Foul June 29, 2006

I see the young spirits of my generation quashed by the pursuit of the unattainable expectation of satisfaction, whose education has brought them jobs and salaries and benefits and status,

whose successes have far outnumbered their failures, who, with justified confidence and tempered foresight, have luxuriously chosen family or solitude, academia or employment, travel or inertia, but who have chosen, nonetheless,

who have rejected imposition of collective will and who have created custom lives,

who have fought and lost and fought and changed and fought and won the system,

who have what they need, avoid what they hate, soak in what they love, but know not what they want,

for whom everyday could be that fateful date with happiness, but for whom everyday represents another rejected parole from their dysthymic purgatory.

I’m likin’ the Lichen June 29, 2006

I had a rather silly conversation/debate the other day with a friend in regards to symbiosis. He was trying to make the case that the relationship between Homo Sapiens and domesticated cats is a symbiotic one. I, of course, disputed his unsubstantiated blather. Surprisingly enough, this discourse went on for much longer than its apparent worth warranted. In hindsight, however, it all makes much more sense.

You see, we had begun from opposite premises. Neither of us is a biologist (he thinks he is and I used to be a biochemist, but now we’re both social scientists, which means that we know nothing about anything of substance). So I remember something about symbiosis from Voyage of the Mimi, this interactive nautical book we read in grade six. Something about barnacles and whales and how one can’t live without the other. He, on the other hand, bases his argument on some “textbook” example that I’ve never heard of –Lichens, or something of that nature. So, I say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, and he then gives me a more mainstream example of the Clown Fish and the Anemone to which I yelp, “Hey, I know that!” (ignominiously revealing my main sources of information). So I feel like we’re on the same page, until of course, it becomes apparent that we are discordant on the very definition of symbiosis.

Voyage of the Mimi forced me into believing that symbiosis was a relationship between two species, whose very existence hinged on its mutual necessity. Lichens and Clown Fish caused my friend to believe that a symbiotic relationship was not, in fact, necessary for the survival of each respective species, but that it was mutually beneficial. It turns out we were both right (I being a little less right) but both very incomplete in our understanding.

According to one of the top Google hits on this subject, there are 5 types of symbiosis: Mutualism, Commensalism, Parasitism, Competition and Neutralism. Without going into detail or graphings, these categories (rather self-explanatory, actually) range from mutually beneficial to mutually unaffected, with Parasitism harming one species and benefiting the other.

The thing about the symbiosis between a human and a cat is that it is ephemeral at best. The cat is such a fickle and capricious being that the human owner may be its salvation one day and its very nemesis the next. But, by the same token, let us not overestimate humanity’s resolve. The human is just as, if not more, mercurial than it’s feline counterpart. The two species do not need one another for survival; however, to categorize their symbiosis within the parametres delineated above is to underplay the complexity of their relationship.

I think that we humans like to keep cats around not because they provide endless fun or are riveting companions, but because they exhibit the unfettered and inherent ability to vacillate between love/hate, affection/disregard, and purrs/scathing clawings without moral consideration.

How often would we like to be able to do the same? How often would you like to dole out your indiscriminate but honest feelings to that co-worker who checks out your cleavage before deciding whether or not to say good morning, or to the new chick you’re dating who makes you wash your feet before getting into bed, or to the fat bitch who pushes the “close door” button on the elevator as you run toward it with a spilling coffee in one hand, or to the vice-dean who rejects your law school application because you can’t write a stupid standardized test. Would it not be so cathartic to scratch the eyes out of any and all of these folks the moment they do you wrong and then go rub up against their legs when you want something from them and have them pet the back of your neck anyway?

We live vicariously through the house cat. We long to be all that she is. Lazy. Capricious. Exceptionally agile. Unbearably cute.

So to my ostensible biologist friend, I commend you on your identification of this symbiosis. May I recommend that you watch more animated films to identify other examples of symbiosis that your plebeian friends may be able to associate with?

Horticulture June 20, 2006

Today,
as I plucked the dead leaves
from my hanging plant,
during the storm of awakening thunder
and latent passion,
I found a new sprout,
struggling to survive my negligence.

9 holes in and you’re going strong! June 15, 2006

Ok. I’m totally obssessed. I can’t concentrate on anything other than your game, BF. You just played the first 9 holes and you are right in the top 15! Brad, do you realize how well you’re doing?! I’m overjoyed. Keep it up! This is what the Top 25 leaderboard looks like right now (nevermind, it wouldn’t paste properly). I know it’s too premature to say anything, so I won’t. Who knew I could be so excited about golf??! Damn TV stations are only showing that evil-looking Mickelson guy. He’s gross and I hate him. What makes him so special? Why don’t they show your cute blonde locks instead? More to come soon…

The first star among us June 15, 2006

Upon graduation from high school, friends inevitably have that Who is gonna become famous first conversation. I know that we had it within our group, but I can’t remember who was at the top of the list. However, I don’t think we thought it would be Brad. Well, now we know how insightful a bunch of 17 year olds is.

Today, my boy, Brad Fritsch, is making his PGA debut in the US Open, of all competitions! His name is all over the Canadian media. His picture is in every newspaper and all over the web. He is, for all intents and purposes, famous in the sports world.

I want to send out a huge GOOD LUCK to him today. He tees off at 2 something, although it appears that as of 10:06 am he’s played two holes already and he’s on PAR!!!

Here he is signing autographs for his fans. Brad, we are all so proud of you. I’m watching and keeping abreast of your progress!

Love you so much!

Human Experiment #1 June 2, 2006

On a train.

Pleasant-looking man sitting behind young restless woman.

She scribbles a riddle on the back of a conference program and punctuates it with a footnote: “Reply in writing only. If you don’t want to play, crumple this up and throw at my head.”

She folds up the paper and feeds it through the space between her seat back and the window.

He looks up, confused.

She waves it, indicating he should take it, which he does.

She falls back into her seat and waits. Big smile on her face. Big excitement in her soul.

Will he play?

She hears papers ruffling, pencil cases opening.

Maybe Canadian train rides don’t have to be long and solitary. Sure this isn’t Europe where you’ll meet your soul mate on the train, but there is hope for original human interaction if one is open to it.

As she awaits a response, her mind and spirit fall back into the paced rhythm of the marathon she ran last week. The music in her ears is the same and the methodical chug of the wheels on the tracks carries her similarly, but less painfully, than her legs did.

Unlike this train ride, the 42 km run was preciously isolating.

Despite the ardour and the subsequent pain, in this moment she longs for nothing more than to be at that start line. That exhilarating sentiment of embarking on a journey that she was unsure of being able to complete was the very fuel that propelled her through the finish line 4 hours and 56 minutes later; not to mention the intensity of the physical exertion that lifted her mind into a higher sate of consciousness. She’d finally reconnected with herself and regained clarity and direction.

As such, she wanted to give someone else the chance to live out a little mystery and adventure, so as to give his day a bit more sparkle.

The folded program slides back through the space.

It reads: “Is it bigger than a breadbox? Feel free to reply with more than the traditional “yes” or “no”. You wouldn’t have a spare pen? I’m using the conductor’s.”

Witty. Good grammar. Complete sentences. Not averse to unorthodox situations. Human experiment #1: successful!

She provides a clue, a pen and an extra morsel of paper. Still no visual or verbal contact made. Neither desires either. The suspense heightens.

At least 30 minutes go by and two folded papers come back. The first with the correct answer to the riddle. The second with a brand new riddle for her to consider. “Once my name is uttered I no longer exist. Who am I?”

“Silence?” she writes immediately. “BTW, my name is Tirunesh, but I don’t usually cease to exist when my name is said. I’m not enigmatic enough.”

The note goes back.

She sees his reflection writing frantically in the traincar window. The excitement is mounting.

One page slides back. He keeps the other.
“Exactly! Also, ‘the current time’, but this answer falls lower on the EI*.”

A little further down on the page: “Graham”

At the bottom of the page: “*Enigmatic Index: 0 = Paris Hilton ………………….. 9 = Soviet Russia 1955-1960.”

She lets out a huge guffaw. She can’t believe that a total stranger has completely indulged her cryptic communication fantasy and has designed an EI by which it can now be measured! This exceeded all expectation.

The playful written banter continues back and forth, filling up page upon page of the conferenence program (incidentially, all of which he keeps), punctuated by the odd muffled giggle. But neither makes any attempt at other forms of communication.

The four-hour trip ends as quickly as a Nancy Drew. The train stops. The two youths gather their bags simultaneously, give one another a quick smiled glance and say, “See you later.”

They walk off the train just as they had boarded–complete strangers. However, they carry with them a secret but discreet connection. No indiscretions. No obscenities. No ulterior motives. Just an innocent little foray into the human desire for mystery.

…and to one another, mysterious they remained…