, it was the bus. I boarded the bus and it was eerily quiet. I didn’t remark on it, but wondered why the bus wasn’t moving. Suddenly the bus driver walked back towards where I was sitting and started say that someone (I thought for a moment that it could have been me) had to get off the bus. What followed was a shouting match with incredible profanity and racism that I haven’t heard since the woman with tourette syndrome stopped riding the bus (I kid you not). Having seen this person before, I think that there are some mental health issues at play that got him thrown off the bus. Having watched the bus driver take furtive glances out the back window, I know he had called someone. I only hope that the man in question would get some help.
Once he left the bus the eerie quietness turned into a talk fest for the loud people at the back of the bus. It got so bad that I couldn’t concentrate on my book, and my headphones were inadequate to the task of drowning them out.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, slow walkers clogged up every lane I took, indoors and out. If I stepped left to get around them, they shaded left and cut me off. If sped up to overtake, so did they. When I slowed to a snails pace to let them get ahead, suddenly they forgot how to walk.
When later explaining this to someone, they wondered why I could get so peeved. None of these things were under my control and therefore they shouldn’t bother me they explained. As true as that is, these events still bothered me and I can’t explain them away.. That is what I call a grumpy day.
The early moment of mild redemption for this crummy day happened after I was out of the subway and walking to work. People were still crisscrossing in front of me and stopping abruptly. I had to walk through a construction area so overtaking people without colliding with concrete barricades and chain link fencing was basically impossible. The sun was shining but I wasn’t enjoying it.
I finally felt like I had cleared the crowd and was starting to loosen up. Suddenly a couple in front of me veered right across my path heading for the public garbage can in spite of the fact that the sidewalk was generously wide at that point. I nearly crashed right into the person. Had the ground been a little slippery or I a bit faster, it would have ended in tears.
I don’t know whether I grunted, or sighed, or if she could hear my eyes roll (amazing how loud that can be when peeved) but she stopped and said “Sorry sir.” I am not great at guessing people’s ages, but I suspected that they were older than I and therefore the “sir” took me quite by surprise.
I walked the rest of the way to work in a bit of a fog of relaxing and laughing.
Sadly the full redemption would have to wait for my trip home and a better than average ride on the subway and bus because after stepping onto the elevator, my fellow passengers pressed all the buttons to the floors before mine. Sadly, though, as the door opened on each floor, not a soul got out. That’s right, they pressed the buttons for no reason I could understand. We visited every floor for no reason at all.
It is with a bit of a heavy heart that I write this piece. With so many thoughts going through my head, it is unlikely that I can write it in a short linear narrative, so I hope you will bear with me.
I just found out that Harlan Ellison died. I didn’t find out on the news, or in the newspaper. Instead, I read it on the IMDB website and then had to go looking for confirmation. I don’t feel like this is right. He was a writer of great significance and I think more should have been done to celebrate his life and mourn his passing.
* * * * * * *
I was introduced to the works of Harlan Ellison by long-haired photographer Paul Smith. He handed me a copy of Gentleman Junkie and other stories. He had picked it up used at the Bakka Bookstore (an SF specialty store). in Toronto earlier that week. After reading Sally In Our Alley, I was hooked.
His writing is brilliant. He has a voice that I have not seen duplicated anywhere. He was creative in ways that I find hard to describe. He wrote a story like a vivid picture without the need to bog you down.
* * * * * * *
My high school math teacher….maybe it was Mr. Mukts….told me that he liked the movie A Boy and His Dog, which starred Don Johnson and was adapted from a Harlan Ellison story. I thought it interesting but didn’t find a copy of it on VHS until I was living in Japan and the video store had one for rent. It was pretty good.
* * * * * * *
One day while studying in London, Ontario I came across a bunch of his books used at City Lights bookstore on Richmond street. I didn’t know about the significance of the name of the bookstore until a year or two later.
Having scoured many used bookstores in Toronto and even venturing to The Worlds Biggest Bookstore (probably just a name) I could not find any of his books. I only found one at the university bookstore in London, and that was only by chance that happened to be browsing the small fiction area.
So, when I chanced upon six of his books at once, I jumped on them. I devoured them when I should have been reading Paradise Lost or the Pioneers. I proudly displayed them on my dorm room bookshelf. I told everyone how good they were and I even managed to get Rhonda, a strong reader from another dorm room, interested in them.
I have collected quite a number of books over the years. Whenever I see one, I feel obliged to buy it. If I don’t need it, I try to inspire others to read them.
* * * * * * *
If you have never read a Harlan Ellison book, you have to understand that introductions to his books and his stories, often updated so that you have three or four introductions to the same story, are literary works in themselves and make owning multiple editions of his books not at all strange.
These introductions were, very often, candid assessments of himself and his life. It was in these introductions that I understood what literary honesty meant. He once (maybe more than once) joked that there was no way to blackmail him as all his secrets were written in the introductions.
He wrote about his failings in marriage and his ego. He wrote about his triumphs and failures. He put it all in black and white for us to see. Honesty. When I write, I try for the same honesty, but know that I am holding back or not confronting some things because family and friends read what I write. I don’t know what honesty means.
* * * * * * *
Harlan Ellison will be known by many as a science fiction writer. I don’t think this is how he should be remembered. Yes, he might have written one of the best Star Trek episodes ever, many great Twilight Zone episodes, and inspired the Terminator series with his I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream (though he should share some of that inspiration with Philip K. Dick.), but he wrote other things. He wrote that he wanted SF to be called Speculative Fiction rather than science fiction. Probably not a bad idea.
I think short stories are where Ellison really shined. He could encapsulate so much into an economy of words.
I wish I could write as well as Harlan Ellison. I also wish I were as prolific. He wrote non-fiction, fiction, screenplays, newspaper columns, movies…and who knows what else. The idea that the writer is not confined to any single genre is an especially attractive one to me. The idea that they writer is capable of more than one style is also appealing. It means that the writer’s voice is so much more authentic because it is allowed to stretch.
* * * * * * *
Harlan Ellison is somewhat legendary for being difficult to work with. I don’t know if that is true, but I have been assured that all great artists are so passionate about their work that they can’t help but come into conflict with others who don’t see it their way. What I do know is that whenever he didn’t like how a project was going he had his name in the credits changed to Cordwainer Bird (as in flipping the bird). I always thought that story was kind of cool.
Apparently, the Starlost, suffered this fate. Having watched some episodes on TV and the internet….well, I kind of understand. I also wish he had had the opportunity to work on the original Doctor Who and maybe even Blake’s Seven.
* * * * * * *
Do I have a favourite Ellison book or story? I have a few. Certainly Shatterday and its changing of the days of the weeks is awesome. I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream is everything an SF story should be and more. Spider Kiss (or Rockabilly) is a brilliant story that says as much about the entertainment industry today as it did originally. I also will never watch TV the same way again after reading the Glass Teat.
Harlan Jay Ellison May 27 1934–June 28 2018
His words inspired me and I hope they will continue to inspire me. I can only conclude with my strong feeling that the world is not a better place without Harlan Ellison.
I originally called this post Approaching Oblivion as a nod to one of his books, but I don’t think it was a good title. Goodbye sums up my feelings much better
It is a scene I see to often. A person, standing in front of the subway door, leaning ever so slightly forward as if they are going to spring out the doorway and dash up the steps as soon as the doors open.
Then they drop something. Some random piece of potential trash that they couldn’t be bothered with. It could be a tissue, a plastic bottle, a bookmark, a gum package….In today’s situation it was one of those cardboard sleeves they put around coffee cups to keep you from burning your hand. Not sure why they can’t be permanently affixed to the cups (not sure why we can’t force people who buy coffee at chain shops to bring their own reusable mugs either–but that’s a rant for another day.)
The dropping of this sleeve was audible enough to hear, so I doubted that it was a careless accident. Seeing the passenger take a quick glance at the floor and dismiss it confirmed the fact.
I, and probably many others thought about confronting the person. For my part, I imagined a indignant voice coming from me (which I do quite well) “Hey Pigpen! There’s a trash can right in front of the exit!” Then I imagined how a nice person would have done it. “Excuse me. You might not have noticed, but your coffee cup heat protection sleeves seems to have fallen. Perhaps you should retrieve it.”
I imagined a few others, but none were as pleasing or as comedic as those two. By the time I was finished scripting this Oscar worthy scene, the doors had opened and they were quickly being swallowed by the crowd.
Then it happened (because none of that so far would ever qualify as Today’s Perfect Moment).
A woman following her out the door, at a few paces behind, picked up the sleeve and put it in the trash with the same kind of force a Toronto Raptor would slam-dunk a basketball.. The expression on her face was fantastic. She was angry and ready for confrontation.
As this is Today’s Perfect Moment, I must be honest and tell you that I am unsure whether it was her good deed at picking up the trash, the expression of fury, or the fact that she was ready for a full on confrontation over it that qualifies as the winner. I am not a violent person and have no desire to see a confrontation on the subway platform. However, I did really appreciate the power in her tensed up face.
Procrastination is a powerful thing. Why is it I would rather watch old YouTube videos than do something I have to do? Why is it that I would rather think about what order I was going to eat the “leftover” Halloween candy rather than complete the task at hand? Procrastination is powerful. Powerful with a capital P.
The ironic thing (if you want to call it that rather than “sad thing”) is that I just finished reading a book that was all about beating procrastination. I read the book in nothing flat and found myself agreeing with a lot of it. The problem is that when push came to shove, I still fritted away lots of time.
Thankfully that task is now done. What a sense of relief.
Unfortunately, that just means another task has moved up in the queue. That task is an observed lesson tomorrow. I should be working on that….but instead I decided to blog about procrastination……..so in effect, I am procrastinating again.
I’ve got to break up Today’s Perfect Moment into two today. That is because amidst the perfect, I need a moment to rant about great injustices. I cannot always right the wrongs, but I can stand up and let my voice be heard.
I thought long and hard about which one I should write first. I decided to let anger loose first because it was the stronger of the two emotions and hopefully the perfect moment will help soothe the wound and tame the anger. If I did it the other way, I might have to go to bed angry. Part two will show up soon.
So, I went to watch the Toronto Blue Jays play baseball today. My sister bought the tickets specifically for this game because the first fans were to be given Josh Donaldson (Big Daddy, MVP …and all that) bobbleheads. While watching a good game, and of course a victory for the home team, was all that I was looking for, the rest of the family were counting on getting the bobbleheads. We could have gone another day and gotten cheaper tickets.
As it was, people were lined up four and a half hours before the game and those that came two hours early (Yes! Two hours early!) got none. NONE! ZERO! ZILCH!
We did meet some lovely young women who got the bobbleheads and were kind enough to let a bunch of us take photographs with them (the dolls, not the young women–dolls though they were too).
The point of this non-ranty rant is that, since the only thing the club has had to hang its hat on in the last decade or so was last year’s fantastic performance and the MVP Josh Donaldson, couldn’t they have made enough bobbleheads for us all? Why make it a collector’s item that is being sold on EBay as we speak? Why not revel in last year’s glories by getting everyone involved instead of the chosen few? Yeah, it might have cost money, but I saw lots of people drinking ten dollar king cans, eating 11 dollar hotdogs, eating 6 dollar frozen ice drinks, and buying a lot of swag from the Jays Shop. I am pretty sure that the generosity would have netted them more than enough money and fan loyalty.
At the very least, I would have written this blog–and I know I am not the only one.
An Archive of Perfect Moments 