Just
an alcoholic with a guitar
begging for spare change.
Keep thinking about
that future bottle.
Not thinking about
the song
that I am playing.
Friday, December 23, 2011
That's Not a Poem
"That's not a poem!"
the critic said.
"That's just prose
chopped up into
little pieces!"
"Fuck you, critic!"
I said,
and pushed him
into the street.
He was struck by a bus
and killed instantly.
The police were called.
When they arrived
they lifted me up
on to their shoulders.
A parade was organized
in my honour.
I was carried through the streets
and the people all cheered.
The critic's body
was left in the street.
Stray dogs chewed on his bones
and little children played soccer
with the dead critic's skull.
Now we can write
whatever the hell we want
and we don't have to worry what
some pretentious asshole thinks
because he is dead.
the critic said.
"That's just prose
chopped up into
little pieces!"
"Fuck you, critic!"
I said,
and pushed him
into the street.
He was struck by a bus
and killed instantly.
The police were called.
When they arrived
they lifted me up
on to their shoulders.
A parade was organized
in my honour.
I was carried through the streets
and the people all cheered.
The critic's body
was left in the street.
Stray dogs chewed on his bones
and little children played soccer
with the dead critic's skull.
Now we can write
whatever the hell we want
and we don't have to worry what
some pretentious asshole thinks
because he is dead.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
2 diet tips I forgot to mention
Two additional diet tips I forgot to mention in my last post:
1. Eat five or six small meals a day. Or, to put it another way, eat all day long. Graze.
I definitely eat out of boredom and to comfort myself. But if I plan out what I am going to eat - counting calories and coming up with a reasonable total - it’s possible to be constantly eating. This stops me from snacking, binging, getting bored, stress eating, etc.
If I’m not eating right now, I know that in an hour or so, it will be time to eat again. I can wait.
What to eat? Nuts, raw vegetables, protein bars, granola bars, fruit cups, protein shakes… Or even junk food. As long as you’re keeping track of your calories (such as by using MyFitnessPal) you can eat ANYTHING you want. Just don’t go over your numbers for the day.
It was my experience that, as time went on, I would automatically switch to healthier choices. Why would I eat a few high calorie candies when I can eat WAY MORE raw veggies?
A co-worker, unaware of my weight loss, saw all my food for the day piled on my desk.
“If you eat like that you’re going to get fat!” she said.
I had to laugh. I lost weight because I know exactly what I'm eating, how much of it I am allowed to eat, and spread food throughout my day.
2. If you’re trying to keep track of your calories, you’re going to need to measure your portions carefully. Get a good set of measuring spoons and cups. That’s a good start.
Even better: invest in a digital kitchen scale. These are surprisingly cheap. I got one on sale for less than $20 at Canadian Tire.
Long ago, I used to pour a huge amount of cereal into a bowl and douse it with as much milk as looked right. No more. I weigh a cereal serving as listed on the box (a serving of No Name brand granola is 45 grams, for example) and I measure out one cup of soy milk.
Getting my veggies ready for the day, I weigh them and note the numbers into MyFitnessPal. Same with everything else I eat.
The more accurately you track the calories you eat and burn, the better your chances of losing weight - or maintaining the weight you’ve lost.
1. Eat five or six small meals a day. Or, to put it another way, eat all day long. Graze.
I definitely eat out of boredom and to comfort myself. But if I plan out what I am going to eat - counting calories and coming up with a reasonable total - it’s possible to be constantly eating. This stops me from snacking, binging, getting bored, stress eating, etc.
If I’m not eating right now, I know that in an hour or so, it will be time to eat again. I can wait.
What to eat? Nuts, raw vegetables, protein bars, granola bars, fruit cups, protein shakes… Or even junk food. As long as you’re keeping track of your calories (such as by using MyFitnessPal) you can eat ANYTHING you want. Just don’t go over your numbers for the day.
It was my experience that, as time went on, I would automatically switch to healthier choices. Why would I eat a few high calorie candies when I can eat WAY MORE raw veggies?
A co-worker, unaware of my weight loss, saw all my food for the day piled on my desk.
“If you eat like that you’re going to get fat!” she said.
I had to laugh. I lost weight because I know exactly what I'm eating, how much of it I am allowed to eat, and spread food throughout my day.
2. If you’re trying to keep track of your calories, you’re going to need to measure your portions carefully. Get a good set of measuring spoons and cups. That’s a good start.
Even better: invest in a digital kitchen scale. These are surprisingly cheap. I got one on sale for less than $20 at Canadian Tire.
Long ago, I used to pour a huge amount of cereal into a bowl and douse it with as much milk as looked right. No more. I weigh a cereal serving as listed on the box (a serving of No Name brand granola is 45 grams, for example) and I measure out one cup of soy milk.
Getting my veggies ready for the day, I weigh them and note the numbers into MyFitnessPal. Same with everything else I eat.
The more accurately you track the calories you eat and burn, the better your chances of losing weight - or maintaining the weight you’ve lost.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
How to Lose Weight
I’ve lost 100 lbs, going from 280 to 180. Because of this, a lot of people have been asking me for dieting tips. Here is everything I know. Or at least, everything I can remember right now and put into words.
I should mention right off the bat that the big secret to my weight loss was three years of therapy getting me ready for it. That sort of emotional exploration and growth was definitely a big factor in feeling strong enough and motivated enough to take this task on.
1. Before starting my weight loss plan, I got a physical from my doctor. I wanted to make sure I was okay. And when I reached my goal weight, I had another physical. Play it safe. Do the same.
2. Don’t think of it as a diet. Think of it as changing the way you eat. A diet implies this is a temporary thing, and that when you’re finished you’re going to drop the diet. When you drop it, you know exactly what’s going to happen – you’ll slowly gain all the weight back.
This isn’t temporary. Aim to change the way you think about food.
But don’t worry, you can still eat junk every now and then. What’s life without the occasional treat?
3. Go slow. It took you time to gain the weight, so it’s going to take you time to lose the weight. It took me over a year and a half to reach my goal weight. A realistic weight loss goal is to lose half a pound to 2 pounds a week. Anything more than that is a bad idea. If you are very overweight, you’ll find yourself losing a bit more than that at the start. If you’re closer to your ideal weight and just want to lose a few pounds, 2 lbs a week is probably too ambitious. Aim for half a pound a week.
4. The biggest key for me: write down absolutely everything you eat, no exceptions. Track those calories. And track whatever calories you burn through exercise. There are many great food logging websites out there, but my personal favourite is My Fitness Pal. This website made weight loss feel easy. It’s also available for the iPhone and Blackberry.
5. It’s all about the numbers – the average adult male needs 2,000 calories a day. (If you weigh more than that, you actually have to eat more to maintain your weight.) One pound of fat equals 3500 calories. Want to lose a pound this week? Run a deficit of 500 calories a day. That means the average adult male would have to eat 1500 calories a day to lose one pound in a week.
My Fitness Pal is the fuel gage I wish I’d been born with. It allows me to track the calories I burn, the calories I consume, and find that level I am aiming for. I used to be aiming to lose weight, now I’m aiming to maintain my current weight. I’ve logged everything I have eaten and all my exercise for over 550 days now.
My food diary is wide open, by the way. Feel free to take a look.
6. “Why don’t I just starve myself and lose weight fast?” If you eat too few calories, your body goes into starvation mode. Your body basically thinks you are dying and does everything it can to hold on to every single calorie. Your body will also eat your muscles in an attempt to hold on to that fat. You’ll discover that despite under-eating, the scale needle refuses to budge.
This is why eating slightly less than normal works – you’re tricking your body. It thinks everything is fine, when you’re really just eating slightly less than you should be -- just enough to keep your body from freaking out.
7. Exercise is great, but worry more about what you eat. Despite everything you have heard, weight loss is far more about the food you eat than it is about exercise and laziness.
“Oh, I worked out today, so I can eat more!”
This is true. You can eat more. But how many calories did you really burn in that workout? If you only burned 200 calories in that 40 minute walk, do you really deserve a 540 calorie Big Mac to celebrate? Unless you know the real numbers, you can’t make an informed choice.
I know this from personal experience. I went to the gym for months. I lost 20 lbs. And then nothing changed. I couldn’t figure out why my weight was stuck – even as I ate ice cream for dinner on a fairly regular basis.
On the other hand, I work out on my elliptical trainer and walk a lot (tracking my calories burned with a pedometer). This does allow me to eat more calories than most people. To maintain my current weight, most days I eat around 3500 calories.
8. Restaurants are dangerous. Most restaurants don’t tell you how many calories are in their food. If you have to guess, you’re probably guessing low. (Were those veggies soaked in butter?) Fortunately, some restaurants do provide calorie information. Ironically, most of these restaurants are fast food places. However, it’s quite possible to eat fast food and lose weight – so long as you accurately keep track of your numbers. I regularly allow myself a grande Starbucks soy latte, which is 170 calories.
9. Cheat. You’re allowed to cheat every now and then. One or two cheat meals a week is fair game. In fact, if you’re trying to lose weight, and you have been sticking to the rules closely, but aren’t losing weight – cheating can help. The occasional meal of extra calories lets your body know that you aren’t starving to death. Food is available! Don’t go into starvation mode!
But keep in mind food is primarily fuel. It’s not entertainment. It makes your body go. When you think of food this way, and limit your cheats to occasional celebrations, they actually become far more enjoyable. Cheesecake for dinner every day is boring. Cheesecake on a Friday night, to celebrate the weekend, actually tastes great.
10. Plan your meals ahead. On most days, you know where you’re going to be and what you’re going to be doing. Bring your food with you. Nuts, granola or protein bars, carrots sticks – get all of this stuff ready, enter it into your database, and know what your food day is going to look like. This make it much easier to turn down a coworker who offers you a donut. “No thanks! I’ve planned my food for the day.”
11. Water, herbal tea, diet soda, and sugar free gum can save you. Often I just want to taste something. These choices can give you a taste fix while adding zero or minimal calories.
12. Eating is banking and budgeting. Look at food and ask yourself, “Can I afford this food, calorie-wise?” Or, alternatively, “Am I willing to pay the calories this food is asking of me? Are there better caloric choices I would find more fulfilling?”
A large strawberry milkshake from McDonald’s is 560 calories. Which is (roughly) five and a half tablespoons of peanut butter. Or several pounds of carrots. Which is going to fill you up more?
13. Watch your protein levels. If you’re losing weight, you want to make sure you get enough protein, so your body eats fat and not muscle. I never would have imagined I’d become the kind of person who drinks protein shakes and eats protein bars. I am now such a person.
14. Go at your own pace, and up the ante with time. Maybe it’s all too much to swallow at once. So start your changes gradually. Eat a salad for lunch instead of a burger. Try keeping a food log without changing your diet, just to get a feel of where you are. Ease in slow. When you’re ready, add more effort.
15. If you screw up, don’t quit. “God damn it, I’m supposed to be eating healthy and I ate an entire bag of Oreo cookies. Screw this, I’m going back to eating nothing but junk food.”
A lot of people think this way. They’re trying to change, they do something “wrong”, and they quit. Don’t quit. You strayed. It happens. Just note that you made a mistake, and go back to trying. That bag of Oreos was a cheat meal. Don’t give up. You’re going to stray every now and then.
16. Be human. Allow self-soothing. I sometimes need food when I’m stressed. It calms me down. And I’ll allow for it. I check my calories – can I afford some candy calories right now? How many bonbons exactly? And then I’ll let myself have some sugar to take the edge off my stress.
If I can’t afford it, I’ll find some other way to de-stress – such as walking away for a break from whatever is bugging me. (Okay, it’s almost always work.)
That’s all I can think of for now. Hopefully it’s useful.
In future, I’ll write up a My Fitness Pal specific post, covering the various quirks of their system. It can be tricky.
I should mention right off the bat that the big secret to my weight loss was three years of therapy getting me ready for it. That sort of emotional exploration and growth was definitely a big factor in feeling strong enough and motivated enough to take this task on.
1. Before starting my weight loss plan, I got a physical from my doctor. I wanted to make sure I was okay. And when I reached my goal weight, I had another physical. Play it safe. Do the same.
2. Don’t think of it as a diet. Think of it as changing the way you eat. A diet implies this is a temporary thing, and that when you’re finished you’re going to drop the diet. When you drop it, you know exactly what’s going to happen – you’ll slowly gain all the weight back.
This isn’t temporary. Aim to change the way you think about food.
But don’t worry, you can still eat junk every now and then. What’s life without the occasional treat?
3. Go slow. It took you time to gain the weight, so it’s going to take you time to lose the weight. It took me over a year and a half to reach my goal weight. A realistic weight loss goal is to lose half a pound to 2 pounds a week. Anything more than that is a bad idea. If you are very overweight, you’ll find yourself losing a bit more than that at the start. If you’re closer to your ideal weight and just want to lose a few pounds, 2 lbs a week is probably too ambitious. Aim for half a pound a week.
4. The biggest key for me: write down absolutely everything you eat, no exceptions. Track those calories. And track whatever calories you burn through exercise. There are many great food logging websites out there, but my personal favourite is My Fitness Pal. This website made weight loss feel easy. It’s also available for the iPhone and Blackberry.
5. It’s all about the numbers – the average adult male needs 2,000 calories a day. (If you weigh more than that, you actually have to eat more to maintain your weight.) One pound of fat equals 3500 calories. Want to lose a pound this week? Run a deficit of 500 calories a day. That means the average adult male would have to eat 1500 calories a day to lose one pound in a week.
My Fitness Pal is the fuel gage I wish I’d been born with. It allows me to track the calories I burn, the calories I consume, and find that level I am aiming for. I used to be aiming to lose weight, now I’m aiming to maintain my current weight. I’ve logged everything I have eaten and all my exercise for over 550 days now.
My food diary is wide open, by the way. Feel free to take a look.
6. “Why don’t I just starve myself and lose weight fast?” If you eat too few calories, your body goes into starvation mode. Your body basically thinks you are dying and does everything it can to hold on to every single calorie. Your body will also eat your muscles in an attempt to hold on to that fat. You’ll discover that despite under-eating, the scale needle refuses to budge.
This is why eating slightly less than normal works – you’re tricking your body. It thinks everything is fine, when you’re really just eating slightly less than you should be -- just enough to keep your body from freaking out.
7. Exercise is great, but worry more about what you eat. Despite everything you have heard, weight loss is far more about the food you eat than it is about exercise and laziness.
“Oh, I worked out today, so I can eat more!”
This is true. You can eat more. But how many calories did you really burn in that workout? If you only burned 200 calories in that 40 minute walk, do you really deserve a 540 calorie Big Mac to celebrate? Unless you know the real numbers, you can’t make an informed choice.
I know this from personal experience. I went to the gym for months. I lost 20 lbs. And then nothing changed. I couldn’t figure out why my weight was stuck – even as I ate ice cream for dinner on a fairly regular basis.
On the other hand, I work out on my elliptical trainer and walk a lot (tracking my calories burned with a pedometer). This does allow me to eat more calories than most people. To maintain my current weight, most days I eat around 3500 calories.
8. Restaurants are dangerous. Most restaurants don’t tell you how many calories are in their food. If you have to guess, you’re probably guessing low. (Were those veggies soaked in butter?) Fortunately, some restaurants do provide calorie information. Ironically, most of these restaurants are fast food places. However, it’s quite possible to eat fast food and lose weight – so long as you accurately keep track of your numbers. I regularly allow myself a grande Starbucks soy latte, which is 170 calories.
9. Cheat. You’re allowed to cheat every now and then. One or two cheat meals a week is fair game. In fact, if you’re trying to lose weight, and you have been sticking to the rules closely, but aren’t losing weight – cheating can help. The occasional meal of extra calories lets your body know that you aren’t starving to death. Food is available! Don’t go into starvation mode!
But keep in mind food is primarily fuel. It’s not entertainment. It makes your body go. When you think of food this way, and limit your cheats to occasional celebrations, they actually become far more enjoyable. Cheesecake for dinner every day is boring. Cheesecake on a Friday night, to celebrate the weekend, actually tastes great.
10. Plan your meals ahead. On most days, you know where you’re going to be and what you’re going to be doing. Bring your food with you. Nuts, granola or protein bars, carrots sticks – get all of this stuff ready, enter it into your database, and know what your food day is going to look like. This make it much easier to turn down a coworker who offers you a donut. “No thanks! I’ve planned my food for the day.”
11. Water, herbal tea, diet soda, and sugar free gum can save you. Often I just want to taste something. These choices can give you a taste fix while adding zero or minimal calories.
12. Eating is banking and budgeting. Look at food and ask yourself, “Can I afford this food, calorie-wise?” Or, alternatively, “Am I willing to pay the calories this food is asking of me? Are there better caloric choices I would find more fulfilling?”
A large strawberry milkshake from McDonald’s is 560 calories. Which is (roughly) five and a half tablespoons of peanut butter. Or several pounds of carrots. Which is going to fill you up more?
13. Watch your protein levels. If you’re losing weight, you want to make sure you get enough protein, so your body eats fat and not muscle. I never would have imagined I’d become the kind of person who drinks protein shakes and eats protein bars. I am now such a person.
14. Go at your own pace, and up the ante with time. Maybe it’s all too much to swallow at once. So start your changes gradually. Eat a salad for lunch instead of a burger. Try keeping a food log without changing your diet, just to get a feel of where you are. Ease in slow. When you’re ready, add more effort.
15. If you screw up, don’t quit. “God damn it, I’m supposed to be eating healthy and I ate an entire bag of Oreo cookies. Screw this, I’m going back to eating nothing but junk food.”
A lot of people think this way. They’re trying to change, they do something “wrong”, and they quit. Don’t quit. You strayed. It happens. Just note that you made a mistake, and go back to trying. That bag of Oreos was a cheat meal. Don’t give up. You’re going to stray every now and then.
16. Be human. Allow self-soothing. I sometimes need food when I’m stressed. It calms me down. And I’ll allow for it. I check my calories – can I afford some candy calories right now? How many bonbons exactly? And then I’ll let myself have some sugar to take the edge off my stress.
If I can’t afford it, I’ll find some other way to de-stress – such as walking away for a break from whatever is bugging me. (Okay, it’s almost always work.)
That’s all I can think of for now. Hopefully it’s useful.
In future, I’ll write up a My Fitness Pal specific post, covering the various quirks of their system. It can be tricky.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Why My Local Sports Team Is Best
Michael Coren has written a book called, "Why Catholics Are Right". I checked out an electronic copy from the library, started reading the introduction, and got annoyed. I skipped ahead and started reading chapter one, and got even more annoyed. I stopped reading. I deleted the book from my computer.
The book is dry, self-serving, rationalizing nonsense. At heart, what the book is saying, is this:
"The church I happen to have adopted, which is the most popular religion in my neighbourhood, happens to be the correct one!"
How incredibly lucky that your local sports team (who you love and support with all your heart) happens to be the best team in the world. Isn't that oddly convenient? It certainly makes your favouritism towards them entirely justified.
Does it matter what arguments are used to prop up this self-serving conclusion?
I don't think Michael Coren is stupid. He's just doing what many intellectuals do -- ignoring the emotional aspects of his being and embracing his own intellect. With the feelings buried, he's safe to work backwards from a desired outcome.
"I wish to believe X because I feel it. How can I make that possible? I will construct many arguments that indicate X is true. And now I will conveniently erase my original desire simply to believe X is true. What I am left with is many solid, intelligent arguments that show X is true. How wonderful!"
I call myself an atheist. I suppose, technically, I'm not really an atheist at all, because I like the notion of a "higher power". I just don't think it's Jesus or Mohammed or any of the other mainstream gods or demi-gods peddled at your local church. Those deities tend to be a little bland and safe. I think a relationship with the "divine" is far more personal and complicated. Choosing Jesus is lazy.
People think I'm kidding when I say this, but I'm not: worshipping Batman as god is just as sensible and good as worshipping Jesus Christ. Religion is, at heart, finding a personal mythology that helps you be the best person you can be. The many adventures of Batman have just as many valid parables in them as the bible.
A good mystic will create a personal relationship with their myth. It will manifest itself in daydreams, real dreams, imagined conversations, art, poetry, music, and so on. Protestants call this "having a personal relationship with Jesus". But if your relationship is really personal, you'll quickly see it doesn't even have to be Jesus -- it can be Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, your ideal mom or dad, Captain Kangaroo, whoever you want. You can even choose more than one. Why not?
Religion is playing "imaginary friends" but for grown ups. But let's be clear here -- imaginary friends are often more real than real friends. We all know who Sherlock Holmes is. In a way, he is more real to us than actual historical people.
This is why Coren's book -- which I simply cannot read -- makes me so angry.
"My imaginary friend Jesus is the best friend there is! He's awesome! I choose him over all others! He is the RIGHT choice!"
It should come as no surprise that Coren's book is a best seller in Canada. The majority of Canadians are Roman Catholic. No one ever went broke telling people what they want to hear.
Coren is doing the equivalent of standing up at a Batman convention and yelling:
"Isn't Batman wonderful? I know not everyone agrees, but he is the greatest super hero that ever lived! I know there have been some controversial times, such as when Batman molested those kids, but that was just a mistake and we're all over that. At heart, he's still the best choice!"
And all the Batman fans cheer.
So what? What's wrong with that?
Next door are a whole bunch of people who worship Superman. They're having the exact same conversation -- Superman is awesome! He's the best! All other heroes are crap! Hooray for Superman!
Ignoring the similarities between your god and the gods of others is divise, small-minded, isolationist, old fashioned, and so very local.
Higher education tends to knock religion out of people's heads. Why? I suspect in part it's because you quickly see that if you'd been born in India, you'd probably be a Hindu. And if you were born in the Middle East, you'd probably be a Jew or a Muslim. And if you were born in Japan or China you'd probably be a Taoist or a Buddhist.
And if you're in Canada, like Michael Coren, chances are good you'll be a Roman Catholic.
I've had this argument with Catholics before -- let's call it "the local sports team argument against religious certainty". How do they respond?
"No, no. If I was born in India, Jesus still would have found me. I would still be a Christian."
They can't see past their personal, local experience. They're like a fish in a particular pond who lacks the imagination to understand a fish in a more-or-less identical pond next door.
As the Internet connects cultures and people in a way never before possible, it is bizarre to see some people turn tail and run back to their local deities, their local sports teams, their neighbourhood gods. Michael Coren is such a man. He is ignoring a larger world of imagination, and is staying at home. He's a fish who could swim out into the ocean, and is choosing to stay in his small, familiar pond.
Or I assume so anyway. I can't read his book. The fucking thing makes me so goddamn mad.
The book is dry, self-serving, rationalizing nonsense. At heart, what the book is saying, is this:
"The church I happen to have adopted, which is the most popular religion in my neighbourhood, happens to be the correct one!"
How incredibly lucky that your local sports team (who you love and support with all your heart) happens to be the best team in the world. Isn't that oddly convenient? It certainly makes your favouritism towards them entirely justified.
Does it matter what arguments are used to prop up this self-serving conclusion?
I don't think Michael Coren is stupid. He's just doing what many intellectuals do -- ignoring the emotional aspects of his being and embracing his own intellect. With the feelings buried, he's safe to work backwards from a desired outcome.
"I wish to believe X because I feel it. How can I make that possible? I will construct many arguments that indicate X is true. And now I will conveniently erase my original desire simply to believe X is true. What I am left with is many solid, intelligent arguments that show X is true. How wonderful!"
I call myself an atheist. I suppose, technically, I'm not really an atheist at all, because I like the notion of a "higher power". I just don't think it's Jesus or Mohammed or any of the other mainstream gods or demi-gods peddled at your local church. Those deities tend to be a little bland and safe. I think a relationship with the "divine" is far more personal and complicated. Choosing Jesus is lazy.
People think I'm kidding when I say this, but I'm not: worshipping Batman as god is just as sensible and good as worshipping Jesus Christ. Religion is, at heart, finding a personal mythology that helps you be the best person you can be. The many adventures of Batman have just as many valid parables in them as the bible.
A good mystic will create a personal relationship with their myth. It will manifest itself in daydreams, real dreams, imagined conversations, art, poetry, music, and so on. Protestants call this "having a personal relationship with Jesus". But if your relationship is really personal, you'll quickly see it doesn't even have to be Jesus -- it can be Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, your ideal mom or dad, Captain Kangaroo, whoever you want. You can even choose more than one. Why not?
Religion is playing "imaginary friends" but for grown ups. But let's be clear here -- imaginary friends are often more real than real friends. We all know who Sherlock Holmes is. In a way, he is more real to us than actual historical people.
This is why Coren's book -- which I simply cannot read -- makes me so angry.
"My imaginary friend Jesus is the best friend there is! He's awesome! I choose him over all others! He is the RIGHT choice!"
It should come as no surprise that Coren's book is a best seller in Canada. The majority of Canadians are Roman Catholic. No one ever went broke telling people what they want to hear.
Coren is doing the equivalent of standing up at a Batman convention and yelling:
"Isn't Batman wonderful? I know not everyone agrees, but he is the greatest super hero that ever lived! I know there have been some controversial times, such as when Batman molested those kids, but that was just a mistake and we're all over that. At heart, he's still the best choice!"
And all the Batman fans cheer.
So what? What's wrong with that?
Next door are a whole bunch of people who worship Superman. They're having the exact same conversation -- Superman is awesome! He's the best! All other heroes are crap! Hooray for Superman!
Ignoring the similarities between your god and the gods of others is divise, small-minded, isolationist, old fashioned, and so very local.
Higher education tends to knock religion out of people's heads. Why? I suspect in part it's because you quickly see that if you'd been born in India, you'd probably be a Hindu. And if you were born in the Middle East, you'd probably be a Jew or a Muslim. And if you were born in Japan or China you'd probably be a Taoist or a Buddhist.
And if you're in Canada, like Michael Coren, chances are good you'll be a Roman Catholic.
I've had this argument with Catholics before -- let's call it "the local sports team argument against religious certainty". How do they respond?
"No, no. If I was born in India, Jesus still would have found me. I would still be a Christian."
They can't see past their personal, local experience. They're like a fish in a particular pond who lacks the imagination to understand a fish in a more-or-less identical pond next door.
As the Internet connects cultures and people in a way never before possible, it is bizarre to see some people turn tail and run back to their local deities, their local sports teams, their neighbourhood gods. Michael Coren is such a man. He is ignoring a larger world of imagination, and is staying at home. He's a fish who could swim out into the ocean, and is choosing to stay in his small, familiar pond.
Or I assume so anyway. I can't read his book. The fucking thing makes me so goddamn mad.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
I Am (almost) Canadian
Last week, I wrote the Canadian citizenship test. It only took me 40 years to get there.
I was born in West Berlin, Germany. Four months later, my parents brought me to Canada. Technically, this makes me a German citizen with landed immigrant status in Canada. I have no memory of Germany. I’ve never gone back there and I never learned the language. I consider myself Canadian in everything but name.
When asked to prove I’m a landed immigrant, I pull out a certified-true photocopy, of a microfilm, of a document no longer used by anyone. Bureaucrats stare at it, scratch their heads, and say:
“We don’t recognize this form. This isn’t the IMM form number XYZ.”
“Sorry,” I say. “That’s the form they used in 1970.”
I once left my wallet in a pants pocket on the floor, and then accidentally stepped on it. My Social Insurance Number card snapped in half. I went to get a new one. The government worker, confronted with my “certified true copy” didn’t know what to do. In the end, she made a photocopy of my photocopy and sent it to a document expert in Toronto, all to verify that the form was okay. It was. I got my new SIN card several weeks later.
It never occurred to my parents to make me Canadian. This is because my parents are, at best, disorganized and hazy. My father, who was German, became a Canadian citizen when I was a teenager. It never dawned on him to get my citizenship at the same time. I am the only German in my family.
As an adult, getting my Canadian citizenship on my own made more and more sense. It would solve a lot of bureaucratic problems. It would allow me to apply for jobs with the federal government. In a post 9-11 world, travel would be much less nerve-wracking.
(I have a reoccurring nightmare that I am stopped at some border and deported to Germany – where I know absolutely no one.)
Knowing all of this, I still kept putting off applying to become Canadian.
Having a German passport means the theoretical possibility of getting a European Union passport. I could then work in the UK or elsewhere. Wouldn’t that be great? But eventually, I had to admit this was highly unlikely. I’m 40. Am I going to drop everything to go backpacking in France? Non, il n’y a pas une chance de ca.
All the same, I looked into getting dual citizenship. I went to the German Embassy.
“You don’t speak German,” they told me. “You have no relatives in Germany. You don’t own any land in Germany. My recommendation is that you don’t even bother applying for dual citizenship. But you can take the form if you wish. It’s in German.” The clerk gave me a withering look, and added, “Do you know anyone who can help you fill them out?”
So it looked like the Canadian citizenship was the way to go.
All the same, I kept putting it off, without understanding why. It was extremely irritating. I was incapable of taking action. I wanted to act, and then I failed to do anything. Something inside of me was stuck, and the more I fiddled with that something, the more stuck I appeared to be.
I’m in therapy, and this topic became a regular point of discussion. Yes, therapy: lying on a couch twice a week, staring at the ceiling, talking to the shrink sitting behind me. It has done wonders for me. I’m no longer a spectator in my own life. I’m taking hold of the reins. I’ve gone from weighing 280 lbs to 180. I’m making choices. Surely therapy could help me with this citizenship thing?
So my therapist and I discussed it at length, and we came to some conclusions.
On some level, getting my citizenship feels like a betrayal of my parents. They wouldn’t do it for me, so I couldn’t do it for myself. They wanted me to be disorganized and hazy – just like them. That’s the family tradition. The haze has crept inside me. I can fight for my friends, and the interests of others, but find it difficult to figure out what I want and to fight for myself.
But lately, with the help of therapy, I can now think about me, take care of me, deal with my problems. A certain amount of selfishness makes perfect sense – like eating healthy and applying to be a Canadian citizen, for example. Looking after myself no longer feels taboo.
So in October of 2010, I filled out the citizenship forms and sent them in. This was a huge deal for me. In January of 2011, I got a letter from the Canadian government. They had received my forms. They would be in touch -- real soon.
The process is slow. When you apply, you’re informed citizenship can take up to a year and a half. Most of the process is invisible – government gnomes somewhere running security checks and performing intricate rituals.
I have always spelled my name NIKOLAUS. On my landed immigration form, my name is spelled NICOLAUS. (Thanks, mom and dad, for yet another one of your screw ups that has caused me grief.) So when I applied for my Canadian citizenship, I politely asked them to spell my name with a “K” on my paperwork.
The next letter I received from the citizenship people was in June, asking for proof that my name was spelled with a “K”. They would accept a very short list of documents, none of which I had.
It turns out that Canadians only recognize Canadian issued documents. My German passport would do me no good. All my Canadian documents spell my name wrong, because they go by my landed immigration document. So I appeared to be screwed. Unless I wanted to legally change my name, all to correct a single letter.
“Please disregard my earlier request to spell my name NIKOLAUS,” I wrote to the citizenship office. I signed the letter NICOLAUS.
(You want to spell my name with a “C”? Fine. Let’s do that. See if I care.)
To their credit, they did as I asked.
My next letter arrived mid-September and informed me that I would be taking the citizenship test on Thursday October 6th at 1:30 PM.
That’s when I started to panic. It was all becoming real.
In their first letter to me back in January, the citizenship people included a booklet to study. This was what they would be testing me on. I tried reading it when I first got it, but it was so boring. Canadian history, Canadian geography -- I’ve always hated these subjects. In part, it’s the way schools teach it. Memorize these dates. Memorize these names.
The study booklet used the same methodology – a stream of endlessly dull facts.
History can be interesting if it’s taught as gossip. And that’s basically what history is. We never really know all the facts. We just have a few documents and interesting characters entangled with one another.
I don’t know how you make geography interesting. All my life, I’ve resisted learning the provinces and their capitals. Now, I had no choice.
Because the booklet was so boring, I did what any modern individual would do when faced with a problem – I turned to the Internet. Punch “Canadian Citizenship Test” into Google, and you’re rewarded with dozens of sample tests. Some are from private companies hoping to sell you study guides. Others are from public libraries across Canada. These sample tests were far more helpful than the booklet ever was. I wrote and rewrote these tests until I was scoring 100% on a regular basis.
Then, fully prepared, I waited for the day to arrive. And quietly panicked and twitched.
My therapist, my partner Michelle, a co-worker who’d written the test himself – they all assured me the test would be a breeze. All the same, I was anxious.
In my crazy fantasies, it’s decided I won’t be allowed to write the test. Instead, I’m forced to do an oral exam with a dour citizenship judge. He sees me as an opportunity to torture some poor bastard.
“Grew up here, eh? Well, let’s see how much you REALLY know.”
He cracks his knuckles and reams off a list of obscure Canadian trivia questions. And when I fail to answer a question properly, he gives me grief:
“There are people here today from all over the world, wanting to become a Canadian citizen. They’ve taken classes. They’ve studied hard. They’re learning English and French. Who do you think you are, showing up here, unprepared? Did you even bother to study?”
When I shared this nightmare vision with my shrink, she saw right through it. It was just another version of me going to my parents, asking for a basic need to be fulfilled, and getting rejected. It happened to me throughout my childhood. It’s what I have come to expect from the world.
But why should it be that way? Was it fair to imagine it like that?
Of course not. If anything, a judge confronted with my situation would feel sorry for what I’m being put through it. Why do I need to write the test? I’m entirely acclimatized to Canadian living. I’ve been working the same job for 9 years. I’m a productive, tax-paying, member of society in good standing.
A judge would rubber stamp my application and shoo me away.
But there’s nothing so gentle in bureaucracies. Instead, I would write the test, just like all the other would-be Canadians.
The day of the test dawned. I was eating my breakfast when I experienced a shocking bit of synchronicity -- CBC radio played a story about the Canadian citizenship test. Recently government bureaucrats made the test more difficult. There was now a 30% failure rate. A polling company, in 2007, gave the test to Canadian citizens born here, and 60% of them failed.
They interviewed a woman who failed the test. Her whole family was taking the oath – they all passed. She didn’t get to take it because she failed.
“Do not tell me this,” I yelled at the radio. “I do not need to hear this today!”
My test was scheduled for 1:30. I showed up at 1:10, expecting to be the only one there. The room was packed with people. Each of us had to have our paperwork processed, then go into a room where we had to sit, waiting for everyone else to get processed. Then, when we were all processed and ready, we’d all write the test together.
I am not a patriotic person. But the mix of ethnicities sitting there, all wanting to become Canadian, was extremely heart-warming. I also loved how grumpy we all were, waiting for close to an hour to get processed.
“This is bullcrap!” said a young Asian woman with a thick accent.
I felt a genuine joy that she and I were sharing our annoyance together, as would-be Canadians.
I sat there for 40 minutes before I was called to get my paperwork looked at. I went up to something akin to a banker’s window and spoke with a young man. This portion of the test was also meant to test your English or French skills. I was hoping this wouldn’t be a problem for me, given that I have a BA in English / Creative Writing from Concordia University.
I tried to crack jokes. He would have none of it. He stonily asked me where I worked and for how long. I told him the name of my employer and said I’d been there 9 years. Then he wrote down some dates. 2007, 2008, 2009, all the way up to the present. He pointed his pen at 2007.
“Were you with your current employer in 2007?” he asked.
“Yes. Like I said, I’ve worked there for 9 years.”
He wrote this down next to 2007. He moved his pen to the blank space by 2008. And then he stared at it. Then he looked over all of the years he had written down.
“I guess you worked for them for all of these years,” he muttered.
“Right.”
I felt like he was going through some sort of process that made sense for real immigrants, but not for me.
“We may require some more documentation from you,” the man said to me.
I wasn’t about to let that slide by. “What kind of documentation?”
“Oh, like a letter from your employer stating how long you’ve worked there.”
I immediately envisioned writing that letter and handing it to my boss for her to sign. That would not be a problem.
I moved on to the testing room – which was actually the same room where I would one day take the citizenship oath. I sat down and fiddled on my iPhone, and waited. And waited.
All in all, testing day mostly involved a lot of waiting: about an hour and a half in total. The test itself was 20 multiple choice questions. I competed the test it in 3 minutes flat. When I was finished, I stared at it, refusing to believe it was that easy. It was. There were no trick questions. I went through all the questions a second time. That took me 2 minutes.
Then I walked to the back of the room, handed in my test, and left. I was the first one to leave.
The most difficult question on the test went like this:
Which province has the highest productivity of pulp and paper, as well as hydro-electricity? And then there was a list of four provinces.
I saw “pulp and paper” and immediately thought of British Columbia. But that wasn’t on the list. Then I remembered on all the sample tests that hydro-electricity was always paired with Quebec. There. Done.
This was the ONLY question out of twenty that required any thought from me at all.
I left the test feeling exhilarated. Soon, my results will be mailed to me, along with a date and time for taking the oath.
Even though the process isn’t complete, it feels like it is. It feels over. All I’m waiting for is the rubber stamp on the form.
And I feel amazing. For the first time in my life, I feel like my life is my own. I get to make choices. I can set goals and achieve them. I’m beginning to shake off that hazy, vague feeling my parents imposed on me my whole life.
I’ve lost 100 pounds. I’m so very close to getting my Canadian citizenship. Are there any other dragons out there I need to slay? Of course. And I feel ready to start slaying them. It shouldn’t be a problem. I am a dragon slaying machine.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Euthanasia
Friday, September 2nd
As I entered the Civic Hospital, an old man with a wheeled walker asked for my help. There was a ramp, and he was worried he would fall. Could I lend a hand?
“Sure thing,” I said.
“I don’t mean to be an inconvenience,” he apologized.
“Not at all. I booked the day off work. I have all the time in the world.”
I positioned myself in front of him, putting a hand on his walker, so it wouldn’t wheel away. He then began to walk. He’d take two baby steps, stop for a break, and then take two more steps.
“If euthanasia were legal, I would be dead right now,” he told me, casually.
I laughed a little nervously.
“I’m serious,” he said. “I talked to my Member of Parliament about it. I said, ‘If you walked like me, like a dog, you’d want to be dead too.’ He just laughed.”
And he scowled at the memory.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. All I could think was that I walked to the hospital – an hour walk in the hot sun. I’d enjoyed it, reading a book as I walked. How long would it have taken this man to make the same walk? Days?
“I’m here to visit my sister,” he told me. “She’s my only living relative. We only have each other.”
We took a few more steps.
“I’m sorry I’m so slow,” he said. “I’m in constant pain. My neck. My back.”
“This ramp seems to go on forever,” I said, smiling.
There were four small steps. The ramp, on the other hand, twisted and turned endlessly, like a cruel, simple-minded maze.
When we reached the end of the ramp, the man thanked me. Our journey had taken maybe three minutes.
It was only then that I noticed someone was waiting for access to the ramp, going in the opposite direction. He looked like an orderly, or possibly an ambulance driver, and was smiling in a way meant to indicate endless patience, which revealed just how impatient he was feeling. This orderly had a massive cart next to him, and perched on top, in a reclining position, was a little old lady. She was tiny, eyes closed, either drugged, deep asleep, or dead.
Was he taking her out for some sun? Or taking her to an ambulance to be carted to another hospital? Or maybe to a funeral home?
Distracted by the little old lady, I lost track of the old man with the walker. He baby stepped past me, looking for elevator B, which would take him to his sister.
For the rest of the day, my thoughts kept coming back to the old man who wanted to die. What should I have said? Should I have offered more help? Maybe we could have spent the day together.
When I described this meeting on twitter, someone replied:
“You must not know a lot of old people. They all talk about how they want to die.”
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Purple Legs
While on a coffee break outside, my coworker Craig and I saw this strange looking fat man with one of those walkers with wheels on it. The man was sitting on the platform of his walker, smoking a cigarette, parked in a spot where many people had to go by him. He ogled all the women walking past, without exception. Young, old, fat, thin – it didn’t seem to matter.
The man was comical and sad, if you looked at him in a cruel way. Bald, maybe in his late 40s, he had a troll-like shape. If you put him in a furry loin cloth and gave him a club, made him ten feet tall, he’d fit right in on the cover of some fantasy novel.
When he got up, and started walking towards us, I noticed his lower legs were dark purple and his feet were turning white. It looked like his legs were rotting, gangrenous, possibly from diabetes. Craig and I were horrified.
“I thought he was wearing socks,” Craig said, “when we were seeing him from a distance.”
I’d noticed scabs on his legs, but the discoloration wasn’t obvious until he got close up.
You hear about these things. Doctors tell their patients, “You need to change your diet and stop smoking or you’re going to suffer terrible complications from your diabetes.”
And the patient says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” and doesn’t do anything different. They go blind. They lose fingers. They have their feet amputated. They slowly rot away to nothing as all their veins clog up with sugar crystals.
Here was a man in the midst of all that. His legs were literally dying out from under him. And he just continued doing the same old things he had always done. It strikes me as a slow-motion form of suicide. He doesn’t really want to live, but he doesn’t really want to die. If eating the same crappy diet and smoking the same amount of cigarettes kills him, then, oh well. Everybody has to die some time. That’s life.
There’s some sort of powerful denial at work – even as he sees his own legs change colour and he loses all sensation down there.
“This isn’t happening.”
Then, later, “This is happening, but it’s no big deal.”
Maybe brief flashes of horror and understanding. “I’m doing this to myself. I’m weak. I’m a loser.”
He beats himself up until he can’t handle it any more. Until he’s numb. Back into weakly denying reality.
Even after he has to have his legs amputated, and he wakes up from the surgery, he’ll probably think to himself:
“Now I’m a cripple. This is terrible. Why do these things happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?”
He never owns his life. He never takes responsibility for it. It wasn’t his diet. It wasn’t refusing to change. It’s always bad luck, life, just the way it is, God punishing him. Some external force, attacking.
He never understands his real situation. Never understands that it was always an internal force, deep within him, that could never wake up, take charge, make changes.
Or maybe none of this is true. It’s quite possible he didn’t have diabetes and his medical condition was something else entirely. Who knows?
The man was comical and sad, if you looked at him in a cruel way. Bald, maybe in his late 40s, he had a troll-like shape. If you put him in a furry loin cloth and gave him a club, made him ten feet tall, he’d fit right in on the cover of some fantasy novel.
When he got up, and started walking towards us, I noticed his lower legs were dark purple and his feet were turning white. It looked like his legs were rotting, gangrenous, possibly from diabetes. Craig and I were horrified.
“I thought he was wearing socks,” Craig said, “when we were seeing him from a distance.”
I’d noticed scabs on his legs, but the discoloration wasn’t obvious until he got close up.
You hear about these things. Doctors tell their patients, “You need to change your diet and stop smoking or you’re going to suffer terrible complications from your diabetes.”
And the patient says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” and doesn’t do anything different. They go blind. They lose fingers. They have their feet amputated. They slowly rot away to nothing as all their veins clog up with sugar crystals.
Here was a man in the midst of all that. His legs were literally dying out from under him. And he just continued doing the same old things he had always done. It strikes me as a slow-motion form of suicide. He doesn’t really want to live, but he doesn’t really want to die. If eating the same crappy diet and smoking the same amount of cigarettes kills him, then, oh well. Everybody has to die some time. That’s life.
There’s some sort of powerful denial at work – even as he sees his own legs change colour and he loses all sensation down there.
“This isn’t happening.”
Then, later, “This is happening, but it’s no big deal.”
Maybe brief flashes of horror and understanding. “I’m doing this to myself. I’m weak. I’m a loser.”
He beats himself up until he can’t handle it any more. Until he’s numb. Back into weakly denying reality.
Even after he has to have his legs amputated, and he wakes up from the surgery, he’ll probably think to himself:
“Now I’m a cripple. This is terrible. Why do these things happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?”
He never owns his life. He never takes responsibility for it. It wasn’t his diet. It wasn’t refusing to change. It’s always bad luck, life, just the way it is, God punishing him. Some external force, attacking.
He never understands his real situation. Never understands that it was always an internal force, deep within him, that could never wake up, take charge, make changes.
Or maybe none of this is true. It’s quite possible he didn’t have diabetes and his medical condition was something else entirely. Who knows?
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