Guess the Sport

This young man is taking a break from what annual sport in Spain?

Water, Water Everywhere...

I’ve written before about being brought up in an environmental household where conservation of energy was a priority. As a family, we did (and still do) all of David Suzuki’s Nature Challenge suggestions before they were identified as “necessary”. I try to live my life as greenly as possible.

I cannot, however, ride my own locally sourced organic cotton coattails. There is always room for improvement in terms of lessening my environmental footprint. Moving schools so that I can now walk to work and imposing an air travel ban for the past year are two ways I have made change. My next step is something that is all over the media right now: bottled water.

Suzuki spoke out against bottled water earlier this year, some religious groups have labelled bottled water “immoral” and Justin Trudeau refused a proffered bottle after coughing during a speech at McGill with the words: “I try not to.”

There has also been much written on the topic of bottled water, its true benefits and environmental impact. The Trudeau anecdote was taken from Judith Timson’s column in today’s Globe and Mail. In it, Timson argues that the omnipresent water bottle is about hydration and oral fixation: it’s a socially acceptable thing to have in our hands (and mouths) at just about any event (Timson relates an anecdote of water bottle swilling at a funeral).

Certainly hydration, and all the beautiful benefits that come with it was the main impetus for the explosion of bottled water sales. Back in the early 90s, in the era of the Supermodel, gorgeous, fresh-faced girls with large bottles of Evian were the first to be seen with portable water. And just as that spring water you’re imbibing trickles down the mountain side, so did the trend trickle down into the hoi polloi. Having water available in bottles is now de rigueur in homes, offices and public places around the world.

But that’s another issue with this whole bottled water thing (and a point that Timson briefly makes in her piece) – in the Western world, we pay more per litre for water (a resource, I don’t need to point out, that is basically free in this country) than gas, yet there are more than a billion people around the world who do not have access to safe drinking water. And to really put this Western life in perspective, the previous link informs us that “[a] person living in Sub-Saharan Africa uses 10-20 litres a day; on average, a Canadian uses 326 litres a day.”

Water, which accounts for the make up of over two-thirds of our bodies and our earth, is an important environmental and world issue. So what to do?

I am giving up water in plastic bottles. I originally began buying spring water because I could easily stick it in the fridge. I grew accustomed to the taste as well as the ease with which you could take water with you. And even though I was reusing the same plastic water bottle for a week or so at a time (filling it up from another plastic bottle I kept in the fridge), I was still creating quite the mountain of recyclable waste, while ignoring the first (and most important) of the 3 Rs: reduce.

And so I have bought one of those aluminum water bottles (not the plastic kind, which have suffered the same criticism as regular water bottles: chemicals leaching into their contents), a trend that Timson doesn’t see as “catching on”. On this point, I whole-heartedly disagree. Many of my friends carry this type of water bottle (it was in discussion with two of them that I decided on this course of action) and I am seeing them more and more in the hands of the young and funky (and well-informed) around the city.

I even thought about buying my parents aluminum water bottles. But they're already ahead of me. They drink tap water out of a glass - something they've done even before David Suzuki suggested it.

We’re Goin’ Str--king!

Earlier this month, police in Britain sought an order prohibiting serial str--ker M--k Rob--ts from taking his clothes off during public events. Roberts, who has an impressive 380 str--ks under his unnecessary belt, has run naked across the playing fields at most major sporting events: the FA Cup final, Wimbledon, Royal Ascot and the Superbowl in 2004, which already had its share of exposed bodies (thank you, Janet & Justin). Funny that the nipple slip was much more scandalous than the starkers Brit taking to the field for the second half.

The judge in the case denied the order, saying "What Mr Roberts does may be annoying but, in my opinion, it does not amount to antisocial behaviour." Writing in the Guardian, Zoe Williams earlier this month asked whether or not the very definition of antisocial behaviour is being annoying. But is the brief diversion of a str--ker running across your view any more annoying than a rain delay at Wimbledon? And really, you’re there for a show – a str--ker is just an unbilled act.

Williams also wondered if str--king was an act of male aggression or “as taste-free but innocuous as a cucumber sandwich”?

Male nudity can harbour aggression when the nakedness is sexualized and imbued with power – I’ve been on the unintentional viewing end of several public masturbators (mostly in Italy, though some in France) and certainly felt quite uncomfortable and intimidated in those situations. But when it comes to running naked in front of thousands, pursued by beefy security guards, I’m not sure Roberts’s display was about male aggression. By being naked, he was stripped bare, defenseless. Many prisoners throughout the shady human rights parts of history were kept naked for this reason.

When you watch the reactions of the spectators during a str--k, they don’t seem to be offended or disgusted, a point that Williams indicates in her piece. Someone running naked before thousands is humourous, light-hearted. People (the American public, specifically) seemed to be more shocked at Janet Jackson’s nipple being exposed than Roberts’s half-time show. Is there a difference between male and female public nudity?

Er-ca R-e famously str--ked at Twickenham in 1982 during an England vs. Australia rugby match. She was only topless, but her spectacle made her £8000 in modeling and television appearances afterward. Was this because she was female and her sexuality was commodified, or was it because she was female and str--kers are generally male, making her an oddity?

I've never seen a real live str--ker, but I've watched with great captivation the people who rushed the field after Toronto FC's first win at BMO Field. It was at the end of the match and provided a tempered end to a tense and exciting game. I watched the rushers, probably about 8 in all, run onto the field and dodge the security guards who tackled them like linebackers, the crowd cheering the more agile of the runners. And I have to say, that brief and unexpected spectacle was better than any nipple-slip half time show the Superbowl could provide...

Reducing Plastics

On the inevitable back-to-school shop (it is NOT the most wonderful time of the year, Staples Business Depot), I found myself thinking very carefully about what products I would buy. I ignored plastic expandable file jackets in favour of paper ones – I figure those paper ones will biodegrade eventually, whereas the plastic ones have a long life ahead of them. I did, however, balk at the thin plastic the file folders were wrapped in.

The over-packaging of products has always been frowned upon by environmentalists and many people have avoided purchasing some over-packaged products in favour of more meagerly wrapped items. But with hygiene and what have you, product packaging is sometimes unavoidable, but still an area that needs to be addressed by companies.

The drug store was my next port of call; the purchase of a toothbrush, my objective. Which is when I thought of another way we could greatly reduce the amount of plastic we throw away every day. Why not have toothbrushes with reusable handles, but changeable heads? Instead of throwing out the entire shaft of the toothbrush along with the withered bristles, why not just pick up a new head? You could somehow attach it to the handle, just like you do with razors.

This could also work for dish brushes, toilet bowl brushes and any number of other household items.



I posted a picture of the garbage the sea was spitting back to Mumbai several weeks ago. I recently found the photo above of children wading through more marine refuse that washed ashore beneath their stilt houses in Papua New Guinea. Both photographs made me sad at the state of this world. People are starting to wake up to the idea of global warming and change their way of living to a greener way of life, but those of us in the Western world don't have the same immediate evidence of the toll we are taking on this earth. We have a long way to go.

Sunnybrook, August 10th

Lyla enters from the back, walking past nurses in scrubs and administrators in suits, their identification tags clipped to the bottom of their jackets. They sit on picnic tables scattered about the criss-cross of roadways used by off-duty ambulances and delivery trucks. There is the low buzz of a place that is always open, which quickly becomes background noise as Lyla enters the hospital.

She’s never liked hospitals, with their shiny floors and light-coloured walls. Sometimes you can be lulled into a sense of normalcy with doctors striding by, people in suits on official business; only to be pulled back by someone in a wheelchair, covered only by a gown, leaning against the armrest, with a dangling IV bag in tow.

Lyla finds the elevator and takes it to the sixth floor, just above the tree tops of the valley that surrounds the hospital. She walks quietly down the hallway, feeling somewhat like an intruder, ready to be stopped at any point and asked what her business here is. The most she gets is a raised head from the nurses’s station, eyes that don’t linger long enough to assess her motives.

Entering the room, Lyla smiles briefly at the couple at the first bed: the woman lies completely back, looking up toward the ceiling, unmoving. The man sits on a chair beside her, a magazine in his hands. The man smiles briefly back, but it is a smile full of warmth that spreads to his eyes and chin. Turning, she moves towards her grandmother’s bed, which is propped up, although her grandma’s eyes are closed.

Lyla stands for a moment, unsure of where to place herself, and her grandmother’s eyes open. They take a second to focus on Lyla, but when they do, a smile breaks across the old woman’s face.

“Hello, dear!” she says in her soft Dublin accent. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Granny,” says Lyla, leaning in to kiss her grandmother on the cheek. “How are they treating you here?”

“Very well, very well,” says her grandmother, still beaming.

Lyla pulls up a chair next to the hospital bed and answers all the questions her grandmother can think of. As they talk, there are stirrings from across the room.

“Hello, Alice,” calls out Lyla’s grandmother from behind the half-drawn curtain that obscures her view of Alice.

“Hello, Eileen,” comes the response from the bed.

“My granddaughter’s come to visit me.” The man with the magazine is beaming at Lyla, perhaps providing the visual part to the conversation.

“Oh, lovely,” says Alice.

“This is Lyla,” says Lyla’s grandmother.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Gerald,” The man rises and comes quickly over, hand extended in greeting. “That’s my wife, Alice over there.” He turns and nods toward the bed, still grasping Lyla’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” calls Alice, head still unmoving on the pillow.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” says Lyla, releasing Gerald’s hand and craning her neck slightly to see Alice.

Gerald stands for a moment, just smiling, his eyes flitting from Lyla to the curtain, then back to Lyla. He turns to look at his wife, who still lies still, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your visit,” he says after a brief moment, “lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” smiles Lyla, watching him move back to his wife’s bed and sit back down in his chair. He picks up his magazine and begins to read it.

Lyla turns back to her grandmother who is reaching for a brush on her table tray.

“Lyla, would you be a love and just brush the back of my hair?” she asks.

“Sure!”

As Lyla brushes the thin grey hair, pressed against her head from hours against a pillow, she listens to the quiet murmurings from across the room.

“Do you want to hear an elephant joke?” asks Gerald, his voice slightly muted.

Lyla can barely hear Alice’s reply and can’t make out the components of the joke as her grandmother thanks her for the minor grooming. What she does make out is the eruption of laughter that comes from Alice when Gerald finishes: whole-hearted and from the belly. Lyla’s eyes dart across the room: she can see Alice’s body heaving, Gerald’s hand resting on her arm beneath the covers, his face lit up while watching hers.

Lyla and her grandmother lock eyes, their mouths breaking into smiles simultaneously.

On Woodbine Beach, Things Left Behind

(Or, another reason I should always bring my camera with me to say these thousand words that I can only put into a few.)



Two abandoned shoes: one sandal, one running shoe lodged in the green lakeweed that collects amid the stones and pebbles at the shoreline. Further down is a scuba mask, perhaps abandoned after a day of searching for curiosities that exist below the surface.

A waterbottle, condensation on the outside, water still cold on the inside, turned into the sand. Beside it, an overturned piece of note paper, held down with pebbles on either side, obscuring the words I'm sure are there. Uncharacteristically, I ignore this piece of mysterious communication because there is a couple moving toward the assemblage: it is their found item.

Three girls sitting on the edge of the large rocks by the edge of the lake, looking down into the water, the wind flapping their long hair at the sides of their faces. I wonder if they are talking, figuring out how to be women, just a little further back on the journey than I am.

Harry Potter and the Pre-order of the Deathly Hallows

Now that Harry Potter mania has died down (presumably because everyone has finished the last book and seen the latest movie), and I am on page 350 of the 600-odd pages of the penultimate book (I’m always behind in most areas of my life), perhaps now I can comment on the insanity.

Why is it that everyone goes so crazy over Harry Potter? Why are there midnight release times, pre-order options on a myriad of websites and newsworthy reports of security breaches of the manuscript?

J.K. Rowling, who conceived of Harry Potter on a train ride between Manchester and London, combines a set of factors that have worked together to make the series as popular as it is.

Escapism, Pure & Simple

The first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, was published in 1997, so I can’t link its creation to any post 9/11 desire for escapism. But there was certainly the interim after the first invasion of Iraq and some gruesome stuff going on in Kosovo. But regardless of world politics, the Harry Potter series provided a magical other-world full of spells, fantastical creatures and mysterious secrets. As any good book should take you into another reality, Harry Potter’s world of wizards and witches took readers into an entirely different realm of magic with its characters and curiosities. A realm that although it functioned differently from ours, still maintained…

Relatable Characters & Experiences

I’m seeing this more and more as the series progresses. Especially in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, which I’m reading now. Although Harry is imbued with exceptional powers (even when measured against those in the wizarding world), he still falls victim to such teenage afflictions as jealously, most notably when he catches Ginny Weasley kissing Dean in the corridor and we read Harry’s internal monologue, mulling over whether or not it is brotherly love, or something else, that makes him want to smash poor Dean in the face. The love played out as anger and bitterness between Hermione and Ron is another example of real-life situations that readers can relate to. And the character Luna is a wonderful sketch of those awkward, slightly-removed-from-reality-type kids we had in our classes growing up – and how lovely is Harry’s empathy and acceptance of her.

Wicked Wordsmithery

This is one of J.K. Rowling’s greatest talents: making up new words and interesting names: Dumbledore evokes quiet power and sagacity. Voldemort sounds like menacing thunder booming. Harry’s Herbology class is filled with such onomatopoeic plants as Snargaluff (requiring protective gloves to handle), Whomping Willows (requiring speed, agility and perhaps a helmut to avoid injury) and Bubotubers (decidedly less dangerous than the previous flora, but its pus can still cause painful boils, nonetheless). Some other fabulous locutional concoctions: Ambrosius Flume (a businessman), Budleigh Babberton (a charming village), Barnabas Cuffe (editor of The Daily Prophet), Mundungus Fletcher (a shady member of the Order of the Phoenix) and St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries (self-explanatory, no?).

Classic Narrative Devices

And of course, as many critics have pointed out, J.K. Rowling employs all those plots and characters we’ve seen before: good vs. evil and their inherent connection (hello Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader), orphans unraveling their pasts, the journey from boy to man, and political allegory. (I hear that there is more than a hint that the political climate in Deathly Hallows mirrors what was happening during World War II. And having just seen the most recent movie, the Ministry taking over Hogwarts and instituting curricular change and teacher evaluations rings true of educational reforms of the past.)

So there are several factors that contribute to the wild success of Rowling’s magical narratives. Put together, these provided a series of books that saw ridiculous security over the official release date of the latest publication (imagine suing people over the release of On Chesil Beach, an excerpt of which I’m sure I read prior to publication – isn’t it in keeping with protocol to release an excerpt?) and saw the book in people’s hands across this city and around the world during the last week of July. And all these factors will keep me going for the next 250 pages of The Half-Blood Prince. After that, I'll need a serious Potter break before attempting the final 700+ page installment that may toll the end of Potter Mania.