My Mneumonic Plague

There was a time when a simple string wrapped around a finger served as the only means necessary of jogging ones memory.  Often times  I'd be decked out with so much string you'd swear I was a puppeteer.     Then post its came along.  That's when yellow became the new hue.   My work station would be festooned with constant reminders.  Prepare for audit.  Send memo regarding overtime.  Dental appointment Tuesday at 10 am.  Note to self:  floss! floss! floss!  That would be plaque not plague. 

Well I'm not getting any younger and my retention skills, like my youth,  are fading fast.  Take networking.  The moment I am introduced to anyone, their name, like Houdini or the punch line of a really good joke, immediately escapes me.  I've tried enlisting the use of the alphabet.  Many times these 26 letters have  rescued me from my rusty recollection skills.  Like the other evening when I tried to recall the title of that Woody Allen movie about a man, who much like all of us, had a desire to fit in and be liked.  I was playing twenty questions with my friends.  "You know.  He takes on the characteristics of strong personalities.  He's like a human chameleon."   And no it's not a politician although technically, I believe chameleon to be a pre requisite for the job of politician."  Unfortunately the movie in question was Zelig.  How embarrassing for me it was only when I got to Z that the neurons started firing.   That can be a problem when relying on the alphabet system of recall. 

 As a "mature" student, I would often enlist the help of mnemonics, a simple strategy that can make memorization a much easier undertaking, or so they say. Take the mathematical constant pi (Greek letter “π”) for instance- the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter — which is approximately 3.1415926.  NOW, with its 3 letters, represents the first number.   The phrase,"NOW I NEED A DRINK, ALCOHOLIC OF COURSE"  thus represents the first 8 digits in sequence.   Simple,  n'est pas?  Thing is, I use that phase on a daily basis.  Hell, it's my mantra.  Now if I could only remember when and why I would ever use pi.  The only pi I am remotely interested in ends in an "e" and is preferably apple.  Perhaps not the best example. 

We have all used mnemonics at one time or another.  HOMES reminded us of the names of the great lakes-Huron, Ontario, Michigan, Erie and Superior.  I before E except after C is also a mnemonic.  There are a few exceptions of course like  atheist, beige, being, caffeine, counterfeit, eight, either, feisty, foreign, forfeit, freight, height, kaleidoscope, leisure, meiosis, neither nuclei, protein, sleigh, surveillance, their, veil, vein, weird, zein....This is a really stupid rule. 

You know what's even more stupid are the things I do remember.   I, like many a woman scorned,  have the uncanny ability to remember every rotten comment, slight, look, stare, back stabbing, low down, nasty, irresponsible negative comment anyone has ever said to me or about me (and Rafa Nadal).  It's a gift.  Well actually, it's the gift that keeps on giving like contagions and fruit cake.   I've  defriended many a Facebook follower as a result. 

Like the  in-law family Christmas calendar-circa 1998, featuring an all inclusive of those that mattered  including "good ole" boyfriends and family pets but somehow yours truly was MIA.  What is it they say?  A picture's worth a 1000 words?  What would a non inclusive picture be worth?  Years of resentment comes to mind.  Funny the things you remember are some of the very things you'd prefer to forget.  Like that time I woke up wearing what I ate.  I would truly like to forget that moment in my life. 

Let's face it, the older we get, the more difficult it becomes to remember.  In my mother's day they (my elders) referred to this phenomenon as  "hardening of the arteries" and salt was apparently the culprit.   As a kid, I was simply grateful  this affliction was age discriminatory even though at the time I do not think I could even spell discriminatory.  Heck, I sprinkled salt on my salted potato chips.   They said what doesn't kill you can only make you stronger.  Salt by that standard, should qualify me as a circus strong man sideshow freak.     

Song lyrics, historical speeches, and phone numbers pose no threat to my memory bank.  I have literally stood before the Lincoln Memorial and recited the Gettysburg address for many a foreign visitor.  Impressive, eh?  Sadly,  with all other things, it's all in the timing.  You can ask me who played Hannibal in the television series and I will tell you I saw that actor at tennis city in Toronto.  He was exceptionally good in the movie After the Wedding and he hails from Denmark and was also in A Royal Affair.  He's  the same guy in Casino Royale whose eye bled while playing cards with that hunk of a man playing agent James Bond,  double 07, Daniel Craig.  And he's my spouse's favourite actor.  Yes, I could tell you all of this, yet I couldn't tell you his name if my life depended on it which, by the way, favours me.   Luckily there's always something, that one thing that will eventually  jog my memory.  In this instance, a crossword clue presented itself, "author of Far From the Madding Crowd."  And there it was on the tip of my tongue, Mads Mikkelsen.  And just like that (two days later), I have my answer.   Three days later, Thomas Hardy came to me.  It was April 6, 2014.  (I Googled it) The news of Mickey Rooney's passing  was announced.   The mind works in mysterious ways.  Work with me people.   

Don't Hate Me 'Cause I Write

When I first learned that my essay would be published by the Globe and Mail  I was ecstatic.  Sure I had been published before and yes I had been rejected as well but I was certain the earlier rejections were a simple case of misinterpretation.  Ok, so my daughter's soccer coach really wasn't  a direct descendant  of Adolph Hitler (sure fooled me) and to whom I lovingly referred to as the "soccer Nazi!" ( I'm still not convinced btw).   And maybe I embellished the fact that I was in the movie industry somewhat.  When I said I was in the movies, in hindsight  I probably should have said I was at the movies.  But let's not quibble over semantics. 

 My point is, and I do have one, I was completely taken off guard and not prepared for the onslaught of negativity my simple, yet heartfelt, essay would have had on the handful of subscribers who evidently and for no apparent reason,  have nothing better to do with their remaining time (I can't be certain but I'll bet they reside in close proximity to the mortician's on deck circle) then to defecate (once burned) all over my written word. Talk about sticks and stones breaking bones.   Osteoporosis has lesser odds.

Do these critics with completely anonymous names like "yousuck" and "diealready"  have any idea how difficult it is to come up with an idea to write an authentic essay of 1000 words without maybe going online and purchasing one?  Ideas alone are difficult to come by.  I've tossed around more ideas than I have salads.  For instance, one in particular that has been on my mind for a while now is  "what happens if you wear night cream during the day?"  Oh, who's  kidding who?  I can't even take credit for that one.  My son asked me.  And to think I once thought writer's block was simply an excuse made up by some whining author so they had an excuse to drink alcohol.   Well not this whiner.   I don't need an excuse.

The essay in question was all about aging.  I was flirting with a number of titles for my piece like "The Social Security Network";  "The Old Lady and the Sea of Rejection"; and a take on Louisa May Alcott's Little Women-"Little Old Women".    Sexagenarian seemed to fit.   After all, sex sells or so I thought.  I just wasn't prepared for the brutal attack on what I had hoped to be received as a light-hearted take on turning 60. 

From the sounds of the responses there's nothing funny about aging.  Which is ironic because I set out to put a humorous twist on that very thing.   Well, it backfired quicker than my 2012 Dodge Caravan.  Boy did I have mud on my face.  I couldn't have had more mud on my face if I was in the middle of a mudpack treatment.  I'm talking large quantities of mud the likes that can only be seen in the hills of Los Angeles.  Mega mud I tell you.   Talk about being blindsided.  I'd sooner be tackled by Michael Oher then tangle with the critics. 

Who knew I could have such an effect on so many people? (Like 46 or so)  I didn't set out to insult anyone.  The essay was a means of therapy for me to accept the fact that I was entering into another dimension - a dimension of sight; a dimension of sound; a dementia of mind. 

I've actually lost sleep over this.  And for that I do not forgive.  I tried denouncing some of the more irritating comments but to no avail.  Turns out no one wants a piece of my mind.  People like a piece of cake or even a piece of pie but no one really wants a piece of mind. 

So I have taken it upon myself to write yet a follow up essay to try and make amends to those I may or may not have offended.  

So to wat2020 who wrote "I suspect you are single and deserve to be.  With any luck your negative attitude will reward you and you will not see 60."  My apologies for asking you if you had eaten paint chips as a child.   There are any number  of other causes for delayed development.  Who am I to presume it was caused by toxicity.  Forgive me.

And to marre who accused me of "navel gazing."  That was a new one on me.  The only thing that can be said of or about me to be remotely self absorbing is my  choice of paper towel.  Perhaps you should get to know me a bit better before reducing me to a stereotype. 

To cathyrules, my son, who has nothing but a kind word to say about his mom, the cheque is in the mail.

And finally, to Yukon-otter gloating about her two sets of 20 unassisted chin ups.   Look at you all pumped up!  Now I really have mud on my face (and chin).

Well there you have it.  I can feel a sense of relief washing over me already.   No wait.  That would be the last of the Chardonnay running down my shorts.  Must reach for my self-absorbing paper towels to go along with my self- absorbing personality to wipe away the fall-out.  Looking forward to what is sure to be some interesting commentary.  Let the games begin.

To Russia With Love

It's been 23 years since the Cold War ended but come this February, athletes from around the globe will descend on Sochi, Russia where a much different form of psychological warfare will ensue - the games of the 2014 Winter Olympics. 

Who doesn't love the Olympics?  The thrill of victory.  The agony of defeat.  Why it seems like the 2012 London Summer Olympics just ended.   Who can forget James Bond and the Queen herself jumping out of a helicopter and making a parachute entrance into the opening ceremonies?  Of course, it wasn't really Daniel Craig and Her Majesty, but it was clever.  Or the 16 year old Chinese swimmer, Ye Shiwen,  who not only set the world record en route to gold in the 400 individual medley, but swam the event seconds faster than her personal best.  In fact, the final 50 meters were faster than American swimmer Ryan Lochte who went on to win the men's gold in the same event.  It wouldn't be a true Olympics without some doping allegations now would it? 

Great Britain's own tennis great Andy Murray defeated Roger Federer less than a month after losing to him in the 2012 Wimbledon final.  There's something to be said for home field advantage.

We all had our own memorable moments we took away from the London games.  Personally, I'd like to thank the underwater camera crew for its amazing coverage and close ups of the men's water polo teams.  There's shrinkage? 

How about the Kenyan and Ethiopian long distance runners?  These people proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that running a marathon is simply a classic case of doing something just to prove to yourself and others that you can do it regardless of how stupid it really is.  If I could give any advice it would be "eat something already!"

Who could forget Destinee Hooker, the  U.S. Volleyball team member?  She epitomized the classic line in Romeo and Juliet, "a rose by any other name would smell as sweet."   Translation: What matters is what something is, not what it is called.  Which begs the question, what were her parents thinking?  Obviously, they weren't.

I, along with the collective Canadian population, will never forget, (or perhaps forgive) the Norwegian referee who officiated the U.S. vs. Canada women's semi final soccer game.  That controversial call could have started a cold war all on its own between the two countries who just happen to occupy the longest unprotected border in the world.   Perhaps Argo made up for that.

But that's all behind us now.  Come February we will hopefully have a whole new set of long lasting memorable moments from the world of sport to sustain us.    

Of course the games do not come without their fair share of controversy.    Russia has a law that limits gay rights, specifically dispensing information to minors regarding "non-traditional" sexual relationships.  This of course caused a stir with LGTB rights.  Some athletes and countries have threatened to boycott the games.  There is no bigger stage than this non-political event to make a political statement. 

The games have already been threatened with violence.  Doku Umarov, a Chechen militant, has called on fellow rebels to attack the Olympics. No worries.  Russia has ripped a page right out of the headlines and the U.S. National Security Agency, NSA, and will not only deploy tens of thousands of troops but enlist the help of surveillance drones, robots, and cameras in an all out effort to keep all people including spectators, athletes and the general public, safe.  All communications in the region will be monitored including mobile phones and emails.  Is there any wonder NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden was granted temporary asylum in Russia?  We can only hope that the likes of Anthony Weiner or Brett Farve won't be in the general vicinity. 

But believe it or not, these are not the biggest problems facing the Russian hosted Olympic Games.  The weather, or more importantly, lack thereof, could be the biggest obstacle facing these games.  Sochi happens to be a resort town situated along the Black Sea, famous, like Florida, for its palm trees and balmy weather.  With temperatures ranging from 50-70 degrees Fahrenheit, it will be tough to keep the ice venues cold.  Of course, skiing will take place in the mountains where generally there is a significant amount of snowfall but snow making machines will be on stand-by none-the-less.

So it would seem the cold war Olympics could ironically become lukewarm if the weather doesn't cooperate.  Let's not worry about that melting snow just yet.  Instead, let's hope the Sochi Olympics, like those held before it, with all of their pomp and circumstance, personal triumphs and improbable defeats, will melt our hearts and leave us with memories to last a lifetime.  Or at least until 2016 when we can Blame it on Rio.

 

PROGNOSIS NEGATIVE!

My name is Cathy, (I am not an actor-well not technically anyway)  and I play tennis.  I've tried quitting but I just can't.  Once I start to lose I experience changes in behaviour, thinking or mood, hostility, agitation, I'm depressed and have suicidal thoughts and actions.  My doctor recommends winning.  He has told me to stop playing if I notice behavioural changes such as wanting to lash out uncontrollably against my opponents or uttering the words, "How would you like it if I rammed this ball down your throat?".  If I develop and/or have a history of these actions, I am to contact my head pro right away as some could be life threatening, ( to my opponents life that is)  I am to use caution while playing at the net and I am to phone my club pro if my game becomes worse.  Side effects of losing can be an unusual increase in alcohol intake as well as a greater increase in the use of profanity and very few invitations to dinner.  If winning continues to allude me, I am to phone the tennis hotline at 1-800-you-suck, and speak to a former loser who has rebounded from this tennis hell and who will provide me with such words of wisdom like  "It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game"  which is badly and thus the reason for my call.    If all else fails, I am to remind myself that tennis is merely a game.  Much like The Hunger Games, the tennis game is a daily ritual in which players of all ages,  from tennis clubs around the globe, battle to the death.  The last one standing doesn't die shamelessly.  Caution: If bragging rights and feelings of euphoria do not last longer than one week contact your head pro and book a lesson immediatley.  Play to win!

The "Comeback" Kid

I've been watching a lot of movies lately what with TIFF being in town and the installation of my new cable carrier, Bell. Not to mention my "situation" has not changed in two years. (no I have not grown a six pack or joined the cast of Jersey Shore or had a baby...congrats to Snookie!) Apparently the fact that I am unemployable is not that uncommon.  Indeed, I am among the 20% of people over 50 who have stopped looking for work. We are referred to as "disgruntled". I didn't need to be without employment to be labelled that.  Hey, I'm old. I already have enough to be pissed off about.

 Over 50 and Out of Work

Just recently, I resigned from a volunteer position. With a mere week to go in my term, my work ethic went from "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" to "enough is enough" and I threw in the proverbial towel.  I walked out without a word being said.  Looking back, I so wish I had the opportunity to get some things off my chest.  That perfect retort that could not go unnoticed or be misconstrued in any way.  You know like Arnold Schwarzenegger in Terminator, "Hasta la vista, baby!"  Then I would walk away in a fog of smoke into the sunset. No regrets or asking myself, "Why didn't I say that?" Alas, this only happens in the movies.

It would have been so cool to have some great comebacks to express my disappointment.  Some of those all too perfect lines found in your favourite films to silence the opposition rather than take the high road.  Who am I kidding?  I've mapquested the high road and it does not exist which is why I never, ever take it.

How cool would it have been to just get up and say, "You come 'round here again, and I'm gonna get discourteous on your ass" and just like that I would get up and be Gone, Baby Gone.  So cool, right? Wow, if only life were like that.

So now friends have convinced me to attend the annual dinner and I have, with much apprehension, reluctantly agreed. But why would I put my friends in the awkward position of having to defend me by uttering throughout the evening, "You'll have to excuse her.  She suffers from selective tourettes".  Like when I inevitably say to a certain someone, and I'm paraphrasing here of course, that great line from The Sixth Sense, "I see lazy people."  Or should a happenstance encounter with spontaneous combustible guy cause me to act out a scene from Million Dollar Baby or Raging Bull or Rocky I, II, III, IV, or V, over and over and over again.  And will I once again shake my head and ask Miss Hilly, "You sho you need help with that?"  C'mon! Who am I kidding?  The light at the end of the tunnel is the oncoming imminent train wreck.

 

Olympic Thank-you Notes

With the Olympics winding down, I would like to take a moment to reflect on these last few weeks and show my appreciation for some special moments that have left a long lasting impression on me.

Thank you, the underwater camera crew for the Olympics men's water polo game for close ups of the athletes   There's shrinkage?

Thank you, Kenyan and Ethiopian long distance runners for proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that running a marathon is a classic case of doing something just to prove to yourself and others  that you can do it regardless of how stupid it really is.  Please eat something.

Thank you, U.S. Volleyball team member, Destinee Hooker for proving Shakespeare's meaning of a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.  Translation: "What matters is what something is, not what it is called" and for not killing your parents for naming you Destinee Hooker.

Thank you, Norwegian referee of the U.S. vs. Canada soccer game for alienating me from all of my Canadian friends and family.  Good call.  You suck. 

Thank you, Michael Phelps for proving you can still win Olympic gold while enjoying the occasional  bong.

Thank you London Olympics for bringing the games into our homes for these last few weeks.  Now what am I suppose to do?  What day is this?

Tebow (to the tune of Levon)

Tebow wears his helmet like a crown

He prays to Lord Jesus

because his game is lame

and he has to face Tom Brady in Beantown



Tebow, Tebow likes his cranium

He bows a lot they say

He spends his days praying

on the sidelines in the mile high stadium



He was born a hero to his team on a November day

when he came from behind and saved the game

and now the tables turned

Denver Broncos have a star today



And he shall be Tebow

And he shall be a good man

And he shall be Tebow

In tradition with the football plan

And he shall be Tebow

And he shall be a good man

He shall be Tebow


Tebow's the cartooned buffoon in town

The Broncos have arrived

Tebow throws the football all day

While receivers watch them fly right by



And Tebow he wants to go to Superbowl

Leaving the Patriots far behind

Take that ball and go scoring

While all others slowly die



He was born a hero to his team on a November day

when he came from behind and saved the game

and now the tables turned

Denver Broncos have a star today



And he shall be Tebow

And he shall be a good man

And he shall be Tebow

In tradition with the football plan

And he shall be Tebow

And he shall be a good man

He shall be Tebow

Christmas Whine

Twas the week before Christmas and all through the city

the people were rushing and acting real shitty.

The shoppers were ready with plastic in hand

hoping their credit would handle demand


The children were wondering "what's wrong with my mom?

Was it something we said or maybe we've done?"

No it's just Christmas. The season's upon us.

The money, the mayhem, the malls, and the madness.


Then out of the blue she gets an idea.

What if Christmas were cancelled for just this one year?

Would we miss it and wish that it hadn't been gone?

Or continue along as if it hadn't belonged?


Think of the money we'd save on this day.

Instead it's the mortgage and phone bill we'd pay.

Perhaps take that trip we've been dreaming about.

It has to be better than Christmas no doubt.


All that drinking and eating and wrapping til dawn.

The weight gain, the headaches the carrying on.

Life's greatest pleasures don't come in a box.

Unless it is vintage or big sparkling rocks.


So what's the big problem? What would we miss?

What If the season would cease to exist?

What would replace this age old event?

Where would all of our time then be spent?


The stores would be empty; no twinkling of lights

no candy, no presents, no silent nights.

No Christmas tree needles to sweep off the floor.

No holiday parties that just seem a bore.


Would you miss Uncle Jack asking "Why aren't you wed?

Don't you just wish you could say "Go drop dead!"

Just whisk it away make it all disappear.

No carols, no fruit cake and no Christmas cheer.


But wait. Am I wrong. Is there something I missed?

Why do I wish Christmas ceased to exist?

How do I get back that goodwill I lack.

Goodwill towards men and old Uncle Jack?


Liquor is quicker according to Nash

I'll just head to the store and I'll get me a cache.

Dull all the senses and in a blink of an eye

I'll be asking, "Get rid of Christmas?" But why?


I'll start with some wine and some cheese on a platter.

Whether it's red or it's white or rosé doesn't matter.

I'll drink to the season and hope for the best.

All of life's problems will roll off my chest.


I'll love all the hustle and bustling about.

I'll realize it's Christmas I can't live without.

It's all about family and friends far and near.

Good food and good times and a whole lot of cheer.


Oh now I can't wait for the day to arrive.

I act like a child and I feel so alive.

Things that once seemed so wrong now seem right.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

Me and Mrs Jones

I love Halloween yet I can’t remember the last time I got all dressed up for the occasion unless of course appearing both dishevelled and discombobulated while medicating a self- induced migraine from ingesting mass quantities of coffee crisps, crispy crunch and smarties counts. That’s freaking scary. Just ask my kids. It was years before they realized Halloween was an annual event and totally unrelated to the monthly celebration of PMS. Yes during those periods (meaning moments in time) I was transformed; still the same person simply neurotic. Yes, I was sane but unhappy about it. It was flattering however to be thought of as an option for their choice of really scary costume –mommie dearest. Imitation is after all, the highest form of flattery.

These days however Halloween marks the only night of the year and my annual excuse for looking like Bridget Jones pre Mark Darcy. While she may choose vodka and Chaka Kahn I instead prefer chardonnay and the Sex Pistols. But unlike Bridget, and while we’re at it, for the record, I have never woken up in bed with a headache, hangover and my boss. Not that I can remember anyway. Other than that the resemblance is uncanny. So let this be a warning to you all. Should you happen to knock at my door this Hallows Eve be prepared to see something really scary. And no it’s not my living quarters although I’ll try and clean up the mess to avoid any confusion.

Bless Me Father For I Have Sinned

Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been one full year since my last full-time job. These are my sins. Forgive me for not writing regularly on my blog. I am deeply disturbed by the fact that some consider a blog to be nothing more than graffiti with punctuation. I beg to differ. Good grammar is involved as well. In addition, I may or may not have been completely truthful when completing my EI reports. For instance.

Did I move during the period of this report? Did I move? It's because all I ever fucking do is move that I find myself in this position in the first place. When purchasing a house the realtor will tell you it's location, location, location. One is eligible for EI because of relocation, relocation, relocation.

Did I start a fulltime job during the period of this report? Yeah. This is why I am wasting my time and completing the report because I am so busy working. Give your head a shake.

Did I attend a school or training course during the period of this report? You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Tricks are for kids. Apparently, so too are jobs.

Was I ready, willing and able to work during the period of this report? Are you kidding me? I am so ready for work and more willing than a hypersexual. Am I able? Of course I am but to a prospective employer I'm damaged goods; faulty merchandise. antiquated; all washed up. More washed up than a kindergarten class with a bunch of 4 year olds plagued with pinworms. Washed up I tell you.

Did you or will you receive any other money during the period of this report? NO! and this is the God's honest truth. Call me on the other stuff. Other than the occasional change I find underneath the couch cushions EI is it.

And so help me God, I solemnly swear to be ready, willing and able to seek employment while visiting Florence, Siena, Volterra and Lucca. I will be a wine taster, art critic, air marshal (undercover of course) and official ambassador to Italy. So help me God!

In conclusion, let he who is without sin cast the first stone. Or is it let he who is cast out be the first to get stoned? I'm with Dylan on this one. Everybody must get stoned.

Night After Night After Night At The Museum

Well soon I will be off to Italy, the home of Renaissance Artists Michelangelo Buonarroti, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Bellini, and many more. I'm a cynical browser when I happen upon art. Something happens to me when I am faced with so much art displayed in so many museums. And being a natural cynic and judge, (yes I judge. I am a judger.) I just watch the critique come rolling off my tongue, not even bothering to stop myself just before I actually say something, anything stupid, with countless other non-cynical art lovers around. What can I say? It's a gift.

Critic Walter Pater, in his 1867 essay on Leonardo da Vinci, the creator of the most famous piece of art work in the world, the Mona Lisa, described the figure in the painting as "a kind of mythic embodiment of eternal femininity, who is "older than the rocks among which she sits" and who "has been dead many times and learned the secrets of the grave." Well I've heard the painting is really, really small. Someone should warn people. (You're welcome.) Anyway the painting is in France so I won't be among the disappointed.


Apparently there is a lot of 'naked art'in Italy. Perhaps I need to rethink the museum thing? In fact the Italian painter Botticelli is credited with introducing the female nude. Technically you could argue that Botticell was the Hugh Hefner of the the 15th century. During that time the hot temperatures(the temptation of Beelzebub himself) prompted people to remove their clothing. Keeping cool ranked higher on the list than the fear of reprisals for doing so. Apparently the glorious weather and hot temperatures caused folks to not only throw caution to the wind but throw their clothing off into it as well. Check it out. The Birth of Venus

Traveling abroad I anticipate a samll amount of culture shock to rear its ugly head; a temporary befuddlement if you will. For instance, will there be Ketchup flavoured or All Dressed chips available? Would it be polite to ask the locals what they thought of The Godfather Three? (Not a big fan). When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine is that really amore or are you just plain drunk? Never mind. I'll figure that last one out for myself.

PFO........Politely

Dear Cathy,

Thank you for your interest in our organization and for taking the time to meet with us regarding the position of Human Resources Officer. We enjoyed meeting you and discussing your candidacy for this position.

We were fortunate to have had several well qualified applicants for this position and met with each of the top applicants. Although you have an impressive background, we have decided to pursue an applicant whose skills and experience more closely meet our department's needs. Please be assured that this is in no way a reflection on your capabilities.

Thank you once again. Please accept our best wishes in your future career endeavours.

Sincerely,

Michael

Dear Michael,

I enjoyed meeting you as well and I am certain with minimal effort on your part and the help of Strauss-Kahn's legal team, you too can beat that work-related sexual harassment allegation. Remember, it's people's egos that require constant stroking and not their genitalia. Simple mistake.

By "well qualified" candidates I can only assume you meant young and willing to work for next to nothing. Kids today! Thanks for reiterating that I have an "impressive background". You, my friend, have amazing instinct. You are obviously referring to the time I went on the record by stating Amy Winehouse was even more fucked up than Charlie Sheen, may she rest in peace.

So you too have decided to pursue an applicant whose "skills and experience" more closely meet your department's needs. If by "skills and experience" you mean an applicant who is incapable of cursive writing and has no idea what a turntable is, then who can blame you.

Thank you for assuring me that this is indeed no reflection on my capabilities. On the contrary. Your perceptions are correct. I am capable of many things. In fact, I predict you will be reposting this very position within months of filling it, nine months to be exact. And for the record, had you hired me, reposting would not have been necessary.

In closing, may Allah declare a thousand fatwas on you and your family. God bless.

Sincerely,

Cathy

We All Fall Down

No I didn't fall off of the face of the earth but I did fall and no it wasn't off the wagon either. One would have to be on the wagon in order to fall off the wagon. Wagons are of no interest to me. Not a fan of the wagon. Hate the wagon. And no I haven't fallen in love or fallen for the wrong guy but on occasion I have been known to fall apart. It's those times that prevent me from going on the wagon (see previous statement). My fall from grace while inevitable has not manifested itself just yet. There but for the grace of God go I. What I have fallen from is my bike. Yes, I have fallen off of my bike and now I have a chip on my shoulder. Well actually I have chipped my shoulder. So technically I both literally and figuratively have a chip on my shoulder. Yes a chip off the old block...Bayview and Parkhurst to be exact.

Do you know what happens when one chips their shoulder? Well for starters one cannot comb one's hair (not that anyone would notice);apply deodorant (this they would notice);hail a cab;high five someone; sleep on one's side; make a toast or raise a glass to anything or anyone (trust me I've tried). I may not be able to raise a glass but my elbow still bends. (again see reference to wagon) God works in mysterious ways. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away-Job 1:21 (King James Version). Painkillers for a shoulder chip seems fair enough to me.

But a chipped shoulder leaves one incapacitated when it comes to the tennis serve. Without the ball toss there is no serve and when there is no serve there is no return of serve in tennis or return to tennis. No return both figuratively and literally.......again. The tennis return is of great interest to me. Big fan of the return. Love the return. Give me a week....or three.

Seven Days, Six Nights or It was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times

The nice thing about being away is your readers are forced to either wait for new material or reread the old drivel. So thanks for the rereads. Personally, there’s only one bad thing about being away. That’s being away plus being without internet access. You know that question that's often posed to folks, "are you gay?" No, I mean the second most asked question, "If you were stranded on a desert island and you could take only one thing what one thing would you take?" and the pat, routine answer from all of those idiotic, vain, floss using Nazi’s is usually a toothbrush? Please, a toothbrush over say alcohol; water or internet access? In that precise order? Yuh, I'm stranded on an island and utmost on my mind is oral hygiene.

Of course one can learn a lot when one spends seven days and six nights (stranded) in the company of four women in what can only be described (in my mind anyway) as the maid's quarters of the Overlook Hotel. Here's Cathy!

If I have taken anything away from my seven day, six night excursion besides several fly bites and sunburned skin (oh and a real appreciation for Tina Fey) it would be a total understanding of the origin of the word catty. Spraying urine is one of many methods that cats use to mark their territory. If this be true then our cottage was one big cat box and the room assignments; food; and beverages brought therein were all marked with their respective smells. Just try eating one of my cherry tomatoes. When Sartre said, "Hell is other people", he could have only been referring to cottagers in the midst of a heat wave on Lake Herown. I mean Huron. Oops, my bad; Freudian slip.

Of course our stay wasn’t all that bad. The water provided much needed relief from the high temperatures we were experiencing and the weather was gruelling as well. Hot flashes and heat waves do not mix. They can however promote spontaneous combustion.

Did I have a good time? Of course I did. Would I do it again? Of course I would. Will I be invited? Probably not; a little less litter in the litter box.

Eating Their Curds Away

So Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb, hosts of the third hour of the Today Show, were broadcasting live from Montreal, Canada proving once again many Americans indeed know very little about their neighbours to the North. (Please don't shoot the messenger.)

For starters they showed a map of North America and told the audience Montreal was the most easterly city in Canada while Vancouver was the most westerly. Might I extend my apologies to St. John’s and Whitehorse. The duo claimed to have been in the Hockey Hall of Fame which I found amusing since it happens to be right here in Toronto. Apparently they were in the Montreal Canadiens Hockey Hall of Fame, same but different. They ate maple syrup cotton candy; drank Inniskillin ice wine and la Fin du Monde beer; compared Montreal handmade bagels to those of New York (they were pleasantly surprised)and had their photo taken in the very bed at the Queen Elizabeth Hotel where John Lennon and Yoko Ono staged their legendary Bed-in in 1969. (Is this proper English?) Of course a trip to Montreal wouldn’t be complete without a trip to Mount Royal. There was even a brief yet entertaining segment featuring Cirque du Soleil. Yes the circus that is Kathie Lee and Hoda presented the Cirque du Soleil, how apropos. Mais oui.

The pair included the regular segment “Who Knew” and were surprised to learn that with the exception of New York City, Montreal has more restaurants than any other city in North America. Montreal is also the second largest French speaking city in the world and the largest producer of maple syrup. Who knew?


If you missed it do not despair. The two will be back with the Bare Naked Ladies and will be eating of all things, poutine. That very popular Montreal dish consisting of Fries + cheese curds + gravy is guaranteed to raise cholesterol levels, lower life expectancy and when eaten to excess, is commonly accompanied by death. It can be found on the menus of bars, fast food joints, greasy spoons and many upscale restaurants throughout the city. Enjoy!

Entertainment TOnight

There’s one good thing about Toronto. And I’m certain there are others like for instance people certainly respect your privacy. Where else in Canada can one refer to their neighbours as the strangers next door? But one good thing is the fact that if you’ve got nothing to do there’s almost always something to do. So when we found ourselves on a Saturday evening with no plans (translation: no tennis) we decided we would take in the show at the Princess of Wales Theatre featuring Hugh Jackman, the Wolverine himself. Having not seen one of the mega buck, mediocre rated, X-men movies but enjoying Mr. Jackman’s work on hosting the Oscars and Tony’s, and his starring roles in Australia and Kate and Leopold, and after reading many favourable reviews on this song and dance sensation, off we went.

Aside from being easy on the eyes, (this in itself was worth the price of admission) Mr. Jackman did not disappoint and clearly is a multi-talented entertainer. Who knew the Wolverine had moves? For close to two solid hours, accompanied by an 18 piece orchestra and two female back-up singers, with some pretty impressive credentials of their own, Jackman brought the house down and the audience to their feet, including this naysayer.

As a matter of fact, if you keep your eyes and ears open in Toronto, (and I’m talking directly to you subway riders) you would know that barely a week goes that there’s not some form of entertainment going on in the city and sometimes it’s free; my favourite kind.


If Broadway musicals aren’t your thing there are always alternatives like alternative music. The American band Devo, who had a #14 Billboard chart hit in 1980with the single "Whip It", was in town whipping it up in Downtown TO. They whipped it good.

My Strange Addiction

My apologies for not writing and providing no explanation as to why or my whereabouts. It appears I may be in crisis; a woman on the verge. This thing that prevents me from writing has a hold on me that while initially thought to be innocent enough, has virtually taken over my very life. No I do not eat couch cushion, although I suppose in a pinch it could be rather tasty, all those hidden crumbs and all. I do not eat chalk even though there was a time in kindergarten when paste was considered a food group and not just for gluing anymore. And no, I do not mind that one would simply assume or consider my problem to be a food addiction, she said clearly minding, assuming and considering. I digress.....and eat.

No, lately I have been caught in a struggle so intense that in the process, I hope beyond hope, that I may secure my niche in the presence of my rivals even though my competition pales in comparison to the hundreds of brand name potato chips jockeying for position on all kitchen cupboards. Well perhaps only my kitchen cupboards and maybe a third of North American kitchen cupboards. Nonetheless, it’s been an exhausting and trying time. The culprit is tennis.

Yes tennis has taken on a life of its own and taken over mine. If I am not playing the game, I am watching it in ad nauseam. I suppose it could be worse. I could suffer from compulsive scab picking; hair pulling or even hoarding. But I choose tennis. These latter activities do not release the satisfying endorphins that are indeed triggered by certain activities like tennis or a runner’s high; or Dexter finding a fresh neck in a dark alley.

So please accept my sincere apologies for my absence (or perhaps it was a welcomed pause). I am trying to cut back on my addiction and will do my best to continue writing the drivel that is this blog.

That Was the Week That Was

The Boston Bruins win the Stanley Cup and Vancouver Riots. What’s up with this? Canada is supposed to be full of nice people, clean streets and no crime. Canada is basically what George Herbert Walker Bush meant by a kinder, gentler America. And the U.S. took notice of the Vancouver riot and it was the top story on NBC Nightly News. Think about this for a moment people. The U.S. took notice and became interested in Canada. Now think about the other countries the U.S. has taken an interest in lately - Iraq; Libya; Afghanistan; Yemen. Do we really want the U.S. interested in Canada? Clean up your act Vancouver before you spoil it for the rest of the country.

Maybe it was just the shock of seeing angry, destructive Canadians. Canadians are not viewed by Americans as foreigners but after witnessing this behaviour Canada was totally foreign to them, after all Canadians are supposed to be courteous, kind and forgiving. American`s think free healthcare. What’s there to be angry about?

Anthony Weiner, the sexting, well endowed, cocky, (pardon the pun) New York Democratic Congressman has resigned. His career in politics is finished. As an HR Professional I have some job seeking advice for Mr. Weiner and not the kind of job he`s been used to either if you catch my drift. He should call 1-800- Got Junk. He would make the perfect spokesperson, n’est pas? Someone will hire him. He seems like a “hands-on” kind of guy. He obviously has great hand/eye coordination.

The media is not letting up on Mr. Weiner either even though he has personally handed in his resignation. Which leads me to think the guy must be ambidextrous or perhaps had a free hand at the time.

Weiner gives a whole new meaning to news in briefs.

Sarcasm or Creative Genius?

Do you find sarcasm is sometimes an effective way to communicate? How stupid is this question? Seriously, like I need you to answer that. If you ask me it’s the only way to communicate? When it comes to sarcasm I’m with the television character House. Using sarcasm is better than having to kill the person; words to live by people. Hell, how would anyone get through the day without a bucket of it? And according to Israeli researchers, (and guaranteed they had a substantial control group. Guess who?) hearing sarcasm can make you more creative? Well then fix the freaking West Bank already! If this is in fact true, and sarcasm indeed makes one more creative, then I should be f##king F. Scott Fitzgerald or Hemingway. Not literally because the guys have been dead for a while. I’m speaking figuratively of course. Or am I being sarcastic? Hmm.....you decide.

Yes according to a recent report in the Journal of Applied Psychology, people who had overheard anger conveyed in a sarcastic way were better able to solve creative problems. Watching Jon Stewart might make you more creative The report goes on to say, “The real-life implications of this research might apply to the office, or your home life: If you're angry, you might want to express your fury with a healthy dose of sarcasm.” For example, your spouse encourages you to find employment by networking. To which you reply, “Why of course. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ll just socialize with people I detest and with any luck one day I’ll be able to work with them!”


Sarcasm is like a drug for many of us. Without it we can’t go on. With it, it serves no discernable purpose other than to make one feel superior. And in this life do not the laurels go to the fastest and cleverest rats? But enough about me.

Please F#$k Off

So if you haven't heard already there's a children's book for adults on the best sellers list which is a must read for any and all parents. The title of the book is Go the Fuck To Sleep. I include a Wiki link here. Go the Fuck to Sleep

In the spirt of this book, I have written a similar one with the theme of trying to find work with the unemployment rate climbing. Hope you enjoy and if any of you have a word that rhymes with "off" or would like to add to my short rhyming story, please feel free. Illustrations to follow.


It’s not turning out as I planned it. The older I get I do scoff. I can’t find a job for the life of me. The theme seems to be please fuck off.

It’s not like I haven’t been trying. I’m sure I’ve been doing enough. Still my status remains as “redundant”. The reply’s still the same, please fuck off.


Once I came close to an offer. I knew that the job would be tough. I was ready to say I accept it. Who knew they would say please fuck off.

You can’t make a horse drink the water. But you can lead the horse to the trough. The same can be said of the job hunt. Accept it or do please fuck off.

The process can be quite depressing. I may have to take some Zoloft. It will make things appear to be better. Once hearing the words “please fuck off”.


No I’m not alone with this problem? It’s contagious like a terrible cough? It’s true what they say about misery. It loves company when told please fuck off.


Too bad I didn’t play hockey. Could I have been the next Federov? I’d play for the Red Wings like he did and tell Toronto to please go fuck off.


No one said finding work would be easy. There are days when I need a Smirnoff. I consider the vodka a staple. If you disagree then please go fuck off.


What do I do to keep busy? I exercise to prevent being soft. Weiner knows a hard body is better. Now there’s a guy who needs to fuck off.

No point in getting down on yourself. Much like a plane I remain aloft. I’ll keep busy by playing some tennis, telling opponents to please go fuck off.