Getting Older

Do you know what I hate?

I hate getting older.

Sure the alternative is that I stop getting older because I am dead, but all told, the pain-in-the-ass little things that accompany wisdom with age are annoying.

In my 30s I began to go grey. When I was 40, I cut my pony-tail - grown for the last time - off.

I did it for two reasons:

One - because I was 40 and not George Carlin.

Two - because I had developed grey in my long curly and wavy tresses (it was half-way down my back). Now grey I could handle (maybe)... but this was a long patch of 22-inch-long white grey hair that went straight down the middle of my long hair.

I looked like a chocolate version of Pepe LePew...

So I cut off those wonderful tresses… have you ever seen the Wizard of Oz movie - the original…. you know what the cowardly lion looked like? That was my hair. I was beautiful in a masculine sort of way.

Man... I was the king of the forest.

Put'em-up, old age… I'll fight you with one paw behind my back.

Ugh... I'm going broke buying boxes of Just For Men.

In my 20s and early 30s, I often grew a French-cut beard in a few days - and looked pretty good in it… but then the grey hairs started popping up on my face. And now I won't grow a beard again. Too much salt and not enough pepper.

And now it's grey hairs in my nose! WTF is that? Why is it wiry? Why does it grow so fast? Why is it clustering right near the front? I also have to trim the nose hairs nearly daily or I'll go completely feral!

My eyebrows… who would have thought it… I really have to pay attention to my eyebrows… the frigging things want to start growing all over the place like an unkempt Russian garden. So I get out the weed whacker and deal with it.

At least I have always plucked the few odd hairs to ensure I had two eyebrows. Those don't seem to be growing as much anymore.

But… I have also noticed that my hairline is receding…. and why is there a single ultra fine blonde hair growing out of the middle of my forehead?!

I've slept with many a blonde honey, but have never, myself, been a blonde before. Also… I'm pretty sure my hairline was never that low. Caveman yes, low hairline like that - never!

And why is that single hair suddenly four inches long?! I searched for it yesterday and it wasn't there - but it's there today!

And is my hair thinning at the back?! Oh crap! It is! Why is my hair thinning back there?

Why is there hair growing out of my ears? I'm plucking those bastards all the time! And shaving the fuzz on the lobes!

Thankfully I'll never know if I'm going grey down... there.

But dammit… my chest is going grey. And are those grey hairs on my arm?! I have to pluck them, too!

And I don't even want to know what's going on on my back!

Okay… enough of the hair brained comments…even though I have always been particularly vain about my hair. It was the one vanity I had that I would admit to.

How come I'm suddenly a size 11-1/2 shoe? I was a 10-1/2 until two years ago! And now I also have an extra wide foot? What the hell? I used to have the perfect foot-long foot… now it's bigger! And wider. Oh well… at least I won't tip over anytime soon.

And… a big foot means a larger wang, right? Let me check. Nope… it's not growing. Dammit. I probably shouldn't have checked that here at work.

Growing older, I find that I grunt as I sit down and grunt as I get up. It's not a strenuous activity, so why I am doing it?

I tore my meniscus (fibrous cartilage in my knee) two years ago doing Tae Kwon Do. Thank god it was something macho like that.

I tore it when I was stretching my quad muscles… kneeling and then leaning backwards. When I was younger… even as little as 10 years ago… I could lie all the way back and place my back flat on the ground with my legs under me. Years of soccer and years of cardio and weight training at the gym were also part of my routine… granted… I hadn't been part of a serious training regimen since 1999…but even as I lay vertically declined and pushed weights in the 700-pound range and higher, I always joked that the muscles would never fail me, but my knees would.

Who knew that I was Nostradamus the Second. Not I, apparently, or I would never have abused my knees that much.

This time - pop goes the meniscus, and now I have something that needed an X-Ray, and MRI and a CT Scan to diagnose. The good news? I don't need an operation because it's only a Level 2 tear. The bad news? It never heals. It hurts when I run or kick a soccer ball or climb the stairs or cross my legs for too long… I can only make it worse, get to a Level 3, have an operation and not have it feel any better because the arthritis pain that started after I hurt it, will always be there.

On the plus side, I'm teaching myself to kick a ball with my left foot... but planting that right leg to properly strike it is a bugger.

I've already had my first kidney stone. High cholesterol? Sleep apnea? Need to cut down on sugar…

Oh - how the mighty have fallen.

In my late 20s and 30s, women used to chase me for dates... and now... even if I caught fire at work I don't think a woman would stop to even spit on me a little.   

I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror… which is okay, because….

This past February through April… my vision went south and now I was told I needed to wear glasses… on top of my contact lenses when I want to read a book or write - which sucks considering I'm a writer and voracious reader.

And why do I hate so many things? Have I become a grumpy old man? The only positive is that I haven't been grumpy enough to write a blog here in five months - but my buddy Christian at the Toronto west LEGO store kind of urged me to write one this past Monday... so this one is for you!

Is this middle age? Will I live to be 100? No? Then I'm long past middle age! That sucks even more, now that I have actually written it.

On the plus side… I still have my health. Riiiii-iiight.

Do you know what I hate?

I hate getting older.

Being Ripped Off By Publishers

Do you know what I hate?

It's being ripped off by book and  magazine publishers.

This is all about price.

Recently, I purchased a collection of Japanese manga (comic book) stories called Naruto.

It was a collection in book form of previously published material from a Japanese magazine called Shonen Jump.

To be honest, the brand name is unimportant, or where it is from - this is a global rant.

Anyhow, after I bought the book and finished reading it over a couple of days, I noticed the price, or should I say prices, on the back of the book.

It was $9.99 in Canadian currency.

But, only $7.95 in U.S. dollars.

What the hell? Or, if you prefer, WTF?

In case you are unaware, the Canadian and U.S. currencies having been trading at or around par for quite some time now. Like since 2007.

So, why am I forced to pay an extra $2.04 for a book available cheaper in the U.S.?

At first I thought - well... maybe this book was printed before 2007.

Well, the original material was first printed in 1999 in Japan. but, the first edition of the collected works in English was printed in 2003.

That explains it, right? Wrong. My copy is the 23rd printing from April 2010. If Canada and the U.S. weren't at par at the time, we had a stronger dollar than the U.S.

So why am I being asked to pay more?

For years, back in the 1980s and 1990s - when Canada's dollar sucked when compared to the US, people like myself who collected comic books often had obscene exchange rates imposed on us by Marvel Comics and DC Comics.

While the difference per dollar may have been about $0.30 in exchange, these publishers, and others, often were asking for 40 cents more on the dollar.

It got so that I couldn't afford my hobby, and I was forced to choose which books I really, really wanted to read and began cutting back on what I purchased.  But what did it matter - the publishers still got my money - and more. But that also meant some books lost a reader. And probably a lot more than just me.

It's either pure and simple greed, or publishers are too cheap to pay for a new cover to the magazine or book, as that means higher printing press rates.

So... instead, you cheap bastards make the consumer pay.

And you are right... if I don't like it, I don't have to purchase your product.

After 40 years, I stopped collecting comic books. I have close to 40,000 comic books. Some old, some rare, some shrewdly purchased, and some bought new from the comic stores.

And books from book stores? How's business folks? People still reading a lot? Or is there a reason why you also sell coffee there and offer free wi-fi? Is there a reason you also sell toys like LEGO there? It's a book store. Books. Paper.

I prefer to purchase used books because I am tired of being ripped off by publishers. Which is sad, you know, because as a writer, the last thing I would want to do is hurt another writer.

But your narrow-mindedness is causing me to call a halt to the purchase of new books, too. And I hate doing that.

Now... I know major book seller Indigo (here in Canada) is also concerned about the outrageous price difference regarding Canadian and US currencies... it offers discounts on the larger, more expensive books and proffers on-line deals... but I don't care... most of the books I purchase are simple paperbacks... mysteries, comedies... books that aren't affected by their deep discounts.

I don't blame Indigo... at least they are doing something, when really, they don't have to.

But... we all know where the real problem lies, don't we? The place where everyone is concerned that print is dead... that no one is buying books anymore because no one is reading.

You're shooting yourselves in the proverbial foot.

Do you know what I hate?

I hate being ripped off by publishers.

Walking Behind Women In Shopping Malls

Do you know what I hate?

It's walking behind women in shopping malls.

Do you see that photo above? I'm at the very back of that line, I'm hungry, and this is my daily nightmare.

Now hopefully that 'woman' crack wasn't too sexist a comment. It's an observation thought of every day as I walk through a busy shopping mall at lunch time searching for food or LEGO or Easter eggs or hair color (I'll deny it if directly asked).

I'm a quick walker, but I also have my wits about me. That means I observe when there are idiots on their cell phones ambling along the pathways like drunks on a bender, or small children walking without their parent's guiding hand ambling beside me so I can avoid them.

I purposely walk about 1-1/2 meters away from the store entrances/exits because people (women) frequently come barreling out of the stores without a care for what is walking in front of them.

I don't want to take anybody out with my 200-pound-plus frame and superior walking power. Despite body fat, I have a lot of muscle. I also have a purpose, and I know what it is when I enter any mall.

So I am observant.

I swerve out of the way of the children, incessant phone talkers, those people who walk slowly four abreast oblivious to the fact that there are other people in the mall.

And sometimes... I am forced to walk behind women. It happens every day I am in a shopping mall.

Normally - especially in the summer when the clothing is shorter - I enjoy walking behind women. I don't dawdle or ogle, but I look and admire briefly, with just the right amount of testosterone and intelligence so as not to be obscene.

I observe, because that is what I do. I look and I learn.

But despite my appreciation of the female form in all its glories, as mentioned, I really do hate walking behind women at shopping malls.

Why? Because women at shopping malls, whether alone or with a gaggle of other women like to stop suddenly in the midst of their walking.

Oh! There's something to look at! A sale on something I don't need or want! But it's on sale, so I'll actually be saving money!

Because I am ever vigilant, I am able to quickly side-step these bouncing Betty's, but it's still annoying. I'm getting older and pretty soon I won't be able to dodge my balls quickly enough to get out of your apparent right of passage.

I'm not saying I have the right of way - I don't. This is a shared information superhighway.

I am observant. I am wary of where I am and that there are other people in the mall - why can't they? Why do I have to avoid other people? I'm the faster and heavier vehicle on the road. I will run you down and you will possibly get hurt. I don't want to do that. You don't want me to do that. So why do you put yourself in possible harm's way?

It's like driving and being aware of your surroundings. I'm a damn good driver who no longer speeds. I've never smashed into anyone - but that's because I provide myself with enough time and space to react properly.

I expect other drivers to do the same, and to a large extent both male and female drivers do just that.

But at the mall, all bets are off.

So I have to dash to a side to avoid rear ending these women, which only sounds a lot more interesting and fun than what it really is.

It keeps me on my toes, but it's hardly fun for me.

If more people were aware of their surroundings and actually gave a rat's ass about other people, fewer people would get hurt or become an annoyance.

Why should I have to look out for your well-being as well as my own? It's not fair and I hate having to be responsible for everyone when all I want is to get rid of my grey (I'm not going grey!).

Kids, the elderly, pregnant women, women with strollers - whatever. That's cool.

I know it's rough, and I have no truck with you. But when I walked the malls with my son in his stroller, I was always aware of where we were. I didn't want him to get hurt.

And I don't want to hurt anyone... but can you give me a break, please?

Yeah, yeah... women like to shop while men go to malls to purchase. No problem. Just be aware.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
(Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5)

Do you know what I hate?

It's walking behind women in shopping malls.

Easily Solvable U.S. TV Police Dramas

Do you know what I hate?

Easily solvable U.S. TV police dramas.

There is nothing worse than sitting down for what one supposes is a police drama - well, written, well-acted and thought-provoking only to have it spoiled early on in the broadcast.

If that seems like a paradox, it's not.

What spoils it for me is how often a whodunnit is solved because of who has been cast in the show.

Maybe I'm going to spoil it for you, too, but if you are watching a police drama, check out the actors.

I don't mean the usual cast, rather I'm talking about the special guest stars.

As soon as you see a well-known actor appear in a role longer than a cameo, you know who did it.

No well-known actor worth his salt is going to be hired to play a minor role. No! They are being hired to play a major role. And... 9 times out of 10, that person is the criminal.

Don't believe me - check it out. Everything from CSI, to Law & Order and all points in-between.

It's ridiculous.

Perfectly well-written and acted shows ruined by the casting director.

Hunh. Maybe I should say I hate casting directors.

If you to find that this fatal flaw in casting to be true, might I suggest you watch a British cop drama - all over PBS on Masterpiece Theatre and others. DCI Banks, Midsomer Murders, Frost, Lewis, Inspector Morse, Cracker, Lovejoy... shows I suggest because unless you live in the United Kingdom, you probably don't know these actors or guest stars and as such, there will be no clue as to who actually did it.

As an aside, I believe only Midsomer Murders actually has proper sound pick-ups. I find I have to crank the volume up quite high on all the other shows, as their outdoor sound quality is appalling.

Do you know what I hate?
     
Easily solvable U.S. TV police dramas.

Racism

Do you know what I hate?

Racism.

Today, I received my first racist comment on one of my blogs. Hell... right below where people are free to leave comments, I state that comments about race et al are not welcome. Is racism blind? It would be better if they were blind to race.

I published it within this - You Know What I Hate? - blog only to admonish the anonymous commentator.

I have no idea why I am surprised about receiving a racist comment. It wasn't directed at me, but was more of a casual offhand remark which is perhaps more surprising, as in this day and age, it's real easy for anyone, should they wish, to track down who exactly is doing what on the Internet.

And yet.. I was surprised. By the 21st century, overt racism has been replaced with acceptance and understanding... or perhaps, for some, it's just gone into hiding.

It would be ignorant of myself to have assumed racism doesn't exist - it does.

A very good friend of mine described the phenomenon of DWB. Driving while Black here in the greater Toronto area.

He's not the stereotypical Black dude gang-banger we see on television or the rapper type on the music videos, rather he is a well-spoken, educated young man with a family who, like myself, lives in a community that is largely White dominated.

It is because there so few Blacks in the area, whenever he drove his own car there, he would be pulled over by the police for a 'routine' check. He wasn't pulled over because he was breaking the law, but rather because the police suspected he, a young Black man, was up to no good in the predominantly White area.

Toronto does not have segregated areas. I should state that, up front. But, the farther one gets from the city of Toronto proper, the fewer visible minorities there are.

When my family (of Indian descent) moved into the current part of Etobicoke (now part of the City of Toronto) back in 1973, we were pretty much the entire minority population... although there was one another family farther down the block, and a Filipino family around the corner. Otherwise, it was Ukrainian, Italian, and Canadian White - which is a term I can't explains, but if you saw the folks, you might understand. I'm just describing the area... I never really noticed anything else, except that the kids were curious about me and asked questions and learned.

While my friend who happens to be Black, after the police determined he 'was supposed to be in the area' because he lived there, they simply let him go on his way. No explanation about why he was stopped. No apology for the inconvenience.

So... racism exists.

In my family, I have a White wife, a mixed son, aunts and uncles from India, The Bahamas, Trinidad & Tobago, French Canada, English Canada, Americans, Scottish, Irish, English, and mixes of all of those. Canada is a melting pot. I was engaged to a Buddhist Japanese woman at one time.... Jewish grandma... it's a whole grab bag. My friends are from all corners of the world and of every race, color, creed and sexual orientation (and then some). They are rich, poor, richer and poorer for better or for worse married, divorced, single, thinking about changing their situation and from a variety of professions that would make your head spin. But, unless they have no idea who I am, none of them are racist.

Despite by taste for racism, race means nothing to me. The same with religion. Despite having a political science degree, I'm not likely to care about one's political affiliation. Sexual preference - whatever. Love and do as you will.

As I get older, it seems to me that more and more people to whom I am exposed to in my daily life are not the type to care about race - it has given me hope to think that such archaic racial stereotypes or fears would be on the way to extinction.

And then... I'm reminded we aren't there yet.

Do you know what I hate?

Racism.