Gee, Twenty?

Why?

I find it interesting that we are hosting a bunch of countries to talk about the world economy, and are crippling the economy downtown to do it. A dramatic over-statement? Not really. Considering a truck accident on the 401 years ago cost the city a crap-ton of money in lost trade revenue, I would say that closing off a section of downtown and putting a good chunk of the rest on lock-down is probably not much better.

The billion-dollar line item on the budget (for security) is astounding. I guess it’s because of the potential danger posed to the world leaders from all of the protesters. This begs the question: would you need to have so much security if you held the summit in a more remote area? No, they would not. In my opinion, holding the summit in one of the most accessible places in Ontario by all forms of transit is just an invitation for protesters to flock to the area and do their thing.

This all smacks of childish dick-measuring.

Trying to compensate for something, Mr. Harper?


The Cycle of Violence

Case Against Bryant Crashes

The buzz on the street these days revolves around Michael Bryant; the case against the former Ontario attorney general seems to have fizzled out after the crown withdrew charges against him stemming from the unnecessary death of Darcy Allen Sheppard, a troubled bike courier.

While I do not condone what happened, the backlash from the cycling community is pretty dramatic; phrases like “…the message I’m getting is we deserve to die for riding a bike…” and “…it’s official: we are roadkill…” are being tossed around. The death of Mr. Sheppard is unfortunate, and the fact that his possible killer gets off scott-free is even moreso; however, I am finding it difficult to sympathize with the cyclists.

I have said before that a great majority of cyclists really piss me off; there are many who ride bikes that will cry foul when an automobile driver toes the line between safely assertive and aggressive, yet a good number of those same people have little regard for the rules of the road themselves. I can tell you that I have had quite a few near-misses with cyclists in my neighbourhood, as they breeze through the stop signs at break-neck speed; I certainly have no problem with a rolling-stop policy, but that involves actually checking for oncoming or intersecting traffic, be it on wheels or on feet, rather than blindly zooming through. I have a number of examples of this sort of hypocrisy, but I really don’t feel like getting worked up.

My message is simple: If you are a cyclist, and you are angry at the verdict of the case (or lack thereof) that recently transpired, make sure that you live up to the ideals that you stand for when your feet touch your pedals; or you’ll be just as bad as the Andretti’s that you bitch about.


It’s Never Too Early…

Twit-Her

My daughter took Valentine’s Day cards to her daycare last week. She worked very hard on them with Mrs. Jorge, colouring with crayons, applying stickers, and using glitter glue to affix heart-shaped paper cut-outs to the cards.

I addressed each card to one of the kids in her daycare group (lots of whom were very generous with their cards) and L’il J took them to her class. When I went to pick her up at the end of the day, one of the girls there walked up to her and gave her a card that looked exactly like the ones that we had bought for the other kids. An interesting coincidence.

Or so I thought.

My daughter insisted that the card was for her friend, to which I chuckled.

Jorge: No, that’s her card to you, sweetie.
L’il J: No, Daddy. That’s for her.

She was so insistent that I opened it up and looked inside. I was surprised to see that her classmate had basically crossed out both names and wrote them back in reverse.

Jorge: Oh. It looks like I made a mistake. This one is for you.
Snob In Training: I know. But I don’t need it. I have plenty of other Valentines from all of the other kids so she can take that one back.


Really?

I guess it’s never too early to believe you are popular.

My daughter, truth be told, didn’t allow this to affect her for very long. Like most children, the event was forgotten. I just find it interesting that she will model some of her behaviours after her classmate. Luckily, she hasn’t picked up on some of the finer social traits that make some of these kids so charming.

/sarcasm


If You’re Gonna Send Something…

Is There a New Word?

Spam is most idiotic thing ever. Wait. Scratch that. The people that must be clicking on the links in spam e-mails (thus propagating the spam in such volume) are the most idiotic things ever. Spam is second place.

As much as I hate the idea of spam, what I really can’t stand about it is how horrible the spelling is in a lot of those joyful notes. Yes, I understand that some worlds are required to be misspelled, due to the fact that they will pass through the spam filters more successfully. V agin eh will surely be more successful than its properly spelled counterpart. But once in a while the “typos” make me laugh.

I received an ad for a bone-ified sexual enhancer this morning (whose name begins with “v”) with the following subject line…

Be a superstart in bed!

Seriously, what the hell does that even mean?

I’m thinking about starting a company to proof-read these things. I’d make a crap-ton of money, I think. Anyone want in on this action?

In the interim, I am curious to know what people think would be a good word for spam that’s obviously written by idiots who can’t spell. Fill the comments field, folks.


Sound Off

Can You Hear Me Now?

Public transit is a wonderful and scary place. It contains a wacky cross-section of the population; however it is also a confined area and will drive you batty if you are stuck with the wrong people.

Case in point: the loud talker.

Now, I have seen (heard) some interesting conversations on public transit, but the other day this one gal decided to get into a yelling match with whomever she was talking to on her cellphone. The subject was about how her conversation partner should not be yelling at her.

The best part is that she was screaming at the top of her lungs by the end and was holding the phone in front of her as if directing her yelling at the phone itself would help her win her argument. I didn’t feel sorry for her in the slightest when we entered a tunnel and the connection was severed.

I did, though, feel sorry for humanity as she stomped off the subway, announcing to everyone that she was going to go outside and call back whomever it was to give that person a piece of her mind.

It looks to be the only piece of a large whole, so it shouldn’t take too long.