The Breadbin

Most of the questions I ask myself are trivial. Stupid, even. But they share one thing in common: they start with with word "why". No wonder: "Why" is the fifth W, the one usually forgotten. In a fast-paced world, it's the W most people seem to discount--after all, you often can't answer it in four words or less.
Last night, watching Hockey Night In Canada, I found myself wondering why do Montreal Canadiens fans chant that annoying "Ole, Ole" nonsense as if they're at a bullfight? I went so far as to check that out online, unsuccessfully.
Why are so many people, from so many places, anti-Semites?
Why do so many people, from so many places, have dragon myths? Flood myths?
Why do drivers in car commercials invaribly break speed limits and other traffic laws?
Why, why, why. Here's a big one:
Why is there so much bullshit floating around the Internet?
I'm not talking about spam. I know why that's there: because some people are evidently gul…

I try to read stuff from all over the political spectrum. It's par for the course considering I can't be pigeonholed politically. Many have tried: I've been called a "neocon warmonger" and a "pinko pantywaist" for the same post.
I like to read people who put forth their points persuasively and with wit. Michael Moore used to do this well on the left; he has since degenerated into diatribe. A few TorStar journalists cut the mustard, in my view, most notably Richard Gwyn and Michele Landsberg. On the right, which is generally at least as strident, there are still some voices of (relative) reason. The best by far of these, I have found, is Mark Steyn. He makes no bones about his biases, but unlike many other pundits, he makes some effort at backing them up. And no matter the topic, he's funny.
He's written a book: America Alone: The End of the World as We Know It, a portion of which was excerpted in Macleans magazine recently. It made for a fascinat…

Next time we want to go adopt something--a road, a tree, a new attitude--somebody, please, slap us silly and remind us how pointless it is.

There are a lot of really needy dogs out there in the big wide world. We saw quite a few of them. We met big dogs and little dogs and puppies and old dogs. What we learned is that Tux does not want a brother or sister. And after Tux meets a potential sibling the 'adoption' people do not want Tux to have a brother or sister, either. It's been a long hard day for all concerned, and one we would just as soon forget. So George remains simply a toy, and Tux can be an only child. 'Tis ok, he really is a needy boy, and we certainly don't want to traumatize any other people or dogs...

We tried our humane society first, on the grounds that they let us have Tux. Of course, Tux had a date with the canine version of Dr. Kevorkian; we represented a last-minute reprieve.
Problem: Kitchener's rates to adopt a dog have climbed well into…

I've often thought of buying a cottage. While sinking into sleep, I conjure up the sounds of wind soughing through pines and waves rolling against a shore. The waves fill my bladder; after that's attended to, I lay me back down, close my eyes, and visualize my cottage as seen from the shoreline. Up near the road, a sign informs all comers they've reached Decimal Point. The driveway meanders through evergreen woods until it stumbles on a modest seventy-thousand dollar three room wooden bungalow, which sits empty eleven months out of a year. The lot is worth half a million dollars, at least. As I drift further into sleep, a loon calls out on Lake Lethe. I turn and try to spy it gliding along the water, but can't quite find it. Whirling to regard my lovely cottage once again, I find that vandals have been and gone while my back was turned. Windows are shattered, boards have been peeled off the frame, and inside is a shambles. The mailbox is overflowing with tax assessment…

On my way out to a cottage with our friends Lisa and Craig and their boy Jake. This marks the middle of the "Big Vake" and the point at which I hope to get my most strenuous relaxing in. So before I go, I will shove all the mental clamor ("blog me! BLOG ME!!!" out and fire off this meme I found while trolling around the blogs of friends.

The phone rings. Who do you want it to be?

At this point, any time the phone rings, it's a telemarketer. So the only answer, really, is "anyone who's not a telemarketer".

When shopping at the grocery store, do you return your cart?

Yes. I work at a grocery store. (I've worked at a variety of fast food outlets, too, therefore I always dump my tray, including the placemat. It's amazing how many either leave their crap on the table or dump the tray and make a point to leave the paper placemat. What, did you think they re-use those?)

In a social setting, are you more of a talker or a listener?

Depends on my mood and…

There have been several incidents at local high schools lately that show Waterloo Region is trying hard to keep pace with the world as it goes to hell. In the past two weeks alone,
One secondary school went into lockdown upon the sighting of what were widely rumoured to be guns and machetes--but turned out to be steel pipes. Seven teens were charged.Another school was locked down for three hours when somebody spotted a man with a handgun on the grounds. The man was never located.Two neighbouring schools in Cambridge were locked down when someone was stabbed nearby.A teenager was arrested when a 'hit list' comprised of 25 names was discovered on MySpace.com.To this litany we can add the cases that made national and international news because they turned out tragically: the Dawson College shootings, the Amish schoolhouse massacre, a mass shooting in Great Britain. Troll the news with a fine-mesh net and a day rarely passes without a school lockdown somewhere.What the hell is goin…