Monthly Archives: May 2016



What are my deeper motives?  I want to learn everything.  I want to absorb all knowledge now!  In school there were certain subjects I did not like.  Now I like all subjects.  I want to learn it all.

I want to have fun while learning everything.  I want to learn by playing.

I want to make a shitload of money while learning and playing.  Does that make money a deeper motive?




Some days, no matter how hard you try, are brick-wall days.   A brick-wall day gives you an opportunity to examine your deeper motives . . .



I have blogged before about the noise permitted in libraries.  Today’s blog involves four people: two gabbing librarians, and two men who talk to people no one else can see.

The two librarians at the Reference Desk were having a wonderful conversation which did not sound work related.  Both were facing each other away from their computer terminals.  They weren’t talking too loud, but they were loud enough in an environment that is supposed to be quiet.  In other words, they were adding to the noise.

Both men were tall.  Both had issues with people no one could see.

The first man was wearing a red baseball cap and a beige overcoat.  Perhaps he lost his mind during the winter.  It was hot and humid.  He was at a computer occasionally swearing at an invisible person beside him.  I could not hear what the invisible person was saying, but the man was scolding him/her(?) for having sex.

You would expect one of the two gabbing librarians to say something to him after his frequent outbursts.  Nope.  When he got loud they stopped their conversation and looked at him briefly, and then returned to gabbing.

At the same time the second man, dressed in a blue sweatshirt and jeans, ran to a free computer.  This man gives the word frenetic new meaning.  He frenetically sat down.  He frenetically started typing on the keyboard — actually pounding is a better word.  And he frenetically looked up, while pounding on the keyboard, and cursed the invisible people floating above him.  He challenged them to a fight and waved his fists.

The gabbing librarians looked up briefly, when he disturbed their conversation, and then returned to gabbing.

Libraries sure ain’t what they used to be.



“Who would steal a cheap dollar-store extension cord?”

I thought this when I plugged in my cell phone at the library today.  The thought made me laugh.  I don’t know why I had this thought.  I have never thought this before.  Did this thought attract what was about to happen?

After several hours, I unplugged the charging wires from the extension cord which was still plugged in several feet (1 metre) behind me.  The head of the extension cord was still beside me.  I put the charging wires away and then things got weird.

A time warp?  Missing time?  A Black Hole in my mind?  Was my thumb up my ass, with my mind in Alabama?  Who knows?  I have no idea how much time elapsed before I regained awareness.  I was still disoriented and groggy when I looked down beside me.  The extension cord was gone!  Where did it go?  Did I pick it up without remembering?  No, it wasn’t in my bag.  Who would steal a cheap dollar-store extension cord?  If someone stole it, then how come the corner of my eye did not see the cord slithering away as someone pulled it?

The extension cord was plugged in behind me on my right.  Away from the plug and to my left, behind me, sat a young man reading.  He got up and left when he saw me looking around.  Is he part of an international-cheap-extension-cord-stealing ring?  This international theft ring steals cheap extension cords, ships them to other countries, and then sells them on the black market.

Perhaps my extension cord was not stolen.  Perhaps my extension cord was just visiting from another dimension, and returned home today without telling me.  Who knows?



I use reason and logic most of the time.  The only time I don’t, use reason and logic, is when I am following my gut feeling.  Often my gut feeling will suggest I do things that do not make sense.  My gut feelings come from an unlimited place far beyond reason and logic.  That means they do not translate in common sense.

So far following my nonsensical gut feelings has not harmed me.  But that does not mean that I am not filled with self-doubt.

Is this the best moment of my life?

“Of course it is!”

Who said that?

“I did.  I’m your self-doubt.”

I did not know that my self-doubt could talk.

“You don’t know a lot of things.”

Okay, if this is the best moment of my life, then why are you here?

“I want to share this wonderful moment with you.  Why not accept me as I am?  Why not accept that I am always with you?   Accepting me will not stop you from putting one foot in front of the other and going forward.”

But I want certainty that I am doing the right thing.

“If you aren’t, then you will find out.  You must trust the process and be flexible.”

My self-doubt is telling me to trust the process?

“Why not?  Now let us enjoy the best moment of your life.”




What a wonderful gift our imaginations are!  Society teaches us not to play with our imaginations as we get older.  What the hell does Society know?

I looked out the window of the North York Central Library down to Mel Lastman Square.  First I saw one garbage can jumping for joy and laughing.  Up and down and up and down it went!  Then a second garbage can started laughing and jumping with the first one.  Soon a third garbage can joined in, and a fourth and a fifth.  And then all the garbage cans were laughing and jumping.  Some were jumping as high as the trees!  The trees laughed and laughed at the garbage cans’ antics.

You can imagine the noise the garbage cans made with their laughing and jumping on the concrete.  Soon a hidden door opened in the concrete, and out emerged an ogre-dragon-monkey-monster.  This ogre-dragon-monkey-monster wore a name tag that read, “Hello, My Name Is Ted.”   He  looked groggy.

The garbage cans stopped jumping.

“What’s all the noise?” said Ted.  “It woke me up from my nap.”

“We were just jumping for joy,” said one of the garbage cans.

“Why?” asked Ted.

“For no reason!” said the garbage can.  And all the other garbage cans laughed at the no-reason reply.  With laughter being contagious, the trees started laughing, too.

Then one by one the garbage cans started jumping and laughing.  Soon all of the garbage cans jumped and laughed.

“I’m not missing out on this fun!” said Ted.  And he, too, jumped and laughed and jumped and laughed.

What a sight to see!  An ogre-dragon-monkey-monster jumping up and down and laughing along with a bunch of garbage cans.  They put on quite a show for the trees.  It was beyond anything you could imagine.

After a while, one by one the garbage cans stopped jumping.  They tired from all their fun, and needed to nap.  (Have you ever seen garbage cans napping?  They look the same as if they were awake.)

Ted, too, tired of laughing and jumping.  He opened his hidden door, and returned to his one-bedroom apartment under Mel Lastman Square.

That left the trees.  They had laughed and enjoyed the show.  Now they were content to sway in the gentle breeze.




I was a self-righteous  bastard when I was a kid.  I believed that as a Protestant, I had the right religion.  I once told the only Jewish boy in our neighborhood that he was stupid for not believing in Jesus.  (I still feel guilt to this day for doing that.)  As for my Catholic friends, they ran away when I started digging for buried treasure.  They said that it was wrong for me to dig because I would reach Hell and Satan would escape.   What a stupid religion that did not allow you to dig for buried treasure!

I believed I had the best daddy because my Daddy never said bad words.  I would go to my friends’ houses and their fathers said words such as, “God dammit!”  “Jesus Christ!”  and “Shit!”  Not my Daddy.  He never said a bad word.  I never boasted about my father not swearing, but I felt a strong sense of pride.

And then one day, the world ended.  I heard my Daddy say, “God dammit!”  He was building the back porch to our house and something happened that he did not like.  I don’t remember what it was.  I only remember how crushed I was because my Daddy swore.

“You swore!”  I said.  “You said a bad word!”

He turned and looked at me and his facial expression screamed, “Oh shit!  I didn’t know that my kid was so close to hear me.”

“Yes,” he said, “I swore.  I’m sorry, but I was mad.”

“But you swore!  You swore!”  How shocked I was.

“Yes,” he said, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to.”

And then my self-righteous self told me to do the right thing.  After all, such terrible behavior should not go unpunished.

“You said a bad word, and I’m telling Reverend Ferry!”   And I ran up the street towards our church crying.

Reverend Allan H. Ferry was the minister at Davenport United Church.  (It is now called Davenport-Perth Community Church.)

The last thing I remember is running up the street crying.  Did I tell Reverend Ferry?  I don’t remember.

I do remember thinking that my Daddy was still better than my friends’ fathers because my Daddy only swore once.  My friends’ fathers swore all the time.

My father’s swearing increased as I got older.  He swore all the time.   I don’t blame him.  I would swear, too, if I had a self-righteous bastard as my kid.


Thomas Edison (February 11, 1847 – October 18, 1931)


Mr. Harris looked like Thomas Edison.  This resemblance caused me to think that Mr. Harris was a scientist and inventor with a laboratory and workshop full of wonderful experiments and inventions.

The side of Mr. Harris’ house and the driveway to his garage were perpendicular to our backyard.  We could see the back and side of his house.  Most of his house was always in darkness except for the room near the back entrance.  The light was always on.

That must be his lab and workshop!”  I thought.  “That is where he has a formula that can make me fly and a formula that can make me invisible, and a time machine.”

Mr. Harris was friendly, but he never said more than, “Good Morning” and minor talk about the weather.  We would see him come and go at odd hours.  Where did he go?  No doubt to pick up chemicals and other supplies for his potions and inventions.

I wished that Mr. Harris would invite me into his house.  I wished and wished and wished.  Once he invited me inside, he would make me his apprentice.  I would learn how to make potions to make me fly and to make me invisible.  Then I would learn how to build a time machine, and perhaps a spaceship.

One day it happened!  I had just finished cutting Mr. Harris’ grass.  He reached into his pocket to pay me, and then said, “Oh, it’s inside.  Would you like to come inside?”

“Yes,” I said calmly.  Inside my head I screamed, “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Oh boy!  Oh boy!  Yes!  Yes!”

Once inside I looked around.  No bottles of special potions.  No Bunsen burners boiling colored liquids in test tubes, beakers and flasks.  No electronic equipment.  No time machine.

We were in the room that always has the light on.  The light hung from the ceiling on a single wire with no shade for the bulb.  The naked bulb revealed a dismal room.  Gloom and depression colored the walls, and the bedding of an unmade bed in the corner.  Dark drapes stopped the sunlight.  The couch and armchair looked as if they may have been dark blue, but it was hard to tell because of all the newspapers, clothing and other stuff piled on them.  In the center of the room was a wooden table with stacks and stacks of coins piled on it.  There were also some dirty dishes.

I kept wanting to think that his lab/workshop was in the basement or in another room in the house.  But the gloom of the room said, “There is no lab.  There is no workshop.”

Mr. Harris took some quarters from one of the stacks of coins, made a note on the paper beside the coins, and paid me for cutting his grass.

My mother chuckled when I told her how disappointed I was that Mr. Harris did not have a lab and workshop.

Mr. Harris,” she said, “owns a laundromat.  He and his wife ran it together.  They were so, so, happy.  You always saw more lights on, in the house, when she was alive.  Then she died, and Mr. Harris is doing his best to carry on.”





I was about eight years old and my daddy yelled at me for something I had not done.  For whatever reason, he blamed me.  I can’t remember what it was I supposedly did or why Daddy blamed me.  I was devastated!   How unfair!

“I’ll show you, Daddy!” I thought.  “I’ll run away and then you’ll miss me and be sorry for yelling at me.”

But it was no fun running away if I couldn’t see my daddy missing me and feeling bad.  I decided to climb the next-door neighbor’s tree in his backyard.  I had climbed this tree many times before.  From there I could see into my kitchen window and a partial view of the dinning and living rooms.  I could enjoy watching my daddy missing me.

Off I went out the door.  No one asked me where I was going.  I climbed the tree and had a perfect view.

“Okay, Daddy, miss me!”  I said to myself.

I watched and waited.  No signs of being missed, but any time now Dad should notice I was  gone.  I could see my mommy and brother and sisters carrying on.  My daddy was in the living room reading the newspaper.

After awhile I had to pee, but I could hold it.  I waited.  Still no sign of “Where’s Gary?  Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at him.”

Dark clouds started to crowd the clear sky, and it was getting colder.

I waited.

It started spit rain.

I waited.

Still no sign of Daddy missing me.  I could still see him reading the newspaper.

Now it was doing more than spitting rain and it was cold.  This made my having to pee worse.

Finally I climbed out of the tree and went into the house.  I was gone several(?) hours.  No one asked me, “Where were you?”  Daddy never even looked up from the newspaper.  No one missed me!

The only relief I got that day was when I finally went to the bathroom.