75 word per minute.

Addictive AND a life-skill builder.

This is what the internet is all about. A shame I can't type properly.

Goodbyes

Well gosh darn it. 

When I got the invitation to my undergraduate convocation, I put the registration envelope in the garbage. I wasn't going to be there -- a trip to Asia awaited -- and frankly, I wasn't big on the pomp and circumstance associated with the ceremony anyways. It came and went with nary a thought. 

Recently, I got the invitation to my post-graduate convocation, and again, I put the envelope in a drawer, giving myself some leeway but pretty much planning not to go. Again, I never did see the point. 

But you know, it really takes seeing people to realize that you'll actually miss them. The hardest part is there is no naivete in us anymore because we're at the age that life has already impressed itself on us. For the vast majority of my classmates, we may never see each other again, and we know it.

It's a strange feeling, saying goodbye to someone for ostensibly the last time. I've grown so comfortable with the people I know at this stage of my life that saying farewell isn't a common occurrence. Doing it about 15 times in one night...well, that's something else. 

To the nights I don't remember, but the people I always will. 

Evolution

For some reason, I watched an entire episode of House tonight. He kept talking about how people don't change (only to believe in people's abilities to change at the very end). 

My thoughts while watching were two-fold. 

1) In terms of plot, House is pretty much medical power rangers. Every week the same formula happens. I kept waiting for Rita to make the monster in the patients body big. 

2) The chick from the OC is much, much hotter than sweater-vest girl. And for some reason she apparently plays a bisexual -- again. I've heard of typecasting, but this might be a little bit too pigeonholed even for television actors...

3) To be honest, I'm not entirely convinced people can change. I think we can learn to change how we react to who we are, but not necessarily who we are. By this, I mean you might always want a certain thing, but instead of giving in, just learn to discipline yourself to act differently on those same impulses (which always remain the same). 

I can see how that could still be defined/interpreted as change. 

But I could also see how it could not be. 

On another note, I've been playing basketball at the YMCA lately and there's this one old guy who's there every single night. I can't figure out what he does -- he's old enough to be retired. But man. Whatever reason he's there all the time, it's either incredibly admirable, or incredibly depressing. 

Funny how there's no gray area with that one eh?

Mutant powers

When I got my wisdom teeth removed in high school, I chalked my utter lack of recovery time as a fortunate matter of happenstance.

In retrospect however, I concede there has been a history of either playing sports through injuries, or simply healing quickly in my daily scratches and nicks. But I never thought it was unusual per se. 

Until this week, when I played basketball and was (again) pushed into a wall while in mid-air. I sprained my right ankle and bruised my left heel, but was able to tighten my shoe laces and just play the rest of the night relatively unencumbered. 

Upon untying my shoes at the end of the night, I realized that my ankles were in severe pain. I had trouble driving, and by the time I got home I couldn't put weight on my right ankle without sharp jabbing pain. It had noticeably swollen already, and I couldn't even sleep on that side of my body because it hurt to torque it with even the weight of just my foot.

Anyways, I woke up this morning still swollen and limping. I was in pain, but much better than the night before although still unable to apply too much weight to my right ankle. 

I went to work, and had a relatively normal work day. Some time around 2pm, I realized that although I definitely felt a little sore, I seemed to suddenly be completely pain free. I did some quick movement, and lo and behold my ankle seems to be completely healed, and the bruise on my other foot is a bit tender, but nothing to really write home about.

In short, I have exhibited freakish mutant Wolverine powers over the course of a single day.

Naturally, I will only use my abilities for good, not evil, and embrace the responsibility that comes with great power.

Good day.

Foul I say!

Upon flipping through the television universe, I stumbled upon Dancing with the stars (in HD) last night and stopped to see what the big hoopla was about. 

I noticed that the celebrity dancer was Kristi Yamaguchi.

Now, I won't claim to be an expert on dancing nor figure skating. However, does it not seem just a weeeee bit unfair to be pitting an Olympic calibre figure skater whose sport involves complicated footwork (some might even call it... dancing?) and athletic prowess while wearing a sequined outfit, all while choreographed to music... against the likes of say, an NFL player, or hollywood actress? 

Isn't that kind of like having a celebrity mandolin contest, except a world famous ukulele player is allowed to participate? 

If I was Shannon Elizabeth, I'd be pissed off. 

Also, I would feel like Dancing with the Stars was rigged.

kill me now

Things I did today:

Wake up. 

Make coffee.

Drink coffee.

Drop off softball gear for people.

Eat lunch.

Make coffee.

Drink coffee. 

Eat dinner.

Shower.

I even staged a Facebook photo tonight. If that isn't the mendoza line for boredom, I don't know what is. 

Strings & Things

The funny thing about stereotypes is that sometimes they can be accurate.

With the recent changes to CBC Radio 2 and the disbanding of the CRO, classical music fans have come crawling out of the woodwork (and woodwinds) to protest what the have decried as the sullying of the CBC's mandate to the arts.

Exhibit A for why many folks think these whiners are snobs, taken from the letters section of the Globe & Mail:

I am almost too depressed about the planned "overhaul" of CBC's Radio 2 to even write about it. What's the point? We've all seen the writing on the wall for some time now, and resistance is futile: The CBC no longer feels there is any point to devoting an entire radio station to the more musically and intellectually complex style of music colloquially, though entirely inappropriately, known as "classical" (more on that tendentious terminology in a moment), because, according to its mysterious studies, no one is interested in that any more.

I'm pretty sure if I was having a real conversation with somebody and they uttered the above paragraph, I would be left with no option but to punch them in the face.

Please. Come off your pedestal and join us philistines and our good friend Leslie Feist.

Sometimes it's fun to slum it a little, y'know?

lightening the load

The concept of joining clubs and classes completely makes sense to me now that my schedule has devolved into what more or less is representative of regular office hours. I don't know what to do with my free time outside of going to the gym and watching sports on television. 

The fact that I am resolutely content with such an existence is a story for another day.

Upon getting a haircut today, It crossed my mind what a difference it makes when someone obviously cares about doing a good job. I tipped the guy well (the actual price of the haircut was only $10, so I mean, they deserve some kudos) but it was because it was evident throughout the haircut that he really wanted to do a good job. He was meticulous, and although personally I can't tell the difference between a diligently cut head of hair and one victimized by a suck-and-cut stylistically speaking, what I definitely could discern what the effort.

I applaud effort. It's an under-appreciated trait in our hustle and bustle society for someone to take a little extra time to make sure things are held to a higher standard of quality. 

The world would be a better place if we all approached our jobs with that kind of attitude. 

Next week's life lesson: saying thank you when somebody opens a mall door for you.

gin and juice

Even if for only one day (it's not supposed to last through the weekend), the weather was nice enough that I drove the entire way home with my sunroof open. 

Human beings are solar powered. This has to be some sort of scientific fact.

"Things we will forget by next week about Communist China..."

For a country full of Buddhist monks, Tibet has sure pissed a whole lot of people off lately.

Faster than you can say “Kosovo,” the Tibet issue has jumped to the forefront of almost every major media outlet in Toronto. It’s enough drama and back talking to make one realize the only difference between international politics and The Hills is the sobering prominence of ugly people -- although Chinese president Hu Jintao does sport some retro-chic aviator specs.

To say that coverage of the situation recently has been sensational would be like saying James Blunt is in touch with his feelings. The latest Macleans magazine features the headline “Butchers and Monsters” splashed across a photograph of a man in camouflage chasing after a Buddhist monk with a stick. Elmer Fudd would be proud.

The Globe and Mail featured a cover story over the past weekend about three Canadian women who for the last 8 years have been working to use this summer’s upcoming Olympic games as an international stage for the Tibet liberation movement. They were portrayed as heroic figures.

The Associated Press reported that China had been planting military instigators in Tibetan monasteries to pose as monks, acting as both agent provocateurs and plaintive decoys for government organized diplomatic tours of the volatile area.

It’s suddenly hip to hate on China.

As a journalist of Chinese decent, this all cumulated locally and personally when a friend of mine emailed over the weekend with video footage of the Pro-China rally taking place at Dundas square. “It’s about time,” he said, “China’s been getting such a bad rap in the media lately.” I can’t say this made much sense to me, but the words still struck an internal chord that had been nagging me for several days.

I heard the same exasperated tones from my father, who over the dinner table often wonders aloud why everyone makes the Chinese government out to be the most evil entity since the consortium that decided hotdogs would come in packs of 10 but buns in bags of eight.

The Macleans article in question calls for us to be witnesses who “make a difference” in the lives of the Chinese people. But I wonder; instead of worrying about problems nestled at the foot of the Himalayas, shouldn’t we be witnesses who make a difference in our own lives first?

How soon we forget that at the last G8 summit in Quebec, local police planted officers posing as fake protesters into the crowds? Or that when it comes to human rights violations and mindless environmental destruction, China’s track record may be horrendous, but still trails that of our friendly neighbours to the South?

The actions of the Chinese government are indefensible, to this I readily acquiesce. And to say China is getting a bad rap is like saying Rob Shneider doesn't deserve to be typecast.

But if the media is going to demand accountability, we as readers should be willing to at least do the same.

We deride our own actions, but ultimately tolerate the status quo. When it comes to change, party platforms rarely come to fruition in our quagmire of a political system.

Macleans is the same magazine that superimposed George Bush’s head onto Saddam Hussein’s body – but there aren’t too many student activists who suggest we boycott the NBA finals.

Maybe they should have shown Bush chasing an Iraqi with a stick.