Monday, May 03, 2004
We're all wretched. Don't forget that.
"Brennan , c'monnn. Don't cry Brennan, pleassssseeee don't cry. Look here comes the ambulance to fix you up! Don't worry Brennan it'll be alright."
When we were kids Sean and I routinely were followed by his younger brother, Brennan who refused to call Sean by anything but his middle name, Patrick. Brennan was a lot less durable than us and as a result routinely ended up crying when our 'playing' turned to rough housing. We played with a lot of things we found on our street that looked really cool, but ultimately ended up hurting one or all of us. Occassionally we'd find lengths of piping laying about that we'd envision as being essential to some adventure we were going to embark upon during the course of the day. They usual ended up (accidentally) hitting Brennan on the side of the head and he'd fall to the ground with tears in his eyes.
Brennan's crying usually signalled the end of that day's adventures as his mother would eventually hear Brennan wailing and realize (and rightly so) that Brennan was much too young and fragile to be playing with us. We were never fond of Brennan going home because it usually meant one less character to flesh out our adventures. Additionally Brennan getting hurt meant that Sean, his older brother and consummate protector, would be punished for failing to make sure that Brennan survived the days unscathed. If two isn't fun, than one is certainly a tragedy. Our adventures were usually the three of us acting out some cartoon or disney movie that only I had seen. On some lucky days we had a fourth to fill out our games, our mailman, Clifford, would play Gunsmoke with us. Most days we were stuck with just the three of us.
I figured that the cure to Brennan's incessant crying would naturally be incessant laughing. This could be the result of reading 'Reader's Digest' at a young age, particularly the section entitled, 'Laughter The Best Medicine'. I would try to assuage Brennan by pretending to be an ambulance coming especially to repair him. He'd launch into a mixture of sniffles and giggles for a while and if I did it energetically enough he'd stop crying altogether and he wouldn't end up telling on 'Patrick' and ruining our fun for the day.
It was usually easy to undo the damage we'd caused by making Brennan laugh. I caught on very early the power words had to heal. I'm certain that this is why to this day I crack jokes during terribly uncomfortable or upsetting situations. If I couldn't laugh at what I've witnessed, I'd be miserable.
Playing ambulance (which is not even a little bit related to 'playing doctor') was such an easy way to solve a potentially damaging situation. I could undo the troubles of one person in a matter of minutes just by being funny.
You can't imagine how terrible it is to realize one day that the best intentions don't always return the results you had hoped. I know I've tried.
The start.
"Brennan , c'monnn. Don't cry Brennan, pleassssseeee don't cry. Look here comes the ambulance to fix you up! Don't worry Brennan it'll be alright."
When we were kids Sean and I routinely were followed by his younger brother, Brennan who refused to call Sean by anything but his middle name, Patrick. Brennan was a lot less durable than us and as a result routinely ended up crying when our 'playing' turned to rough housing. We played with a lot of things we found on our street that looked really cool, but ultimately ended up hurting one or all of us. Occassionally we'd find lengths of piping laying about that we'd envision as being essential to some adventure we were going to embark upon during the course of the day. They usual ended up (accidentally) hitting Brennan on the side of the head and he'd fall to the ground with tears in his eyes.
Brennan's crying usually signalled the end of that day's adventures as his mother would eventually hear Brennan wailing and realize (and rightly so) that Brennan was much too young and fragile to be playing with us. We were never fond of Brennan going home because it usually meant one less character to flesh out our adventures. Additionally Brennan getting hurt meant that Sean, his older brother and consummate protector, would be punished for failing to make sure that Brennan survived the days unscathed. If two isn't fun, than one is certainly a tragedy. Our adventures were usually the three of us acting out some cartoon or disney movie that only I had seen. On some lucky days we had a fourth to fill out our games, our mailman, Clifford, would play Gunsmoke with us. Most days we were stuck with just the three of us.
I figured that the cure to Brennan's incessant crying would naturally be incessant laughing. This could be the result of reading 'Reader's Digest' at a young age, particularly the section entitled, 'Laughter The Best Medicine'. I would try to assuage Brennan by pretending to be an ambulance coming especially to repair him. He'd launch into a mixture of sniffles and giggles for a while and if I did it energetically enough he'd stop crying altogether and he wouldn't end up telling on 'Patrick' and ruining our fun for the day.
It was usually easy to undo the damage we'd caused by making Brennan laugh. I caught on very early the power words had to heal. I'm certain that this is why to this day I crack jokes during terribly uncomfortable or upsetting situations. If I couldn't laugh at what I've witnessed, I'd be miserable.
Playing ambulance (which is not even a little bit related to 'playing doctor') was such an easy way to solve a potentially damaging situation. I could undo the troubles of one person in a matter of minutes just by being funny.
You can't imagine how terrible it is to realize one day that the best intentions don't always return the results you had hoped. I know I've tried.
The start.
According to one striking Aliant worker, the current strike being staged by Aliant's non managerial workers is about more than money. A few weeks ago, an Aliant worker heard a few of us complaining about the relationship between certain universities and their underlings. He chimed in with "You think you've got it bad? Aliant wants us to submit to genetic testing. Remember that when we're on the picket lines next week. It's not just about money."
[links here, here, and here should give you a better overview of genetic testing and its implication in the workplace then I could possibly provide in this space]
I don't know if he was a conspiracy theorist or not, but he seemed sane enough. Regardless it got me to thinking.
Thursday night we headed to the Attic after a rousing game of Faxe Hands that I decided to sit out. At the door of the Attic there was a bouncer with what was basically a swipe machine for driver's licenses. I always find myself a little unnerved when I head to a bar and they demand to swipe or copy down my driver's license master number. I suppose it's their perogative to ask for that, I mean they are providing a service and I suppose they are within their rights to ensure that they have a recourse against those who may cause trouble within their fine (or not so fine establishments). Still it unnerves me that they have my personal information on file or at least have access to it. I guess it's the idea that a barcode on a plastic card can tell someone so much about me that unnerves me.
I once signed up for a Club Sobeys card at the grocery store across the street from my old apartment. A few months later I encountered the girl who had signed me up for the card at a bar. I thought she was cute so I chatted her up for a while until she started revealing that she had gleaned my full name and my address from my Club Sobeys application and had remembered it all. Needless to say it was quite disconcerting. I thought I had rid myself of her until the next night when she called my apartment. She had called 411 for the number. I cut up my Club Sobeys card pretty soon after that. I'm reluctant now to sign up for any other sort of premium or discount card.
I find it funny how there's a lock system on automated tellers at banks so that presumably only those with bank cards can access them. I find it funny because any piece of plastic with a black swipe will allow you into those locked spaces. It doesn't matter if it's a bank card, MSI card, or a expired phone card. If it has a black swipe, you're getting into that "protected" space.
I can't imagine how I'd react to being asked to submit for genetic testing. Part of it is the infringement of privacy, but part of it is the fear of revelation. I took sailing lessons in Sydney Harbour for years. I fell in more than once. The tarponds eventually flows into that great body of water.
I'm probably going to have a C.H.U.D. baby.
[links here, here, and here should give you a better overview of genetic testing and its implication in the workplace then I could possibly provide in this space]
I don't know if he was a conspiracy theorist or not, but he seemed sane enough. Regardless it got me to thinking.
Thursday night we headed to the Attic after a rousing game of Faxe Hands that I decided to sit out. At the door of the Attic there was a bouncer with what was basically a swipe machine for driver's licenses. I always find myself a little unnerved when I head to a bar and they demand to swipe or copy down my driver's license master number. I suppose it's their perogative to ask for that, I mean they are providing a service and I suppose they are within their rights to ensure that they have a recourse against those who may cause trouble within their fine (or not so fine establishments). Still it unnerves me that they have my personal information on file or at least have access to it. I guess it's the idea that a barcode on a plastic card can tell someone so much about me that unnerves me.
I once signed up for a Club Sobeys card at the grocery store across the street from my old apartment. A few months later I encountered the girl who had signed me up for the card at a bar. I thought she was cute so I chatted her up for a while until she started revealing that she had gleaned my full name and my address from my Club Sobeys application and had remembered it all. Needless to say it was quite disconcerting. I thought I had rid myself of her until the next night when she called my apartment. She had called 411 for the number. I cut up my Club Sobeys card pretty soon after that. I'm reluctant now to sign up for any other sort of premium or discount card.
I find it funny how there's a lock system on automated tellers at banks so that presumably only those with bank cards can access them. I find it funny because any piece of plastic with a black swipe will allow you into those locked spaces. It doesn't matter if it's a bank card, MSI card, or a expired phone card. If it has a black swipe, you're getting into that "protected" space.
I can't imagine how I'd react to being asked to submit for genetic testing. Part of it is the infringement of privacy, but part of it is the fear of revelation. I took sailing lessons in Sydney Harbour for years. I fell in more than once. The tarponds eventually flows into that great body of water.
I'm probably going to have a C.H.U.D. baby.
