Kindness

Okay, back to the A-to-Z where it’s K time, boys and girls. And the kind, knowledgeable, keen, kurious, kourageous, king of the kitchen; the kidneyless kid; the Earnest Chef has kicked in the following K word for our konsideration. Let’s do something with it:

Karma

I could write all day and night about this, which would not serve the A-Z enterprise well at all. Let me try to boil my thoughts down to their briefest essence.

When I have been most loving, not in specific moments but in periods of frequent moments, those are the same periods in which I needed little love in return. In fact when I have been most loving I have required NO love in return, yet in those same times I did receive the most love.

The give and take part sounds like Karma, eh?

But with the irony; that I received it when I did not need it, I can easily interpret the same causation which reveals that behavior and rewards can not be bought and sold. Religion seems to bribe you: Behave like an angel and you’ll be invited into paradise.

It doesn’t work. The universe can not be fooled. When illusions are defeated the freedom is real. ACTING nice can draw others into ACTING nice to you. This is lovely but it can be a counterfeit currency. Nothing compares to the reality.

Loving because your mind is so clear that there is no other option but to love, that is real. And in that state nothing fools you. There are literally no fears or problems of any consequence because they have no power of illusion over you.

There are so many religious, poetic, mystical ways of looking at this stuff but the scientific way is a valid, beautiful, comforting method which can encompass the other… umbrellas.

When we are pure - which can be done in moments! Do not despair that such an evolution is out of reach! - when we are pure, the integrity that is our natural process brings out harmony, kindness, selflessness and what we get in return - call it Karma if you want - is the other face of freedom. It’s the joy we get in the immense privilege to be human. The joyful reality of our circumstance is unveiled.

The flip side: When our clouded deluded ego-infested mind exudes the selfish lack of integrity and we put bad things into our community we pay the price - again, call it karma if you wish. We forbid ourselves from participating in real freedom and real joy.

Karma is not magic. It is ever so precisely a reality that is measurable in the scientific view. 

Struggles with justice

Grandpa Munster and the Lonely Lumberjack have a similar resistance to making friends. They make do with very few because they have no stomach for trying to make friends outside of the limited environment of the parole community and related volunteer circles. It is obvious that this is because they are ashamed to present themselves in other circles, or perhaps sometimes – perhaps, I say – that they are angry or resentful at other circles for looking down on them or excluding them, often by official policy.

Their reputation is permanently dismantled.

In recent years I have seen many workings of the justice community; some measure of the indictment process, but more so of the transition process; the supposedly final phase. And what strikes me is how lawyers, judges, police; officials and officers of every type; institutions of every type, at every step along the way, seem to take every opportunity to see to it that offenders reputations are as thoroughly destroyed as possible.

There is a central idea that debts to society can be repaid but the truth is – we never ever ever allow that to happen. It seems essential in practice that their reputations be permanently annihilated.

The problem I wish to point out, from my point of view, is that reputation is what keeps most people out of jail, or otherwise on a “good” path by any codes or standards, legislative or otherwise, in the first place. We don’t seem to recognize that fear of being branded bad is largely what stops us from doing the selfish things which our instincts are always desiring. And this observation is easily supported: Just look at how people behave when given the privilege of anonymity such as internet spaces or the roadways. Motorists and internet commenters are by and large despicable! Anonymity protects their reputation.

When we destroy a first-time offender’s reputation more so than necessary, we are, in a way, sentencing them to life as a full-time criminal. Those who escape such a permanent transformation – I think it is much to their credit. From most insiders’ point of view, prisons are a criminal recruitment and training centre.

I think that most people do not much consider the fact that their reputation is their dearest, most coveted possession because that would lead them to ponder to what degree they are phony. And people do not enjoy pondering to what degree they might be phony.

When we destroy an offender’s reputation (or one who is determined by a court to be an offender, sometimes incorrectly) we are giving them license to turn to the only community who will not punish them for their new reputation and that is – the alliance of full-time criminals.

Please understand that I am not here making condemnations or offering solutions at this time but merely pointing out a problem. 

It is my confident thinking that the only real punishment that exists, the only punishment that is naturally just, is the inevitable self-punishment that an offender brings upon himself – and make no mistake – that includes you and me and everyone else who has never been to jail for our various "unlawful" practices from the great realm of sanctioned lying and cheating that this ill society so unwisely permits and assuages. The punishment we bring upon our self is exclusion from participation in the natural joy and freedom which the nascent burgeoning consciousness of the human species has birthed, yet seems so very uncommonly manifested in this society. Your sins haunt you. Unresolved, they hold you apart from this joyful natural reality.

So why is this dire consequence not enough to deter people from crime?

Because we are all so unaware of that reward. Because from a very early age we have been accepted into the rich human tradition of societal delusion; drawn in by the ruling structures, all of them thoroughly corrupted by communal instinct, and signed off by parents who don’t know any better or who seem not to have any choice.

When we maintain good behavior; truly good behavior: kind, generous, loving and harmonious; not the rationalized "good" behavior which is our normal mode – there are only two possibilities: We experience the joy and the freedom because we are being real and being kind for the incredible joy and wonder of it, or else we do not experience the reward because too much of our kindness has actually come from reputation mongering. In which case we are not much different than the criminals. We have placed ourselves in our own prison of the mind.

FWG - Gold Medal Game Simulcast!

%$@#%!! Damn! %&#!!

Russia just scored. Bastards. Good new is - that only makes it 4-1 Canada! Woo-hoo!

And this is the rubber-match. Us and them have 11 gold medals each since the World Junior Hockey Tournament’s beginnings in ’77.

I’m blogging and watching the game (via internet broadband) simultaneously - on a Friday afternoon - at the office. Not exactly the text-book recipe for corporate success, I realize but hey - this is Canada. Hockey gold medals are bigger than Christmas around here.

Damn. Russia pressing and now they’re going back to the power-play…

I think I effectively demonstrated Canadian hockey passion to Steve’s cousins who were over visiting from Malta for their first time. This was last week. On TV, the Canada – U.S. opening round match was playing and we were leading by two goals. I’d just finished discussing the state of spectator sports in Malta with our guests (it amounts to televised foreign soccer apparently) and stated that I didn’t like soccer because it seems like soccer fans are all nuts over in Europe and frankly they scare me.

At that moment an American player, unhindered, ran straight into Canuck netminder Carey Price, knocking him off his feet and with the goalie out of the way the puck was easily fired into the net unchallenged. Astonishingly, there was no interference penalty called and the goal was allowed to stand.

Well.

FWG would have none of that and leapt off his chair hollering every four-letter word that came to mind and with fists clenched even vowed to hop the next plane to Sweden and go and kill the referees.

Ahem. So much for European soccer fans.

Okay, so besides a lesson in Canadian passion for hockey I may have inadvertently demonstrated a thing or two about hypocrisy. Fine. I’m not perfect obviously.

F#&#!! Russians scored again. Their power play is dynamite, those F#%$#ers.

Sorry. Back to the story: But oh! Who’d have thought I could extend my Super Karma Man powers to our boys way over in Sweden? Just moments after play resumed Darren Helm goes charging toward the American net one-on-one with the puck and the defender hauls him down. Penalty? Not required. Helm, inadvertently mind you, goes sliding into U.S. goalie Zatkoff, knocking them both into the net – and thanks to the marvelous laws of inertia – oh – and karma, what else goes sliding over the goal line? Yup. The puck. Two-goal lead restored!

Oh sweet karma! Sweet deliverance of divine justice! Does this calm me? Lull me into a zen-like state? No. I’m on my feet again before the wide-eyed Maltese delegation screaming and yelling and banging my hand against my forehead – finger and thumb forming an L-shape.

“Losers! Losers! How do you like them apples, eh, suckers!”

4-2 Canada after 2 periods. Twenty minutes to go.

Excuse me while I get a bit of work done…



Third period under way…

By the way, I really must apologize for my behavior through the whole goalie-crashing thing – especially to my American friends – if any are still reading that is, and haven’t removed me from their bookmarks in disgust.

Sweet Jesus Marie. Russian breakaway. Whew! Price made the save. He’s been awesome in this tournament. Sweet Jesus.

Thirteen minutes to go. Hang on boys…!

Excuse me one second.

‘Dear Lord, Please let us defeat those godless communists. Hey-la hey-la, hocus-pocus, boom shakalak. Amen.’

Without playing any polotics here - my heart totally goes out to the American players and hockey fans for what happened in the semi-final match against Canada. A shoot-out is a horrible way to lose a hockey game - especially one that eliminates you from contention.

Shoot-outs are ridiculous. It’s not hockey. It’s a side-show. The fact is - The Americans outplayed us for the majority of that game - between the creases anyway. The goaltending was the difference - that and the crap-shoot - I mean - shoot-out. It was totally unfair.

Another Russia power play. I can’t look…

I’ve sat through a couple of shoot-outs in the past where Canada lost and was eliminated. It’s a horrible experience. It’s like being told you didn’t get the promotion you hoped for because the boss flipped a coin and got tails.

Sincerely - to all Americans who had to see that - my heart goes out to you (well - all of you that didn’t vote republican in the last election that is).

We killed the penalty. Hoo haw! Oops. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. A high stick from Bryan Little. Knocked the helmet right off one of the Russians. Bityerkockov or whoever. Back to the box again dammit. And me without my blood pressure medication.

‘Dear Lord, Please don’t let me die without seeing our boys win the gold. Amen.’

I should probably be working on the report that the president of the company wants to see by end of day. I’m probably flirting with the Salary Discontinuation Program but that’s okay. There’s a dark little part of me that looks forward to getting laid off. Looks forward to the next chapter in life where perhaps I’ll land a job more compatible with writing endeavors.

Five minutes to go! Still 4-2…

Oh fuck me black and blue. Another penalty. And it’s to Marc Staal too, our best defenseman and penalty killer. Perfect…

Holy crap. Russia pulls their goalie! Six-on-four power-play but an empty net for us to shoot at if we get the puck! A three-goal lead would ice it…

One minute to go! Russian net still empty!

Fifteen seconds! Wooo Hooooo! Hot damn!

Three!

Two!

One!

Gold! Gold! Gold!

How I spent my bogus vacation

Oh dear. I hate to drag karma into it again but this does seem like a clear-cut case.

The new boss reminded me that according to official records I still had two vacation days to book before the end of the year.

"Use 'em or lose 'em," he said. "There's no carrying over to next year."

I was confident that all my vacation days were used up except for the mandatory three that are booked between Christmas and New Years (The office shuts down for a week over the holidays). But I could not come up with any records to prove it and New Boss recommended I just go ahead and take two more days and not worry about it. So I took his advice. I booked off Monday and Tuesday of this week - making for a nice (albeit dubious) little 4-day getaway.

And as luck (karma...) would have it - I became miserably sick for precisely four days.

To make a long story short - here's all the fun that was had:

1. Sneezed repeatedly.

2. Blew nose roughly 300 times - until it was red, raw and painful.

3. Snorted and swallowed two or three times when lacking required energy to drag sorry ass to the nearest box of kleenex tissues.

4. Laid around listlessly.

5. Skipped Headwaters Writers' Guild meeting, declining perfect opportunity to spread germs to many families.

6. Tried - almost entirely without success - to sleep.

7. Finally took up Steve-o's offer to try out his Playstation game system selecting a first-person-shooter game where I command a Navy Seal unit infiltrating an Albanian terrorist drug lab (yeah - okay). I thought I did pretty good too - knocking off eleven Albanian drug-running terrorists before accidentally blowing up myself and my unit - until my post-game performance review scored my attempt as unacceptable and suggested I stick to Pac-Man.

8. Kept movie/dinner date with Professor Plonk and Captain Vino despite warnings of my dire condition and advice that they back out (which they declined). Chalk up victims #1 and #2.

9. Kept dinner date with elicit sweetheart despite stern warnings of my dire condition and strong suggestion to back out. Further insisted that no kissing on the lips be engaged but couldn't possibly resist. Nothing trumps the care and protectiveness felt for the beloved except for - you know - rampant hormones. Chalk up victim #3.

10. Dusted entire lower level of apartment and cleaned both bathrooms top to bottom.

11. Used up an entire can of spot-remover on the dining room and hallway carpeting, greatly lessening the stain-factor left behind by the last tenants of this apartment - Jabba the Hutt and a large family of chain-smoking hydrophobic automotive mechanics and their chain-smoking pet pigs, I assume, by the state of cleanliness the place was left in.

12. Walked off said carpet and onto the ceramic kitchen floor with wet, slightly soapy bare feet which went flying out from under me.

13. Crashed into wine rack and freestanding cutting-board/shelf/implement-rack thingamajig stubbing toes and sending knives and barbecue utensils crashing to ground but miraculously not doing any permanent damage to anything. Definitely a bona fide Christmas miracle.

14. Sat on my ass on ceramic floor and fired off 78% of all known English language obscenities in one continuous breath and even promoted a few previously-considered innocent words to vulgar-status.

15. Had two breakfasts out. One at Bobby's Hideaway of Streetsville and one at Apple Annie's of Burlington where my order for decaf coffee could not be accommodated until my meal was almost finished and where said coffee was full of grounds and where said coffee was left untouched and removed from bill and where - I shall never return despite their very nice breakfast menu. Sorry but nobody fucks with my morning coffee and gets away with it (well - except for my Super Karma Man nemesis at the office).

16. Watched three more movies - two of them renters. Perhaps I'll post brief reviews. Of the limited feedback I've received regarding this blog I've learned that the movie reviews are appreciated and the poetry is not!

17. Wrote a rather lengthy dark and allegoric poem which perhaps I'll post here just to piss you off.

That's about it. I'm back at work today and - whaddaya know - feeling healthy again. Go figure.
FWG

Instant karma done got me

Hmm... Apparently I’m not the only Super Karma Man in town. I’ve met my arch nemesis.

The fellow is an office associate but his name is unknown to me.

We stood side by side in the cafeteria this morning with our coffee mugs in hand - each first in line in front of the two coffee vending machines. We watched the digital displays on the machines. They both read the same.

LOW WATER SUPPLY --- PLEASE WAIT

We waited. The machines are always in sync it seems. They’re either both in ready status or both in waiting status at any given moment. As if they share one water source. The water source (or sources) are hooked up to the plumbing so there never is truly a water shortage. What it means is the hot water supply is low. The tap water must be further heated prior to use.

My display changed.

READY --- CHOOSE SIZE AND PRODUCT

I glanced over at my neighbor’s machine as I reached forward to place my mug on the small tray beneath the nozzle. I was surprised to see that his display has not changed. He still had to wait.

“Ha Ha!” I teased. “Sucker!”

I should not have taken my eyes off what I was doing. Just as I was taunting this man - this sucker - my mug collided with the front egde of the tray instead of sliding onto it. My fingers slipped off the handle.

Just as the word sucker left my lips I turned to watch my mug - my ‘I LOVE LONDON’ mug - fall to the floor where it shattered to bits.

My friends who were present just about died laughing. They had to sit down to keep from falling down.

My arch nemesis tried valiantly to surpress a smile as he reached across and served himself the coffee that would have been mine. But I could see it at the corners of his mouth.

‘Who’s the sucker now?’ were the unspoken words.

I shall have to watch my step around this man.

But it was on the way home!

Okay. Lesson learned.

Just because it's on the way home from work - is no excuse for shopping at No Frills. Not if it's as dismal a crap-hole as this particular No Frills at Bristol Road and Creditview. Oh - by the way - there is no view of the Credit River from Creditview. None whatsoever. That's a myth I refuse to propagate.

However misguided, the No Frills is on the route home and I see it coming just as I realize I'm much too low on groceries to make a worthwhile dinner, so I pull in and park in their chewed-up debris-ridden parking lot.

Steak and salad appeals - and is compatible with the detubberization project.

The entrance door places you in the produce section which is a bit of an Alice-in-Wonderland experience. The mushrooms are lettuce-green in colour but the lettuce is mushroom-brown so at least there is balance in this alternate universe.

I choose some Portobello shrooms that don't look too bad. They're all undersized so I get three instead of two. I can find no baby spinach and no arugula so I resign myself to settle for the spring mix. The problem of course with spring mix is the gamble. It comes in a big clear tub which seems as though it will yield a great many servings but then you only get a couple days out of it before a few pieces suddenly turn zombie, becoming this sea-weedy black mushy slime. And then it's all over. It spreads like cancer and you're done for.

But at this No Frills there is no gamble. The longevity of their spring mix is clearly indicated and guaranteed. The little black zombies are already present in each tub for sale thus indicating that it will last precisely as long as it takes for you to drive it to your home and throw it in the garbage.

So I search through all the heads of lettuce instead and choose the one that is closest to lettuce-colour.

The red peppers are all shriveled up so despite the intriguing purplish discolorations, I pass. I don't even bother to inspect the green peppers. It occurs to me that the greenish-looking peppers might actually be red peppers gone wrong and the reddish ones might actually be green peppers for all I know - or perhaps they're just oversized raisins with reddish discolorations.

The goat cheese is all on the watery side for some reason but I'm impressed they even stock it so I take one. It's plain. They offer no pepper, dill or herb varieties of course. That's against their principles. Those snobby uppity types who eat goat cheese with dill and drink imported chardonnay are simply not welcome here.

It's like the old Sawmill Creek commercials from years ago when I used to watch TV: No pretentiousness! No attitude! Just really really horrid wine for nice simple people like you who don't know any better! - or something to that effect. I remember stopping at the liquor store once to pick up a couple bottles of decent wine to package as a birthday present for my friend. I spied a display of Sawmill Creek White Zinfandel on sale for $6 a bottle. The cheapest thing in the entire store but still overpriced in this case. I passed on that of course. At the party later my friend's next-door neighbor showed up. He was relatively new to the crowd and popular on account of being good-looking and on account of all my friends at that time being hopelessly incapable of detecting freaks and losers when they see them. I had long ago learned that professional freak-detectors like me must bite our tongues in these situations and allow our poor companions to clue in for themselves ever so gradually. The usual period is about nine months. Some things just can not be taught.

So anyway - Freak Neighbor showed up for the party toting a bottle of wine - non-wrapped and without a card. The wine was - anyone? Anyone? That's right. Sawmill Creek White Zinfandel. He proudly marched up to birthday boy and held the six-dollar investment up for they and the crowd to see and proudly announced that this was his favorite of all wines and that he's sure birthday boy will like it. The crowd tilted their heads and batted their eyelashes. There were very high contingents of straight girls and gay men in this crowd, you see. I just yawned and checked my calendar. The bozo had just a few months to go.

Back to the present. Enough Alice's adventures in produce land. I head for the meat. There's a large area of bare shelves in the meat section. Very strange. And sure enough - it is the steak section. They have the usual half-ass selection of pork and chicken products, a couple trays of cubed beef for stewing and one single steak. Just one. I kid you not. I scoop it up. It's a dismal $3 blade steak affair. I roll my eyes and put it back down. But wait. I pick it up again and hold it just the right distance from my eyes. Right at that sweet spot where I can still focus. My eyes have been deteriorating when I wasn't looking. My eyeglasses are losing effectiveness. I now observe that the steak actually looks nicely marbled. Perhaps it will do. I keep it. No Frills is now officially steak-less. I grab a quart of 10% cream for coffee and on a whim I cruise the nasal-burn aisle - you know what I mean, right? The nasal-burn aisle? The one that reeks of laundry detergent? And I'm delighted to discover that they carry replacement flushable pads for our Super Happy Fresh Brush. Excellent. Kudos to you, No Frills. I'd underestimated you.

Back in the parking lot I begin to cross from one aisle to the next by route of a pair of empty parking spaces end-to-end. But a gal in a pick-up truck wishes not to wait for me and pulls in from the opposite side. I stop, sigh and turn around to pursue another route. I can hear her running over and crushing glass bottles as she parks. I can't help but smile. I owe thanks to whatever gang of teenage boozers had been loitering here on the weekend.

I see the gal is now out of her truck and squatting, inspecting the broken glass beneath her tires. I keep having these experiences. No one who crosses me prospers! I am some kind of supernatural Karma Man. I need to get me some tights and big letter K for my chest. And a cape of course. I suppose an old towel will do.

Back home I cook the steak carefully to medium rare and use a little more Montreal steak spice and pepper than I would normally and I also add a little salt and melt a bit of butter over it. Measures I don't normally resort to. And though it pains me to confess - I must. The steak was actually pretty good. A bona fide bargain at $3. Thank you No Frills.

The cream however - was no bargain. I've been hoodwinked. I should have noticed that the blue colouring on the carton was a suspiciously lighter shade of blue. Or should I say tint? I finally discover that the boldface text reading 10% is actually part of a greater message reading Tastes like 10%! Way over in the corner in regular non-bold text is the label 5%.

Let me explain something in case anyone's confused.

Everything tastes like what it is. Apples taste like apples and oranges taste like oranges. 5% cream tastes like 5% cream and 10% like 10%! Never will one taste like the other! It's all ipso facto!

Get a life, Nielsen. You suck.

They don't even offer any explanation - BS or otherwise - on the carton as to how they supposedly pulled off this miracle of making one thing taste like another. Perhaps they're making lead taste like gold while they're at it. Morons.

I tell you folks. It's astonishing - the outrageousness of the lies that we hear constantly in this society. Constantly. Every day. Every minute. How are we so retardedly docile that priests, politicians, marketers and every ass hole wanting to make a buck can say whatever the hell they want without fear of consequence?

Three cheers for the misinformation age. Three cheers for freedom of speech. Accountability? What's that? No cheers for you, accountability. Why are you even in the dictionary?

How are we such unthinking sheep? How are we seduced into playing this game? Just drifting along fulfilling all our societal expectations without question.

Or is it that we all know about the bullshit but we're happier to play the game? That fighting it will only yield frustration and misery? Maybe that's it. Happiness trumps misery any day, I concede. Maybe you're right and I'm wrong. Maybe I should shut up about it. But I can't. I need the truth. I gotta have it. It's a drug for me. It really is. It's why I write.

Oh dear. I've turned a nice fun little No Frills bashing session into a terrible rant. I'm sorry. I shall stop now. Or as Galadriel said:

I shall diminish, and go into the West, and remain Fantasy Writer Guy!