Schadenfreude

For those of you not familiar with one of my favourite words or phrases, right up there with go fuck yourself, schadenfreude means the following:

 "pleasure derived by someone from another person's misfortune"

It could be the ridiculous and slapstick, like watching someone getting hit in the head by bouncing a baseball off of a wooden board at a carnival game and hitting themselves in the head...not once but twice. Yes, you guessed it...that happened to me. And Dom had quite the laugh at my own expense and it has made it into my repertoire of self deprecating stories.

It could be more personally gratifying, likened to the Karma is a bitch school of thought when your ex ends up with a dick head douche bag and suddenly you don't seem so bad anymore. In case you're wondering...not a personal experience for me. I'm quite content to let bygones be bygones and move on with my life...I wish her and all nothing but happiness and peace.

I will admit that I have gotten a certain amount of pleasure watching certain people in my profession meet their comeuppance for being dicks in their own right. I work in a business for people by people and I do believe in treating people as I wish to be treated, so when I see others treat people like dirt or serfs....I have a special place in my own personal hell for them. Fuck them.

This post might seem a tad weird coming on the heels of my last post of love and all that jazz, further proving to you that my mind truly goes off in many directions and that I can tend to ramble on in semi coherence. But I'm thinking maybe that's the point for me...I'm saying exactly what I think. Fucking the filters and making sure I am not living my life with fear as the ruler. I have a perspective that I view the world through and since this is my blog I get to say what I want, when I want and for how long I want. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's funny, sometimes it only makes sense to me and sometimes it makes sense to others...but it is always me.

So if I take a little pleasure from someone else's pain I don't take offence to someone doing the same because of my pain. In the end, it really doesn't matter to me. Hell...I put my pain out there on full view. Case in point To all the girls I loved before If it makes you smile or laugh at me, fill your boots my friends, there is more where that came from.

The idea that there is a single word to encompass the Karmic principle as well as taking some guilty pleasure in watching someone fall down a flight of stairs could only be put in place by the Germans...they're so damn efficient that way. And while their language can sound like bull frogs mating while being run over by a horde of warthogs in heat it is still a pleasurable thing to hear and understand when used correctly. Perhaps later we can explore other languages and their words used for grand designs.

For now, explore the possibilities that schadenfreude can bring you. Taken in proper doses and with an understanding that there is more to life than laughing at other peoples pain. I think maybe it helps us to understand another concept we should all be aware of. The "there but for the grace of God go I" principle seems a worthy counterpoint to schadenfreude. Who knows?

The day is ending and so I must sign off.

Ciao

D

What is the universe trying to say....

Please go to this link and read this fellows story.... Christopher Mitchell Allen

What the hell did this guy do to deserve this kind of bad Karma from the universe? If you wrote this as a script for a movie nobody would buy it...not believable they would say. And you thought the guy in The Revenant was having a bad few days.

Yet, there he is, truly inspiring people with his never give up, the world loves you and I love you message. I truly don't know how I would respond to this kind of misfortune and bad luck but it certainly puts into perspective anything I may be going through or have gone through. Which leads me to some reflection. On Scott and Fifi losing Simon to leukaemia in 2014 and how they reacted. With grace, dignity and humour. Or Gord Downie and his last months being spent fighting for others. Time and time again we are reminded, if we allow ourselves to see, the true measure of humanity and its greatness. I'm awe struck with the indefatigable spirit of us as a whole.

Which brings me to my point...kind of. With the clouds of doom and the ugly spectre of a raft of isms bubbling to the surface with Drumph being elected, it becomes ever so important for men and women of hope and good to fight even harder to ensure that this isn't the end of it all. I know it won't be the end simply because I know that enough people will come forth to stand up to bullies, racists, homophobes and misogynists that we will get through this. The important thing to remember is that we need to stand up. Call him and his ilk out every time. Phrases like give him a chance or see what happens are nice for the papers and in the spirit of coming together but we should always remember who he is and who he is surrounding himself with. Simply put, apathy is not an option when it comes to the current state of affairs we find ourselves in. In fact, it never was, but this game changing development brings in to sharp focus what we really have to deal with.

And I truly hope we, Canada that is, don't wimp out because of the a new direction down south. It is an imperative to keep our leaders feet to the fire at all times...because we have a responsibility to and because that's the only way to ensure we get better. Get out and vote, be active, say what you think. Be plural.

Mr Allen has gotten up from the mat more times than one would think possible and while I'm sure he has his dark days he should be an inspiration to us all for his desire to help and improve other peoples lives. Choosing the light over the dark is a choice...what we do after that choice is how we end up defining ourselves. Like Gandalf telling Frodo, in the face of regret and pity over their dire predicament..

"So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. 
All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us."

What will we do? What will the world do? It's hard to imagine that anything one of us may say or do can make a difference but in a time of connectivity that we are living in now, surely we can muster the troops of goodness and responsibility to build a better response to the fear and hopelessness that the far right has cornered us into. To once again quote Monsieur Cohen...

"There is a crack in everything 

That's how the light gets in"

Reflecting over the total mess the world has fallen into in the past few weeks I am confident that the good side will triumph. Yes it sucks and yes it is depressing to think what this maniac will do and the damage he can cause but we the world need to take a deep breath and play the long game. We lost an inning or two....there's still time to win the game.

Ciao
D

Lovevolution

I unexpectedly found myself driving the streets of the city the other day on a couple of quick errands, always a joy during the traffic chaos that this tiny city offers up...especially around the bridge. Since I have mostly mastered my road rage, reducing it to venomous stares, universal shrugs of WTF and an occasional extended finger. This new found inner peace allows me to pay slightly more attention to what I am hearing on the radio, so when I'm not air drumming or singing my heart out I listen to the CBC most often.

And this day I was listening to the "Q" while navigating around and I caught the tail end of an interview that the host was doing with D'bi Young Anitafrika. I've never heard of her but Mr Google tells me she is an actor, playwright and dub poet. In the short time I was listening I was moved by her passion and her message. The message I think is more important than ever in light of the coming chaos and uncertainty that will goes like hand in glove with the ascendancy of one Mr Drumph.

In a week where he won the election and phrases like the House Committee on Un-American Activities are bandied about, Leonard Cohen passed away and the annual Remembrance Day ceremony took centre stage...maybe pulling back and truly thinking about the ways of the world is in order. Maybe we react too much instead of being proactive. I'm as guilty as the next person when it comes to throwing the mud at something I don't like, hell it's a pastime for a lot us. I seem to always come back to the idea that it starts with a change of direction....opening the clenched fist in an embrace of understanding and acceptance. She talked of a lovevolution...a revolution of love, using mentoring as a vehicle of spreading positive ideals...check out the segment and feel her passion D'bi Young Anitafrika on "Q"  You get high marks in my book when you are connected to Stephen Lewis and his foundation.

It's never going to be easy but now, especially now, we need to come together...throw off the fear and hate and use the message of hope and love as our starting point. While the darkness seems to be overwhelming, take solace in the words of Leonard Cohen...

There is a crack in everything.

That's how the light gets in

Peace and love my friends

And on that note....

How appropriate that today is the anniversary of Kristallnacht, the coming out party for Adolph and his goosestepping brown shirts. Today we awoke to the stunning news that Drumph had won...against the odds, against the polls and pollsters and against better judgement. He is the President Elect...excuse me while I puke.

I'm not an expert on the political landscape and so it would seem can be said of every "expert" trotted out over the past year and a half of non stop electioneering, but I can't for the life of me see how this was possible from a country that had voted in Barack Obama, twice. What I can say is that no one, not one single person knows what will happen now. Anyone that says they know are just trying to get their fifteen minutes. With the trifecta of a Republican Congress and Senate alongside his Presidency, anything is possible...nothing will surprise me anymore but I suspect there will be much to worry and wring our hands over. Every Thursday could turn out to be Tuna Thursday, where he and his cabinet ride 300lb yellow fins down the Potomac or we could see images of internment camps full of "undesirables". Nothing is off the table.

I get that there is a large portion of the population that feels disenfranchised, left behind and angry...and these people just voted with their feet and have raised to the top post in the land, a man that, I think, pays lip service to the people that just voted him in. Well, now The Donald will have to deliver to his supporters...good luck I say as more than likely he will be in it for him. And if I'm wrong and he defies his image and actually does good, I'll be the first to say it...I was wrong. But I'm betting on somewhere in between Tuna Thursday and Armageddon.

Trumpsters collectively felt short changed, marginalized and lost at sea. The establishment ignored them at their own peril and a valuable lesson has been learned...and now we have to get used to the idea of a President with a pocketbook agenda. It's almost hard to believe that he won't be mired in scandal after scandal but the damage he will wreak in the meantime will be profound. The Supreme Court is not a plaything and this orange clown will get to name at least one justice. The steps forward to a progressive society may well be set back to the 50's. Nobody knows, and that's the scary part right now.

George Carlin called it though, "never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups" Clinton must be devastated, Obama probably needs a stiff drink right about now at the thought of what this maniac may do to his work over the past eight years. His remaining days in office will be a dark cloud of doubt and fear. The people have spoken and one thinks they probably got what they deserved...since this is what they asked for, voted for. America just said "hold on to my drink, I want to try something."

The rights of women, minorities, the LGBTQ community and a whole host of others have a right to feel nervous and scared,he has provided plenty of fodder for this feeling. One hopes against hope that cooler heads will prevail in the months to come.

My Drumph rants will fade away from here for awhile I think...I'm tired of it all and especially of thinking of him. I didn't sleep well at all last night, like much of the world I suspect, and I just want to turn my attention elsewhere. Good luck America, and to the rest of the world...have hope, maybe he will surprise yet again.

Ciao
D

On the edge of a cliff

Finally the carnage is just about done. It's almost hard to believe but the election cycle from hell comes to a close tomorrow. Billions of dollars, words and eye rolls have brought us all to this place...staring into the abyss, hoping for the best but not believing it until the final declaration is made.

Despite the ludicrous nature of this entire process and the unlikely ascendancy of one Mr Drumph, Hilary Clinton should be elected as first female President of the Untied States. Knock on wood, because anything can and probably will happen. Drumph's refusal to acknowledge her as the victor aside, we should wake up on Wednesday to the coming new reality. A despondent and fractured Republican Congress, a possible Democratic Senate and a rather reviled Democrat President. Can you say grid lock and insanity? Well...say it, because that's pretty much what we're getting. And while that is infinitely better than the alternative of a Drumph presidency, it ain't gonna be a picnic for Madame President. Picture what Obama went through over the past eight years times ten...and that will be the real tragedy of electing her, the white boys club that will do whatever it can to avoid anything resembling governing in the interest of posturing and demagoguery.

If there is a God he would wipe out the Republicans, not in the biblical sense, but electorally. I think only then could one hope that they rebuild the common sense party into just that, as opposed to what the tea baggers and bible thumpers have hijacked the conservative arm of the country in to. The US, like Canada, is actually pretty evenly divided with liberals and conservatives but the far right, with God on their side, are yelling too loud for the moderates to be heard. Time to hit reset I think.

First a black President, now a woman. Nice, but I'll be truly amazed when an atheist transgender Muslim is elected with a Congress that reflects the actual make up of the country. Now that would be the highest glass ceiling don't you think?

In any event, I think I speak for many when I say, Mr Drumph, we hope to never hear your stupid voice, see your stupid face and hair and have to ponder the hatred and fear that you spout. Go back to that gilded cage you built and try launching another reality show or something. Fuck you!

Debt of Honour

When thinking about the upcoming Remembrance Day ceremonies and what I wanted to say about it, I found myself casting about a bit for some sort of relevance. A story that I can relate as to why Remembrance Day is meaningful to me, a connection beyond the simple fact that I do hold the day as sacred, maybe more so than any other "stat" day that is graciously bestowed upon us by the powers that be. But I don't...I don't have a grandfather that fought and died for our country in World War Two or a distant uncle or cousin that lost his life in Korea or Afghanistan. That lack of a tangible and specific connection to the horrors of war does not diminish the incredible amount of respect and gratitude I have for the people that have chosen to make sacrifices for our nation. Whatever their reasons for enlisting were, be it a sense of duty, patriotic fervour or simply for a way forward, these men and women put themselves in harms way for us and I think they deserve every possible measure of our respect. 

I try to imagine what it must have been like, taking a boy of my sons age and placing him in one of the hundreds of landing craft making that journey across the channel to the beaches of Normandy. All of 18 years old, knowing that the chances of survival were small, that death was near...the vision is unsettling, the reality must have been terrifying. The opening scene of Saving Private Ryan was supposed to have come close to depicting the horror of those first few hours...I'm sure it was worse, exponentially so.

I think it's easy to romanticize the idea of going to war to fight tyranny and evil personified in Hitler; to fight the good fight if you will, but reality strikes like a thousand knives when you are faced with the inescapable laws of physics. Bone and muscle are no match for fire and metal. And in that moment, when the realization comes that you may not get out of that fox hole alive is when, I think, the most heroic of all things happen...you move forward anyway. That's how Hitler was beaten, the sacrifice of many to stop an "ism" Getting up, despite the fear, together with your brothers in arms, and fighting for every foot of dirt.

Land and sea strewn with the wreckage of humanity, and lost amongst the carnage and totality of war is the warrior returning home to fight again. All too often suffering in silence, living with the memories, the severe shock to the psyche. We owe a debt of honour to all of these people, every last one of them, to help and support them. Always and forever.

Spare more than a moment, look around at the unbelievable amount of freedom that we take for granted. See how blessed we are when you consider the suffering at the hands of modern day Hitler's around the world....this freedom was guaranteed and won through sacrifice and through blood. Honour that unwritten covenant with those that died.

We will remember them

The Game

I had the privelege of seeing Lennie Gallant this past weekend with good friends. A small perfect setting in Chester for a superb singer song writer, the man tells a good story through song. He played a song he had written to celebrate hockey in Canada, called Has Anyone Seen My Skates and as he strummed along and painted his picture I was brought back to this point in my life...probably hidden from my companions, I teared up a bit thinking of this. Once again proving that bond between music, words and emotions...here is what I "wrote" while he sung away...

There was, when I was growing up, a ritual for young boys growing up in suburban Toronto that was as certain as the coming winter, an absolute really, that you adhered to no matter the consequences. It revolved around the most Canadian of all Canadian things, hockey of course. You followed it, you played it, you lived and breathed it…it was sewn into the very fiber of your being. Even for me, despite not being born here, I was pulled by the tradition around me and the mania that surrounded the start of the season. There was no avoiding it.

In the later 70’s and early 80’s, for me and my mates, you were either a Leafs or a Habs fan, there was no other choice. Hockey cards were treasured bargaining chips and testaments of allegiances and persona. When your cards were pulled out of your too full pockets, the card on top was your calling card, marking you as if you had been branded by your chosen team. For me, let us say that I bleed Blue and White.

With this background it was no surprise that I wanted to play hockey. I pleaded with my parents to put me in hockey. As a way to follow my ‘passion’, as a way of fitting in with my friends and in the end, as a way of being Canadian. Whether you were new to the country or a fifth generation Upper Canadian you had to play hockey. It mattered not that I could barely skate and hadn’t played anything organized outside of pickup games of ball hockey. Nor that I had nothing outside of skates and a stick to call my own…I wanted, I needed to play. They had to understand.

What I didn’t understand though was what kind of position I was putting them into. How could they afford this extravagance? How were they supposed to make any sense of this stupid game? Barely in the country for ten years, accents as thick as bramble and their English not even a second language, third at best. I was ten years old and I had no concept of anything that they might have been going through, I simply wanted to play hockey.

Somehow they made it work. Resplendent with new equipment from Canadian Tire, not really certain how or where any of it went I showed up for tryouts. I assumed my combination of ball and foot hockey skills as well as plenty of Saturday Night Hockey games on TV would carry me forward just fine. I had this. Hell, I was going to make the Rep team. A first for a kid with zero experience playing on the ice, I was going right to the top tier, with the accompanying maroon and gold jackets. If team coaches picked teams the way we did while playing a game of pick up, trading back and forth from best to worst, I would have been near the bottom and grudgingly taken with a sigh. It was obvious I didn’t belong, not owning a hockey sweater I did my tryouts in a sweater that would have won honourable mention in a ugly sweater contest stretched over my shoulder pads. I was playing house league

Looking back what becomes apparent is that I didn’t know what I didn’t know. We were working poor working towards working middle class. Recent new comers to the country with factory jobs, no support and nothing to fall back on, my parents did as so many before and after had done…uprooted their lives in search of a better life for us all. Can you imagine showing up the shores of a new country, babe in arms, not speaking the language and making a go of it? It must have been terrifying.

Fast forward one year and my second season is just a few games into the schedule. We had won the league championship the year before and now I was a seasoned veteran, meaning that I could actually hold my own from time to time. When not tripping over the blue line I managed to play some decent defense…the poke check was my best friend. I hadn’t scored a goal but that was OK, I would have thought myself as the old school stay at home defenseman…Bobby Orr could take the glory. I was quite happy, even with the 6:00 AM outdoor practices. On this particular game night, as usual, my dad was driving me to the game and as usual I was already half dressed in shin pads, socks and hockey pants as we made the short trip to the arena. All I needed to do when I arrived was to throw on my upper body padding and lace up my skates. I was ready and excited. We pulled into the darkened lot at Albion Arena, dad got out of the car to retrieve my gear and in a momentary lapse of attention he left the key in the ignition…and then locked the door behind him. There we were, staring at each other with the car running, doors locked and my bag locked in the cavernous trunk of that ’77 Chevy Nova.

As I was running down Albion Road for home, half dressed in my gear, I was thinking how this exertion was going to affect my game. Which was probably good because if I was thinking about the darkened streets and dodgy neighbourhoods I was going to pass through to get home…two kilometers away, I might have taken a longer safer path. If I made it through alive I still had to play a 45 minute game. I reached my door knocking wildly to be let in. Probably from the lack of oxygen and extra exertion I simply grabbed the spare keys and started running again after a brief explanation to my mom…I got to get going!! It didn’t cross my mind to have her drive me back to the arena in our second car, the venerable Chevy Vega. Like Forrest Gump, I simply started running.

I can truly imagine trumpets blaring as I rounded into the parking area, striving those last few steps as I gave over the keys to my dad. Doubled over trying to catch my breath it dawned on me that we should have simply called my mom to bring us the keys from the payphone inside the front doors of the rink in the first place. Oh well, the ice awaits.

I asked my coach to sit me for a couple of shifts to let me get some energy back and in those few moments I lost track of the game. Something had gotten my attention, my dad sitting in the stands had grabbed my gaze and I watched him. Quietly sitting there on the bleachers, trying to follow the game, I came to see something different. For the first time I thought of what it must be like for him, the sacrifices he was making to simply just watch the game. All of eleven years old, I was only scratching the surface of those thoughts. I knew he hated hockey, it wasn’t his thing. How could it be? Growing up in war torn cobbled together Yugoslavia, he was far removed from the world of Salming and LaFleur. But there he was…my hockey dad.

Now, 38 years later, I have a deeper and much more profound understanding. Like Joni’s reinterpretation of Both Sides Now, there is more depth and more context to appreciate what I had seen. He wasn’t a “hockey dad” in the traditional way. Not because he didn’t want to be there for me and cheer me on, but because he did it despite the obstacles in his way. When I wasn’t on the ice did his mind wander off as my mind did when my kids played basketball. Sitting there was he thinking about how much gas was wasted while I did my Chariots of Fire run? How tired he must have been at 8:30 at night, working overtime whenever he could and putting in 50 and 60 hour weeks. Instead of being at home resting he was watching me play this stupid game. Speaking to no one because maybe he was self conscious of his accent and his education. The fear of standing out can be a strong motivator. How did he end up here? Was he thinking of his family back home? I bet he was. How could he not after all? Missing the language that he grew up with, his mother and brother still toiling away scratching a living out of the dirt back home. How hard it must have been for both of my parents.

In my short two year hockey career I never had a better night than that night. I scored a goal, my only goal, and added two assists. This was my silent dedication to the guy sitting alone in the crowd, huddled against the chill of the arena, watching but maybe not seeing a game he didn’t love. My sprint through the wilds of Etobicoke were small compared to what my parents had sacrificed so I could play that game. He embodies what I believe fatherhood stands for, in his way a quiet humbleness, content in knowing that he was doing his very best but always driven to do better.

Ciao

D