Dear Dr. Freud:

Here's a dream I wish you could interpret for me.
I'm appearing as a guest performer with the Rolling Stones, playing guitar and singing. But as in real life, I can't play guitar and my singing has been terrible since puberty robbed me of vocal control (when I was young, I was a pretty decent singer, singing solos in the church choir and even being cast as a principal actor in Bye Bye Birdie in Grade 9).
Back to the performance with the Stones: I fake it, mostly by strumming on the guitar and either lip-synching or singing low enough that my secret is safe.
I do, however, enjoy the backstage area, and all the free beer and food -- mostly egg salad sandwiches.

Thanks for any interpretation you might provide,
Bob

P.S. Okay, okay, I'll indulge you: "Am I crazy? I am? I want a second opinion. You say I'm ugly, too?"

Three months in

It will be three months tomorrow since I was laid off.
I'm doing well, just really, really bored. Financial pressures are still in the future, thanks to the 54-week severance package I received. I'm proud of the foresight I had when CTV bought A-Channel, asking about the 15 years of service I had with CTV before coming to what was then The New RO, owned by CHUM. My severance was based on 18 years, instead of three.
I've been actively looking for work, which hasn't been easy, due to the mess the economy is in, among other factors. I came really close to what would have been a great job, but crapped out when it came time for French-language testing. My French skills are not as good as I thought they were.
A couple of weeks ago, I finally decided it was time to take advantage of the services of a career counselling and management company that CTV set us up with. So far, I have revamped and modernized my resumé, and taken testing to see what I should probably be pursuing. It turns out that my career thus far has been exactly what my best fit is. That's no big surprise, because I've always loved the type of work I have done.
So that at least confirms that I should try to stay in broadcasting, journalism or a related field. Now if I can just get the stars to align properly, so that I can find a job, preferably in Ottawa.
No one said it would be easy. And I was born on a Saturday, and as the old poem goes, "Saturday's child works hard for a living".
Life goes on...

Here's something cool for a warm day

http://www.thestar.com/news/world/article/639459

It's a New York Times article about Zamboni
"skating through the recession". Interesting to note how it's written for an American readership, necessitating mention of Lord Stanley, "whose trophy goes to the NHL champion". It's also interesting to note that Zamboni HQ is in a residential neighbourhood of Los Angeles, with a Brantford branch plant.

From Big Brother to Best Man...

This is an article I wrote, that appears in the May edition of Big Brothers and Big Sisters Canada's Alumni e-bulletin

"The steady breeze off the Caribbean Sea and the late afternoon sun were making picture-taking a bit tricky, but absolutely nothing will convince me that the conditions on that Jamaican beach were anything less than perfect.

Who would have thought, almost 16 years ago, that I would be on that beach in Ocho Rios, standing as Best Man for my Little Brother, as he married the love of his life. When Dan asked me to be his Best Man just over a year earlier, I quickly accepted, but told him that if he would rather have one of his buddies or cousins standing for him, it was fine with me, because I would be at the wedding anyway. "I asked you," he replied, "because I want you." Case closed.

Dan and I were matched on July 14, 1993 by Porcupine Big Brothers Big Sisters in Timmins, Ontario. We quickly hit it off, effortlessly fitting into each others lives, routines and families. Very early in the match, we knew that it was much more, and that we would be a big part of each others lives forever.

Solid proof of that comes from that beach wedding on April 15, 2009, when 26-year-old Dan took Christine (I call her "The Pretty One") to be his wife. I had the honour of being Best Man, while Dan's only sister, Chantal, was Maid of Honour.

Our match is legendary at Porcupine Big Brothers Big Sisters, but when I hear that, I feel that it's only fair to point out that you can't compare any two matches. Each one is special in its own way.

Back to the wedding: The ceremony took less than ten minutes, and the emotions of the 21 people there - including the bride, the groom, their families, friends, and the minister - added to the atmosphere that will live on as special memories for as long as the Big Brother-Little Brother match will. Dan and I have often discussed how we're both strong believers in fate. It was fate that brought us together. I was actually his third Big Brother. The first two had to leave Timmins for employment reasons, and Dan's Mom had to coax him into trying it one more time.

As a lifelong bachelor with no kids of my own, being Dan's Big has filled a void that I didn't even realize existed. I wouldn't change a second of the past 16 years, as I look forward to the future, and being "Big Uncle" to the children that my Little Brother Dan and Little Sister-in-Law Christine are anxious to start having."

Me no blog long time

Me forget and no want write.

Customer service, my ass

I went for a haircut today at Joe's Barber Shop at Place d'Orléans mall, getting ready for the Jamaica trip and the wedding that will take place there next week.
When I went to leave, my jacket was gone. I knew that someone else had taken it by mistake, complete with my house and car keys in the pocket.
So I went to the "Guest Services" desk in the mall, to ask for an announcement to be made that whoever took the wrong jacket from Joe's Barber Shop, please return with it. But they won't do that. I even went over the head of the kid at the desk, asking him to call a supervisor, who refused to bend the policy. The only way they'll make an announcement like that is if they have the customer's name: "Jane Doe, please return to Kinky 'r' Us". Sorry, Shit for Brains, but I obviously don't know the name of the guy who accidentally took my jacket.
There is a happy ending. Shortly after I went back to Joe's, a very embarrassed man showed up with my jacket, which is very similar to his. He said he realized he had the wrong one when he took his keys out of his pants pocket, but still had some in his jacket pocket. I totally understand that, and wouldn't put it past myself to do that.
I did file a written complaint with Guest Services. It won't do any good, but at least I vented.
Customer service, my ass.

Today, I'm especially proud to be Canadian

I drove to Eganville today, to attend a wake for the father of a friend/former co-worker. The World War II veteran's coffin is partially draped in a Canadian flag, and he is dressed in his Legion uniform, with his service medals proudly displayed on his chest, over his heart.
I did not know Mr. McMaster, but I think he would be as proud as I am, with something that I witnessed on the way to Eganville.
Along the last five or six overpasses headed west on Highway 417 were fire trucks, all flying Canadian flags. I also saw several clusters of police cars parked along the shoulder of the eastbound side of the highway. Then I noticed two military buses headed towards Ottawa, and finally, a short convoy of maybe eight vehicles, obviously carrying the body of a Canadian soldier to his burial at the National Military Cemetery in Ottawa.
All of that prompted my Canadian pride. While the U.S. is still grappling with whether to announce military deaths in Iraq and Afghanistan, Canada is characteristically low key and classy in acknowleding those deaths, and honouring the 115 servicemen and one servicewoman who have died in Afghanistan since 2002.
I didn't know what to do. I wanted to pull over and wait for the convoy that I anticipated would be coming, but didn't want to create a hazard. So I simply saluted the convoy as we passed each other, remembering how I was taught to salute as an Air Cadet, about 38 years ago.
On my way home, I saw those two buses again, this time headed in the opposite direction, confirming my suspicion that they are from CFB Petawawa, headed home after the ceremony at the cemetery.
The fire trucks and police vehicles were the Highway 417 version of the tribute paid on Highway 401's Highway of Heroes, as the bodies of those who sacrificed their lives are brought from Trenton to Toronto.
Indeed, today, I'm especially proud to be Canadian.

Indulge me for a minute here, will ya?

I've been out of broadcasting for three weeks now, and haven't had the opportunity to bitch about things I hear on-air. So just let me get this out of my system, please. Thanks ever so much.

The words POLICE and COLLAPSE each have two syllables, not one. DETROIT has two, not three (It's dee-TROYT, not dee-TROY-IT). CANADA has three syllables, not two (stop omitting the DA at the end of that word).

I could go on, but I won't. I feel much better already. Thank you for your time.

Prettiest picture ever of Coffee, the Prettiest Cat Ever

This beautiful creature never fails to keep me amused, and throws in the odd surprise once in a while, too.
One thing she has never done -- until now -- is to bring me any of her toys. I will throw a ball or a mouse around and she'll beat it up and leave it for me to throw again, but she has never brought a toy to me.
I had human company this week that included a three-month-old baby. On Monday night, Teigen was in his little chair on the living room floor, and I was sitting on the floor having a great discussion with him, about what a great gig being a baby is. Coffee had checked him out a few times, just looking at him in his chair and then walking away, very arrogant cat-style. Then as Teigen and I were in the middle of our conversation, Coffee walked up to me, bumped me with her head, and dropped a mouse on the floor beside me.
I got the message loud and clear: "He's okay, Daddy, but enough about him. It's time to pay attention to moi."
I also brought Coffee to the vet for her annual check-up and needle today. She's in top health. But it was traumatic for her. She wouldn't let me put her in her pet carrier, so I carried her. She meowed all the way to the vet's (less than a five-minute drive), and was on needles and pins until I brought her back into our house.
This is my first experience with cat ownership, and after 15 months, I'm still amazed by this beautiful creature.

I'm getting by with a little help from my friends

I'm a bit emotional right now. You see, I was laid off yesterday, along with 34 other employees of 'A' Ottawa & The Valley. Our jobs were terminated effective immediately.
I'll be fine. I have a very generous severance package that eases the urgency to find another job, so I have time to make contacts, investigate leads and hopefully find something sooner rather than later. I also hope it's something in broadcasting and/or journalism, because that's all that I've done for the last 30 years, and can't imagine doing anything else.
I am truly overwhelmed by all the messages I've received on facebook over the past 36 hours, all expressing sympathy and hope. And even though it's not out there in black and white, they each express friendship. That is probably what is most important right now. There are no words to explain how deeply that touches me. So "thank you" will have to suffice.

For the sake of the animals

A couple of my blog friends have posts dealing with animals they've encountered this weekend, from yet another puppy mill in Quebec being shut down. Check them out at natlauzon.blogspot.com and misster-kitty.blogspot.com . Nat and Shawn (a.k.a. Misster Kitty) are among those with kind souls who really care for these animals, and volunteer their time just to give them the unconditional love that dogs are supposed to be giving to humans.
At work today, we had a story about a five-legged boxer mix named Logan, who needs amputation surgery, because legs #4 and 5 are fused together and useless. Check it out at http://www.atv.ca/ottawa/news_67245.aspx . It also has a link to Hopeful Hearts, the group that specializes in rescuing and finding homes for senior and special needs dogs. God bless Roz Phelps and her group, too.
Every time I see stories like Logan's or the dogs that Nat and Kitty work with, I want to adopt them all.
I just hope that adopting my Coffee, The Prettiest Cat Ever is enough. And as much as I would like to have a playmate for her, I don't think that's a good idea.

Some people!

So I went to pick up a few things at the grocery store before coming in to work today. I was running a tad late but figured no problem, I only needed three items so I could cruise through the express checkout. WRONG!
First, there was only one other checkout open. Second, the cashier was checking through an old broad who obviously couldn't count, and was way past the 12-item limit. Third, this other woman was standing about ten feet behind old broad's cart. I asked her if she was in line, and she just looked through me as if I wasn't even there, not even acknowledging my existence. "Well, are you?" I repeated. Again, it was as if I was The Invisible Man.

Kitty, where are you when I need you? That biatch was lookin' for some Kittyfication all over her black ass (her colour really is irrelevant). Man, I wish I had your chutzpah.

A few photos to share

I thought I would share a few photos I took tonight.


This is Jim, who I mentioned in my last post.
This is the National War Memorial.
These are some neat windows on Elgin St. in Ottawa.
This is Coffee The Prettiest Cat Ever, on her favourite perch, the stairs. She cracks me up on a regular basis. She's a four-legged clown.

Let me tell you about how much I like and appreciate facebook

Sure, I probably spend too much time on facebook. But through the so-called "social networking site", I've reconnected -- at least in cyberspace -- with a lot of old friends and classmates. It has been great to catch up. I've even been able to get together with some of them.
One of thoe meetings will happen this Wednesday. I will have drinks and dinner with Jim. He's an Air Canada pilot who will be in Ottawa on an overnight layover. But 28years ago, he was a defenceman on a Juvenile hockey team that I managed. That team made it to the national championship tournament, and lost the bronze medal game, 8-7 in overtime.
I have also reconnected via facebook with Jim's older sister, Pam. She and I are the same age and went to school together in Kindergarten, part of Grade 1 (until my family moved "across the tracks"), then again in Grade 8 and all through high school.
So yeah, I spend too much time on facebook. Has it been worth it? You bet.

Hypocrisy

Let me start by saying that I have only ever had two tokes off a marijuana joint, and do not condone smoking it.
And now, Olympic swimming hero Michael Phelps is embroiled in controversy over a photo of him apparently taking a drag off a bong. The photo was taken at a party and sold to the British tabloid News of the World.
Kellogg's has decided not to renew the contract to have Phelps on its cereal boxes, because he now doesn't match the image it wishes to portray. Fair enough, I guess.
The hypocrisy comes from USA Swimming, which has just suspended him for three months, and from anyone who criticizes Phelps.
Come on, people! He's 23 years old. How many guys his age DON'T take the occasional toke? He's human. For all we know, it's the first time he's ever taken a drag off a bong. Either way, why does this make him a bad role model for younger people? Why should he even be a role model for them? Don't his accomplishments and the sacrifices he made on the way to Olympic history speak loudly enough forthemselves in role model terms? Does USA Swimming really think he's the only athlete to ever get into a competitive pool who has smoked pot? Hypocrisy and naivete, if that's the case.
What do you think?

Touchstones of the past

Memories of good times and times gone by are great, but if you're as tactile as I am, you appreciate something concrete as a reminder.
I have what I call an unofficial collection of coffee mugs as souvenirs of places I've been and things I've seen.
Drinking glasses have also served that purpose. When I was a little guy, we lived in a duplex. In the other side was an elderly couple who adopted me as an unofficial grandson. My father moved our family into our half of the duplex on the day I was born, so the neighbour lady, Mrs. Turner -- I called her "Nurny" -- was a great help to my Mom, taking possession of me occasionally so that my Mom could pay attention to my brother and/or get some rest. Anyway, Nurny and her husband Johnny were like grandparents to me, with Johnny even coming to get me at HIS nap time, saying "Come on, Bobby, it's time to head for the tall timbers" and we would snooze together.
When Johnny died, Nurny gave my Mom a set of metal glasses that he always used, because they kept whatever liquid in them cold. I wish I knew where those four glasses (one blue, one red, one green and one gold) are now. When Nurny died, her daughter-in-law gave me a ceramic figure of a mare and her colt beside a well, and one of a little diver, complete with diving helmet. I still have them. They're very special to me.
I also had a glass that my Grade 5 teacher gave me for perfect attendance. I must have really loved school to have perfect attendance that year, because the teacher was a Class 'A' Bitch ("Bitch" capitalized intentionally). The glass broke a long time ago.

Several years ago, when my parents were considering downsizing (which they never evenutally did), they were de-junking the house, and my siblings and I had to salvage whatever we wanted, lest it go in the garbage. One of the things that I saved was a tall glass that came with either cheese spread or peanut butter in it. Featured on the glass was the character John from Disney's animated Peter Pan. Well, just this morning, I broke it. There goes another concrete attachment to my childhood
BUT I still have my A&W root beer mug! I'll now take extra care of it.

Kinda sums up public opinion on the OC Transpo strike...

An -- ahem -- adult store on Bank St., downtown Ottawa

After 40 days...

...Noah had found a way out of his predicament.

OCTranspo... not so much.
I'm starting to think that all that will solve the mess is Divine Intervention -- this coming from a man who's not really religious and isn't even sure there's a God.

It's SO cold out...

I just saw a brass monkey with a very panicked look on his face!

Coffee's New Nemesis

This is Louie. He is a Bernese Mountain Dog, and you wouldn't know it by his size, but he's only eight months old. He and his humans lived with Coffee and me for 12 days, while the humans were in Ottawa for the World Junior Hockey Championship. His Human Dad is my all-time best friend.
It's hard to remember that Louie is only a pup, again because of his size. Coffee didn't let him get too close. If he got in her face, a sharp hiss made him back off.

This is a common position for Coffee for the 12 days, making sure Louie didn't get out of line, but keeping a safe distance. She was, however, much more accepting of him than she was of Sandy, the four-legged spawn of the devil who visited at the end of November. Coffee even let Louie take possession of a squeaky toy she has never played with. But he also tried to steal a multi-coloured ping pong ball that she often plays with. She let him take it to his big cushion that was always at the back door, so that he could get into and out of the back yard without dirtying up the whole house. But the minute he moved away from that ball, Coffee calmly walked over onto Louie's cushion, and took the ball back. You can only push a girl so far, after all.