Out Of Your Weight Class . . . As Usual

My pal Bill has a garden that you can see from space. If you can find his place on Google Earth, you’ll see three humongous plots that he carefully tends in between his regular shifts at the nuke plant. This past weekend Bill came down from the country to the big city for the Beach Volleyball tournament. It is a rare treat to see him, and the beach was inviting yesterday, so I harnessed up the little fuggers and headed over to see some of the action and pay my respects to my friend. The garden will be there when he gets home again. I can’t wait for a big bag of fresh garlic, but that’s another story.

The beach was full of people playing volleyball. There were lewd pulsating rhythms emanating from the loudspeakers. The Ski Patrol was there doing first aid and my pal was among them doing his part. The beach in Toronto’s east end has a lovely boardwalk running from end to end, and it was full of people and dogs of every description. It was perfect if you enjoy people watching and your dogs enjoy butt-sniffing.

As I strolled the boardwalk, PJ, Barney, Grendel and I met lots of curious people who wanted to stop and see the little doggums. Most encounters are pleasant enough. Grendel will survey the approaching people and cautiously sniff their outstretched hands. Barney will just rush in without any apprehension whatsoever. PJ and I will go into our spiel about Grendel and Barney’s relationship and the fact that Grendel is a really big chihuahua. It’s all good.

When there’s another dog involved Grendel and Barney will usually approach to get a whiff of the stranger and figure out the pheremones. The two little fuggers are pretty well socialized and I rarely have any trouble with either of them when another dog enters the scene. There was one occasion yesterday when I was proven wrong however.

We encountered a young woman walking a handsome red doberman on the boardwalk. The dog was friendly and approachable. I have a soft spot for red dobermans. They’re nice dogs. Barney, on the other hand, seemed to take exception to the big puppy and proceeded to snarl and leap at him. I dunno about you, but when I was in the schoolyard and there was a bigger kid spoiling for a fight, I wasn’t about to indulge him. Literally speaking Barney doesn’t have any balls, but figuratively, it’s another story. He had no qualms about taking an instant dislike to the guy who was ten times his size and letting the bigger dog know it in no uncertain terms.

Fortunately, Barney was on a short lead, and the big puppy was more puzzled than anything else by Barney’s aggression. The doberman looked down at Barney with a confused look on his face as if to say “why don’t you want to be my friend?” Everyone else had a laugh at Barney’s expense as we reeled him in to keep him from getting eaten by the big doberman puppy. I guess my 6 pound puppy doesn’t realize he’s a little fugger. Grendel knows his limitations, and minds his manners around bigger dogs, but Barney has a little too much bravura in his tiny frame. I hate to break it to him, but someone will have to tell him he’s usually the smallest dog in the pack.

Just another whipped dog

The paperguy keeps telling me to “get  over it” as he usually does. The worst part of it all is, he’s right. That makes the injury sting that much worse. Besides, he has a decade on me, so he should know about hard knocks related to aging.

You may ask what I’m rambling about. You might think I was run down by an automobile, or mauled by a pack of wild dogs. You may even suspect that I became a supporter of the Conservative Party. It’s much worse than that. I just filled a prescription for bifocal glasses. Jeez…..

Until recently I’ve always been one to take aging in stride. After all, there’s not much I can do about it. The clock keeps on ticking and Earth keeps orbiting the sun year in and year out. And here I am enjoying the ride for the most part, until my optometrist came along with her prescription pad. Curse her! (If you need a good optometrist, I’ll give you her name and number )

Maybe it’s just the last straw or something like that. I am coping with my funky vision after last year’s adventure. I don’t mind that I have a touch of arthritis as long as I keep moving. I’m out to the pilates studio once or twice a week, and I walk the little fuggers regularly. I do my best to curb my dietary excesses. I don’t even drink as much as I used to. I’m a middle aged guy after all. It’s not like I can party like I did in my twenties anymore. And that’s alright. But bifocals? Enough of the aging already.

I should have a good slug of buttermilk and thank my lucky stars. Just ask the paperguy.

Happy Nerds

The Phoenix Lander made it to the surface of mars just a few minutes ago. PJ and I tuned into the television broadcast just as the lander was in the middle of the nerve wracking 7 minute sequence of hurtling through the martian atmosphere and slowing down enough to land safely. Despite the fact we’re removed several light minutes from the actual show, it was exciting to watch the events unfold from the JPL mission control room. Good on them. I watched a room full of happy nerds put a sophisticated robotic platform in the martian arctic.

This reminded me of a conversation I recently had with Dr. Gonzo and the Burger Dude. We were speaking back to our awareness of current events during our youth. I remember the Apollo landings and the FLQ Crisis when I was a yardape. I had just turned 8 a few months before Neil Armstrong uttered that crackly but well known sentence. Important events in world and Canadian history respectively. I was amazed that people had gone from the Earth to the moon, and I was annoyed that news coverage of the crisis in Quebec was preempting the usual dreck that I preferred to watch. There’s no accounting for taste, and in my defence, I was 9. I don’t think I was particulary smart at that tender age.

The similarity and the difference between today’s martian landing and the nearly 40 year old moon landing is striking. I suspect most people who had a television in 1969 watched the fuzzy astounding images from the Sea of Tranquility. The first images have just arrived back from the Phoenix Lander. We’ve had to wait for a relay from a satellite in orbit around Mars. I’ve been following the programming and news from a few web sites as well as avidly watching the Discovery channel coverage. It’s astounding the amount of coverage, and at the same time, how indifferent most folks likely are today compared to the mass excitement I recall from 1969. I bet Stephen Harper’s European trip gets more coverage than Phoenix in tomorrow’s newspaper.

The achievements of the JPL and NASA are indelibly stamped in the history books. Today just adds another chapter in that record. It was a treat to watch the nerds in the control room hugging and shaking hands as Phoenix landed 171.5 million miles away. It makes me think fondly of my early wakeup calls, and it makes me look forward to future planetary exploration. I feel a kinship with the happy nerds.

On The Street With The Little Fugger

I was doing some regular canine maintenance with Grendel the other night. We stopped at Sassinak’s for a visit, and afterwards we proceeded southbound on Church St. As we were rambling through the Village we came upon a very small chihuahua standing beside his human. This tiny creature must have been 3 or 4 pounds at most. He was half the size of Barney. The teacup overflows.

I was immediately struck by the look of expectation in this tiny dog’s eyes. He looked at Grendel and Grendel looked back at him for a second. Then, the wee dog started quivering and bouncing around a little bit as if to entice Grendel to play with him. Unfortunately for the tiny canine, his human took one look at Grendel and quickly picked up the dimunitive creature.

Without saying anything Grendel and I carried on. The whole incident couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds. I felt kinda sad for the poor wee dog, because it was obvious that he had an overprotective human who coddled him and kept him from the company of other dogs. The little bugger had great expectations of meeting another canine only to have those expectations dashed. He probably would have had a few seconds of being nose to nose with his own kind instead of being carried aloft like some sort of Paris Hilton fashion accessory. So much for letting nature take its course.

Grendel likely forgot about the encounter within a few steps, but it has been bothering me for a few days. I could be overreacting but to me, this is as much an example of cruelty as the vicious bastards who beat their animals or worse. This poor dog probably doesn’t have any contact with other dogs. Grendel and Barney have friends and aren’t afraid to meet other dogs in the street. That’s just the way it should be no matter what species you are.

Out Of Your Weight Class – Part Two

Barney visited the farm today. The even smaller fugger finally met Archie, who is not a little fugger at all. Archie stand over two meters tall. I can’t say how many hands that is. Barney is less than two hands at the shoulder. He’s not tall. Not even close to tall. Feast your eyes on this one:

 

 

In The Ring And Way Out Of Your Weight Class

Yesterday, Grendel and I travelled to the Niagara Peninsula to visit my good friend, the Mad Latina. She’s from Colombia, where the heat must have got to her. I have a perfect right to question her sanity, because she’s the proud owner of four golden retrievers, and she is helping out the Golden Rescue by housing a fifth one just to make sure she has enough dogs. There’s a sign on the door that says “no outfit is complete without dog hair”. In the Mad Latina’s world, that’s true. It’s all about dogs. Grendel and I have had a standing invite ever since she saw him on my web cam. She was instantly smitten by the little fugger. How could I refuse the invite?

I knew what to expect, but Grendel was taken by surprise. Picture this: Grendel is a little chunky these days, after a long Canadian winter spent indoors. He’s about 13 pounds. Big chihuahua, but still a little fugger. The pack of retrievers probably weighs in around 450 pounds. Their average weight is 90 pounds. If you’ve ever hung out with a bunch of dogs, you will know that they take on a collective movement and travel as a unit. There are no dogs around you, or else there are five. The weight differential must been imposing when Grendel looked up. He saw over 30 times his weight in humungous dogs staring at him. Ten eyes staring and five tails wagging. “What the hell?”, he must have thought.

After a while, and a little politicking from Georgia, the alpha bitch, Grendel got along famously. Georgia growled in an assertive but non threatening way to let him know that she was in charge and wasn’t going to put up with any crap. She’s ten times the size of Grendel by herself. Grendel took the hint. After a few minutes of milling around, and all the other dogs inspecting Grendel, he happily joined the pack. He followed the group around the house and out into the dog-pack sized yard. It was all good.

Afer the initial commotion, it appeared that Arnoldo Segundo, the oldest dog was the friendliest with Grendel. For whatever reasons dogs come up with, Arnold couldn’t stop grooming Grendel. The massive retriever tongue just kept coming, and Grendel bore it without complaint. Except for the fact that Grendel was soaked in dog slobber instead of soapy water, he got a good cleaning.

Several times Arnold tried to finish Grendel’s dinner at the end of the day, and Grendel ferociously roared back to defend his bowl. We all had a good laugh at the size disparity and the character of Grendel in the circumstances. He didn’t mind joining the pack, but he wasn’t going to put up with the bigger dog inhaling his dinner.

To sanitize a popular statement amongst the pervs, “it’s not the size that matters, it’s how you use it.”

Eyeballs ‘08

A while back I had an adventure. I lost my eyesight due to a viral infection. It’s called Bilateral Optic Neuropathy. I call it a wakeup call. My friends rallied around me. Some of my loyal readers followed my updates eagerly, and I’m pleased to give everyone another update. It’s not everyday someone you know gets blinded, so it’s gratifying to the poor slob who gets blinded to know that people are concerned. Thanx.

I went to see the good Dr. G. at St. Mike’s Golf and Country Club today. I was met by one of the Doctor’s henchwomen. She did the funky test with the cyan coloured probe that measure the internal pressure of the eyeball. That one is my favourite. She proceeded to paralyze my pupils so they could examine my retinas. I can take fuzzy vision for a few hours while the pupil dilation juice wears off. Having your eyebal probed by the cyan thing is much more disconcerting. But it’s no big deal after you’ve been probed a few dozen times though.

After all the poking and prodding, or as i like to say, “kicking the tires and checking the fluids”, Doctor G. and his understudy were both happy with my current state. They didn’t give me any concrete numbers to measure my progress, but I was very pleased to see a noticeable improvement in my colour perception. There’s a wacky scale of 1 to 17 that is used to measure degrees of colour blindness, and if I recall correctly, my original numbers were 8 out of 17 for one eye, and 12 out of 17 for the other. Not that bad really. Today I looked through the tattered colour blindness test book, and I was amazed to see that I could name the vast majority of the numbers in the field with a few minor boo boos. I had difficulty with the numeral 8 vs 6, and 1 vs 7. They use a romanesque font in the test book, so it’s an honest mistake. (If you’re slightly colourblind).

The important point to make is I don’t get baffled by colours. Red is still red. One eye has a little more orange, and the other eye has a bit more pink, when I examine something red, but the synthesis of both eyes makes for red. There’s no chromatic ambiguity for me. I used to be an avid shutterbug, and I always enjoyed looking at works of art. I still do enjoy looking at art, but my photographic pursuits have trailed off. I have a mistrust of what my eyes are actually seeing though. After today’s tests, I wonder if my problems aren’t more psychological rather than physical.

The good Doctor says the wiring and the mechanical parts of my eyes are working well considering the original trauma. Now I guess I just have to get used to the change from having excellent vision to my current state, where things aren’t perfect, but I have a reasonably well functioning set of peepers with a few occasional exceptions. An interesting question comes to mind that’ I’ve been trying to answer since I was blinded. How much do you trust your senses?

I thought it was just an expression

I got a computer a few years ago. And now it’s a doorstop. That’s all I’m gonna say. Check this out:

Genetics In The News

Adding Up Integers

I headed over to Queen West this evening for a benefit show. The organizers were raising funds for the victims of the recent fire on Queen St. A bunch of musicians donated their time to play some tunes for the crowds assembled, and the lewd pulsating rhythms filled the air.

Best of all, my pal Hubris performed with his band Integer. It was the first time with the current line-up apparently. Hubris is the singer in the band, accompanied by Ron on guitar, his twin brother Roland on drums, and Peter playing a 5 string bass.

I will be upfront and say that Hubris’ band performs a style of music that I don’t find very interesting. I’m not a big fan of metallic stuff. I will temper this potentially hurtful statement by mentioning the band has a lot going for it. It boils down to taste. Integer shows a lot of promise. (Lots of friends of mine don’t care for some of the wacky stuff I come up with but I don’t mind that I’ve painted myself into a corner. You have to do what pleases your ear first.)

Integer plays a moody and inward looking hard rock music that break out into much exuberance. It’s rhythmically compelling music that can almost whisper to you one moment and bark in your ear the next. The band is ambitious enough to attempt very long tunes and they not afraid to really play with the dynamics. It’s  hard to keep an audience’s attention  for extended forms. For a first gig, Integer didn’t lose the crowd despite the risky posture.

Original music is a difficult thing to create and introduce to the public. People have expectations of their entertainment, and don’t particularly care to work to any degree to understand a new musical expression. The point is, Integer are pushing the boundaries of hard rock music. They in the process of staking out their turf and trying to define their style. They break a few rules, but that’s not a bad thing. I’m looking forward to seeing how well the guys can do with a full set or two. Tthe tunes are original and for a new group with only a few months of practice behind them, I was pleased.

I made a point to congratulate the lads on their success after the gig. It’s nice to hear somebody trying.

Hopefully you can check out their web site soon. It’s being redirected to myspace, but it will soon be available at http://www.integerband.com . If they make it big, I’ll be the first one to tell you “I told you so.”