That's a tough situation over there in Nepal right now, for sure.
One of my childhood heroes, Detroit Tigers outfielder Kirk Gibson, has been diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease. Here's hoping he stays healthy for a long time; Michael J. Fox got diagnosed 24 years ago, and he's had to cut back some on his acting, but has stayed relatively healthy since.
The baseball season at the ol' schoolhouse starts on Friday. We play 8 games, in the form of four doubleheaders. It means less hassle in terms of arranging coverage for when I'm out of the school... but, the nice thing is that my afternoon classe ends on Friday (the IB's have their exams in May and don't go to classes during that time in their grade 12 year), so that's one less group of kids to have to worry about. My morning classes are both grade 9's, and since they're in the Ecology unit... well, here's some BBC: Life videos for ya! (N.B. they are actually excellent and line up nicely with our curriculum, lest you think I'm a slacker).
I hate Windows.
Getting nice out there.
Thank you, Revenue Canada, for fucking up and telling some people the tax deadline was May 5. They've decided to actually move the deadline back to May 5 from April 30. Hooray!
Saw the Kids in the Hall's live show this past Saturday night. AMAZING.
Trailer Park Boys is still funny as hell.
I liked Bill Blair. Carding is complicated, and I don't claim to understand the entire process, and it could've been more transparent (e.g. giving people receipts), but overall he did a solid job. Here's hoping his attempt at federal politics is successful.
Where are Biggie and Tupac? They're still around, I know they are.
I hope this is the summer I finally get off my ass and do some biking. I'll stick to ravines and trails, because frankly, biking on the streets in this town would scare the daylights out of me.
Alright, I'm done.
For now.
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Thursday, April 16, 2015
My right shoulder.
The first summer I played baseball was the year I was 7, turning 8 in the fall, so that would make it 1985. The summer of 2015 is coming up; if I'd played every single summer of my life, that would mean I'd have already played 30 summers.
If memory serves, I had one year in high school where I didn't play, and I think two of the summers in which I was at Waterloo were baseball-free; just before teaching (2000) was another, my first year in grad school ('04), and that's about it. Every other summer I've played either softball or baseball -- plus essentially year-round the past two years.
My shoulder hurts when I throw now.
It started last summer; when I would play catch before a game, I just couldn't get loose. My first few throws, my shoulder would feel tight, as per normal, but usually when you get things going, that goes away. But there were a few times where, despite warming up for 5-10 minutes -- normally plenty of time to get warmed up and feel good -- it just wouldn't comply.
Nowadays, it's unusual if my shoulder feels good as a game starts, rather than the other way around. It's a pain and tightness in the front of the joint that won't go away. For normal, everyday activities, I'm fine, so it's no big deal most of the time.
But, I gotta wonder if 30-ish years of a lot of throwing aren't taking their toll. I've always prided myself on having a pretty good throwing arm, but maybe there are only so many bullets in this gun.
If memory serves, I had one year in high school where I didn't play, and I think two of the summers in which I was at Waterloo were baseball-free; just before teaching (2000) was another, my first year in grad school ('04), and that's about it. Every other summer I've played either softball or baseball -- plus essentially year-round the past two years.
My shoulder hurts when I throw now.
It started last summer; when I would play catch before a game, I just couldn't get loose. My first few throws, my shoulder would feel tight, as per normal, but usually when you get things going, that goes away. But there were a few times where, despite warming up for 5-10 minutes -- normally plenty of time to get warmed up and feel good -- it just wouldn't comply.
Nowadays, it's unusual if my shoulder feels good as a game starts, rather than the other way around. It's a pain and tightness in the front of the joint that won't go away. For normal, everyday activities, I'm fine, so it's no big deal most of the time.
But, I gotta wonder if 30-ish years of a lot of throwing aren't taking their toll. I've always prided myself on having a pretty good throwing arm, but maybe there are only so many bullets in this gun.
Friday, April 3, 2015
There are a lot of Jims out there.
Noticed this while perusing clips from The Late Late Show with James Corden, and updated to reflect Colbert's future takeover from Letterman (not that it makes a difference to this table)...
* This is filled with Nightline, a news show. Doesn't really fit in with the others. But, if it's ever hosted by a Jim/James/Jimmy, colour me unsurprised in advance.
Also, hooray for white dudes!
| Major-Network Talk Show Hosts' First Names | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Network | 11:30 Host | 12:30 Host | |
| CBS | Stephen | James | |
| NBC | Jimmy | Seth | |
| ABC | Jimmy | * | |
* This is filled with Nightline, a news show. Doesn't really fit in with the others. But, if it's ever hosted by a Jim/James/Jimmy, colour me unsurprised in advance.
Also, hooray for white dudes!
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
The ephemerality of teaching.
Occasionally I tell my students, if something strange happens, "I have the weirdest job in the world." (Un)fortunately, strange things happen pretty often inside classrooms, so I get to reflect on that thought fairly often.
In a broader sense, though, being a teacher brings with it this bizarre confluence of extreme intimacy and, paradoxically, extreme fleetingness. Let me explain.
With this gig, we teach students for five months and then we change 'em up. Each semester is about 88 days long, and each period is about 75 minutes long, give-or-take, which adds up to a lot of time spent together (just over 100 hours, by my calculation).
Have you spent a hundred hours in a room with someone? Even if it's in a group of 30 or so, and even if you're going to be moving around and doing stuff and they're doing stuff and it's a little crazy sometimes, you (hopefully) interact with each kid a little bit every day, almost 90 times. Sometimes it's a hello, sometimes it's a oh my god stop driving me up the wall, sometimes it's a 15-minute conversation describing why their family came to Canada. You cover a lot of ground in five months.
In addition, if you work with kids in extracurriculars such as teams, clubs, tutoring and the like, you get to know them on a totally different level. Plus, they might open up to you in ways that they wouldn't if they were in a classroom; I've coached kids I taught at the same time before, and it really is a different dynamic.
Finally, of course, one's colleagues. It's a weird dichotomy; we have co-workers and colleagues and brothers-in-arms, but in the end, it's just you, alone, in a classroom with the kids. But, these are people you get to know, either superficially or, in my own personal experience, extremely well (for the most part); these are people you're with through babies, weddings, divorces, deaths, house purchases, and everything in between.
But, of course...
...hold on, it'll come to me.
...nope. Got nothin'. Jenny? Siyami? LaFawnduh? Baaaaaah. Something like that.
It's an interesting gig in terms of meeting new people, that's for sure. Every walk of humanity comes in and sits down. I heard an old colleague say once, "Some people say that teachers aren't in the real world, but I get more of the 'real world' walking through my door in one day than the average person experiences in a year." I think he was on to something.
But, alas, they come in, and they go. You might see them again, but who knows? It's a small world, they say -- but I wouldn't want to paint it.
In a broader sense, though, being a teacher brings with it this bizarre confluence of extreme intimacy and, paradoxically, extreme fleetingness. Let me explain.
With this gig, we teach students for five months and then we change 'em up. Each semester is about 88 days long, and each period is about 75 minutes long, give-or-take, which adds up to a lot of time spent together (just over 100 hours, by my calculation).
Have you spent a hundred hours in a room with someone? Even if it's in a group of 30 or so, and even if you're going to be moving around and doing stuff and they're doing stuff and it's a little crazy sometimes, you (hopefully) interact with each kid a little bit every day, almost 90 times. Sometimes it's a hello, sometimes it's a oh my god stop driving me up the wall, sometimes it's a 15-minute conversation describing why their family came to Canada. You cover a lot of ground in five months.
In addition, if you work with kids in extracurriculars such as teams, clubs, tutoring and the like, you get to know them on a totally different level. Plus, they might open up to you in ways that they wouldn't if they were in a classroom; I've coached kids I taught at the same time before, and it really is a different dynamic.
Finally, of course, one's colleagues. It's a weird dichotomy; we have co-workers and colleagues and brothers-in-arms, but in the end, it's just you, alone, in a classroom with the kids. But, these are people you get to know, either superficially or, in my own personal experience, extremely well (for the most part); these are people you're with through babies, weddings, divorces, deaths, house purchases, and everything in between.
But, of course...
- the semester ends with exams, and you bring in a new group of kids
- the season ends, usually with a defeat, and next year's team will be different
- colleagues come and go, move around, retire, and whatnot
...hold on, it'll come to me.
...nope. Got nothin'. Jenny? Siyami? LaFawnduh? Baaaaaah. Something like that.
It's an interesting gig in terms of meeting new people, that's for sure. Every walk of humanity comes in and sits down. I heard an old colleague say once, "Some people say that teachers aren't in the real world, but I get more of the 'real world' walking through my door in one day than the average person experiences in a year." I think he was on to something.
But, alas, they come in, and they go. You might see them again, but who knows? It's a small world, they say -- but I wouldn't want to paint it.
Thursday, March 19, 2015
Greeings from the Sunshine State.
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Saturday, March 7, 2015
Bands need to not try so damn hard to be great.
I try to stay ignorant of most modern mainstream rock (MMR) music. This has been true for about a decade or so; we had some signs of hope in the early-to-mid 2000s there, with your White Stripes and your Strokes and your whatnots. But, alas, bands like that have faded back into indie-like obscurity (or just called it quits and moved on), and it's back to crate-digging for your ol' pal J.
Something that irks me about MMR is how hard bands look like they're trying, when they're up there striking their rawk poses, hammering-away on the three chords they know, singing lyrics about heartbreak so earnestly (and in a manner that suggests their leg is caught in a bear trap), all the while hoping their mascara isn't running.
"We're trying as HARRRRRRD as we CAAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!"
It's irritating.
Knock it off.
Relax. If you've got talent, we'll see it.
Case in point: the early work of Dire Straits.
It's been a while since I saw this clip; I still love the song, of course. And, naturally, the Straits' stock-in-trade at that point in their career was laid-back pub rock, a genre I definitely enjoy.
The thing that strikes me most obviously is that they don't even look like they're trying that hard. Naturally, of course they're trying -- they're on stage, they know they're being filmed, and there's an audience they're trying to please -- but it looks like they're just chilling out and jamming, for the most part, and coming up with a fantastic song.
That takes talent, folks... something in short supply these days, that's for sure.
Something that irks me about MMR is how hard bands look like they're trying, when they're up there striking their rawk poses, hammering-away on the three chords they know, singing lyrics about heartbreak so earnestly (and in a manner that suggests their leg is caught in a bear trap), all the while hoping their mascara isn't running.
"We're trying as HARRRRRRD as we CAAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!"
It's irritating.
Knock it off.
Relax. If you've got talent, we'll see it.
Case in point: the early work of Dire Straits.
It's been a while since I saw this clip; I still love the song, of course. And, naturally, the Straits' stock-in-trade at that point in their career was laid-back pub rock, a genre I definitely enjoy.
The thing that strikes me most obviously is that they don't even look like they're trying that hard. Naturally, of course they're trying -- they're on stage, they know they're being filmed, and there's an audience they're trying to please -- but it looks like they're just chilling out and jamming, for the most part, and coming up with a fantastic song.
That takes talent, folks... something in short supply these days, that's for sure.
Tuesday, March 3, 2015
Song review: "Legend" by Drake.
Local singer Aubrey Graham, from Forest Hill, has released a new album called If You're Reading This It's Too Late. Graham, who was an actor as a child and has now started making music of the hip-hop variety, goes by his middle name, Drake, and has apparently eschewed using his surname.
A curious practice, indeed.
At any rate, the first selection from the album is entitled "Legend". Is Mr. Graham singing about the legends of Arthurian days, with knights and round tables and whatnot? Or is this song about a more-contemporary heroic figure -- perhaps someone along the lines of a Nelson Mandela, a "Sully" Sullenberger, or maybe even Ava DuVernay, the director of the powerful film Selma? We shall see.
The lyrics follow.
[chorus]
When I pull up on a nigga tell that nigga back, back
I'm too good with these words, watch a nigga backtrack
Oh my. Graham goes right for the self-aggrandizement, straight from the top. Gotta hand it to someone who knows his own talents.
If I die, all I know is I'm a mothafuckin' legend
It's too late for my city, I'm the youngest nigga reppin
Graham clearly wades into the Scarborough subway debate, coming down on the side of the LRT; it's "too late" to go back to the original plan approved by Council. Also, apparently he's a legend. And, also, he has a fondness for the n-word.
Oh my God, oh my God
If I die, I'm a legend
Oh my God, oh my God
If I die, I'm a legend
Embracing his spiritual side, I see. Does he see himself as a possible martyr to a cause, should he meet a premature end? He apparently opens the door to this possibility here.
[verse]
I'm up first, I'm on tour, got a girl, she from the South
Used to work, used to dance in Texas, now she clean the house
Traditional family values ring through clearly in Graham's lyrics: his wife, a former ballet dancer, stays at home and takes care of the house.
Everyday, I was strugglin' to learn what life's about
On my way, money taught me Spanish, make it andale
Perhaps his high school didn't offer language courses beyond French; this is somewhat common. But, for a modest fee, a course like Rosetta Stone can help you learn any language you like.
Way up north, packed in Honda cars
They 'on't know who we are
Fuck 'em all, they only pussy niggas shootin' at the star
As their ads suggest, the Honda Civic is the best-selling car in Canada for the past several decades.
Right or wrong, I'mma write my wrongs
They can't live this long
Graham feels it necessary to get his thoughts down on paper, especially when it concerns his misdeeds; powerful stuff.
You don't know where you're gonna go
I got this shit mapped out strong
I'd have taken him for a fan of GPS, but apparently he is a strong proponent of mapping things out beforehand. I'm curious if he uses Google Maps, or if he sticks to the classic paper map.
[chorus]
[verse]
I'm the one, one
Why do I feel like the only one?
Why do I feel like you owe me one?
6 G-O-D, I'm the holy one
Again, his spiritual side shines through. Perhaps a bit of a messiah complex here, however, and a strange attachment to the number six.
Yeaaah, you know wassup
They been off for a minute now
You know they all sentimental now
You know they all actin' different now
Separation from one's friends can highlight the subtle and gradual changes one experiences in one's lifetime. But, upon reunion, these changes are quite noticeable -- including an embracing of sentimentality, which often comes with age.
And I, I just can't pretend
Seen too much, it's so hard for me to let new people in
Similarly, as one ages, one's social circle tends to solidify, making it difficult to acquire new friends. Perhaps Mr. Graham could join a club of some sort, or take up a new hobby in order to meet people.
I can't change, this shit set in stone
They can't live this long
You don't know where you're gonna go
I got this shit mapped out strong
Graham generalizes here to the inability to change other parts of his persona. However, recent research has shown that, if people continue to learn new things throughout their lives, it decreases the decline in brain function due to aging. Thus, Graham does not have to set things in stone.
[chorus]
[outro]
Who am I kidding? These lyrics are idiotic, and his voice sounds like a robot taking a dump. There isn't an instrument within fifty yards, and thus no real "song" to speak of. Holy fuck, this is terrible.
A curious practice, indeed.
At any rate, the first selection from the album is entitled "Legend". Is Mr. Graham singing about the legends of Arthurian days, with knights and round tables and whatnot? Or is this song about a more-contemporary heroic figure -- perhaps someone along the lines of a Nelson Mandela, a "Sully" Sullenberger, or maybe even Ava DuVernay, the director of the powerful film Selma? We shall see.
The lyrics follow.
[chorus]
When I pull up on a nigga tell that nigga back, back
I'm too good with these words, watch a nigga backtrack
Oh my. Graham goes right for the self-aggrandizement, straight from the top. Gotta hand it to someone who knows his own talents.
If I die, all I know is I'm a mothafuckin' legend
It's too late for my city, I'm the youngest nigga reppin
Graham clearly wades into the Scarborough subway debate, coming down on the side of the LRT; it's "too late" to go back to the original plan approved by Council. Also, apparently he's a legend. And, also, he has a fondness for the n-word.
Oh my God, oh my God
If I die, I'm a legend
Oh my God, oh my God
If I die, I'm a legend
Embracing his spiritual side, I see. Does he see himself as a possible martyr to a cause, should he meet a premature end? He apparently opens the door to this possibility here.
[verse]
I'm up first, I'm on tour, got a girl, she from the South
Used to work, used to dance in Texas, now she clean the house
Traditional family values ring through clearly in Graham's lyrics: his wife, a former ballet dancer, stays at home and takes care of the house.
Everyday, I was strugglin' to learn what life's about
On my way, money taught me Spanish, make it andale
Perhaps his high school didn't offer language courses beyond French; this is somewhat common. But, for a modest fee, a course like Rosetta Stone can help you learn any language you like.
Way up north, packed in Honda cars
They 'on't know who we are
Fuck 'em all, they only pussy niggas shootin' at the star
As their ads suggest, the Honda Civic is the best-selling car in Canada for the past several decades.
Right or wrong, I'mma write my wrongs
They can't live this long
Graham feels it necessary to get his thoughts down on paper, especially when it concerns his misdeeds; powerful stuff.
You don't know where you're gonna go
I got this shit mapped out strong
I'd have taken him for a fan of GPS, but apparently he is a strong proponent of mapping things out beforehand. I'm curious if he uses Google Maps, or if he sticks to the classic paper map.
[chorus]
[verse]
I'm the one, one
Why do I feel like the only one?
Why do I feel like you owe me one?
6 G-O-D, I'm the holy one
Again, his spiritual side shines through. Perhaps a bit of a messiah complex here, however, and a strange attachment to the number six.
Yeaaah, you know wassup
They been off for a minute now
You know they all sentimental now
You know they all actin' different now
Separation from one's friends can highlight the subtle and gradual changes one experiences in one's lifetime. But, upon reunion, these changes are quite noticeable -- including an embracing of sentimentality, which often comes with age.
And I, I just can't pretend
Seen too much, it's so hard for me to let new people in
Similarly, as one ages, one's social circle tends to solidify, making it difficult to acquire new friends. Perhaps Mr. Graham could join a club of some sort, or take up a new hobby in order to meet people.
I can't change, this shit set in stone
They can't live this long
You don't know where you're gonna go
I got this shit mapped out strong
Graham generalizes here to the inability to change other parts of his persona. However, recent research has shown that, if people continue to learn new things throughout their lives, it decreases the decline in brain function due to aging. Thus, Graham does not have to set things in stone.
[chorus]
[outro]
* * * * *
Who am I kidding? These lyrics are idiotic, and his voice sounds like a robot taking a dump. There isn't an instrument within fifty yards, and thus no real "song" to speak of. Holy fuck, this is terrible.
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