Here comes more doom and gloom.

A few weeks back, I said that my purpose in life was to provide laughter to others. Unfortunately this mirth is usually arrived at through my expense. I am not the luckiest guy. Okay, that depends on your perspective. I have three healthy children a good family and …well I guess that is enough. My luck tends to fade when it comes to the little things. I remember when I was little, swimming pools were evil. Not when I was swimming in them. It happened when the pools were closed and I was fully dressed. They had this sinister magnetism that would grab on to me. Before you knew it was bobbing around the pool while bystanders tried to fish me out. It became a family joke. This continued on as I grew. My mother would shake her head at what I could “accomplish”. We lived in a respectable neighbourhood. The streets were clean and kids were always playing on them. It wasn’t like a ghetto with broken glass and syringes lying around. Kids would fall and scrape their knees all the time. Me? Well if I had a spill from my bike it was always through a smashed pop bottle. Nails were popular too.

It wasn’t that I was accident prone, it’s just that if something is going to happen it is going to happen to me. I remember a hockey game as a kid. All game long players were getting checked into the boards in one specific corner. When I get taken in there a small piece of metal was sticking out, that no one else noticed or encountered it. That piece if metal took a chunk of flesh from my elbow. The scar is still there. I have been standing in a crowd under a canopy of trees in Jamaica. I am the one the birds sh*t on. I have arrived home three hours late, my head and arms wrapped up like a mummy because a rad hose had burst on a car when I approached and I was covered in second and thrd degree burns. Eerily the other people had backed away as I walked up. ( It has happened twice. ) I have been in a line of cars when another car has lost control and smashed into the side of me. Taking out the doors while not touching any of the other fifty cars in the line. Just the other day I was in a parking lot in the wind and the rain having just stowed the groceries in the trunk. I placed the cart back into the EMPTY cart corral and ran back to the car. WHAM! The wind had blown the cart out of the corral and guided it a hundred or so feet down the lane, past all the other cars, targeting the back of mine. The smashed tail light is only going to set me back about $150.

God hates me! I have no idea what I have ever done to her, but she hates me. Must be a black thing. A wise woman once told me that God only gives you as much as you can handle. Well, HELLOOOOO, I have handled enough. I am not complaining about all the bad decisions and mistakes that I have made in life. Those were my fault and hopefully I have learned from them. I am talking about all this other crap.

So, a good friend suggested that I read “The Secret”. Okay, I’ll bite. Maybe I have brought this on all myself. I have attracted the wrong people. Like attracts like. Losers attract losers. Doesn’t say much for my wife or friends does it? I guess I need a positive attitude. I always thought I did have a positive attitute. It was the one thing that has gotten me this far.

The universal Laws of Attraction are fine, but you know what I have figured out? The Real Secret. Yup. The one and only thing that you need to know to keep yourself happy and fulfilled. Here it is – YOU ARE ALL ALONE! DEAL WITH IT. Unlucky or lucky. Successful or impoverished. Happy or sad. It is all your doing. No one else is going to do anything for you so get cracking. Why would they? They are too busy trying to be happy themselves. If your actions bring joy or good fortune to others as well, all the better. But, you have to do things for yourself by yourself. If you want to be the victim, go ahead. If you want to be the egomaniac. Fill your boots. Just don’t count on a bunch of others putting you ahead of their own desires and plans. Ain’t going to happen.

Me? I am going to keep trying to do things for others and put myself second. This morning I was quitely leaving the bedroom, lights off so I don’t wake anyone in the house, when I picked up my laptop. I had placed it beside the bed to charge overnight. I picked it up and the power cord came tight, pulling the laptop out of my hand. I was standing on the cord. I don’t have much feeling in my feet anymore ( another story ) so I didn’t realize I was stepping on it. The computer fell on one of my toes. I am getting so good at this that my muffled curses didn’t wake anyone either. I limped out to the car wondering who I should attract. The cat seems to have a good life.

Until then, I remain,

A Sour Kraut

Chapter 30

Cliff always wondered why hospital hallways were strewn with equipment. Why don’t they just put the stuff away rather than push it out into the hall and forget about it? Too much money and not enough good managers to deal with things. Yeah, that was it, Cliff thought. He was getting angry. Still leaning against the wall, Cliff was trying to catch his breath. His encounter with The Man had shaken him. In a few hours he would be on television, trying to convince people to take time out of their lives to try and save his daughter. In the meantime, he had to try and compose himself for whatever tomorrow was going to bring. It was all becoming too much. There were times when he almost wanted to give up. He hated that these thoughts occurred to him. He would never give up, but those brief instances when the feelings of helplessness crept into his mind worried him. What if he wasn’t strong enough? What if he couldn’t do it?
“Cliff.” The voice was familiar and soft.
Cliff looked up to see Dr. Bob standing next to him. “What?”
“Are you okay? The place is crawling with them. I couldn’t warn you when you came in.”
Cliff stared at Dr. Bob in disbelief. What was he saying? Them! Who does he mean by them? How does he know who “them” are? All Cliff could manage to say was “Uh huh.”
Dr. Bob had a smirk on his face. “This is all starting to get to you isn’t it?’
Cliff was still looking at his daughter’s doctor. He suddenly felt very alone. He was in a familiar place yet nothing was familiar. “What have you done with our doctor?”
Dr. Bob scowled, “Vee haf taken his brain and put it on a spazeship to annuver vorld.”
“Very funny butt-head.”
“Funny? You are the one who is acting funny, my good friend.”
“Yeah, well this is all starting to get to me. Now you are acting like Flanagan.”
“Sorry.”
Cliff was feeling stronger. “So who are they?”
“I don’t know. They have just been showing up over the past day or two and replacing our regular staff. My questions go unanswered and the administration is telling me to just shut-up.”
“Great. So he was right. They are running the place.”
Dr. Bob looked confused. “He? Who is He?”
“The lovely welcome wagon guy that I just had an inspirational talk with.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Really. What do you think I am doing, making stuff up as I go along?” Cliff cried. “Nobody could make this stuff up even if they wanted to.”
“Well,” Dr. Bob began, “that’s the price you pay I guess.”
Cliff lost it. “What in the heck are you talking about!? The price I pay. What other person has to go through all this for a kidney transplant? This is not the price they pay, why do I? This is far from “the price you pay”, this is lunacy and now you seem to be the one leading the residents of the loony bin.”
Cliff was shouting and he noticed that everyone in the hall and those down the hall in the clinic had stopped what they were doing. They were all staring at Cliff.
“Walk with me,’ Dr. Bob whispered.
“What?”
“Walk this way,” he whispered again.
Cliff looked at Dr. Bob and a moment later started to laugh. He was tired and an old Monty Python skit just popped into his head. “Okay Mr. Cleese.”
Dr. Bob looked at him quizzically and then started to laugh. Oh yeah. The doctor started off down the hall in a low, bent-kneed lope. Everyone was staring at him. Cliff felt invisible and it felt good. He followed down the hall as Dr. Bob turned into the women’s bathroom. Once they were both inside Dr. Bob headed for a stall. He motioned for Cliff to enter and he stood outside shielded by the door. Dr. Bob looked over his shoulder and began. “Everything is bugged. I am sure there is a camera up there in the corner, but I don’t think they can hear us. If you think that I am talking like a lunatic it is because I have to watch what I say. They are really losing their minds over this…”
“There you go again! THEY. Who are THEY?’
“They are the people that you have always heard about, but it has always been shuffled off as urban myth or conspiracy theory lunacy. Black ops, Area 51, programs that run that nobody seems to know about. The people who don’t exist and if they want can erase you off the planet in a heartbeat.”
“The warm and fuzzy guys.’
“Yeah, they are warm and fuzzy alright. They recruit from every area; CIA, NSA, Special Ops. If you are the type of person who can erase your conscience, or never had one, they want you. No history, no contacts. A person who doesn’t care if they are invisible. They just focus on the job.”
“Why do they care about me?’ Cliff wondered.
“You are the first one who has scared them. This is a big deal. You have only been told what you need to know, but in the end you will learn everything.’
Cliff studied Dr. Bob carefully. Finally he said, “You never told me that you were Flanagan’s son.”
Dr. Bob let out a long sigh. He looked down at his feet and they back to Cliff’s face. “You are very perceptive Cliff. No this is not foreign to me, but I am not Flanagan’s son. Remember when I told you that I had a brother that committed suicide?’
“Yeah.”
“Well he didn’t commit suicide. He was working for them and they used him for one of their projects. They got him hooked on drugs and when it was all done they killed him.”
“What? You knew about all this when it was happening.”
“Not early enough,” Dr. Bob said quietly. “Anyway, as soon as I knew what was happening I started to fight back.”
“All by yourself,” Cliff said.
“No, Flanagan’s husband helped.’
“You’re kidding?’
“No. You see the Flanagan’s are sworn enemies of these guys. They hate each other. As soon as the Flanagan’s found out about what was going on they got a hold of me and said they would help.”
“Nice people.”
“Maybe, but don’t believe for an instant that they are saints. They have ethics and morals, yet they have their own agenda.”
“So you have been working with the Flanagan’s ever since.”
“No,” Dr. Bob began, “they have a very small inner circle. Everyone else they bring in for a specific job. I haven’t done anything with them until now. They have called in others too.”
“Why?” Cliff asked. “What does the death of a little girl have to do with all this cloak and dagger stuff?”
“This is big Cliff. It allows a lot of scores to be settled by a lot of people. Monica doesn’t matter really, it is the process that will set things right or blow up in their faces. Either way, no one will let it go. Secondly, we have you. This is the first time that we have an unknown on the inside whom is capable of blowing this thing wide open. That scares them and helps us. Thirdly, there is something bigger in the mix that we don’t know about and it seems to be taking things to a much higher level. We hope to know more, but we are running out of time.”
Cliff’s thoughts were too numerous to handle, He felt that he was spinning out of control. He was so confused he did not know what to say next. Everything that he had counted on as being real, had been turned upside down in less than an hour. He wasn’t scared he was numb.
“Are you okay with this?”
“Have I got a choice?”
“Sure, you can stop now.”
“And what happens to Monica?’
“She dies,” Dr. Bob said softly.
“Exactly,” Cliff replied, “so your marionette is still attached to its strings.”
Dr. Bob smiled softly. “Okay. I hate to have to tell you this, but it is going to get crazier before it gets better.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tonight, things are going to really take a turn for the worst. You have to trust me and follow my lead. Do not show surprise or disbelief. You and Mary must maintain your composure no matter what happens.”
“Any hints or am I flying blind?”
“The Monica you know will not be there. The girl in the bed and on TV will not be your daughter.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No.”
“What?”
“Just go along with it. You and Mary have to trust me.”
Cliff thought for a moment. “Where will Monica be?”
“In ICU, she will be too fragile to move.”
“And this other ‘Monica’ will be dancing around?”
“No she will be sedated.”
Cliff slumped on the toilet. “Okay, I give up. Any suggestions on how I get Mary on side?”
“Go back to the room and get Mary on side. Do not speak. Communicate with notes and do not let the cameras see the notes. Cliff, this thing will fall apart if you and Mary can’t do this.’
“Great. No pressure. I will go and try to reason with a distraught mother. Piece of cake.”
Dr. Bob grabbed Cliff’s arm and held it firmly. “Look, this will fall apart tonight if you and Mary can’t get in the game. Monica needs you and you two need to pull it together.’
“Not to mention all the other people that want to see this thing go up in smoke,” Cliff said as he got up off the toilet.
Dr. Bob blocked his exit. “Cliff, you DO NOT have to tell Mary everything! Too much is as bad as too little.”
Cliff just looked at the doctor. He had nothing more to say and there was a big part of him that just wanted to run out of that hospital and never look back.

A number of years ago the African American community in the United States started a campaign to convince their male brethern that they were abdicating their duties as role models and fathers. The Million Man March in Washinton DC was to be the rallying cry for this effort. Seemed like a good plan, and it gave Bill Cosby the hope that he would no longer be the forgotten voice in the wilderness.

Nice try, but like every popular cause these days, things fizzeled. That’s not say that the cause wasn’t worthwhile, but in our culture, if things require effort or change they quickly fall out of favour. It is also very easy to label this as a “Black” issue. Oh, how wrong that would be. Just because black leaders are taking the lead on this does not mean that we are all not guilty. White, yellow, purple or pink, the fathers of today have really shirked their duites.

This is painfully obvious when it comes to problem teens. The majority of these out of control young men and women are the product of broken homes. It is usually the mothers that are left to try and raise these children in a loving home with the rules necessary for the children to grow up to be productive members of society. These mothers often complain of having no support. They are dealing with children who are physically able to fight back and mentally confident that they can get along on their own. There is no father or authority figure to act as policeman. It is too much to ask a mother to be all things: nurturer, confidant, provider, disciplinarian. It is hard to be nurturing one minute and laying down the law the next. I have also found that being the “bad cop” just doesn’t fit with most mothers nature.

To compound this, the fathers often don’t support the mothers. Children will leave the home knowing that the father will take them in. This is usually done out of spite for the mother and just gives the child more freedom to do whatever they want to do. Rather, the father should look the son or daughter in the face and say get home and work things out. “If your mother said “X,Y and Z” she must have had good reason. Tell me your side of the story and I will talk to her to see how we can all work things out.” It takes more than love, it takes respect.

Back in the days of the dinosaurs, when I grew up, or so my children think, mothers and fathers had the roles down pat. It was the epitome of “Good Cop/Bad Cop”. The mother ran the house an set down the rules. If you wanted food, clothes mended, a clean house, a sympathetic ear, unequivocal love, you turned to your Mom. If you pissed her off, thats when you caught hell when your Dad came home in the evening. Seems harsh now, but everyone knew where they stood. Now we have parents cutting and running at the drop of a hat. Some aren’t even trying. Some are and things are not and will never work out. There is nothing to do about that, but for the others, don’t let me hear you say “I love my spouse and kids, but I just wasn’t happy”. Suck it up, and do your job.

If we don’t want society to spiral down the toilet, and maybe that’s a little harsh, we all have to start doing our jobs again. Quit worrying about your co-worker getting an additional perk, quit gossiping, go to work and do the best job you can, stop worrying that you are being victimized, go home and contribute doing whatever, get involved with your family and show them how valuable you are, create memories. Don’t be petulant and take your ball and go home, because you don’t like the game anymore. If you can’t do any of that, then get out, but please support the spouse that is trying to do whats right. Your kids will thank you in the end.

I often thought that saying “I Do” to “till death do you part”, is too easy. It should be “till you do a good job raising your children”. That little zinger may make people hesitate.

I have often wondered if the problem is self perpetuating. Do children from divorced families, single Mom’s or broken homes have a higher incidence of falling into the same situation when they are adults? Surely there is a government grant to study that. Hmmmm…

Until then, I remain

A Sour Kraut

The media has been over-run these days with items on concussion in sport. It is starting to wear a little thin.

I have played some sort of sport for my whole life. One sport that I still love playing is hockey. Back in my day, you started body contact as soon as you could hit the ice. You soon got used to it. Initially it was like two bags of flour bumping into one another and falling over. You grew with it. You learned how to take a check and how to deliver one. As you grew up, you were either one of the bigger players or one of the smaller ones. Either way, you knew how to avoid getting hit and how to protect yourself from a check. The other thing was the equipment. We didn’t have full face shields. So, you didn’t hit anyone around the face, since you knew you would get the same in return. We also had elbow pads that protected our elbows. When I say “protect”, I am referring to the little piece of plastic, sandwiched between two pieces of leathera and padding that would keep you from fracturing your elbow if you fell on it. You would never think of ramming your elbow into someone’s head, because the helmet would hurt your arm. Now, the players wear suits of armour that allow them to rush head-long into the boards or someone else without the fear of hurting yourself. The other major difference is the size of the players. Compared to the boys I played with and against, these boys are massive and fast.

I can’t remember anyone ever having a concussion. I remember more broken legs and arms than concussions. The worst injury I ever sustained was when I was curling. Yup, curling. Not hockey, or football – curling. I was playing mate and came out of the house to help sweep a skip’s stone that was light. Needless to say I didn’t put my gripper on. While sweeping, I went to step over a stone at the front of the house and lost my footing. I did a face-plant into the ice, knocked myself out and put enough blood on the sheet that the ice maker wouldn’t talk to me for three weeks. Crushed nose, three stitched gashes, black eyes and a few wobbly teeth later, I was amazed that something so simple could have such a big effect. My beer league hockey buddies couldn’t stop laughing. Oh, and I probably had a concussion.

There are probably as many concussions and whacks to the head in curling as in hockey. But that doesn’t make the news. Now we have body contact being introduced at the absolute worst time – 11 and 12 year olds. Look out on the ice. At no time in your sons playing career is he going to face such a wide range of sizes. Some boys are monsters while others haven’t even had a whiff of puberty. Since they have had absolutely no experience with body checking they are all scared stiff. Instead of being small and knowing how to avoid a bigger guy, the smaller player freezes or slows down and it is just like he put a bulls eye on.

There are three options: bring body contact in earlier, bring it in later or not at all. If you bring it in later, it would have to be in the second year bantam, first year midget age group. Here is where the size differences start to even out. Or, don’t bring it in at all. Lets be realistic, if you are not playing rep hockey (AAA or AA) you are probably not a good candidate for a scholarship or moving on to a professional level. You could quite easily institute a policy that states that body contact is only allowed at the rep level and all A,B and C hockey is non contact right up through midget. Most boys drop out after that anyway. You are still going to get collisions and trips and falls and the occassional concussion, but at least you get rid of all this hysteria about body contact.

Until then, I remain,

A Sour Kraut

How dare you. You know who you are. You’re the ones that feel entitled to boss around those of us who volunteer or who write blogs. Forgive me. I must have missed that part where you were paying us to do any of this. We must be your employees. Why else would you assume that you can critique or express your displeasure at how we are doing the job? Let me be blunt; Put up or shut up!

I have experienced it at all levels. Coaching sports teams are the worst. Sitting on volunteer boards only slightly better. Leading a youth group – well that is okay, unless it is associated with a religion. Then look out. You get those ones coming at you through inuendo and the system. Recently, another blogger on this site was threatened becasue a reader didn’t like the way she referred to the cancer that her father is suffering from. Too bad.

She went easy. MF ing cancer is too nice for it. **&%*#$ piece of *&^@ cancer would have been better. I have witnessed far too many people lose their battles with this bastard disease to want to be nice to it. Craig, was a great guy. Made me laugh. Told jokes and smiled all the time. Greg was 27 when he was diagnosed. Newly married. Treatments made him sterile. All they wanted were children. After four years they told him he had won. Then it came back. It was sudden. Bennie just ran out of fight. Same with Evelyn. Some give up right away. Others fight it tooth and nail. My grandmother’s both fought it. One died when my father was three. My maternal grandmother at least got to go to my wedding. I watched my father wither physically and spiritually. from active man to parapalegic to death.

There is nothing redeeming about cancer. I am sorry if you have lost someone dear to this plague. But don’t rag on others because they may test your sensibilities. Send a cheque or do it yourself.

Until then, I remain,

A Sour Kraut

Too often I am stopped in my tracks by what appears to me as complete stupidity.

Example One: I was at a hockey rink the other day and noticed that all of the locker room number signs were also in braille. Huh? I must have missed that memo on the blind hockey league. Its like taking blind people, as a comedian once said, to see David Copperfield. “The elephant disappeared. It just disappeared!”

Example Two: The Canadian Parliament buildings are scheduled for a refit. This sprucing up is now forceast to cost TEN TIMES the original extimate. They are going to spend FIVE BILLION DOLLARS on this. Now that the Loonie is above the Greenback these are real dollars we are talking about. I don’t know a lot of Canadians that think that what our politicians accomplish in Ottawa is even remotely close to a value of FIVE BILLION DOLLARS. Remember this is the estimate today! You kknnooooowww that it is just going to keep rising. Couldn’t they trash the whole place and build something new for less that FIVE BILLION DOLLARS?

Example Three: Canada’s health care system is becoming a laughing stock. In December a couple from Ontario were in the States when the man suffered a severe heart attack. He has been there ever since. Ten weeks. Why? Because the Ontario system doesn’t want him back! Too busy they say. No beds they say. Keep him there they say, and don’t call us we’ll call you. Those in the Canadian health system often brag about how much more efficient and less expensive their system is compared to the American’s. Sooooo, why keep this man in the States? Why not bring him back? Because we are tooo stupid. At present the man’s health costs are being born by his private insurance. But, all medicare systems, OHIP included, have provinsions to pay for a patient’s care out of province if the service is not being offered locally. Don’t you think that the insurance company or the man are going to go back at OHIP to be reimbursed? Opening a bed would be cheaper.

As that great philosopher once said – “Stupid is as Stupid does.”

Until then I remain,

A Sour Kraut.

Nova Scotia’s Education system is in an uproar. Last week, the Minister Ramona Jennex announced the size in the decreases to the school boards budgets. Yes, school boardS! Nova Scotia, with its piddly school population, has eight of them. Yup, eight. To top it off there is also the Nova Scotia Association of School Boards that gets funded out of the public purse. So we have nine administrations covering just over 200,000 ( and falling ) students. That averages to around 24,000 students per administration. FYI, Toronto has one administration for 2.3 million ( and growing ) students. Granted the TO. school board is larger than any of the individual NS boards, but they definitely do not have the duplication. And we have not even touched on the size and cuts that could be made at the Department level.

So the school boards are told that they will receive 1.65% less this coming year. That’s not bad, but the kicker was that they also had to swallow any salary increase, resulting from union contracts and COLA clauses. Oooh, that’s different. In some boards this meant an actual decrease of almost 4%. Talk immediately focused on less programs in the classroom.

To go back a few weeks, my hero Ramona stated that no cuts to the classroom could be made until there were decreases in administration. That statement was absent in the discussions last week, but the feeling I got from the government was that they were going to stick to their guns when it came to finding “efficiencies”. My problem with this is that the government knows what it wants, but it is not willing to say it in public. Come on, have the guts to say you want the school board system overhauled. Really. The only way that you can get rid of the foxes running the hen house is to get rid of the foxes. Asking them politely to do the right thing just isn’t going to work and it will result in a whole bunch of mudslinging, foot-dragging and misinformation.

Lets do a little math. You know the kind of math the we were taught and seemed logical. Not the kind of math that my children bring home that I can’t understand. We found out last week that the average wage for a school board superintendent was $142,000. I am sure that the head of the association is also in that range. That means we are putting out more than $1.3 million in supers salaries alone. Think of the other duplication that exists between the tiny school boards and the savings in salaries alone boggles the mind. We could soon meet this year’s reductions easily. Then you get into the physical plant stuff. The cost of running eight different school board sites would save millions more. The Halifax school board announced last year that they were increasing their building costs by more than $900,000 because they wanted to move to newer and fancier digs. That means that if you live in Yarmouth, Sydney or anywhere in the province, your son or daughter is getting about $4 less in funding so that the HRM school board can have nicer offices. Don’t even get me started on the number of elected school board representatives in the province.

Alas, alot of the talk centered around the school board’s use of “consultants”. While this was assumed that they were talking about third party operations, the school boards quickly muddied the waters by stating that their consultants were actually contracted teachers who provided resource materials to the teachers in the classroom. The rationale was that if the boards had to eliminate the “consultant” postions, these teachers had the seniority to just go back in the classroom. Why teachers in the classroom need “consultants”, I have no idea. There are three possibilities: In order to justify their existence, education professionals keep changing course curriculums; the “consultants” don’t actually do anything; or the teachers are lazy or stupid.

Putting the consultants back into the classroom sounds like a great idea. If you put the resource teachers back in the classroom they are the experts right? Well, then they wouldn’t need any resource people at the board or department level. You could clean house.

We were also told that a teacher with eleven or more years of experience makes between $73,000 and $85,000 with benefits up the ying-yang. To top it off, they are in the middle of contract negotiations with the province, and guess what, they want more. I have no problem with teachers getting paid a fair wage, what I do have a problem with is teachers getting paid more than double the Canadian average salary. I would also like them to remember that a generation ago, teachers got paid far less. A generation ago, everyone that came out of school could read and do basic math. So dont’ tell me you need more money and resources. Teach! And if there is a structural problem in the classroom that doesn’t allow you to do your job properly, screach bloody murder. I’ll support you on that one.

Another thing. Don’t tell me about all the extra time you put into the school, regarding after school activities and intramural sports. There are a lot of people in the private sector that would love to get paid $80,000 and have summers off, that work long hours and still volunteer with boys and girls groups and minor sports. By the way, that is on nights and weekends, not afternoons.

Come on Ramona, let the axe fall. Sure there will be a rough period early on, but in the end it will all be worth it. Your my hero, don’t screw it up.

Until then, I remain,

A Sour Kraut

One goes through life looking back at all the choices they have made and wondering where they fit in this world. It is worse at the teenage years, but mid-life is no picnic either.

I on the other hand have it all figured out. Valentines Day has come and gone and at this stage in our lives, it has taken on a less important role. Nonetheless, I decided that I would cook my better half her favourite meal. Being a meat & potatos kinda gal, it was easy. Steak with baked potato, breaded scallops, steamed brocolli with cheese sauce ( that one was for the boys ) and shrimp sauteed in curry butter ( for me ). If you noticed the reference to the “boys” you quickly realized that this was not a “romantic ” dinner. Little did I know how big a hit it was going to be with the boys. Upon coming into the kitchen the boys spied the scallops and grabbed one.

“Oooh, I love these,” one said as he popped it onto his mouth, then, “Mmmmmm, these are the best tater tots I ever had!”

Yup, that’s what it is all about. I am the person who can cook the best tater tot ever. Eat your heart out Gordon Ramsey. My explaination that they were in fact scallops fell on deaf ears. They were too busy eating.

So, at middle age I am a culinary whiz. I have also found out I am no athlete. The other day, one of my son’s hockey teams had a father son game. I got suited up and hit the ice, ready to show that the “old man” still had a few skills. My youngest wanted to come along and watch. Early in the game I moved into the slot and was set up for a beautiful one-timer by one of the other fathers. My feet got ahead of my brain and before I knew it I was flat on my arse. I had one of those Homer Simpson moments where I could hear the door slam in my head as my brain said “That’s it, I’m outta here.”

My oldest son was very polite and didn’t say boo. My youngest boy has never laughed so hard in his life. Forty-five minutes later when I came off the ice, he was still laughing. “You fell’” he screamed.

“Yeah I fell,” I said, “I screwed up.”

“I can’t believe you fell!”

“I know, but what about all the great plays I made?”

“I still can’t believe you fell.”

“Glad I could be of such amusement.”

When we got home he headed into the house and immediately told his other brother and mother. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that is was not the first time. Ususally once a game with my gentlemen’s team I do something similar that brings belly laughs from my team mates.

So while all you others struggle finding your place in this world I am way ahead of you. I am a middle aged married man, how has been put on this earth to cook the best tater tots and to provide mirth to the masses.

Until then, I remain

A Sour Kraut

I am reaaly getting pissed off. I no have to look at launching a slander suit, because a minor sports organization can’t get off its butt and penalize a group of parents who have been dragging my name through the mud.

I have to look at oil sky rocketing through the $100 dollar a barrel mark because people in Egypt have had enough. Does anyone remember 2008 when oil skyrocketed and pushed the world into recession?

I have to put up with a population that keeps electing politicians who placate them with empty promises while covering up the fact that they don’t have a plan or strategy. They just want to be in power.

I have to stomach politicians talk about how we have to get more people involved in the voting process. It is not the voiting process you idiots. It is the fact that no matter who we vote in, you all do the same thing. And you do it badly! Come up with new and innovative leadership. Any leadership!!! Then we will become more insterested.

I have to listen to everyone talk about how badly they have been treated by this and that and they want it changed now. There is no view of what is good for the majority, it is all about what is good for “ME” and I want it changed “NOW”.

Lets get back to Egypt. I have no problem with people demonstrating for change. The problem I have is that they are not presenting a viable alternative. You have to remember that this is a country of of 80 million. So far they have had maybe a couple hundred thousand turn out in Cairo. Their calls for a nationwide strike has fizzled. Are they really speaking for everyone? Maybe. Maybe not. they haven’t had the patience to put together a solution that can be embraced by every Egyptian as well as the international community. Instead of taking the time to put together a cohesive and viable option for a peaceful transition to a new government, thay have hit the streets demanding “change”. All this means is they want Mubarak and his cronies gone. Not a bad thing, but without an agreed to secession plan this will lead a power vacuum. No law and order on the streets, nobody at the top directing things. It could get ugly.

Yesterday, I talked about Big Brother – the US. This was not an endorsement of them, it was merely stating that of all the current options out there, it was the one that I was most comfortable with. The lesser of all evils as it were. If the young people in Egypt succeed in toppling the government, we will see a mad rush for power from a variety of sources. Imagine the scenario where China gains influence in the soon to be formed, Sudan South. The Isalmic North Sudan gets backed by the Iranians. Tunisia goes to the Russians. The US keeps backing an Egyptian government and Yemen, who knows?

This would be worse than the UN. The most important area of the world when it comes to developing peace and economic security would be involved in the same old petty national interests that we witness regularly in the UN. Cool huh! Try to get a peace deal with the Israeli’s and Palestinians. Fat chance. Try to get sanctions against nuclear proliferation in the Middle East. No way. Oil security and shipping rights. Fuggedabowdit.

So we have the worlds generation of ME NOWs changing the planet we live on in ways that could have dire consequences, yet their need for immediate change because they feel wronged triumphs.

These hippie-happy pills need to be increased. I might go postal.

Until then, I remain

A Sour Kraut