The fact that is was cloudy and kinda misty and foggy on Saturday was so apropos.

That little pot rally that happened at Yonge-Dundas Square about a week ago was basically just practice for the main event, the Global Marijuana March and Freedom Festival. The point of the march, as far as I can fathom it, is to demonstrate the futility of existing pot prohibitions. It originally started as a grass roots (haha!) movement but now, well, the word “festival” is appropriate if you ask me. Even if you’re completely against anything marijuana, you must admit that arresting everyone simply wouldn’t be practical. Maybe even possible.

… Continue Reading

Wow. I have to be honest, dear reader, I wasn’t expecting the continuing vitriol that I received on Friday when I handed over my resignation. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be happy, but not that. I offered to come back as a contractor in the nicest way I could muster and was told, side-mouth, as jerkwad was walking away from me that “no, that won’t be happening”. I’m absolutely certain that that wasn’t a rational reaction, I think he’d already invested his whole heart into me becoming his personal, absolutely free, work-till-you-drop lap dog. I must’ve really hurt his feelings. :(

I guess you know the story by now, crazy project, crazy hours, and at the end they basically gave me the middle finger for even suggesting that I take some time off. I was “expected” to keep that up for another two months, minimum. After my probationary period, then, maybe, a few days off. What about the time off that the law allows for workers to rest so, you know, we don’t die and stuff? Those came off my vacation days. And again, wasn’t I lucky that they granted me such privileges – what an asshole I was for fucking them over like this. Overtime pay or lieu time?! HOW DARE I?!

When I think about it, I suppose thinking that they’d at least try to consider our plight was optimistic, but I’d hoped that by reminding them of their obligations as employers, under the law, they’d at least pacify me and send me on my way. But no, jerky to the very bitter end.

So I’m filing a complaint with the Ministry of Labour. It’s just not cool to treat people that way, legally or otherwise.

That’s me and a gentleman I met at the Human Rights complaints office. Turned out this wasn’t the office I wanted, they deal mostly with discrimination and everyone at my former employer is treated equally shabbily. I guess my complaint is common enough that the government now conducts most of its business online, so my trip was entirely unnecessary. But it was a nice day and I’d just quit the sweatshop (really, dictionary definition), so why the heck not?

The gentleman accompanying me had a compelling case – former manager in a well-known company, been there for a while, forced out by a higher-up who later turned out to be a bit of a scoundrel. The details certainly seemed to fit and sounded honest, and he claimed to have documented every step of the story. I don’t know if he’ll get the damages he’s asking for, but some of the lower sums he was tossing out (and that the lawyers had been suggesting), seem more likely. But I only know as much about the law as I need to, so that’s that analysis for you.

After our chat we strolled to nearby Nathan Phillips Square where the Paralympic torch relay was being held:

No idea what the point of this was supposed to be but I found it kind of funny that, apparently, you’re allowed to subdivide the flame – there was definitely more than one torch running the track:

I’m thinking that, should my funds start running low, maybe I’ll get into the Olympic flame racket. “No, honest, it came off the Olympic torch. You can even use it to start campfires – Olympic campfires! Think of how good those marshmallows’ll taste.”

In the meantime, though, I’m really averse to being an employee again. I mean, sometimes managers are just boobs, but sometimes they’re absolute tyrants. Either way, I have a really hard time buying what they’re selling. So, here I am on my first free Saturday since early February, jobless, nothing lined up and no feelers out (and no richer off for the experience, let me tell you!). I can honestly say I’ve never been in this position before. Bit scary. Also a bit exhilarating – I do pretty good work under pressure, implying I’ve got about month of layabout time before things start to get serious. But I tend to get antsy after about three days, so I don’t expect I’ll be pushing that envelope very much. Besides, my last fortune cookie said, “You will become an accomplished writer” (undoubtedly referring to TCL) – how can you argue with that?

Dear i4i,

Awwwwww yeaaaah! You know what I’m talkin’ about!

Dang, I can’t believe the balls on you! A tiny little Toronto company — I walk by your office almost every day and I would never have noticed you if you weren’t in the news – and you took down Microsoft! And with XML on top of that! I mean, you and I know that’s basically like making a claim on the idea of the book. Not one specific book but the book format itself. The crazy Texan court actually granted you the ruling too! Man, that’s awesome.

Seriously, I can’t imagine what you could’ve told them was so special about your use of XML, but unless Microsoft actually stole your software, I’m having a lot of trouble understanding your claim. But I happen to think it’s great that you marched all that way south just to show them who’s boss. And now Microsoft is forced to call Texans ignorant hicks who wouldn’t know XML from their anus. Otherwise, your claim is valid. Heehaw!

Now, with a second ruling in your favour, you’ve shown everyone that it is possible. A little brain can hurt a lot. Bam! Your plot is so Machiavellian as to be evil. Love it. I also love that you’re using something that the public usually doesn’t come into direct contact with. (But it lurks darkly beneath almost every web page … even this one!) One newspaper describes it as programming “instructions”, another as a way of sticking data into a database. Mysterious XML. Hehe … who’s gonna know?

Luckily I know my XML from my anus. Flash developers must know XML intimately, on penalty of death. You and I both know that XML is a blank container, just an agreed-upon way of organizing data. Kind of like agreeing to put periods on the ends of a sentence. It’s the sentence that counts, unless you’re arguing that periods were your idea.

Brazen!

Oh, and may I just say bra-fucking-vo! Your December 2009 press release about support for Microsoft Word … priceless! I nearly shat myself when I saw it! You have a plugin for the software of the company you’ve just successfully sued for $290 mill. Haha! And I’m still not really sure what your company does. Doesn’t matter, you even managed to convince the courts to force Microsoft to stop selling Word in the US come the new year. Presumably, until Microsoft coughs up. Wow, grab the testes and twist; you guys are haaaaardcore.

I hope you use some of that money to throw one helluva New Year’s party, and pretty pretty please, send me an invite.

Your adoring fan,
Patrick

Attention: The Toronto Sun Editorial Staff

Facebook censorship? My ass. Anissa Holmes’ ass too, apparently. Who gives a flying buttock? You keep printing these stories — front page, for God’s sake! – like it’s news. Look, why don’t you just turn the Sun into wholly nude “newspaper”? I have absolutely nothing against nude women, really don’t. Seems you do, because you seem to be repressing your natural tendencies. Just do it already!

Do you know I actually counted the double-spaced, large-print “articles” (mostly reworded press releases), and compared them against the amount of advertising on a single page? I believe article average was around 20%, ads 80%. And yes, to answer your question, I was bored. So what?

It’s really hard to take the Sun seriously. Your covers are the very definition of tabloid. Again, my problem isn’t that you’re leaning that way, it’s that you’re not leaning that way far enough. One top of the nudity, toss in a few UFO sightings, MJ reincarnations, and a “Your Conspiracies” section, and I think you’d finally hit your stride.

I don’t wish you ill at all, I just feel like you’re suffering from an identity crisis and sometimes you have to be a bit brutal about that kind of thing, you know? Tough hide kinda business. Red cheeks kinda business.

Give Anissa that center spread and, suddenly, some bullshit Facebook story just won’t seem like worthy or even necessary news anymore. You have to do it … for integrity.

I believe in you,
Patrick

Dear Santa,

Am I too old for this? Ah, who cares, I’m sure you’re a cool guy. I’m not doing the sitting on the knee thing – sorry, not my bag, dig? But as for my wishes, well, I only have one, and I can easily divulge it. It’s about this blog thing. I wish, hope mostly, that TCL will one day blossom into a money-producing flower of some sort. Just enough to live on, I’m not greedy. Well, I guess some extra would be nice. But, you know, I owe a lot of people a lot of money, and I think I’d technically be on skid row if I earned any less than I do now. And, unfortunately, I earn a handsome amount. AdSense just won’t cut into that. Barely pays for my freshly imported Brazilian pine nuts. At about $40 per half a kilo (about a pound), I’d be crazy not to feed it to the pigeons. They love it. And me. :)

Anyhow, as you can see, I’m kind to animals and I rarely hit people. Except for that guy I ran into … correction, who ran into me. I mean, yes, I was already irked walking home … whole lotta shovin’ goin’ on. And not in an Elvisy way. I was walking through this narrow corridor of people who just decided to huddle together for warmth, I guess, and blocked almost the entire sidewalk. As I was leaving the passageway of shivering asses, this little guy came from directly around the corner and, without even a pause – oblivious to his surroundings — busted right into me. Except I was going at a good clip too, he came at me at a right angle and, I’m sad to say, bounced off of me. Sad now. At the time I said something to the effect of, “Oh for fuck’s sakes…”, and kept moving.

I had dazed the little guy pretty well. When I say little guy, I mean he was like, a fully grown man, just very little. A little guy. And I bowled him over. I think he even buried his nose in my ribs. He was walking upright, that’s just where his nose was. I thought I felt a crunch as we connected. Basically, I thumped him pretty good … not on purpose, mind you, and it was his fault. But I kinda took glee in it. Like, yeah, there you go, that’s what you get for not paying attention. But later I felt bad, it was just an accident and, well, yeah, he deserved a whack on the head, but probably not a full-on Patrick.

So I feel remorse. You see, so I’m essentially a good guy. And there you go, is that the justification you need? If it’s a promise you’re looking for, I can certainly promise not to punch anyone in the face for at least two or three weeks. Let’s say two. And I’ll lay off the expletives and instead use Mandarin ones like gan ni-a! Actually sounds kinda cute, don’t you think? And good and offensive to most Chinese people (I vaguely recall trying it at Chungking Mansions, generally to effect). People in China don’t do Christmas so I figured you’d like that. I know a few other zingers too, even the proper inflections.

So I’m valuable to you, Santa. Very valuable. And I need you to pull some strings for me, get TCL into full-time mode. I’m open to muddy money and I insist on looking the other way. Only one condition: final editorial decision stays with me! That’s a non-negotiable.

Looking forward to working with you,
Patrick

Did you ever see Purple Rain? You know, the one with Prince — or the more endearing TAFKAP, as he’s now known? I didn’t either. Well, kind of … I vaguely remember a scene in which Prince was on stage, dolefully strumming out some sort of thin-moustached melodrama, and in the foreground were a couple of people talking about him, and to dissuade the one from approaching Prince the other said, ”He’s in one of his moods again.” Maybe I’m thinking of the Princess Bride. That was a good movie :)

Anyhow, I believe I’m in one of those moods today. It was one of those lurching days in which clarity decides to rear its ugly head – a light was cast on a vexing situation that’s been festering on my mind for a few months and – to be blunt – both shocked and pissed me right off. I probably shouldn’t go into detail because I have a feeling I’ll be wielding the business end of legal prosecution pretty soon; I can think of no other word than fraud, or something very close to it. Certainly some very odd dealings that I just can’t explain. You know? Stuff just doesn’t add up, like 1 and 1 is supposed to equal FF in hexadecimal. Yeah, that’s not even the same numbering system.

There are lots of fiddly little details that, hopefully, I’ll be able to share once it’s all done with. I think they’d make good reading if you have a few minutes on the shitter (get a netbook—best investment ever ;)). However, droning on about some vague misdoing is boring my tits off and I know the details, so let’s let’er rest a while there.

Besides, some things don’t need to be discussed because they kinda stare you in the face, you know?

Take the story about a young mother who was murdered in her car while tending to her two-year-old daughter. Yep, no way to put a frilly ribbon on that story; shot right in front of her little girl. The story is tragic no matter how you spin it; that kid’s just been handed a life sentence. Who’d argue with that?

But just beneath the surface there are things that aren’t quite right.

To begin with, Detective Sergeant Pauline Gray is quoted as saying, “I think the careful thing is not to look for a reason, because as far as I’m concerned, there is no reason.”

Did I read that right? The careful thing is not to investigate the motive because there isn’t one? Okay, well, for an officer to be making extrajudicial pronouncements at a press conference probably isn’t a great idea, but it also shows that the good Detective has been compromised. Clearly am emotional basket case. Hey, can’t blame her, but don’t we owe the mother and kid a proper, thorough, and unbiased investigation? The careful thing to do is to look for a reason, because as far as I’m concerned, there’s always a reason. I believe that’s the difference between first and second-degree murder — planning requires a purpose, or a reason, as they call it out west.

I also subscribe to Occam’s Razor which bluntly states that the simplest and most direct explanation is usually the correct one. Don’t over-complicate shit, I believe, is the original expression. If she had a jilted ex-husband, my odds are on him. But there’s another possibility; please allow me to connect a few dots…

She’s from Columbia where her parents still live. Upon moving to Toronto, she started a successful container shipping company. Initially she was sending a container or two a year (was that enough to live on?), but recently business had picked up to the sum of one or two per month. To and from South American countries. Do we need the white connecting lines here?

Okay, that’s just rampant coke-fuelled speculation, but any investigator worth their salt should be knee-deep in blow by now. To dismiss some possibilities because they may harm the reputation of the deceased person does them a disservice. And the little girl too. Even if some dark details are revealed, who knows what the circumstances were around those details?

If you’re a keener and read the story, you’ll note that I took most of the drug runner scenario from the Star piece. Almost verbatim, except that I took out a bunch of expletives. I still don’t know why The Star swears so much, it’s really off-putting. But the facts remain about the same. Possibly manufactured for my benefit. However, I still stand by my argument that a thorough and unbiased lookseeinto is the way to go.

It’s the same with the McCormack case. That’s the former police chief’s son (and also a cop), accused of pulling money from club and bar owners in exchange for favours. Hehe, no, not sexual ones. Although, you know, I shouldn’t judge … who knows? Definitely the accusation of money exchanging hands for services of some sort (no, no jokes about hand services, that’d be crude and never proven in a court of law). Impropriety on the one side, corruption on the other, but either way it was looking meaty.

I guess we’ll never know for sure how meaty because the case was thrown out of court for taking too long. If proceedings extend for five years, I believe, the court is obliged to remove them from before its just gaze. “And don’t let the door hit you on the way outtay”, in Latin.

Wow, my head’s really gone over to the lawyer side of the force. Maybe I’ve been spending my time in that headspace for too long and now I just zero in on any little litigious thing I see. I probably just need a good sleep – I mean, who knows, maybe I’ll dream up an out of court settlement. Or maybe cast a dark habeas corpus upon them from my slumber — the sleeping subconscious mind has mysterious powers, possibly even occult. I guess that path will be determined by my mood. Prince or Princess Bride?

It was a good, proper fall day today. Rainy, cold, dark and introspective. I’m all for days like this being declared municipal emergencies; everyone stay at home in your nice warm beds until the situation is alleviated! By order of the Mayor’s office!

I will do my duty, sir! Covers at regulation height!

Unfortunately, that never happens. The closest I came was pulling the somewhat ineffectual hood of my anorak over my head as it started to rain. As the excessive flap of the coat blocked most of my vision (either that or walk like a fully extended parachute in the wind), I found myself travelling in a very trance-like state. I could only see maybe one and a half meters in front of me, so I had to assume a certain attitude of resolution. Yes, a knife-wielding maniac may come screaming from an alley, and at that visual distance, I’m fairly certain I’d be dead. I had to resolve to be okay with that.

So I started to think about that vocation thing again. What, you didn’t think I came up with that just to fill up a post, did you? This is real angst! Jeez!

Okay, angsty; something I’d like to get resolved. So I must’ve had that in my sensory deprivation cloak with me on my walk home because suddenly I snapped out of my trance — something told me to look up, and what I saw looked awfully familiar:

Of course! I’ll become a thief!

No, not a common thief; I don’t want to abscond with bananas and gum; an international diamond thief  (I guess I could steal other expensive stuff too). A sophisticated gentleman cat burglar in the style of Cary Grant in “To Catch a Thief”, or  George Clooney in “Ocean’s Eleven”. Well, George Clooney in a few roles, but that one was especially well-suited. Flashy and always well-rested. *two thumbs up*

Oh, you’re probably wondering how I went from a Chinatown supermarket to becoming a thief. Sorry, let me take you back a little earlier in the day.

Over lunch, I read a Star story about a certain Mister David Chen, owner and proprietor of one ultra-ironic Lucky Moose Food Mart (pictured above; “lucky” moose on second floor). He’s being brought up on charges of kidnapping and forcible confinement because he tried to foil another robbery at his store.

The undisputed story goes that the thief was well-known and had stolen stuff from there (and nearby stores), numerous times. So, I guess Mister Chen wasn’t going to stand for it any more and when the thief dropped in to borrow a few other items, Mr. Chen and two buddies chased him down in a van, tossed him in the back, tied him up, and beat the snot out of him. Police found him tied up in some dank corner of Chinatown.

Well, yeah, that kind of is kidnapping. But somewhat understandable, I think. Mister Chen claims (and others corroborate this), that he had requested some sort of assistance from the police, but none was given. The thief was allowed to continue running around stealing stuff even though with his record, he probably shouldn’t have been out of a cell. Or at least some sort of supervised and controlled environment.

Another thing that I think Mister Chen is allowed to have a chafed butt over is the fact that his store is so close to 52 Division. Five minutes by foot, is my estimation.

But I’m not sure if I’d resort to grabbing someone off a street and mashing them up for stealing a few plants. Plus, it’s just so unimaginative. So generally speaking, I can see where the kidnapping and forcible confinement charges come from.

But what hit me over the head in today’s article was the fact the court made a bargain with the thief to testify against the store owner!

Yes – freakin’ – way.

The little scumbag got 30 days instead of 90 (and is apparently right back up to his old tricks), and in a complete reversal of roles, the store owner is now facing some serious charges. He could be put away with the thief’s help!

My idea doesn’t seem so crazy now, does it? As a thief, I could help put away the bad guys I steal from by testifying against them. I’ll hire interns for the beatings. And if I don’t get caught, I get to keep the loot!

Flawless.

I’m even thinking of leaving behind personalized, scented business cards of some sort, bearing a message of regret for their loss, but at least they lost it to the best; or something to that effect.

I’m gonna need a little work. I don’t even know how to properly pick a lock yet! I guess it’s hardcore training from here on in.

But don’t worry, dear reader. I’m keeping TCL in the back pocket. Hey, who knows, maybe it’ll be my daytime cover story. That’d be pretty cool 8-) George Clooney cool.

Do you have to use one of these things regularly?

Oh man, I don’t envy you. Now that I’ve had ample opportunity to compare the wheel to the foot, walking is just slightly slower than the car. If you include the driving around the block a few times to find a spot, then shimmying into an unparallel park, and finally gasping in disgust as the ticket machine spits out 2:30 (that’s two minutes and thirty seconds) for your two bucks, walking is actually considerably faster. And the machine makes way more than me per hour.

If you drive stick on an uncooperative clutch like I used to, you start to deform disproportionally as your right arm and left leg gain muscle, while your opposing limbs just get pastier and pudgier — except for the sunburnt left forearm. If the window’s down, that arm’s going on there.

Besides that, the amount of signage on every pole is simply irresponsible. Are we actually supposed to pay attention to all of that while driving?

If you’re not familiar with the snow route sign, you may simply think it means no parking there because the lane will be made into a ski trail. Or something equally enjoyable that employs snow. And right next to it is a sign telling you when it’s okay to park there. And that’s a busy sign. First it lists the two times that you can park there from Monday to Friday. Then the times during Saturday and Sunday. Finally, on the bottom are the arrows that indicate the directions in which this rule applies. And the times and directions thing is also happening on the no stopping sign. Then there’s the small idling limit sign which, once again may be unfamiliar  since it’s a municipal bylaw.

Squinty eyes, at the wheel with bikers squeezing by on the right, pedestrians running out in front, and the streetcar just getting by on the left. And the car behind you honking. That’s always my favourite :) And there are signs you have to pay attention to there? Yup. And they usually come in clusters like this on every pole and the little arrows and, depending on the block, the times change.

Sometimes it’s just not fair:

Did you see the hidden sign? Beneath the no parking one. That’s probably the one with the five-thousand dollar fine. And what about the arrows on that no stopping one? Does that mean that you must drive through the intersection on any light during rush-hour? Just to disambiguate, there’s a no standing one too.

That’s why I always look in all directions, twice, before crossing the street. If you get some driver trying to obey all the signage, they’re liable to kill someone. And what the hell are vendors doing hocking their stuff out in the middle of the street?

It might seem like nitpicking, but since they went to the bother of producing I don’t know how many such arrow-laden signs and sticking them to everything, you’d think they’d try to imply less idiocy on the part of the populace. Doesn’t matter which way you turn that thing, it always tells you that you shouldn’t try to sell hot dogs from the middle of the street. City Hall probably doesn’t want to clean up the mess from the collision with the law-abiding car.

Do we need all that signage? I believe it’s perfectly reasonable for a reflective, observant individual to bend the laws a little. I’m sure we’ve all crossed on a red when there was no traffic. Or mowed down a few pedestrian during a pub crawl. Hey, it’s Friday!

It’s not that I intend to become some Johnny Scofflaw, I just think that someone should re-think all of the stuff affixed to utility poles. Common street laws apply almost everywhere; you don’t need to tell people not to park in the middle of an intersection. That kinda stuff.

Simplify.

The streets are a wonderful place for spotting memorable people.

The guy across from me on the streetcar this morning had the face, bristle, and thick-rimmed glasses of Elvis Costello, the fashion sense of Paul Giamatti, and the hair of Sideshow Bob. I walked through the entrance to my building with the spitting image of a female manservant Hecubus. We both passed the building’s property manager who bears more than passing resemblance to Dr. Evil.

Shouldn’t people like this be on camera? Some people don’t think so.

In an article today, The Star published a publicity piece for a group (led by Ryan Ringer) calling themselves Methinks Presents, which if you ask me, is a total misnomer.

What they intend to do is to swarm the Google Street View car that has recently been making the rounds in Toronto in order to bring attention to the “creepy nature” of Google’s project. As part of the event, they’ll probably be taking pictures in a public location.  In the process, they’ll probably be capturing the numerous random faces of people who just happen to be passing by and won’t have any say in  (or even knowledge of), being photographed. Not to mention the number of random webcams, camera phones,  and “security” and traffic cameras that cling to every available nook and cranny downtown. It’s a safe bet that everything will find its way onto Flickr, YouTube, blogs, etc.

To argue that Google is invading our privacy from the inside of a car, from a public road, means that it shouldn’t be legal for anyone to take photographs from anywhere, of anything, for any reason. Or is it just Google because they’re “evil”? Maybe Methink’s protest is intended to be somehow artistically ironic? Somehow, methinks not.

My shitter being equated to the middle of my street throws the notion of “reasonable expectation of privacy” out the window. Everything would be considered private (if the street would, what wouldn’t be?). Recorded images of any kind would have to be illegal, probably forcing the government to ban the use of cameras. While at it, why not extend the same courtesy to audio recordings? That would really suck for quite a few people.

I suppose one alternative would be to ask permission whenever you took a picture; permission of anyone in the shot (or blur them out); permission from the owners of any properties in the frame (or blur them out); permission from owners whose pets appear in photographs (or blur them out). God help you if an identifiable airplane or bus happens to pass into your shot.

Sounds silly, doesn’t it?

Not only does Methink’s plan sound horribly illegal (“hey, let’s go swarm a car because we don’t like what it’s doing”), but they’re pushing an idea that is contrary to the public good. Mine especially. I bought a brand-spanking new camera not too long ago and I don’t want to be  ambushed by Methink’s grouptards for taking a picture of the Eaton Centre.

I don’t think most people would be bothered  if they saw themselves walking down the street in a Street View scene, unless maybe they were caught doing something questionable. In that case, may I suggest maybe not doing that in public?

Oh, and when the Google car does approach, I think there’s a much better way to deal with one’s public image. Do a quick straighten-up, put on a giant shit-eatin’ grin, and give a crazy big thumbs-up as the car passes. The virtual tourist will find Toronto to have very inetersting people. Isn’t that much more productive?