Kid's Birthday Party Gift Bags

Do you know what I hate?

It's kid's party gift bags.

There used to be a time when you as a kid were invited to a birthday party and you (your parents) would shell out for a gift for the lucky bastard getting older. The parents of the birthday child would shell out a few bucks for a birthday cake - maybe they would take the kids out to go bowling or some other activity, but often enough the kids would all hang around the house playing board games just having fun.

But no longer. Not only does the family of the parents have to organize an activity where they can rent a room outside their house, but they also have to pony up cash to purchase gift bags for all of the kids who came to the party!

What the hell is that? The Oscars? Cannes?

When did it come to this? Where kids EXPECT to receive a present just for showing up to a birthday party?!

And it's not just a simple gift bag! No! Parents are now out to outdo one another, with grander and grander gifts filled with more crap, tissue paper and a fancy gift bag to give to a six-year-old who could care less!

On many an occasion, the amount of stuff in the gift bag far exceeded the $20 limit we spent on a present for the birthday child! 

When did it become less about having a pizza slice, some cake, and singing happy birthday to a friend?

When did it also have to become about giving presents to the guests to thank them for coming?

I'm not a rich guy. But when it comes to my son who will be turning seven in December - there's no expense I wouldn't spare to make sure he's happy! But why do I also have to impress his friend's parents?

I don't.

I want to go on record that I have never purchased gift bags for any of my son's friends when they come to a party.

And you know what? The kids don't care. The important thing for them was that they had a good time.

Rather than taking everybody out and away from the house to go to a 'games activity' center, I bring in the activity.

Two years ago we brought in a company that carted in some animals that the kids could not only pet - but they were taught about the animals! A blue-tongued skink and I enjoyed each others company as he fell asleep in my arms.While I can't recall the exact company we used - here's a Toronto listing: HERE. I'm sure you can find something similar in your city. Prices were decent for the hour-plus show.

Since my son's birthday is close to Christmas, we bought a few small pre-cooked gingerbread cookie kits and had the kids construct their own - we supplied the icing/glue.

Last year we brought in a company (Bugs Without Borders) that specialized in bugs! I fricking HATE bugs! But there I was petting a giant millipede that normally would have been crunching under my old Adidas!

The kids played with the bugs gently - they learned about the bugs - they even received a small kit from the company that had a bug in it that they could feed and raise. I'm pretty sure ours grew from a maggot and escaped it's plastic cage and later found its way spattered with a bug swatter!

And... while it seems like the kids got a gift - they did - but it wasn't me going out and buying a fancy gift bag filled with junk from a dollar store. Don't get me wrong, dollar stores are great - but kids don't NEED that junk. If they want it, you can but it for them. They don't need it given to them.

I will state that one of Hudson's friends gave his guests a mystery LEGO pack containing a minifigure—Brilliant!—but that's still $5! Multiply that by 12 kids and that's... let's see... twenty plus the square root of my blood-pressure... a lot of money! Money that need not be spent - especially after having spent money on the party proper!

This year - no gift bags again. We are taking two of his best friends out to Medieval Times here in Toronto. They can have food without forks, all the mead they can drink, can watch some great jousting and sword battles and maybe dad can slap a wench on the ass.

Stop the insanity. No more gift bags. Who the hell do we need to impress? No one. Just your own kid(s).

Gift bags, my ass.

Do you know what I hate?

Kid's birthday party gift bags.

Being An Immigrant

Here's a comedy skit I wrote, that's part of a 40-minute routine I call: A Passage To Etobicoke or The Great Off-White North. It's about immigration... and what it was like for my father who arrived in Toronto, Canada back in 1968 two weeks before my mother and I... and then what it is like for me nowadays trying to cross the border from Canada to the US to catch a hockey game in Buffalo between the Sabres and my beloved Toronto Maple Leafs.
Oh... My parents were born in India, I was born in England and I'm about as Canadian as it gets... and I want nothing more in life that to simply be Andrew. While 9-11 did change a lot of things... my ability to cross the border was a bitch a long time before that tragedy.   
It's supposed to be comedy, so I would appreciate it if you would do me the honor of laughing, or telling why not. In both parts of this skit, I play the immigration dude talking first to my father and then to myself.... in case you couldn't tell.
 

Scene 1

(Music: Led Zeppelin – The Immigrant Song)

Talk to the audience (intro).

It’s like the ultimate Canadian success story. An immigrant family comes to Canada for a better life than the one they left behind. It’s true that my family wasn’t leaving because of a war, famine or persecution, but with jobs a plenty and a healthy atmosphere to raise a child, what’s not to like about Canada?

I have to tell ya the truth, however. Me standing here in front of you is all a bit of a fluke, really.

My parents, Ron and Lynda got married in India, and honeymooned in Europe. In fact, it’s quite possible I was accidentally conceived in the back seat of a Fiat while touring Rome. Those backseats are notoriously cramped... I suppose that makes me part Italian. Hunh... Never thought of that before.

It was while visiting England that the guy at the airport mistakenly stamped “Landed Immigrant” status on all our passports. Mamma mia! I thinka we’ll a stay here in a da England.

I was born in England thanks to that Roman holiday in which the convertible was probably not the only thing with its top down. Realizing what an amazing opportunity fate had laid out for them, my folks quickly sought to get away from England—to a land where a brown guy could get a fair shake. They applied to three countries: Australia, the United States of America, and of course, Canada. Guess who said yes first? Of course, that was a very fast four years later in 1968.

Can you imagine my accent if we had moved to Boh-ston? Or gawd help us all, to Australia? We’d all have to learn how to speak a new language!

Once in Canada – Toronto, as a matter of fact, we moved into the middle floor of a Victorian house on Collier Street just north and east Yonge & Bloor.

Unlike a lot of other immigrants that arrived in Canada in subsequent decades, my family and I whole-hardheartedly embraced all that is Canadian.

Back in 1968, Pearson International Airport was known as Malton Airport, using the call sign of YYZ – a really cool Rush song. In fact, if you listen to the syncopated base line of that song, you’ll hear YYZ tapped out in Morse Code. A fucking American taught me that.

Anyhow, the time is now 1968. The Leafs didn’t win the Cup that year, but probably would next year. My dad arrived at the airport two weeks before my mom did with me in tow, and a little English Cocker Spaniel named Tin-Tin—who had to remain in quarantine for 30 days.

SCENE 2

(Dance To The Music – Martha and the Vandellas)

(I’m an Airport Border Guard)

“Hi there! Welcome to Canada! Did you have a long trip?

(pause)

Yeah, yeah, I bet! So… where ya comin’ from?

(pause)

Uh-uh. Uh-huh…. Groovy, man! Do ya have a pad to crash at?

(pause)

Far-out! Do you need any drugs, man? Canada has some primo weed ya know!

(pause)

Now, now. No offense taken, man. Not everyone likes dope, man. Maybe you’d prefer a psychedelic? Like here’s four tickets to tomorrow’s Leafs – Canadians game.

(pause)

Uh…

(pause)

It’s like for hockey, man.

(pause)

What’s field hockey? Nah, this is for ICE hockey, my brother. If you ever want to be a true Canadian you should check it out.

(pause)

Naw. You’re welcome, man… (yell as though person has moved away)

Are you sure you don’t need any grass!?

(FADE TO BLACK)

SCENE 3

(FADE TO WHITE)

Intro – Andrew to audience

Nowadays, in 2012, crossing the border – specifically the Canada – U.S. border – while driving is, for me, a battle of wits against an unarmed opponent:

(Music – The Beatles – You Know My Name)

Pause maybe 20 seconds

(Smiling – and looking a far… but waving other cars past)

“Aw fuck…. Here comes another fucking rag head – minus the rag, this time.

(waving cars)

… go ahead, go ahead…

(smiling)

Everyone knows he’s going to be trouble…

(waving cars)

… I know you are sir… keep going, keep going… you too sir…

(smiling)

It’s why all of the real Canadians behind him have moved off into different lanes… Aw, fuck… this is it… I better play this one by the books. We don’t need a repeat of 9-fucking 11 here in Merica!

Next! Passport!

(scans it)

(peers down as though staring at the driver’s side of the car.)

(Do a voice – Monty Python – Bridge keeper)

Before you may cross this bridge – three question you must answer me.

What! Is your name?

(pause)

John… Andrew… Matthew… Stephen… Joseph… uh, right.

(glances at the passport – now open)

Citizenship?

(pause)

Yes sir, I know it’s all here in your passport. It’s part of the border guard testing procedure that we perform on everyone attempting to illegally enter Merica from that 9-11-lovin’ turd of a country – Canada.

(pause).

I don’t know that you aren’t trying to enter this country legally sir.

(pause)

Canadian, huh?

(waving passport down like into the driver’s face)

Says here you was born in London, U.K. I got a cousin who went to U of Kay – Go Wildcats! He took pre-med nursing, but said it hurt his tits too much so he dropped out after a semester.

(pause)

Not… the University of Kentucky? … United Kingdom? … Never heard of it!

(quick pause)

Oh – oh – England! Why didn’t you say so?  (Aussie accent) Toss another shrimp on the Barbie, Ken!

(laugh – laugh)

You don’t have my accent though sir.

Oh wait, I see your passport is issued in Tokyo, Japan… what the hell were you doing in China?

(pause – pause)

Uh-huh… now “sir”, you can see the problem here, can’t you?

(pause)

(sigh)

Well… the passport implies you are Canadian.

And your name? John Andrew Matthew Stephen Joseph… sure, why not?

But born in England? A passport issued in To-ki-oh, China? And… while you and your passport photo match – putting you all together… you don’t seem to make any sense.

Look… let’s just continue….

(pause)

Okay… Question Number 2
(Do a voice – Monty Python – Bridge keeper)

WHAT! Is you favorite color?

(pause)

Very good, sir... It’s very nice that you spelled color and favorite with a “u”. We don’t do that here in ‘Merica.

Okay, next…

Question number 3.

(Do a voice – Monty Python – Bridge keeper)
Why! Are you coming to the United States of ‘Merica?

(pause)

Uh, no sir… it’s not obvious. Why should it be obvious?

(pause)

(takes something from driver)

Hockey sweaters? Leafs versus Sabres?... I have no idea what you are talking about, sir. I have no concept of this ICE hockey of which you speak.

(Pause)

Uh-uh-uh! … Why don’t you park your car over there and the nice men with the rubber gloves will be more than happy to take care of you….

(pause)

What?

(pause)

Do I like NASCAR? Of course I like NASCAR! Eeeeeeeeeee-wwwwwweeeeeeeee! Thi is ‘Merica, boy!

(pause)

Uh-huh)

(pause)

Okay…  that’s alright! Okay, now! That’s great!

Yes… Jimmy Johnston is Number 48!

I also would have accepted: Tony Stewart is a fat fuck, but we love him anyways.

Here’s your passport. Enjoy your stay.

(pause) (and wave at the car)

…Just don’t stay too long, ya raghead.

Inconsiderate People

Do you know what I hate? It's inconsiderate people.

This did NOT happen to me, but rather something my friend Em observed this past November 11, 2012.

Em was at the Toronto Remembrance Day ceremony with her family...

Let me present the story in Em's own fantastic words:

"... During the two minutes of silence, a guy's cellphone began ringing. 

Not just that - his ring tone was "Another One Bites the Dust." And loud. With lyrics. 

And he didn't want to let on it was his phone by turning it off, so it went on and on. 

The little guy in front of me started grooving to it. 

Dear God.  Answering the question 21st century style posed by Wilfred Owen, in one of my favorite poems from WWI - what passing bells for those who die like cattle? Only the monstrous anger of the guns, and the dumbass ring tones of the neuronally challenged."

Amen, Em. Amen.

Do you know what Em and I hate?

Inconsiderate people.

Not Being Able To Type

Do you know what I hate?

It's not being able to type.

I bring this point up after yet another effing blog article of mine was published with a bloody typo in it. Not your everyday type of typo, but one in the bloody headline.

I look like such an ass.

You would think that a very easy to use, brilliant blog provider such as Blogger.ca would have a proper spell check on it - but no... it only appears when you switch to the HTML view.

Ah crap. I'm not blaming Blogger.ca.

I blame myself. I tend to actually spell check everything nowadays... but not the headline.

I did it last on an article I published about 10 minutes ago on Japan - It's A Wonderful Rife... my blog about Japan. It's there under the Favorite Blog section and is well-worth the read even if you have no interest in Japan as there is often some cool stuff you could use to amaze your friends.No... I don't really believe that, but ya can't blame a guy for trying to amp up the readership.

I had written the piece about three hours earlier with only the title in mind. It was the first thing I wrote. Actually... I had written that title down about two months earlier, as I often jot stuff down onto the blog template and save them as drafts because I usually have topics to write about well in advance of me actually writing them.

As such... whatever the heck I wrote down... I did it a while back and obviously did not feel the need to double check the spelling of it.

I feel like such a schmuck.

And do you know what bothers me the most about the mistake? It's the fact that I... a writer of three blogs, have had 20+ comic book stories published and a few hundred magazine articles published and even more newspaper articles published by a national paper here in Canada... have no idea how to type.

I can even play the piano and accordion and the clarinet (all woodwinds and keyboards and brass, actually) and have nimble fingers. But... I can't type.

I use four fingers. Three on the right (thumb, index and middle) and the index finger on the left. The index finger is your nose picking finger in case you wondered.

I'm quick... hitting about 65 words a minute.. or as I frequently joke, about 65 mistakes a minute. I say that joke often enough because it's true to a degree... so you think I would check for mistakes.

It really ticks me off. Here I am trying to enlarge my reading pool, and I do a rookie boner mistake.

While readership on THIS blog is low, but steady, I have been making decent strides on the blogs I do on Japan and the other secret one written under a pseudonym.... with those two getting over 40,000 hits a month.

And to make mistakes because I can't type?!

Do you know what I hate?

Not being able to type.

Speeders

Do you know what I hate?

I hate speeders.

I'm what is known in the parlance, a nice guy. Damn near everyone likes me upon meeting me.

Now, I'm going to admit to you that in my youth, I have been a speeder. I was Lightning McQueen before there was Lightning McQueen.

I wanted to be A.J. Foyt, the Mad Texan who won a ton of Indy 500 races - just because we shared the same two initials! True.

I've driven fast. Very fast. Scary, holy cow, what the hell just passed us fast. I've used a Laser/Radar detector. I've driven my then new Hyundai Tiburon to the point that I was pushing it past the point where the speedometer stops counting.

Despite the reckless abandon I showed, I was a very good driver. I did not swerve in and out of traffic, I signaled even if there was no one around me (just good practice), and I never, ever hi-beamed anyone to get out of my way. I never sped during rush hour, and certainly never (almost never) sped during the day time. I never sped on city streets, either. If I sped, and when I sped, it was at night when the roads were clearer.

To me, it was like playing a video game, though I never, ever raced anyone - and while I am an extremely good video game player, I am aware that you get multiple lives. Just not in real life.   

And... despite all of this, I never got a speeding ticket - except twice for going 62 in a 50 kilometer per hour zone. I used to laugh, thinking how they should have seen me hours before doing nearly 200 kph more than that.

I admit this here, because I acknowledge how very wrong I was. In my youth.

I was reckless, and not only could I have killed myself, I could have injured or killed others. I was stupid. Very stupid.

My car was not tricked out. I didn't have roll bars. Special tires or brakes. At any point in time in my activities, I could have lost control or had a tire blow out on me. And then it would have been game over.

And then I became a father.

All of a sudden, I discovered a lane on the roadways that I had previously called the pussy-lane. Yes, such colorful language. The slow lane.

Hunh. Here, I could go the speed limit or just below it, if I chose. Cars did not expect me to move over, and no one could begrudge my legal speed - and no one ever did/does.

Thank to my son... I slowed down. And stayed there. I was immature, and now, at the very least, if not mature, I am less immature.

Now I ride in the slow lane and watch people whip past me at 30-70 kilometers over the speed limit and I shake my head in amazement that anyone can be that stupid and reckless.  

I am one lucky stupid son of a bitch. And I aim to keep it that way by continuing to drive the legal speed limit and obeying all the traffic laws.

So, by mentioning this here, if you are like I was - slow down. I was lucky once upon a time... but one's luck can run out when you least expect it.  

And so it may seem as though I hate myself, well, I hate the way I used to drive, and my lack of respect for others on the road.

Hopefully, I haven't lost your respect, and even if I have, that's okay, I deserve it. But...

Do you know what I hate?

I hate speeders.
   

Improper Use Of The Turn Signal

Do you know what I hate?

It's people who drive who have no concept on how to properly use their turn signal.

No... I'm not talking about the dumb sap who has left his/her turn signal on and is driving with it clicking left for five kilometers. Rather, I am talking about people who truly do not know how to properly use a turn signal. And it freaks me out when I have to watch them drive.

The turn signal on a motor vehicle is to let people in your lane behind and in front of you, as well as in the lanes beside you, that you have the intention of changing lanes. It means you want or need to get into another lane. It means you may need to slow down to properly make the lane change or possibly even speed up a bit to make the lane change as smooth and safe for every one involved.

Let me present you with a scenario and ask you to answer an easy question.

You are driving along and you realize you need to get over one lane. There's traffic. What do you do?

Do you:

1. Just start moving over and hope for the best? 
2. Wait until there is an opening and move into the other lane?
3. Wait until there is an opening and then signal and move into the other lane?
4. Signal, and when someone lets you in, you move into the other lane?

These are obviously simplified version of the rules of the road... you should use the mirrors, shoulder check et al. 

If  you chose any option other than #4, you are a poor driver. I'll explain.

Option 1: How the hell did you get your license?Failure to signal is a good way to cut some off and possibly kill yourself or the person you are cutting off. Idiots.

Option 2: Again... no signaling? What is wrong with you? It's a courtesy to the cars behind and in front of you... you know... in case they might want to know if it safe for them to change lanes?

Option 3: What is the point? Yes, you are finally getting some manners by signaling... but why are you waiting until the coast is clear. On a busy roadway - like a Toronto rush-hour commute, it is never clear. You will never be able to change lanes. 

Option 4: This is how you safely and properly make a lane change. How many people actually do this? Surprisingly here in Toronto, not as many as you would hope.

On any given drive in and out of work, I will be cut off no less than three times. It's okay, though, because I drive like I am going to be cut-off, so my defensive driving prepares me to react. I also have great reflexes - like a cat! Meow!     

Look... I was no angel behind the wheel as a young man. I've taken my cars as fast as they will go. I've owned a laser-radar detector. But let me tell you... when you are traveling nearly 240 kph and you have a quarter-mile head start on a cop using a radar or laser on you... you are still going to blow by the cop at an excessive speed. You can not slow down fast enough. I was stupid and lucky to have never been caught. Or killed anyone - including myself.

So... I'm not a great driver... though I suppose since becoming a family man, I have learned how to be a better driver. Hence this rant.

But back to the hate... signal... await an opening... and make your lane change when you are sure it is safe to do so.

Don't forget to give the wave, either. 

Do you know what I hate?

It's the improper use of the turn signal. 

Talking On The Cell Phone While With A Friend

Do you know what  I hate?

I hate it when I see friends walking together but ignoring each other while they talk to other people on their cell phones.

How bloody rude is that? When did we become a society where the person we are with isn't worth talking to? And I'm not talking about married couples!

Seriously... take a good look the next time you are at the mall... or are people watching on the street. Check out how many times you will spot, for example, two women walking side by side - friends - who are on their cell phone chatting with someone else.

Too often.

I've had the displeasure of walking behind such 'friends', and listening to the most inane conversations going on between each woman talking to someone else on the phone.   

Why even bother hanging out with your friends if you are going to ignore them?

Think about it... you are showing the person you are with that they do not matter as much as the person you are chatting with on the phone. It's like call-waiting. Excuse me, I'm going to see who is calling me. Screw that... you have voice-mail.  

This whole ignoring of the person you are with is wrong. And people who do that are incredibly rude. It's as rude as being stuck in the middle seat on a bus, train or plane and having the two outside people carry on a conversation with each other as though you do not exist.

People! Turn off your damn cell phones and talk to the person you are with. Chances are pretty good you won't bump into other people (me) or get hit by a bus.

And! For! The! Record! The photo image above was taken by photographer S. Sharon Pruitt - and here's a link to her Flicker account. Should you wish to use it, just give her accreditation: FLICKER

Do you know what I hate?

I hate people talking on the cell phone while with a friend. 

Telemarketers

Do you know what I hate?

Telemarketers.

Here in Canada (Toronto, even), we have something called a "Do Not Call List" whereby we get to sign up on-line on a government sponsored phone list that means that unless we have done business with a company before, they aren't supposed to call you.

But that does not seem to dissuade a lot of companies who routinely utilize call center companies from other countries - say, India - to ask if I want my ducts cleaned. By the way, I am of Indian extraction, though I've never been there, don't speak the language or eat the food unless my wife makes me.

Now, if that was an euphemism, I might be interested, but it's not and it always seems to be men asking anyway. 

I don't mind that MY banks (plural) contact me. That's cool. But why am I getting a phone call for services from institutions I don't do business with.

I have call display - and no one really wants to call me here at home - so I know that excluding a long-distance call from Guelph, or a a number from a friend or two, an aunt and brother and father - no one else is going to be calling this house.

Upon answering an unsolicited call, I have tried to find out which company the represent, but get the run around - it's like they know they shouldn't give out that information, even though the call center is selling a company's services.

I've tried pretending I was the police investigating a murder scene - that one only confuses the call center, as they have no idea that what I am doing is a trick and keep going with their sales spiel. 

I have picked up the phone and immediately hung it up, only to have them call back again.

Sometimes, I stupidly pick up an unsolicited call, hear the empty silence for one second after I say "Hello", and then hang-up. It's because they have an automatic dialer... so these bastards are too lazy to even call me up themselves... I know that when I hear the sounds of momentary silence after my greeting that it's a telemarketer.

I even get telephone spam at work. At freaking work. We all do. It's a blast of a ships horn telling me that my ship is getting ready to sail and that I should be on a cruise.

I should be, but I don't need unsolicited calls like this at work. It's a recorded message, so I can't even yell at anyone. Does anyone actually ever write down the phone number to go on these cruises?

I mean... if these guys are so desperate to use a recorded dialer to leave messages at a work place, just how reputable a company can the cruise line be? I'm guess it probably uses some sort ff disgraced Italian captain to pilot the boat.

What? Too soon?

Here's what the Canadian National Registry has to say about itself:   

'Register My Number

In order to register on the National Do Not Call List (DNCL) personal information will be collected, used and disclosed by the National DNCL Operator in order to register, verify and de-register residential, wireless, fax or VoIP telephone number(s) on the National DNCL. The numbers registered by consumers on the National DNCL will be disclosed to telemarketers and clients of telemarketers and other subscribers to the National DNCL to prevent telemarketing calls to those numbers. The numbers may also be disclosed, on a confidential basis, by telemarketers and clients of telemarketers and other subscribers to the National DNCL to another person involved in supplying the subscriber with services to enable compliance with the National DNCL Rules.

In addition, personal information will be collected, used and disclosed by the National DNCL Operator, the CRTC and/or its Complaints Investigator Delegate in order to investigate complaints regarding violations of the Unsolicited Telecommunications Rules, to administer and enforce these rules, and for audit and quality assurance purposes. Personal information may also be disclosed to Canadian and/or foreign law enforcement agencies for the purpose of administering or enforcing any law or carrying out a lawful investigation.

Should you wish to move to Canada and sign up for this - and hopefully it will work better for you than it does for me - click HERE and try your luck. 

Still.... do you know what I hate?

Telemarketers.

Rush Hour Traffic

Do you know what I hate?

Traffic.

No... not the awesome rock group featuring Steve Winwood. Rather, I hate the stuff that happens on the roads...

But not just any traffic, what I really, really hate is the incredibly incorrectly named entity known as "rush-hour traffic."

Talk about your oxymorons!

There is nothing remotely 'rush-like' about rush-hour traffic.

In fact, there is nothing remotely like an 'hour' for rush hour traffic.

For those of you that don't know, for traffic, Toronto is the fourth-most congested region in North America, behind only Los Angeles, San Francisco and Chicago.

What's confusing, is that we are ahead of New York City... and NY is not even number 5! Nope... Number 5 is Houston! Houston! What the hell is causing all of the snarl ups there? A cattle drive? Sorry... that's unfair to the beautiful city of Houston. Except for the smell of oil in the air, Houston is a nice-looking place.

Actually, I have heard reports that say that Toronto is actually worse than LA.

I work about 28 kilometers (17.4 miles) from my home, and unless I want to spend over 1-1/2 hours traveling to work (plus 1-1/2 hours to return) via a bus, train and bus again, I have to drive to work.

http://www.torontolife.com/features/monster-jam/

Via driving... I get to work at 8AM, and I leave at around 7:20 - that's 40 minutes. That's not bad considering the first eight minutes of the trip are on suburb roads, with the remainder of the trip on a highway - so I'm not complaining about THIS morning trip.

But I used to try and get to work by 9AM. If you were to leave 40 minutes earlier at 8:20AM, you might float in (as I often did) at 9:15 or once or twice at 9:30AM.

You just can not make the 28 kilometer trip in 40 minutes, with a 55-minute journey more of a norm.


How is possible to spend so much time in traffic?

That's one of the reasons why I decided I would start work early.  Since I now start at 8AM, I leave at 4PM.

Traffic? Look... 10 years ago, I used to work in the same area... it would take - including a traffic light - one minute to get to the highway... and this was me leaving at 5PM.

Now in 2012, leaving at 4PM when it is not supposed to be as busy as the 5PM crush, I spend five minutes in a line waiting for the right to get on the high way and vegetate,


Let's look at yesterday, as an example...  I got on the highway in about five minutes - Highway 401 at Leslie heading west.

I adroitly manouevered four lanes over to get into the Express lanes, and then a further three lanes into the 'passing' lane, otherwise known as the fast lane.

For some reason - on that trip - myself and everyone around me was moving! Nine times out of 10 the highways are so bunged up that you can just barely get over one or two lanes from the Leslie entrance.... and you are left to guess which conga line to choose  - the "Express" or "Collectors". 

But not today. All of us drivers quickly got up to 130 kph (80.78 mph) - even though the speed limit is a paltry 100kph (62.14 mph).

We're all flying on the highway making incredible time... and then... brakes.

While no one had to squeal or smoke their tires to stop, stop we did... hitting exactly 0 kph (0 mph) and holding for 30 seconds.

After numerous starts and stops, we got back up to 80 kph (50 mph). So... not bad.

By why did we have to stop?

There was no accident. No police cars looking to bust speeders. No disable vehicles... nothing. Just volume.

Last Friday was also a beaut. There I was, driving on Highway 401 at a top speed of  50 kph (31 mph). All of a sudden, I have to drop down to 0 kph, holding the zero for 12 seconds... before driving for 20 more seconds at 50 kph... and then brake time down to zero, where I hold my zero for 15 seconds... and repeat... repeat... repeat. I did this for a total of 12 times on my drive home during my drive home. I know... because I counted.

Look... I know that Toronto is a busy city full of busy drivers heading out to the suburbs to the east, north and west... but this highway - Highway 401 while cosmetically changed, looks exactly as it did when my dad first drove the same roads back in the late 1960s.

Nothing has really changed on it except that there are more cars on the road nowadays.

So... until we, as a species, run out of gas - and that won't happen for another 100 years or so ( my guess)... just what will happen to my commute?

What will it be like in five years? Ten? Twenty? God help me. but I may still be working 20 years from now!
 
My commute and the commute of everyone on this highway is going to be stupid.

How can a Toronto commute take almost as long as an LA commute? We have fewer people. Do we have fewer cars than LA?

So... even now... the 401 Highway system designed and built in the 1950s is no longer capable of handling the traffic we put on it in 2012.  It's only going to get worse!

But here's the real kick in the balls. No one really has a plan to alleviate the situation. 

They almost had a plan.

First proposed in 1959, but opened in 1997, the Ontario government constructed Highway 409 across the top of the City of Toronto - in an effort to alleviate the traffic congestion across teh middle of the city and Highway 401, as well as at the foot of th city along the Gardiner Expressway.

A great idea... except they decided to make it essentially a toll highway... totally screwy consideringthe rest of the highways in Ontario are toll free.

After a few years of not making any money from it -  it's a FREE-way, why should we pay for it when our already high taxes should be paying for it!! - the Ontario government sold it to a private firm.... who continue to charge the consumer on a pay as you use it scenario.

I've never driven on that highway in the 15 years it has been open. 

Idiots. 

Urban planners in Toronto are failing the people.  They have ben since the 1950s. I can almost believe that the urban planners who created the highway system had high hopes for the future, fully expecting that future planners would not drop the ball and would continue planning Toronto's transit well into the future.

But... aside from mninor repairs and cosmetic changes here and there, very little has been done to  relieve Toronto of its traffic constipation.
   
Toronto's highways are a farce. Urban planners need to be retired.

Currently, the solution for all of Toronto's woes seems to be to add more public transit...  like add a few more train stops for the Toronto Transit Commission (TTC). Meanwhile, because of money problems, the TTC is either cutting routes, or is cutting the frequency of routes for its buses.

Great! More subways. More trains. But fewer way for consumers to reach them.

So... how long would it take me to get to work if I took the public transit system? It would take me 1-1/2 hours to get to work... unless the Toronto Transit Commission decides to cut some more routes or service on routes...

Even adding more train stops is not going to do it. Not where I live, which is a 20 minute walk or a 10-minute bus ride to a pair of train stops.

TTC? It stands for: "Take The Car." That's an oldie but goodie.

What is the solution?

It's easy to bitch without at least postulating a solution - so let me try.

I say we should construct an overhead highway that runs atop and parallel to the Highway 401 - and add further overheads to the other two over the ensuing decades...

It should look exactly like the one that collapsed in Oakland back in 1989 when a massive earthquake hit the Bay area.

The good news for Toronto residents is, that except for a few minor tremors that feel like a truck is driving by outside your house, Toronto is not afflicted by earthquakes as a concern.

We essentially will be able to double the amount of cars on this particular highway

The problem then comes to where is the money coming from to construct it?

Chain gangs. Prisoners.

But what about all of the city workers or construction crews? I am sorry to say, but screw'em. Supply and demand. We demand cheap and affordable construction, and we can get it supplied by a chain gang.

Look... maybe a construction crew can still be used to ensure the roads are up to code... but why don't we use grunt labor available to us.  


They are prisoner volunteers who get paid, of course... and they can be rotated in and out of service after a week, and maybe they get some time off... but, it's a chance to really repay their debt to society by helping make it a better place - rather than just sitting in jail, lifting weights screwing the little guy up the ass... you know... like the Toronto commuter...

I am tired of not being able to rush during the rush hour that seems to exist in Toronto between 3:30-6:30 PM and 7:30 - 9:30AM.

Do you know what I hate?
Rush hour traffic.

Spam And Spammers

Do you know what I hate?

I hate spam and spammers.

Ugh. I'm unsure if writing that grammatically incorrect headline was more painful or seeing a letter of comment awaiting my approval within my twice daily Japan - It's A Wonderful Rife blog.

Okay... for once, blogger.com's spam filter actually caught a legitimate spam. Blogger.com is the free blog-hosting site my blogs are created upon. I actually have no complaints about it.


But, as for the topic... I certainly hope the spam I received actually is legitimate spam (oxymoron). I'll show you what it is a few paragraphs later...


So... since spammers like attention, allow me to give you some. People should do their best to avoid buying whatever product this spammer is selling - something called the JunoWallet.

If the company wants to make thing better - show me  - contact me - explain why your company is involved with spam. Yes... I suppose you could be hacked... but considering what your product is....

Until then... Ugh.

The comment was on an older blog entry of mine, in which I wrote about the 19th anniversary of the Hattori shooting - that's the one about a short Japanese exchange student shot by a large U.S. man who thought the kid who was dressed up in Halloween gear was going to hurt him. You can read about that story HERE.
Anyhow... someone added some spam via the Letters section. To be honest - since it is spam, it never actually got posted, but the fact that someone tried... that makes me want to puke.

Here's the comment sent to me on March 28, 2012:

What a tragedy. But you know what can make this better? Free gift cards. You can do this with JunoWallet. JunoWallet is a free app for the App Store or Android Market. You earn money (gift certificates) in JunoWallet by downloading (and opening) other developer's applications or by getting referrals from your coworkers, family, or friends with an iPod Touch, iPad, iPhone, or Android device. It's nice to check my JunoWallet balance increase every day with little work on my end. I won't lie, you WILL NOT get rich by using JunoWallet, but you can use it to make a little bit of tax free money on the side. Use JunoWallet invite code: AG696287 for a one time, $.25 sign up bonus. All codes provide the exact same bonus. Sign up now and earn those gift cards!

No... the real tragedy is this spam.

The creator of the above comment is: MWeiss... who has been a part of the blogging hemisphere since March 2012.

Weisssssssss.  Of course, this may not be anyone's real name. It may be a computer program generating inane comments and ads if it spots a key phrase... whatever it is, it's spam.  

Anyhow... JunoWallet... is a real product... here's the list of people involved in that company - as pulled from their website... I'm not advertising their website - you can look it up if you wish:

Their home page reads:

Every company at its inception has certain people who made financial, time, and other sacrifices in getting that company off the ground and past failure. These sacrifices are greatest in the beginning of every company and key to the company's survival and success. The following individuals have put their fingerprint on the future growth and success of JunoWallet:

The Founders

• Dr. Raghu Sastry
• Dr. Jae Hoon Kim
• Christopher Sweis

The Core 100 Team

• Shannon Corrigan
• Akira Doi
• Laura Wappner
• Duke Begy
• Claude Jewell
• Maureen Cutler (Ireland)
• Todor Krecu
• Mike J. Cacicio
• Randy Sweis
• Mike Nanay
• Michelle Hillaert
• Rohit Sherma

The Security Team

• Skeeter Boy
• Buddy

I'm not saying you guys are directly involved with sending spam... but if you are and even if you aren't, you need to get involved to stop it. Do you want to be known as a SPAM company - especially knowing what company your APP is for?

Really, people? Getting a JunoWallet will help you feel better about a miscarriage of justice? About a loss of life? About a family forever grieving?

That's the problem with computer spam. It just gets sent out without thought or consequence.

JunoWallet - Tsk, tsk.

By Andrew Joseph
As for the image at the top? Hormel's Spam? I actually really like to eat Spam! I do. Hormel is a great company... and I apologize for linking their product with the bad type of spam... but it had a Monty Python motif, and I love Monty Python as much as I love Spam

Poor Customer Service II - The CIBC Experience - Updated

This blog entry has been updated just because of the comments section - mostly my own - as of early morning Feb. 3, 2012.It's very nice to know that at least with one company... monitoring social media and then dealing with a customer is a good way to do business. McDonalds and KFC - wherefore at thou? LEGO store - thanks for thanking me... keep up the great work.
 

Do you know what I hate? It's poor customer service.

I never thought I would ever have to write this one, but the customer service I have received and subsequently not received from a place I have utilized for decades is annoying.

I have been dealing with the CIBC (Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce) since around 1990 when I first began working for the Toronto Star newspaper upon graduation from Humber College's journalism program (damn fine school, by the way!).

I actually have nothing bad to say about the CIBC as a banking institution. They have been more than fair to me and their customer service has been pretty decent.

My complaint actually revolves around the CIBC Visa department. That's the CIBC's credit card department.

I have actually had a CIBC credit card since 1990. I even took one with me to Japan for three years and used it with aplomb to purchase many an antique piece of art I have. Thank-you for allowing me to do that.

I did cancel it a few years ago when I received a mortgage from another institution (arranged by my wife), even though I did continue to be a CIBC bank customer. That loyalty was rewarded in 2010 when the bank without much prompting offered me a $45,000 line of credit at a fantastic rate... simply because I had been a customer in very good standing. Again... thank-you very much. I owe you. Don't I?

However, in September of 2011 after learning from the CIBC that I could get a better banking account than the one I currently had with fewer bank charges, I jumped at that chance. Unfortunately, one of the things I had to do was open up a CIBC Visa credit card to get that better account. Sure there was a string attached to the bank account, but whatever.

CIBC Visa sent me a statement earlier this month warning me that I had charges totaling $357.22, and that I had missed a $20 minimum payment on January 14, and that I should pay a total minimum payment of $30 by February 14, 2012.

All cool. I should have made the measly $20 payment - but I forgot to do so. My car died (I hate SAAB!) on me and I had no time or even a way to make it to a bank.

However... on Saturday, January 21, 2012, I received a phone call from CIBC Visa. I should note that they also called on January 20 and again the day before that on January 19 - five days after my little $20 payment was due.

I picked up the phone this time, as I was in. By the way... no message was left the other times from CIBC, but thanks to Call Display on my phone, I know they had called.

The call was from some young woman with a thick Indian accent who identified herself, but not clearly.

Just for the record... I am of Indian descent, and although I have never been to India, my parents were both born there.

She began to warn me that I had missed a payment (Heavens! I am a whole seven days late! The sky is falling!), and that she didn't want my credit rating to be affected by any non-payment of bills owing.

First off... my credit rating is pretty damn good. I've also been a CIBC customer for decades, and have also been a credit card user with CIBC Visa for many years. However, according to her records, I am a new CIBC Visa credit card customer and she felt the need to inform me all about how I need to pay bills on time or suffer the wrath of the dreaded credit rating penalty.

Big whoop. I own nothing and am currently in no danger of owning a house or car. How will the threat of my credit rating going down affect me? Truthfully, it won't.

Still... I was late with a payment, and the CIBC Visa department was fair to warn me.

I do think it's ridiculous to call me and harass me for being seven days late. Only the day before had I received my credit card statement informing me I had missed a payment and to please make sure I paid the minimum by February 14, 2012.

But she kept on yammering at me. Chastising me. Trying to make me feel worthless.

Now maybe it was the nicotine withdrawls, or maybe I just don't care for people being dicks, but I had enough.

I told her I would make the $20 payment tomorrow (the 22nd.... which I did), but then she wanted to know how much of a payment I would be making on February 14.

I beg your pardon?
   
That's none of your business, I snapped.

She said it was.

Uh, no. I'll pay what I owe because I missed a payment, but it's no one's business how much money I will be paying for the next credit card statement! I have three weeks plus to think about it! I don't owe any sort of explanation to some stupid bitch in a call center whose weekly salary equals my daily salary (I exaggerate, but you know what I mean).

I told her I don't have to tell her what my future payment will be.

She argued that I had to, that it was CIBC Visa policy.

Bull.

I asked to speak with her manager, please.

She asked: "Why? Why do you want to speak to a manager?"

Are you serious? Why? I'm just thinking that. I tell her because I want to talk to your manager. That should be explanation enough.

She starts up again about the need to maintain my credit rating because I am so new to the CIBC Visa credit card.

Frustrated with not getting my request for a manager, I hung up on her.

I immediately called up the CIBC bank and asked who I could complain to about the CIBC Visa customer service. While they apologized profusely for that department's lack of tack, they are indeed a separate department, and I would have to call them. They politely transferred me and I was quickly picked up by a young Indian man whose name I can not pronounce. Still... his English was good and he was polite.

He heard my complaint, apologized to me, and even noted through his computer that someone from CIBC Visa had indeed talked to me minutes earlier. Good... they now believe I wasn't making up things.

I told him I wanted to talk to a manager to lodge a complaint.

He said no problem - that someone  - a manager - would contact me within two working days.

Two days? Two working days? Is there not a single manager at this call center? Or... could this call center be in India... and it's going to take that long to get hold of some dumb Canadian manager to chat with me?

Two working days?

Uh, people... you dumb asses are working on a Saturday. As well... if I call CIBC Visa on Sunday, I'm pretty sure someone will be there to talk to me... that's also a working day. So technically, someone could call me on Sunday... or Monday if I really want to give them 48 hours and two working days.

But let's suppose the guy meant two business days - even though he did not state that - that would mean Tuesday, January 24, 2012.

It's Friday now. Friday, January 27, 2012. Seven days late. No one has called me back. No one. I know... I have Call freaking Display.

I suppose my request may have been lost in translation over this new interweeb thingamabob that Bob Dole invented a few years ago.

How quick CIBC Visa's customer service department was to get on the telephone to harass a long-time CIBC bank customer for being five days late with a $20 payment. Oh my god... did I cause CIBC to not make an extra couple of million dollars that week? I'm sorry. Please arrange to garnish my salary for a few weeks if that will help. 

But look how slow they are to respond to a customer who wants service from a manager! It's all fine when you want my money, but not fine when I want--no demand--customer service.

For shame!

I will pay off my CIBC Visa, and while I will not cut it up, I will not use it ever again.

Do you know what I hate?

I hate the poor customer service offered by CIBC Visa. You suck.

Poor Customer Service

Here there be: good customer service!!!

Do you know what I hate?

Poor customer service.

I'm a working stiff. I don't just sit on my ass writing these blogs. I do that in my free time. For me - just as it is for you, time is money. And, when I have the time to spend my money, I want to be treated like I matter.

Everybody wants to matter.

For this blog entry, I am going to give you a couple of examples of extremely poor customer service, and come right back with a pair of extremely good customer service examples.

Fair is foul, and foul is fair, right... particularly since I bastardize Shakespeare in the blog description right under the main title.

I am going to write about some Toronto area places. It may not mean anything to you living in another country, but it will help you decide if YOU are getting effective customer service or merely being served one up the butt.

I am going to write about McDonald's, Kentucky Fried Chicken (KFC) and LEGO. I actually do like all of their products. However...

Perhaps one of the worst places I have every been "served" has to be the KFC (Kentucky Fried Chicken) outlet located on Dundas just north of the Kipling train station here in good old Toronto. I know the exact location doesn't mean anything to most of you global visitors, but perhaps someone from KFC will take notice and come down with the wrath of Harland on their collective ass.

Considering Colonel Harland David Sanders was a southern gentleman (or so he appeared), it might come as a shock to discover that one of the franchises bearing his shortened kid-friendly name (KFC) has, what can only be described as, deplorable customer service.

And not just once or twice, either... but every single time my wife goes there... which I am sorry to say may be never again. Which sucks, because I do love the seven herbs and spices!

All my wife wants when she goes there is thighs. Not three or four, sometimes not even two... one will do... but at this particular restaurant that has been in the area for at least 39 years - that's how long I have lived here (and longer - I'm sure there was a Scott's Chicken Villa there as a sit-in family restaurant there before that!)... the customer is not always allowed to purchase the meal they want.

On two separate occasions different staff told my wife that it would be 10 minutes before they had her thigh (singular) ready. Fifteen minutes passed. and when my wife inquired, the staff member then went to check in at the back where the chicken is prepared and came out seconds later to state that they do not have any more thighs.

Do you offer thighs for sale at KFC? Yes. Do you always have some ready considering they seem to be a popular item? No. And that's fine. It's not acceptable, but at least I, as a consumer, understand that a popular item may sell out. But does KFC understand supply and demand? Apparently not at this store. 

Now... real customer service would involve everybody coming over to apologize and to offer something for free - as a way to soothe any possible ruffled feathers. But not at this KFC! Nope. Not only did no one offer any gift certificate of free coleslaw or a bottle of pop or heck - a couple of free pieces of chicken - but no one actually offered an apology. Zip. Nada. Nothing.

KFC sucks! Or at least this store does.

Another downer of a place to visit is the McDonald's just west of the Kipling station on the south side of Dundas. In fact... it's about 200 meters west of the aforementioned KFC. Must be some sort of nexus of poor social skills.

Now... I can't say enough positive things about the friendliness of the drive-through staff who take my order. Fantastic!

No mater what, I always get a warm greeting, am asked how I am doing and even have them wait for my answer. They then ask for my order - all done with polite efficiency. I pay at the first window, and move along to the second to get my food.

And that's when it all falls apart.

The young lady who serves me doesn't say a word as she opens the window and hands me my drink. It doesn't matter that I say thank-you as she does so. There is no vocalized sound from her. No twinkling of the eyes. No smile. The drive-thru window slams shut in my face as I await the food, which does quickly comes. I know they don't want car exhaust fumes in their face - that's fine - but still... aside from physically handing me my drink, I have received no indication that I even exist in her world.

Now... was this just a solitary incident? No. I go there at least once a week, and five times in a row, I was 'lucky' enough to be served by her. Wait... it gets better...

The drive-thru window opens up again, and without even seeing if I am paying attention (I usually am), I see her arms thrust out with my bags of food. There is still no vocalization from her. Now I know she can talk because after I quickly say thank-you again (previous time was for the drink), the window is closed again... but not before I hear her yell to one of her co-workers that she is going on a break in 15 minutes.

Apparently forgotten again because she will soon have her break, I place my food on my car seat beside me and hand my son his Happy Meal. By the way, my son always likes the chicken nuggets, but not once has he ever received a dipping sauce... in fact, not once have I ever been asked if I want one or even what flavor might I want. For shame!

Regarding the non-communicative sales clerk at the drive-thru... well, I  can't blame it on the cool weather now hitting Toronto. This has happened a few times before through the summer.

She's just a miserable bitch, and I hate that McDonald's.

I could hate just her, but whomever the manager is has not trained her either, and bears a load of responsibility there. Surely someone observes her interaction - or rather, lack of interaction - with the customers. Surely someone can say something, anything to make her greet the customer as though they matter.

It sucks to not matter... I mean, this is McDonald's!

I've seen some great customer service - like the uber-friendly woman at the drive through at the McDonald's in Brampton on Highway 10 just south of Steeles!

I once asked her to call her manager and told her just how impressed I was with her and her manners, and told him he should watch himself because she should be a manager there one day. He laughed and smiled and agreed with my assessment, wished me a wonderful day and said he hoped to see me again soon.

Now that was customer service. Plus... they always got my order 100% correct. Always. Fifty-two times a year. Sometimes more if I'm getting a breakfast on the way to a magazine interview!

See? This McDonald's I love. It's a pity it's not near me and even a greater pity that not all McDonald's are created equal.

That was a bad and a good description for the same company.

Now, let me mention the final good example of customer service:  The LEGO store over at Sherway Gardens in Toronto.

I do go there often, and I do spend a few bucks there. Probably more than I should.

But proving that a little kindness goes a long way, the staff at this particular store are simply the best. Belinda, Geoff, Tyler, Shannon, Michael, Jason, Lisa, Randa, another Geoff ... cripes, I'm afraid I've left others out - but just know, I have received nothing but stellar support, service and friendship from every single person who works at this store!

With my 6-year-old son in tow, we visit at least once a week. Granted we are smiling and polite - but I am all the time regardless of where I am. ... but the LEGO staff are courteous beyond belief.

They come out from their break or from the back office to say hello to my son and I. We get personal service like we are best friends - and it's not just for me - though I think I do get some preferential treatment - but they are great to everyone.

My wife went into the shop before Christmas looking for a particular item for our son. My wife doesn't like crowded stores at Christmas, and she has no interest in LEGO either, so this may have been one of her first times in this shop.

The first person she sees greeted her with a smile and a hello. After a few moments of not being able to find the LEGO product I told her to get, she asked a LEGO store employee for help (taller Geoff, I believe). She said that her husband (me) may have asked that the store put away a product for us.

I've never done that, but the LEGO store employee asked what her husband's name was.

She began: "Andrew - " and didn't need to finish...

"Ohhh! Andrew and Hudson (my son)!"

My wife was flabbergasted and nodded a yes, making a mental note to lambaste me over my obviously excessive purchasing practices at this store.

While there was nothing there in my name or anywhere in the store's inventory, the LEGO employee went that extra mile.

"Let me check with our other Toronto store."  

One of what we were looking for was there, it was put aside for us, and lo and behold when my wife drove out to that other store, it was indeed waiting for us allowing for our son to have a merry, if not some-what spoiled Christmas. 

I can't even begin to tell you how many times I have recommended this shop to other adults! If I wanted, I could tell my friends to inform the LEGO staff they are friends of mine - but it wouldn't  matter. Fast, efficient, knowledgeable, friendly service from people who like what they are doing. Kudos have to go management for looking for the right fit like a building block.

The LEGO shop in Toronto's west end rocks! Tell them you know me. Not that it matters. They know what customer service is!

Still... McDonald's and KFC... do you know what I hate?

Poor customer service.