1. Take the nearest book and look up page 18, line 4. What does it say?
"...encore, vagabondaient d'une mine á l'autre, mais avaient jugé profi-. . .,"
2. Reach out your arm as far as you can. What do you touch?
The end of my nose.
3. What is the latest thing you watched on TV?
A snippet of Frasier
4. Without looking, guess what time it is.
6:20. Actual time? 6:31..
5. Apart from the computer, what else do you hear?
My computer sounds like a dump truck idling, but I can hear traffic, a few French-Canadians chattering outside, and Bob Dylan singing "The Times They are a Changin'."
6. When were you last outside, and what did you do?
Walked from the car to the apartment.
7. What did you look at before you started answering these questions.
I scanned the BBC news website.
8. What are you wearing?
Black pants and a dark blue short-sleeved dress shirt with vertical stripes. I like vertical stripes because they have nice a slimming effect.
9. Did you dream last night, if you did, then what was the dream about?
I did, in fact, dream last night. I had one where I was at work watching the world cup. I don't remember anything else about it.
10. When was the last time you laughed?
Refer to number 3.
11. What is on the wall in the room you sit in right now?
A Jamaican flag overlapped by a rasta flag in turn overlapped by Bob Marley's gigantic head.
12. Have you seen anything strange lately?
I have this fingernail problem that's pretty strange looking.
13. What do you think of this challenge?
It's alright.
14. What movie have you watched most recently?
I finally watched Run Lola Run. It was quite good, but very short.
15. If you became a multi-millionaire, what would you buy?
A house. Maybe some ducks.
16. Tell something about yourself that others don't know.
I see the Parliament buildings at least twice a day.
17. If you could change ONE thing in the world, without consideration to politics and feelings of guilt, what would it be?
I would change politics and the feelings of guilt associated with them.
18. Do you like dancing?
Dancing is a beautiful art form. I suffer from a genetic predisposition to dance badly.
19. George Bush?
I don't know him personally, but he is among the worst presidents in the history of the United States.
20-21.What would you name your children, boy and girl respectively?
Johnson and Blueberry.
22. Could you consider living abroad?
I could and I do.
23. What would you like God to say to you when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
I'm sure I'll be happy as long as he doesn't yell at me.
24. Four people you would like to answer these questions?
Piet, Todd, Aaron, and Marcellin.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
The Envelope
They never told him why he had been selected. The crisp manila envelope arrived with rest of his mail. On it cover, the envelope bore his address and, printed neatly in the corner, a small government insignia. He had noticed it as he rifled through his mail and he immediately knew what it was. There was the usual mail: a telephone bill, a pizza flyer, a bank statement, and then there was the obtrusive envelope. He thrust the other mail aside; it wasn't important now. He let the envelope sit on the table while he hunched over it, hands folded, contemplating this momentous article of mail. There it sat, in all its brownish-gold glory, waiting for his shaking hands to brandish the letter opener and release the contents. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Why was he nervous? After all, hadn't he known what was written in that fateful package the moment he saw it? He finally decided that he was nervous because he had no idea why he had been selected. He was a gainfully employed, middle-aged, passive, healthy, law-abiding citizen. He had never broken the law, never disturbed the peace, and never ever done anything remotely controversial. In fact, he rarely spoke at all and, when he did, he chose his words with a mundane precision that ensured that he had few conversations and even fewer friends. He was a careful man and he had done all he could to ensure that his life would leave the world as undisturbed as possible. For every decision he made, he had cautiously made certain that no ripple would be felt by anyone. He muttered anxiously under his breath, and suddenly wondered if this habit were the cause of his fate. No, that didn't seem possible. But why? Why had he been chosen? It was not random. They used a method, a system, to choose recipients. He picked the envelope up in tremulous hands: it was surprisingly light for such a heavy notice. He clutched the letter opener, carefully, but unsteadily, guiding across the top of the envelope. Then, as if it were ancient parchment, he gingerly plucked the sheet from the envelope. Finally, he read the words he had already knew were written there: "YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR OUR POPULATION CONTAINMENT PROGRAM. PLEASE REPORT TO THE PREFECT." He sighed, glanced half-heartedly at the phone, wishing he had someone to call to answer his question: why had he been chosen?
Friday, June 09, 2006
The Enemy
They attack us because of our freedom. They want to kill us because of our way of life. The reason, my friends, that they hate us is our tolerance. They are all to be suspected. They are evil and want to destroy everything that is good. They are driven by nothing less than the desire to be anti-democratic. They are nailing babies to church doors. They are slaughtering puppies in the streets. They have committed crimes against humanity. They play Rolling Stones records backwards because they enjoy Satanic lyrics. We need to fear them all. They steal carrots from Mr. McGregor's garden. They don't assimilate. I knew one, and he didn't shower regularly. They occasionally spurn the use of utensils when they eat. They kill civilians. They spill gravy on the floor and refuse to clean it up. They commit atrocities. They don't finish their brussel sprouts. They're racist. They don't stand during the national anthem. They're different. They smack their lips excessively when they enjoy their food. They are all the same. I saw one shoplifting once. They need to be rounded up. They want our deaths. Some of them don't sing in tune. Demographically speaking, they are increasing at a greater rate than us. They are known jaywalkers. They leave hair in the sink. They won't become us. They are cockroaches. We need to watch them carefully. They litter. They go to church on the incorrect day. They can't be understood. They are homegrown, organic, and pesticide-free. They sometimes forget to say thank you. They have a strong dislike for things that look nice. They vote and pay their taxes, but they're sending secret messages to the enemy. They can lip-read. They purposely swerve to hit small rodents crossing the street. See how they band together when we confront them? They forget to put the cap on the toothpaste. They watch violent movies. They drink expired milk. They have library fines. All of them hate us. They put their cd's in the wrong cases. They leave peanut butter on the counter. They expectorate in public. They don't wear their seatbelts. They remove the batteries from their smoke alarm. They are known to make mistakes. There are dandelions on their lawns. The best way to control their radicalism is to follow the old adage: "Good wedges make good neighbours."
They attack us because of our freedom. They want to kill us because of our way of life. The reason, my friends, that they hate us is our tolerance. They are all to be suspected. They are evil and want to destroy everything that is good. They are driven by nothing less than the desire to be anti-democratic. They are nailing babies to church doors. They are slaughtering puppies in the streets. They have committed crimes against humanity. They play Rolling Stones records backwards because they enjoy Satanic lyrics. We need to fear them all. They steal carrots from Mr. McGregor's garden. They don't assimilate. I knew one, and he didn't shower regularly. They occasionally spurn the use of utensils when they eat. They kill civilians. They spill gravy on the floor and refuse to clean it up. They commit atrocities. They don't finish their brussel sprouts. They're racist. They don't stand during the national anthem. They're different. They smack their lips excessively when they enjoy their food. They are all the same. I saw one shoplifting once. They need to be rounded up. They want our deaths. Some of them don't sing in tune. Demographically speaking, they are increasing at a greater rate than us. They are known jaywalkers. They leave hair in the sink. They won't become us. They are cockroaches. We need to watch them carefully. They litter. They go to church on the incorrect day. They can't be understood. They are homegrown, organic, and pesticide-free. They sometimes forget to say thank you. They have a strong dislike for things that look nice. They vote and pay their taxes, but they're sending secret messages to the enemy. They can lip-read. They purposely swerve to hit small rodents crossing the street. See how they band together when we confront them? They forget to put the cap on the toothpaste. They watch violent movies. They drink expired milk. They have library fines. All of them hate us. They put their cd's in the wrong cases. They leave peanut butter on the counter. They expectorate in public. They don't wear their seatbelts. They remove the batteries from their smoke alarm. They are known to make mistakes. There are dandelions on their lawns. The best way to control their radicalism is to follow the old adage: "Good wedges make good neighbours."
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
This, according to the wise and all-knowing internet, is my worldview:
 | You scored as Cultural Creative. Cultural Creatives are probably the newest group to enter this realm. You are a modern thinker who tends to shy away from organized religion but still feels as if there is something greater than ourselves. You are very spiritual, even if you are not religious. Life has a meaning outside of the rational.
What is Your World View? (updated) created with QuizFarm.com |
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
The Overwhelmingly Important E-mail
A couple of days ago I received an e-mail in my bulk folder titled "overwhelmingly important e-mail." I feel like a knave because instead of checking the contents of this e-mail, I deleted it without a second thought. I should know better, deleting an e-mail titled "overwhelmingly important" is tantamount to crossing a crosswalk when the red hand is flashing.
Lately I have been pondering what the contents of that e-mail could have been. Perhaps Yusuf had discovered some deep philosophical truth which would absolutely astonish me. A truth so profound that it would shake the foundations of Western Civilization. In other words, Yusuf may have read "The DaVinci Code" and, sleuth that he is, figured out how this historical fiction* would shatter the foundations of Western Society as we know it.
Or did Yusuf find a new code? Perhaps Yusuf had found a code cleverly hidden in the ingredients on a Cheerios box which revealed that P. Diddy did not, in fact, write all of his own lyrics. Maybe he had found a code hidden in the menu of an Indian restaurant which revealed that Siddhartha Gautama picked his nose and bit his fingernails even after reaching his supposed enlightenment. Or, quite possibly, he had learned that Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters" was a symbolic representation of the fact that John Calvin liked to dance, drink excessively, and lie on the couch all day while contemplating his second and third baptisms.
Or, you never know, this could be the worst blog entry ever.
*historical fiction, when referring to the Da Vinci Coce, should be read as fictional history.
A couple of days ago I received an e-mail in my bulk folder titled "overwhelmingly important e-mail." I feel like a knave because instead of checking the contents of this e-mail, I deleted it without a second thought. I should know better, deleting an e-mail titled "overwhelmingly important" is tantamount to crossing a crosswalk when the red hand is flashing.
Lately I have been pondering what the contents of that e-mail could have been. Perhaps Yusuf had discovered some deep philosophical truth which would absolutely astonish me. A truth so profound that it would shake the foundations of Western Civilization. In other words, Yusuf may have read "The DaVinci Code" and, sleuth that he is, figured out how this historical fiction* would shatter the foundations of Western Society as we know it.
Or did Yusuf find a new code? Perhaps Yusuf had found a code cleverly hidden in the ingredients on a Cheerios box which revealed that P. Diddy did not, in fact, write all of his own lyrics. Maybe he had found a code hidden in the menu of an Indian restaurant which revealed that Siddhartha Gautama picked his nose and bit his fingernails even after reaching his supposed enlightenment. Or, quite possibly, he had learned that Van Gogh's "The Potato Eaters" was a symbolic representation of the fact that John Calvin liked to dance, drink excessively, and lie on the couch all day while contemplating his second and third baptisms.
Or, you never know, this could be the worst blog entry ever.
*historical fiction, when referring to the Da Vinci Coce, should be read as fictional history.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Another Place
There is a place not far from you
where the sky is the same shade of blue
where the sun rises from its eastern place
and where the moon shows the same pale face
where the grass is a similar green
and puddles provide the same dark sheen
where people awake sometime in the morning
and where gunshots are a constant warning
where corpses line every street
and fester and stink in the heat
where mothers cry for their dead
and orphans put themselves to bed
where widows cry themselves to sleep
and the bereaved are left alone to weep
where fathers bleed the soil red
on the same ground on which their sons have bled
where children gasp for some food
and peace is just an interlude
where is this place of such pain?
This horrible land of copper rain?
It is where the sky is the same shade of blue
in a place that is not far from you.
John den Boer, 2000.
There is a place not far from you
where the sky is the same shade of blue
where the sun rises from its eastern place
and where the moon shows the same pale face
where the grass is a similar green
and puddles provide the same dark sheen
where people awake sometime in the morning
and where gunshots are a constant warning
where corpses line every street
and fester and stink in the heat
where mothers cry for their dead
and orphans put themselves to bed
where widows cry themselves to sleep
and the bereaved are left alone to weep
where fathers bleed the soil red
on the same ground on which their sons have bled
where children gasp for some food
and peace is just an interlude
where is this place of such pain?
This horrible land of copper rain?
It is where the sky is the same shade of blue
in a place that is not far from you.
John den Boer, 2000.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Have you ever wondered what a soccer match between Japan and the Netherlands would look like in anime? Neither have I, but the result involves a lot more shouting and slow motion than I would have thought. Look out for Edgar Davids, Seedorf (?), the gigantic Jaap Stam, and Holland's saviour against the Japanese, Edwin Van der Sar.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
More Boerishbwoy FAQ's
The legion of loyal Boerishbwoy readers may remember a previous post which answered some FAQs. For the uninitiated, FAQ stands for Frequently Asked Questions, and Boerishbwoy is the greatest blog in the universe. Our mailbag has been inundated with questions about the site and the mysterious and brilliant author of this wonder of the blogosphere, John den Boer. Here, finally, are some answers:
Q - I'm so sick of love songs, so sad and slow, so why can't I turn of my radio?
You may be listening to a heavy metal station or perhaps you're just lazy. Or maybe, just maybe, you like to wallow in your own love-sick misery.
Q - Why does life suck?
Life does not, in fact, suck. If life sucked it would mean that life was a vacuum. A vacuum, as any grade seven graduate knows, is the absence of matter. Since life contains matter it is not a vacuum and, consequently, we can say that life matters.
Q - How can you possibly get away with your poor logic and terrible puns?
We at Boerishbwoy are committed to the concept of logic so far as it does not infringe on our concept of truth. We are also committed to the concept of truth so far as it does not infringe on our concept of reality. Furthermore, we are committed to the concept of reality so far as it does not infringe on our concept of our own genius. As for the puns, they are actually what the Greek philosophers would call "brilliant."
Q - How do you know that the Greek philosophers would call your puns brilliant?
We asked one.
Q - One Greek philosopher can hardly be representative of all Greek philosophers, can he?
If you want to nitpick we could say that this philosopher was more of a janitor and that his nationality was more Anglo-Irish than Greek, but what good would that do the world? Let's not be anal retentive about these sort of things.
Q - How tall is John den Boer?
Nine feet, two inches.
Q - That's not possible, I saw him and he is probably only six foot one at the most.
That's a statement, not a question and so it would seem that you do not, in fact, expect an answer. Furthermore, you don't seem sure of yourself, so maybe you should check your facts or vision or possibly a combination of both of those things.
Q - How can you claim that Boerishbwoy is the most popular blog in the universe when a simple look into its daily hits clearly reveals that it ranks somewhere below the blog of a thirteen year-old from Iowa whose favourite song is "My Humps"?
We never said that Boerishbwoy was the most popular blog in the universe.
Q- You said, and I quote, "and Boerishbwoy is the most popular blog in the universe."
N-no, uh, well, listen there are soldiers who wake up every morning in Iraq wondering if today is their last day on earth and so you should know, sir, that your question is not only disengenuous but also unpatriotic.
Q - Your answer was disengenuous, wasn't it?
You don't seem sure of yourself, do you?
Q - What colour would a smurf turn if you choked it?
White.
Q - If I write an invisible question will you write an invisible answer?
No.
Q - How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
We brought this question to the big kahuna himself, John den Boer, who stated the following: "If a woodchuck could chuck wood he would probably only be able to chuck woodchips and since woodchucks are notorious for their short attention spans a woodchuck would only be able to chuck a half a shovel-full of woodchips. Unless, of course, the woodchips were blocking the entrance to its sleeping quarters, in which case the woodchuck would either dig a new hole or chuck the approximate equivalent of a five-foot-long two by four. That is, of course, if the woodchuck we are referring to is a gopher as, in some areas, woodchuck is used to denote a woodpecker. If we are, in fact, referring to a woodpecker the amount of wood works out to a much more impressive half a yard."
Q - Stare much?
Mmmm, what?
Q - Can I be your neighbour?
No.
Friday, May 05, 2006
"All the lonely people, where do they all come from?" the old man mused from his perch on the park bench.
"Where the streets have no name," his stooped friend answered glibly from beside him.
"Lonely," he sighed, "I'm so lonely, I have nobody to call my own. I'm so lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely!"
"Well, that's alright . . . that's alright for you," the friend answered sagely.
"I'm so lonesome I could cry," the old man muttered.
"Please don't worry about a thing," his friend assured him, "'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."
"How often people change, no two remain the same, why things don't always turn out as you planned," the old man paused looking at his dry dusty shoes, "These are the things I don't understand . . ."
The friend remained silently in thought and the old man suddenly added, "Yeah, these are the things I don't understand."
The friend finally spoke up, "it's all relative. Even if we don't understand, and that's well understood," he looked at the old men earnestly, "especially when we don't understand - then it's just because. Even if we don't understand then let's all just believe."
"Been dazed and confused for so long," the old man said in bewilderment and pointing his finger at his friend, he declared, "it's not true."
"Miracles can happen, when you believe," the friend offered, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder.
"Nothin' new, nothin' new," the old man sputtered, "y'all ain't saying nothin' new."
"Does my happiness upset you?" the friend asked pointedly, "Why are you best with gloom?"
"Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry," the old man answered, "because the sky is blue . . . aaaaah."
"I see clouds of blue, clouds of white, bright blessed days, warm sacred nights and I think to myself," the friend paused for a moment, "what a wonderful world."
"How can you be sitting there, telling me that you care - that you care," the old man shook his head, "when everytime I look around the people suffer in suffering in everyway, everywhere?"
"In every life we have some trouble, but when you worry you make it double," the friend said assuringly, "don't worry, be happy."
"The whole world is wrong it seems , oh, I guess it's the chains that bind me," the old man intoned darkly, "I can't shake it loose. These chains and things."
"They say freedom, oh, freedom is just another place to hide. Now I'm coming to you with my arms open wide," the friend held out his arms to embrace the old man.
"It's getting dark, too dark to see, I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door." the old man pushed his friend away grimly.
"You've gotta walk and don't look back," the friend declared, "If it's love that you're running from there is no hiding place. Just your problems, no one else's problems you just have to face."
"Sittin' here resting my bones," the old man pondered, "and this loneliness won't leave me alone."
"Everything is everything," the friend shrugged, "what is meant to be, will be. After winter, must come spring. Change it comes eventually."
"I’ve squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles," the old man grumbled, "such are promises."
"Did you exchange a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage?" the friend asked in exasperation.
"But people just don't seem to understand how someone can feel so blue . . . they call me Mr. Pitiful," the old man bit a quivering lip.
"Give me one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around," the friend stumbled to his feet and turned to leave.
"Because maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me?" the old man offered.
"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps."
"Where the streets have no name," his stooped friend answered glibly from beside him.
"Lonely," he sighed, "I'm so lonely, I have nobody to call my own. I'm so lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely!"
"Well, that's alright . . . that's alright for you," the friend answered sagely.
"I'm so lonesome I could cry," the old man muttered.
"Please don't worry about a thing," his friend assured him, "'cause every little thing is gonna be alright."
"How often people change, no two remain the same, why things don't always turn out as you planned," the old man paused looking at his dry dusty shoes, "These are the things I don't understand . . ."
The friend remained silently in thought and the old man suddenly added, "Yeah, these are the things I don't understand."
The friend finally spoke up, "it's all relative. Even if we don't understand, and that's well understood," he looked at the old men earnestly, "especially when we don't understand - then it's just because. Even if we don't understand then let's all just believe."
"Been dazed and confused for so long," the old man said in bewilderment and pointing his finger at his friend, he declared, "it's not true."
"Miracles can happen, when you believe," the friend offered, placing a hand on the old man's shoulder.
"Nothin' new, nothin' new," the old man sputtered, "y'all ain't saying nothin' new."
"Does my happiness upset you?" the friend asked pointedly, "Why are you best with gloom?"
"Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry," the old man answered, "because the sky is blue . . . aaaaah."
"I see clouds of blue, clouds of white, bright blessed days, warm sacred nights and I think to myself," the friend paused for a moment, "what a wonderful world."
"How can you be sitting there, telling me that you care - that you care," the old man shook his head, "when everytime I look around the people suffer in suffering in everyway, everywhere?"
"In every life we have some trouble, but when you worry you make it double," the friend said assuringly, "don't worry, be happy."
"The whole world is wrong it seems , oh, I guess it's the chains that bind me," the old man intoned darkly, "I can't shake it loose. These chains and things."
"They say freedom, oh, freedom is just another place to hide. Now I'm coming to you with my arms open wide," the friend held out his arms to embrace the old man.
"It's getting dark, too dark to see, I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door." the old man pushed his friend away grimly.
"You've gotta walk and don't look back," the friend declared, "If it's love that you're running from there is no hiding place. Just your problems, no one else's problems you just have to face."
"Sittin' here resting my bones," the old man pondered, "and this loneliness won't leave me alone."
"Everything is everything," the friend shrugged, "what is meant to be, will be. After winter, must come spring. Change it comes eventually."
"I’ve squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles," the old man grumbled, "such are promises."
"Did you exchange a walk on part in the war, for a lead role in a cage?" the friend asked in exasperation.
"But people just don't seem to understand how someone can feel so blue . . . they call me Mr. Pitiful," the old man bit a quivering lip.
"Give me one reason to stay here and I'll turn right back around," the friend stumbled to his feet and turned to leave.
"Because maybe you're gonna be the one who saves me?" the old man offered.
"Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps."
Friday, April 28, 2006
Lest We Forget
Canadians are incensed, absolutely incensed that Parliament is petulently refusing to fly the flag at half-mast. Some see this as an effort to ignore or numb the shock of the recent deaths of four Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan. They seem to feel that if the average Canadian is walking past Parliament and the flag is at half-mast they will suddenly come to a realization of the terrible cost of war, fall on their knees and repent of their war-mongering ways. If the flag remains up, the average Canadian will walk past Parliament, assume everything is well with the world and start whistling "God Save the Queen." Canadians from across the country are assuming that Stephen Harper (or Gordon O'Connor, whom Harper judiciously delegated responsibility over the flag flap to) wants Canadians to be completely oblivious to these deaths. Of course, in order for a Canadian to be unaware of these deaths he would have to be an illiterate television-hating hermit. As much as we might romanticize illiterate hermits in our minds, we probably do not care too much about their opinion on the vertical characteristics of the Peace Tower flag anyways.
I understand the need to remember our soldiers. I think it is important to dwell on the lives that are sacrificed in defence of clear or even vague notions of justice. I, however, do not believe that Parliament should lower the flag every time a soldier is killed. Is this a contradiction, that I respect and remember Canada's soldiers and I do not think the flags of Parliament should be lowered for them? No. I agree with many veterans who feel that special gestures towards the few somehow diminishes the sacrifice of the many. I do not think that the death of a soldier today is any more heroic than it was sixty years ago. In fact, I feel that deaths of soldiers should not be merely seen as heroic but as heroic and soberingly tragic. The day for remembering the sacrifice of soldiers is November 11.
Imagine if William Lyon Mackenzie King had lowered the flag each time a soldier was killed during World War II. The flag would be at perpetual half-mast and the national psyche would be in a constant state of mourning. Of course, a certain amount of glumness is understandable during war, but it is also important to imbue the people with a sense of hope. I am not adovcating propaganda or disguising the number of fallen, but I do believe that flying the flag proudly at full mast is a direct national defiance against the often tyrannical and, yes, even evil powers you are fighting. War is a horrible time of sadness but we must grit our teeth and fight on.
Some might argue that the tragic sacrifice of the soldiers is much more important than the death of a tragically obscure Canadian politician. Why do we lower the flag for the one-term M.P. from Kicking-Horse Pass and not Pte. Johnny Canuck killed by a roadside bomb in Kandahar? Surely the sacrifice of the soldier is much more dramatic and heroic than the boring death of a dry politician, right? Maybe, but I am inclined to side with tradition. I think it is important to remember the lives of staid politicians who dedicated their lives to the political life of the country. Politicians do not have a day where everyone remembers their deaths and this is probably a good thing, as many cynical Canadians would probably make it into a party.
November 11 is the time to remember the fallen soldiers and the victims of war. I believe that the government made the right decision by respecting the legacy of past Canadian war-dead and not trumpeting the deaths of recent ones.
Canadians are incensed, absolutely incensed that Parliament is petulently refusing to fly the flag at half-mast. Some see this as an effort to ignore or numb the shock of the recent deaths of four Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan. They seem to feel that if the average Canadian is walking past Parliament and the flag is at half-mast they will suddenly come to a realization of the terrible cost of war, fall on their knees and repent of their war-mongering ways. If the flag remains up, the average Canadian will walk past Parliament, assume everything is well with the world and start whistling "God Save the Queen." Canadians from across the country are assuming that Stephen Harper (or Gordon O'Connor, whom Harper judiciously delegated responsibility over the flag flap to) wants Canadians to be completely oblivious to these deaths. Of course, in order for a Canadian to be unaware of these deaths he would have to be an illiterate television-hating hermit. As much as we might romanticize illiterate hermits in our minds, we probably do not care too much about their opinion on the vertical characteristics of the Peace Tower flag anyways.
I understand the need to remember our soldiers. I think it is important to dwell on the lives that are sacrificed in defence of clear or even vague notions of justice. I, however, do not believe that Parliament should lower the flag every time a soldier is killed. Is this a contradiction, that I respect and remember Canada's soldiers and I do not think the flags of Parliament should be lowered for them? No. I agree with many veterans who feel that special gestures towards the few somehow diminishes the sacrifice of the many. I do not think that the death of a soldier today is any more heroic than it was sixty years ago. In fact, I feel that deaths of soldiers should not be merely seen as heroic but as heroic and soberingly tragic. The day for remembering the sacrifice of soldiers is November 11.
Imagine if William Lyon Mackenzie King had lowered the flag each time a soldier was killed during World War II. The flag would be at perpetual half-mast and the national psyche would be in a constant state of mourning. Of course, a certain amount of glumness is understandable during war, but it is also important to imbue the people with a sense of hope. I am not adovcating propaganda or disguising the number of fallen, but I do believe that flying the flag proudly at full mast is a direct national defiance against the often tyrannical and, yes, even evil powers you are fighting. War is a horrible time of sadness but we must grit our teeth and fight on.
Some might argue that the tragic sacrifice of the soldiers is much more important than the death of a tragically obscure Canadian politician. Why do we lower the flag for the one-term M.P. from Kicking-Horse Pass and not Pte. Johnny Canuck killed by a roadside bomb in Kandahar? Surely the sacrifice of the soldier is much more dramatic and heroic than the boring death of a dry politician, right? Maybe, but I am inclined to side with tradition. I think it is important to remember the lives of staid politicians who dedicated their lives to the political life of the country. Politicians do not have a day where everyone remembers their deaths and this is probably a good thing, as many cynical Canadians would probably make it into a party.
November 11 is the time to remember the fallen soldiers and the victims of war. I believe that the government made the right decision by respecting the legacy of past Canadian war-dead and not trumpeting the deaths of recent ones.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
How many CD's do you own?
Approximately 150 including my wife's, and then about thirty burnt cd's.
What's the latest CD that you bought?
Kardinal Offishall's latest (a mild disappointment)
What's the latest piece of music that you have listened to?
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper diggin' on the Temptations.
Name five CD's that have made a lasting impression on you:
1) Bob Marley - Survival
2) Buju Banton - Til Shiloh
3) U2 - Joshua Tree
4) The Roots - Do You Want More!!??!!??
5) Ben Harper - Diamonds on the Inside
Approximately 150 including my wife's, and then about thirty burnt cd's.
What's the latest CD that you bought?
Kardinal Offishall's latest (a mild disappointment)
What's the latest piece of music that you have listened to?
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper diggin' on the Temptations.
Name five CD's that have made a lasting impression on you:
1) Bob Marley - Survival
2) Buju Banton - Til Shiloh
3) U2 - Joshua Tree
4) The Roots - Do You Want More!!??!!??
5) Ben Harper - Diamonds on the Inside
Monday, April 24, 2006
The Monument
Twisted Metal
bent double
distorted
contorted
glinting dully in its fra
ctu-
red,
battered and shattered
state of decrepit portions and
cont-
-ortions.
Sharp angles
rise in disconc
ertin
g
patterns of violence.
Silence
wafts uneasily from a
bent and spent
metallic jungle of
steel beams and
iron dreams.
Silver and rust
are covered in dust
as crumpled pillars embrace
in impossible directions of
affection
and warped pipes
and strangulated rods,
perforated beams
and mutilated bars
are riddled with
ugly dents and disturbing
scars
and bent
in innumerable ways
in an endless maze
of horrific agony
and confusion
of abrasions
fractures
and sha
tter
ing
contusions.
No, this noble monument
will not be described any more
for this, my friend,
this is the glory of war.
John den Boer, 2002.
Twisted Metal
bent double
distorted
contorted
glinting dully in its fra
ctu-
red,
battered and shattered
state of decrepit portions and
cont-
-ortions.
Sharp angles
rise in disconc
ertin
g
patterns of violence.
Silence
wafts uneasily from a
bent and spent
metallic jungle of
steel beams and
iron dreams.
Silver and rust
are covered in dust
as crumpled pillars embrace
in impossible directions of
affection
and warped pipes
and strangulated rods,
perforated beams
and mutilated bars
are riddled with
ugly dents and disturbing
scars
and bent
in innumerable ways
in an endless maze
of horrific agony
and confusion
of abrasions
fractures
and sha
tter
ing
contusions.
No, this noble monument
will not be described any more
for this, my friend,
this is the glory of war.
John den Boer, 2002.
Update:
- Todd and Kimberley came to my house a while back. They just wanted you to know that.
- I went to watch V for Vendetta with Phil, but they wouldn't accept my cheerios movie pass because it was a Friday.
- There is no hidden message in this blog entry.
- Groen Van Prinsterer should watch V for Vendetta.
- My infamous fingernail is still in its last throes. Now the thumbnail is succumbing to something for some reason. It must be a fungus. I feel leprous.
- C-plus Orange Burst really doesn't deliver on its promise. It tasted exactly like regular c-plus. I received absolutely no so-called "burst."
- Do you know what's ironic? A faith healer with glasses, that's what.
- I would like to add The Specials cover of Toots and the Maytals' "Pressure Drop" to my list of favourite covers if that's alright.
- I don't need to ask because this is my blog and if you don't like it you can read someone else's.
- Please stay.
- I was taught a word by one of my students. "Scrofulous" which is an adjective desribing something with scrofula (a type of tuberculosis where the neck swells up) or describing someone or something that is morally degenerate.
- In Taiwan it is the ninety-fifth year of the Republic of China.
- I have decided to correct the time on my blog.
- We miss you and love you, Linda.
- Benny Hinn is scrofulous, and he doesn't have tuberculosis.
- I have been married for almost nine months.
- Bob Marley.
- I had to mention him somehow.
- Why don't you trust me? I told you there was no hidden message and you looked anyhow. What's wrong with you?
- I hate unexpected problems with no immediately apparent solution.
- Big gulps, huh? Well, see ya later.
- Todd and Kimberley came to my house a while back. They just wanted you to know that.
- I went to watch V for Vendetta with Phil, but they wouldn't accept my cheerios movie pass because it was a Friday.
- There is no hidden message in this blog entry.
- Groen Van Prinsterer should watch V for Vendetta.
- My infamous fingernail is still in its last throes. Now the thumbnail is succumbing to something for some reason. It must be a fungus. I feel leprous.
- C-plus Orange Burst really doesn't deliver on its promise. It tasted exactly like regular c-plus. I received absolutely no so-called "burst."
- Do you know what's ironic? A faith healer with glasses, that's what.
- I would like to add The Specials cover of Toots and the Maytals' "Pressure Drop" to my list of favourite covers if that's alright.
- I don't need to ask because this is my blog and if you don't like it you can read someone else's.
- Please stay.
- I was taught a word by one of my students. "Scrofulous" which is an adjective desribing something with scrofula (a type of tuberculosis where the neck swells up) or describing someone or something that is morally degenerate.
- In Taiwan it is the ninety-fifth year of the Republic of China.
- I have decided to correct the time on my blog.
- We miss you and love you, Linda.
- Benny Hinn is scrofulous, and he doesn't have tuberculosis.
- I have been married for almost nine months.
- Bob Marley.
- I had to mention him somehow.
- Why don't you trust me? I told you there was no hidden message and you looked anyhow. What's wrong with you?
- I hate unexpected problems with no immediately apparent solution.
- Big gulps, huh? Well, see ya later.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
CSI Miami Template
- Shot of beachfront hotels from above.
- Show people doing something of slight moral reprehensibility which might just lead to a murder but actually causes them to stumble upon a corpse.
- Show CSI members examining the body, have them find something exotic or out of place.
- Show Horatio arriving and then allow a CSI member to explain something about the body.
- Zoom in on Horatio's face, allow him to put on his sunglasses and do a cute little reversal of whatever they said. For example, if the CSI member says, "she has a rock in her hand" then Horatio can say, in his halting way, "and now. death. has her. in its. hand." Or, if the distraught friend of the deceased says something like, "we were just having fun" Horatio can put on his sunglasses and say, "well, death. decided. to. have . . . her."
- After this little witticism, play whichever Who song they play at the beginning of CSI Miami and roll the opening credits.
- Begin side plot involving some kind of slightly confusing murder case.
- Allow copious shots of the inexplicable Hummers that these government workers drive.
- Ensure that there is an extended laboratory scene replete with techno music which actually makes lab work seem cool.
- Include many opportunities for Horatio to put on and take off his sunglasses while saying things very haltingly.
- Reveal some personal drama that one of the staff members is going through and show their angst.
- Try to show a shot of the beach or at least get a scene with an alligator in the show.
- There are no fat people, people over thirty-two, or ugly children at the beach in Miami, make sure these undesirables don't appear on camera.
- Whoever committed the murder acts like a real snarky jerk to the CSI staff.
- Maybe include something of CSI Miami's meta-narrative about the psychopath who has an axe to grind with Horatio and the girl he's protecting, although it is not strictly necessary.
- Only one of these rules may be broken per episode.
Saturday, April 15, 2006
The Prophet
The man who called himself Moses
led his people past the promised land
and the prophet cried, "come,
eat manna from my hand!"
and he offered them dirt
although they needed bread
and he made them believe
that they were well-fed
Moses put up his arms and said
"I am. Come follow me,"
and the people followed
to the dark-shadowed valley
When people were sick
Moses left them on the path
"the righteous are never ill
it's a sign of God's wrath."
Moses sought more people
for his exclusive clan
and so he gathered the young
for they trusted this man
Moses raised up his staff
and struck the rock with rage
and cried out in a loud voice
"I am. I free you from your cage!"
Moses was pleased with the people
for they truly sought the Lord
and Moses gathered his tithe
and placed it with his hoard
He split father against son
and mother against daughter
and he declared, "You are
the clay, I am the potter."
Then Korah, Dathan, and Abiram
raised their voices and rebelled
and Moses, righteous Moses
had those men expelled
Anger stirred against him
for his ways were unjust
but Moses did not fear
his heart had turned to dust
The man who called himself Moses
sits upon a corroded throne
but he is in the path
of a rolling stone.
The man who called himself Moses
led his people past the promised land
and the prophet cried, "come,
eat manna from my hand!"
and he offered them dirt
although they needed bread
and he made them believe
that they were well-fed
Moses put up his arms and said
"I am. Come follow me,"
and the people followed
to the dark-shadowed valley
When people were sick
Moses left them on the path
"the righteous are never ill
it's a sign of God's wrath."
Moses sought more people
for his exclusive clan
and so he gathered the young
for they trusted this man
Moses raised up his staff
and struck the rock with rage
and cried out in a loud voice
"I am. I free you from your cage!"
Moses was pleased with the people
for they truly sought the Lord
and Moses gathered his tithe
and placed it with his hoard
He split father against son
and mother against daughter
and he declared, "You are
the clay, I am the potter."
Then Korah, Dathan, and Abiram
raised their voices and rebelled
and Moses, righteous Moses
had those men expelled
Anger stirred against him
for his ways were unjust
but Moses did not fear
his heart had turned to dust
The man who called himself Moses
sits upon a corroded throne
but he is in the path
of a rolling stone.
Monday, April 10, 2006
John's Favourite Covers
I've Got Dreams to Remember - Toots and the Maytals covering Otis Redding's classic.
Respect - Aretha Franklin steals Otis Redding's song and no one remembers who sang it first.
No Woman No Cry - The Fugees cover Bob Marley and then they do a version with Stephen Marley that is simply awesome.
Killing Me Softly - Lauryn Hill covers Roberta Flack.
Imagine - A Perfect Circle covers John Lennon's anthem for the obtusely idealistic and the result is kind of cool.
Wonderwall - Ryan Adams does a superb cover of the Oasis hit.
Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner redoing CCR.
Bridge Over Troubled Water - Aretha Franklin covers Simon and Garfunkel.
Wish You Were Here - Wyclef covers Pink Floyd.
High Tide or Low Tide - Jack Johnson and Ben Harper cover Bob Marley.
Strawberry Fields Forever - Ben Harper coversthe Beatles.
Police and Thieves - The Clash covers the Junior Murvin/Lee Perry classic.
Light My Fire - Aretha's sister, Erma, redoes the Doors.
Subterranean Homesick Blues - Sizzla Kalonji covers Bob Dylan.
Amazing Grace - Not really a cover, right? Wrong, because the Blind Boys of Alabama sing it to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun."
Hotel California - The Gypsy Kings cover the Eagles.
One Love/ People Get Ready - Bob Marley remakes Curtis Mayfield.
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper covers the Temptations.
Fortunate Son - Wyclef Jean dares to cover CCR.
Untold Stories - Sinead O'Connor, yes Sinead, covers Buju Banton and does a surprisingly good job.
Lonely People - Talib Kweli remixes the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and it's nice. The album version is not nearly as good.
Hurt - Johnny Cash covers NIN and turns a song about drugs and self-destruction into a tribute to his wife without changing the words.
99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger outdoes Nena.
Bad Fish/ Boss DJ - Jack Johnson reinterprets Sublime.
Mama Africa - Buju Banton covers Peter Tosh.
Mrs. Robinson - Okay, they're corny, but the Lemonheads do a neat cover of Simon and Garfunkel.
I Shot the Sheriff - Eric Clapton covers Bob Marley.
Gin and Juice - This is more of a joke because I don't like either version, but a honky version of Snoop Dogg's Gin and Juice by the Gourds is funny to me.
I've Got Dreams to Remember - Toots and the Maytals covering Otis Redding's classic.
Respect - Aretha Franklin steals Otis Redding's song and no one remembers who sang it first.
No Woman No Cry - The Fugees cover Bob Marley and then they do a version with Stephen Marley that is simply awesome.
Killing Me Softly - Lauryn Hill covers Roberta Flack.
Imagine - A Perfect Circle covers John Lennon's anthem for the obtusely idealistic and the result is kind of cool.
Wonderwall - Ryan Adams does a superb cover of the Oasis hit.
Proud Mary - Ike and Tina Turner redoing CCR.
Bridge Over Troubled Water - Aretha Franklin covers Simon and Garfunkel.
Wish You Were Here - Wyclef covers Pink Floyd.
High Tide or Low Tide - Jack Johnson and Ben Harper cover Bob Marley.
Strawberry Fields Forever - Ben Harper coversthe Beatles.
Police and Thieves - The Clash covers the Junior Murvin/Lee Perry classic.
Light My Fire - Aretha's sister, Erma, redoes the Doors.
Subterranean Homesick Blues - Sizzla Kalonji covers Bob Dylan.
Amazing Grace - Not really a cover, right? Wrong, because the Blind Boys of Alabama sing it to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun."
Hotel California - The Gypsy Kings cover the Eagles.
One Love/ People Get Ready - Bob Marley remakes Curtis Mayfield.
Ain't Too Proud to Beg - Ben Harper covers the Temptations.
Fortunate Son - Wyclef Jean dares to cover CCR.
Untold Stories - Sinead O'Connor, yes Sinead, covers Buju Banton and does a surprisingly good job.
Lonely People - Talib Kweli remixes the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby and it's nice. The album version is not nearly as good.
Hurt - Johnny Cash covers NIN and turns a song about drugs and self-destruction into a tribute to his wife without changing the words.
99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger outdoes Nena.
Bad Fish/ Boss DJ - Jack Johnson reinterprets Sublime.
Mama Africa - Buju Banton covers Peter Tosh.
Mrs. Robinson - Okay, they're corny, but the Lemonheads do a neat cover of Simon and Garfunkel.
I Shot the Sheriff - Eric Clapton covers Bob Marley.
Gin and Juice - This is more of a joke because I don't like either version, but a honky version of Snoop Dogg's Gin and Juice by the Gourds is funny to me.
Friday, April 07, 2006
How many books do you own?
Enough . . . but not really.
What book is your latest purchase?
*Sigh* I love books but I have not purchased one in about half a year and even then, it was a gift for my wife. "The Upside Down World of Vikram Lal" was the title, I believe. The last book that I purchased was "Papillon" which was alright, but its exaggerated, self-centred and grandiose storytelling reminded me of "A Million Little Pieces" by that notable truth-stretcher, James Frey.
What book have you most recently read?
In its entirety: Buzzing Flies, an eight page book about an annoying fly.
Right now I'm reading: A book of African History in French (struggling)
The Drama of Scripture
Mere Christianity
Name five great books with impact on you:
1) King Leopold's Ghost
2) The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
3) Les Miserables
4) Creation Regained
5) Six War Years
Who do you challenge to answer these same questions?
Suzanne, Rachel, and Christina den Boer. Karen and Clint Langelaar, Jono or Janice Barnhoorn, Becky and Rod Snoek and any other relatives out there.
Oh, and the Garth Street crew and Piet Harsevoort (nefarious cackle)
Enough . . . but not really.
What book is your latest purchase?
*Sigh* I love books but I have not purchased one in about half a year and even then, it was a gift for my wife. "The Upside Down World of Vikram Lal" was the title, I believe. The last book that I purchased was "Papillon" which was alright, but its exaggerated, self-centred and grandiose storytelling reminded me of "A Million Little Pieces" by that notable truth-stretcher, James Frey.
What book have you most recently read?
In its entirety: Buzzing Flies, an eight page book about an annoying fly.
Right now I'm reading: A book of African History in French (struggling)
The Drama of Scripture
Mere Christianity
Name five great books with impact on you:
1) King Leopold's Ghost
2) The Lord of the Rings Trilogy
3) Les Miserables
4) Creation Regained
5) Six War Years
Who do you challenge to answer these same questions?
Suzanne, Rachel, and Christina den Boer. Karen and Clint Langelaar, Jono or Janice Barnhoorn, Becky and Rod Snoek and any other relatives out there.
Oh, and the Garth Street crew and Piet Harsevoort (nefarious cackle)
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Hummingbird
Hummingbird don't fly away - B.B. King.
Mr. Samson was a stern old man. He was not crotchety, but he was not cheerful either. Mr. Samson was stern. He considered life to be far too serious to waste smiles on trivial matters and, as far as he was concerned, most things in life were trivial. This was the reason he was upset today and when stern old men are upset they are, by definition, crabby. He had wasted what he felt was an indulgent smile on a hummingbird of all things. Hummingbirds, he muttered to himself, are nervous little pissants and the little buggers are far too colourful to be considered anything but asinine.
He strode along the sidewalk, sternly observing the beautiful summer weather with a clinical air. The apple blossoms are fluttering to the ground, no doubt encouraged by the warm southerly breeze, he noted grimly. He stopped briefly to listen to the warbling notes of a mourning dove, merely out of scientific curiousity. Science, he reassured himself, is a serious matter.
Mr. Samson gave a polite but serious nod to a friendly, albeit overly-happy, passerby and continued on his way. Three small children, giggling and whooping, ran without any seeming purpose in a series of circles in the long grass of a large front lawn. Mr. Samson shook his head with what he thought was stern disapproval but actually appeared to be more wistful than condemnatory.
Children these days, he told himself, need more purpose and direction. They needed the sort of purpose and direction he himself had. He never went anywhere without a reason. Mr. Samson picked up his pace as he strode purposefully to . . . where? Mr. Samson faltered, what had been his purpose? He frowned deeply, unable to find the answer as his steps slowed. Why had he gone outside? He stopped completely as the answer dawned on him.
The hummingbird.
Hummingbird don't fly away - B.B. King.
Mr. Samson was a stern old man. He was not crotchety, but he was not cheerful either. Mr. Samson was stern. He considered life to be far too serious to waste smiles on trivial matters and, as far as he was concerned, most things in life were trivial. This was the reason he was upset today and when stern old men are upset they are, by definition, crabby. He had wasted what he felt was an indulgent smile on a hummingbird of all things. Hummingbirds, he muttered to himself, are nervous little pissants and the little buggers are far too colourful to be considered anything but asinine.
He strode along the sidewalk, sternly observing the beautiful summer weather with a clinical air. The apple blossoms are fluttering to the ground, no doubt encouraged by the warm southerly breeze, he noted grimly. He stopped briefly to listen to the warbling notes of a mourning dove, merely out of scientific curiousity. Science, he reassured himself, is a serious matter.
Mr. Samson gave a polite but serious nod to a friendly, albeit overly-happy, passerby and continued on his way. Three small children, giggling and whooping, ran without any seeming purpose in a series of circles in the long grass of a large front lawn. Mr. Samson shook his head with what he thought was stern disapproval but actually appeared to be more wistful than condemnatory.
Children these days, he told himself, need more purpose and direction. They needed the sort of purpose and direction he himself had. He never went anywhere without a reason. Mr. Samson picked up his pace as he strode purposefully to . . . where? Mr. Samson faltered, what had been his purpose? He frowned deeply, unable to find the answer as his steps slowed. Why had he gone outside? He stopped completely as the answer dawned on him.
The hummingbird.
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