How A Past In Sports Affects My Present

Though you probably couldn't tell by my current physical shape and from the fact that I'm now a fully-respected writer and musician, I grew up an athlete - and most of my adult way of thinking is affected by that fact.

As a goalie, I trained to be 100% in the moment, and never think about the past nor the future except if it pertains to what’s in front of me (say if I’d prepared to play against someone in particular, know their tendencies), and because of that, I still have tremendous focus in what I'm doing as I'm doing it, but as soon as the task or the moment's gone, I'll likely have forgotten most of it.

Another quirk I have is wanting to know if the effort I put into something is worth it. In the case of work or performance, I want to be the best, I want to be designated to do or come up with something, and I want to be remembered for it, but it can feel like a chore to just mindlessly enter data for an extended period, for example. In social circles, say if I’m going after a girl, I want to know I’m at least a contender.

I play to win in general (be it by myself or as part of a team), and I want to be named the MVP in the end; I don't care that I'm not the favourite going in, I care that I finish ahead, am the last one standing and ultimately got the job done.

That's probably why I played three positions in football (defensive back, offensive tackle, and quarterback), two of which pitted me directly in a one-on-one battle with an opponent through speed or brute force, and the other had my brain scrambling to find a solution using 21 (or 23 in Canadian football) other humans to get my team to advance forward.

I love a challenge, but I don't want to play in vain. I always thrived under pressure (as can be attested by my vast collection of trophies and medals, hehehe) but have had to find outside motivation (scouts, girls, friends or family watching) at times when the situation felt hopeless – or boring.

My life is definitely taking a turn these days, but I have yet to read its full context and decipher its true meaning. And part of me wants to make the change even more radical than it already is, but that would mean having no grounds to stand on at all for a while, so my moral center is urging me to take it one step at a time. Also my immediate prospects, which may be looking up, though they are taking their sweet fucking time. First comes moving from a basement to a third floor, two weeks from now. In business terms, a higher floor means more success; that's how I'll approach it for the time being.

Heather Levia And Losing Your Job At McDonald's

The media and blogosphere jumped on a story last week about Heather Levia, a 23-year old mother of twins who had been working at McDonald's for 8 years and is putting herself through nursing school, who allegedly lost her job after paying for the meals of two fire departments' worth of firemen who had spent the night fighting fire on a neighbouring building.

She had reportedly asked her manager if the restaurant was going to foot the bill for the first crew, and upon hearing they wouldn't, opted to pay for their breakfasts herself; hearing of ''free food'', a second unit came in and were offered the same treatment.

She was fired when she came in to work the next day. The company claims the reason why they fired her wasn't that she made the company look cheap - or anything to do with that situation.

Personally, my thoughts on the affair go like this: on one hand, she was insubordinate, and should have been reprimanded because this could potentially open up a huge can of worms where public servants of every level would start expecting the same treatment, first when working near there, then at all times; first firemen, then policemen, then ambulance drivers, then the whole Village People crew.

On the other hand, she did a good deed and should be congratulated. Especially on a shitty McDonald's wage.

But that's where it starts not making much sense: she's a mother of two, working at close to or spot-on minimum wage. She has time to go to school and raise her kids on the side. She's a nice person, in 2014, in North America.

She cannot possibly exist. As described, I mean. And in the PR-led world we live in, McDonald's would have put up a statue of her in its parking lot - or at least named her employee of the month - to cash in on her actions, not risk alienating the last few people who still eat there.

Could it be she knew she was going to get fired for whatever reason and attempted one grand gesture to keep it?

Who the fuck knows. One thing's for sure, though: in the age of Twitter and Facebook, even a low-level manager at McDonald's knows better than to bring this much bad publicity towards their employer. And journalists should wait until having both sides of a story before sensationalizing it to the max and having it spread worldwide. In some reports, she is even made the store's manager (though they still stick to the claim that she texted her boss, would that have been the regional director?); in another, she just ''donates food''; some just mention she paid for $83 worth of food (which is just one of the two orders).

Something is fishy with this story, but it would help if it started with actual facts.

Also, word is she was offered many jobs since. Good. If she had been a bad employee, she can now change with the good actions he's made; if she really is pure of heart, she deserved better than to work at that shitty job for so long. She's a hero now, it comes with both perks and responsibilities.

Agreeing With Affleck

My Playboy subscription ran out a month or two ago, four years or so after first joining (after the Tara Reid issue, and after I was told I might have a shot at writing for them). I let it run out because it hadn't gone anywhere for a while - the writing was no longer up to par, and the girls you can surely get off the web anyway. I miss the one-square comics, though.

But I would probably would have liked a hard copy of this recent Ben Affleck interview, which had this interesting tidbit about my city:

I met Morgan Freeman, which was great because I was able to ask him to work for free when we did Gone Baby Gone. We shot The Sum of All Fears in Montréal, and it almost killed me. That town never closes. The food is amazing, the drink is amazing, the girls are gorgeous. It’s not a place to focus on your work.

As a guy whose three books are stalling and whose debut CD is still unreleased (though I've added singles for Rumours and All Round Us to the ever-expanding web music offer), I can vouch it's a hard city to concentrate in. It's also quite inspiring. Catch-22.

Full-Service Mail Truck

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Horny Stock Photos

You can find anything these days on the internet, and half the sites are filled with stock photos. It was only a matter of time before people with too much time on their hands compiled them into funny lists, and from there, to compile the weird ones.

And so I bring you Horny Stock Photos. Awkward work stuations galore, with a sample of my two favourites:

Seriously? Groping? She's paid to just sit sit there, and even she's thinking ''oh HELL no!''

New Rules For Unemployment Will Create Poverty

While the Globe And Mail isn't usually Canada's most left-leaning newspaper by any stretch of the imagination, even it couldn't close its eyes on the Conservative government's recent budget provision which would force a worker on unemployment (EI) to accept work even if it doesn't correspond to their specific skill-set, even if it pays less than they are accustomed to (or can afford) or involves “conditions less favourable than those (…) recognized by good employers”.

As Sid Ryan, president of the Ontario Federation of Labour, said:

 I believe it’s more about a downward pressure on wages. This government is essentially saying unless Canadians lower their standard of living and lower their wage demands, we won’t be able to compete with China and places like that.

Nice. An official government policy that will turn into Law making Canadians even by going to the lowest common denominator. I have talked often about how Stephen Harper's cronies seemed to want Canadians to be slave workers to their rich friends' companies; now, they are instituting this as Law.

Imagine a CEO, paid a million bucks a year, big house, 5 cars - the whole deal. Loses his job, but it's only temporary, he's highly educated, highly regarded, has the right friends in right places, just needs a bit of time... being forced to accept a job as a clerk in a 7-11. Think that's a way to repay his mortgage? Of course not. He'll go from ''the 1%'' to ''the rest of us'' in no time.

Same goes for skilled workers, like plumbers, electricians, truckers... they risk losing their trades, licenses,  even their skill-set, and many professions risk if not elimination, at least a monopolization that would exclude many members in the short-to-middle run.

The Conservatives want power and money to remain in the hands of people they know, and no one else.

They even raised the age for receiving old age pensions from 65 to 67 (effective in 2023, after all their fucking friends will have received theirs...) and will diminish the amount provided, despite tons of research proving none of this needs to be done.

All of these measures, as well as re-opening the gay marriage and abortion debates, and the costly Queenification of the country is taking the country back 4, maybe 5 decades. And there's nothing anyone can do about it, because they have the majority at the House Of Commons.

We're talking about the same fuckers who cut $6.7B the National Film Board and $115M in the state-run CBC, but gave Quebecor Media $5.5B as a gift, presumably to keep spewing right-wing fake news on Sun News TV.

We're talking the Armed Forces Fan Club who managed to cut mental health resources for soldiers. I guess the message is ''if you don't die abroad, you're fucked''.

So the Feds want us dead or as slaves, and the provincials want us uneducated and poor. And yet, the Independence option remains below 40% in most polls, despite strong federalists Michael Ignatieff and Justin Trudeau being relatively open to it... hard to understand.

Need I remind these fuckers that in the Grande Scheme of things, mankind is but a blip on the map, a few thousand years in millions of years of evolution - and this particular generation, century even, is but a blip on mankind's time. We're pretty fucking meaningless, and yet there remains a bunch of assholes intent on fucking it all up for most folks instead of letting us enjoy the ride.

The current climate just cannot stand, and I wouldn't be surprised if stuff like the Victoriaville riot happened more often. Then again, wearing a mask - even a gas mask for protection from canisters and fumes - will soon mean 5 years in jail...

Choices

I’m so fucking tired today. Merely in the afternoon and it feels like 1 AM.

Fatigue and drowsiness remain despite all the caffeine drinks.

And I’m made all the more tired by the woman sharing my office for the day, who just talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks and talks.

She will not shut up as long as she’s alive.

And it’s taking all my energy to ignore her and keep concentrating on what I have to do.

Ninth floor. Steep fall.

Choices.

Not My Month

From back pain to frozen bank accounts to being out of work to finding work for a week but having it be useless for the first day to it being the coldest month of the year, it just hasn't been my month.

Just sayin'. There's been no recess.

An Omen, Motherfucker

It's a bad sign when the always-healthy cat vomits five times in a single morning while its ''I-eat-everything-and-always-get-sick'' lion-sized brethren looks on, puzzled.

It's not the sign of a bad day coming, however, since my day actually began yesterday morning and has been eventful - to say the least - since. And here I am Friday, twelve hours behind the deadline I had to hand in a piece of work, with my boss awaiting my email. The same boss who yesterday made threats (''either she leaves, or I do!''), quit his job over a co-worker, and un-quit it hours later, resulting in office drama that somehow ended up revolving around me, the guy with the longest tenure on the office, who has seen the most bosses come - and every single one of them go.

Except while I'm busy playing psychologist and counselor, a role my boss ironically insisted I play when he forced me to work from the office instead of from home, my job doesn't get done.

Now it's early too Friday morning, I haven't slept in over 24 hours, with one deadline dead and gone, the office Christmas party tonight - and me playing a show later in the evening somewhere else. And I'm also playing tomorrow.

So what's the omen? That my day job's going down - or that it'll affect my night-time job?

Funny thing is, I was told two weeks ago today was just about my last day at my day job...

Where Do They Think We're Living In, California?

Jesus Christ. Three times in 24 hours the electricity's been cut out by the Hydro people, the last time, for 5 hours while they played around in the sewers. Long enough for the shit in my freezer to thaw, and now it's ''eat-or-throw-away''.

Three times in 24 hours, in minus-10 weather, at night. Long enough for the floors to turn icy cold; long enough for the three candles I had to die on me.

Three times re-setting all the digital clocks in the house, twice late for work - in my last week there. Very professional, eh?

It's one of those weeks, where you'd be better off staying in bed and jerking off than even trying to attempt to undertake anything.

Instant Karma (And We All Starve On)

Way to finish off the fucking month...

I'm at work, doing overtime, my tenth hour on the job, no breaks. So much so that my fucking lunch is still on the kitchenette table, and it's eleven PM. Cleaning guy from the building comes in, says ''hi'', empties the trash, leaves. I decide I've had enough of the crap I'm working on, will finish my sentence then eat a bit.

Except the food's gone. Fucking vanished.

Those cleaning guys aren't even allowed to move shit, they have to clean/wipe/swipe/mow/vacuum around it, this guy took the liberty to - out of his own good fucking will - lift a styrofoam container that has a sandwich, salad and garlic potatoes in it, 20 pounds of fucking food, the size of my fucking head - and throw it away.

To make matters worse, it's past eleven PM on a shitty rainy Tuesday - most grocery stores and restaurants are fucking closed, except the real fucking junk places. There's no way I'm replacing a healthy, fresh Lebanese-style chicken shawarma with McDonald's; it would be five crimes against humanity in one fucking sitting.

Worse still, because it always happens in fucking droves, I have to find time to sleep, go back and forth on public transit and make my way back here for 7 fucking AM tomorrow morning. That's if I don't waste time trying to find something I feel like eating, getting it delivered, and eating it.

Last day of November. Motherfucker. That's where ''Movember'' comes from.

Happy fuckin' Hanukkah.

One Of Those Days

It's one of those fucking days, right?

When I came in to work, yesterday, 24 hours ago, it was sunny and warm, a beautiful Thursday mid-day. I've been in the same office for 25 hours straight, working on the same report - but now it's raining outside and I'm almost done.

Yesterday was also Pay Day. But because my company still functions in the 12th Century - I like to say they're Ye Olde School - we still get paid via cheque rather than direct deposit. And guess what happened to my bank this morning, the one place where I can bring my cheque in and they'll put the money in my account without freezing it? Wait for it...

A. Fucking. Car. Smashed. Through. It. A fucking car. Smashed through it. Someone put a motherfucking car through the window of my motherfucking bank, ripping away both ATMs, then smashing its way through more glass right into the fucking lobby, injuring a poor woman who was at the ATM. And, of course, closing the teller-part of it for the day.

Which means public transit will also be slowed down in the area where I reside.

And that's fine, because despite having been working for over 24 hours and up for 30 - I'm in no hurry to get home, because I'm not even sleepy yet. I'm probably tired, exhausted - I just don't feel it because I'm on 3 liters of Pepsi and a can of Rockstar - probably enough caffeine to kill a child or a couple of elderly people.

All hyped up and nothing to do.

Crackheads And Coke Dick

There are so many junkies smoking crack in the emergency exit at my workplace that the second-hand smoke emanates from the stairs; it's like the day after a Great White concert.

Every time I use those stairs and walk through it, I have Coke Dick when I get home.

I guess I'll start to blame my work for my decrease in libido.

Welcome To The Working Week

Last Friday's staff party was such a blast, such a fine, fun time, that it kind of hurts coming back to work on this Monday and boss people around. And fine some sort of groove, productivity-wise. And it seems I'm not the only one: we're all sort of slow on our feet today.

The ambiance is still relaxed, but we need there is shit to be done. Unfortunately, our clients and respondents are making it hard for us; I guess the Holidays aren't a good time to chill out for everyone - stress is definitely in the air.

Everyone's coming up with Top-10 and Top-100 lists of everything sortable, some for the year, mostly for the decade. Someone should come up with a Top-10 'Worst Top-10 Lists' to help counter-balance it...

Time to get back to work!

Physical Work Vs Mental Work

I was debating the values of physical, menial work versus more cerebral work, the other day, with the soon-to-be Former Lady Of The House who, as is customary when people have known each other for roughly a decade, seems to think her work has more value than mine.

Some folks refuse to admit they are both demanding - and at just about the same level, at that. Working physically, using your muscles to move and lift things, to run, stand, takes up energy; at the end of the day, tiredness occurs. Concentrating, thinking, creating also requires energy: the brain works and assimilates information, data, then organizes it; at the end of the day, you can still be ectenuated, exhausted, mentally fatigued.

In the first case, your muscles refuse to follow what your brain asks of them and you slouch or sleep; in the second, your brain refuses to work anymore, thus even if your muscles wanted to move, they couldn't, because the brain can't tell them where or how to move.

The end result is the same fucking thing: fatigue.

One isn't necessarily worth more than the other, by the way, they are different ways to accomplish things, and often, one person who cannot do one or the other just won't ''get'' the effort it requires.

That's all there is to it, really... I've been up for 20 hours, writing, thinking... it's almost 8AM and I should be getting at least some sleep. Guess I'm fatigued...