Friday, October 6, 2023

"Katy Perry: a great dad-and-daughter date"/ "Finding meaning in music again" (life essays)/ Facebook Marketplace scam

Here is an article and a life essay about listening and enjoying music:


May 23, 2016 "Katy Perry: a great dad-and-daughter date": I cut out this article by Simon Beck in the Globe and Mail on Jul. 2, 2011:


Katy Perry may be the archetypal teenage dream, but judging by the ecstatic crowd at the Air Canada Centre, she’s also in the reveries of tiny 

Dora the Explorer fans,

soccer moms, 

grandmothers, 

gay males and 
– this one really threw me – the four hormonal adolescent dudes behind me with letters spelling K-A-T-Y emblazoned on their naked chests.

Perry is also the dream employer of an army of choreographers, graphic designers, wardrobe consultants, videographers and special-effects artists who adorn her shows in a rainbow of candy-coloured bling. To this proud member of the Brotherhood of Old Farts, she has always seemed like the only tolerable pop diva currently assaulting the sensibilities of today’s impressionable youth.

It was therefore with some relief that I heard my eight-year-old daughter Hadleigh tell me recently that Katy Perry was “epic.” It was her first serious pop-music crush, and thus – when Perry’s Toronto concert dates were announced – a suitable venue to introduce her to the transformational wonders of the live gig.

Taking one’s child to their first concert is a key milestone in the life of a parent; what I hoped to see etched on Hadleigh’s face was the first experience of the pure, no-strings-attached joy of pop. Passing the torch of music appreciation is not hard, but don’t expect them to keep it burning according to the same hard-core rules you applied in your misspent youth.

It took barely two minutes to realize how perfect a Katy Perry concert was for this momentous occasion. Her music is kid-friendly, yet packed to the gills with the same tropes that stirred all of us parents in the audience (and there were many) to gaze lovingly at those 45s spinning on turntables a generation ago: emphatic hooks, countless euphemisms for sex and, of course, instant danceability.

In my early days, I would get my fix from the likes of Marc Bolan, Robert Plant and Joey Ramone, but in many ways (cue howls of outrage from the purists) Katy Perry is cut from the same cloth. 

True, the spontaneity and energy our old heroes had are now choreographed and scripted out of most of today’s hit artists; replaced, in the Perry show, by an Osmond-esque devotion to Vegas-style showbiz perfection. 

But in great pop songs like California Gurls (her rousing encore number), Perry displays the T.Rex/Ramones talent for subverting the genre with humour and irony – albeit with enough costume changes (including a dozen in one song alone) to send Lady Gaga bawling back to that giant egg of hers.

Perry’s show was a two-hour frenzy of DayGlo excitement: part Folies Bergères, part Teletoon, part John Waters. She’s as comfortable singing skankily about kissing a girl and liking it as she is balancing on a pink cloud above the audience or dancing on stage with a line of goofy gingerbread men. 

And the visual effects were topnotch; after seeing her perform E.T. to a stunning backdrop of lasers and video graphics, I reckon Pink Floyd should be on Craigslist inviting someone to cart off their old sets for free.

There was also a soupçon of hubby Russell Brand in her act, judging by the witty one-liners and audience banter sprinkled liberally through the show.

She has a remarkable ability to appeal to young children without alienating teenagers. A touching moment came near the finale, when, clad in a cute, sequined, polka-dot swimsuit, Perry did a jaunty cover of Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me); while this dad’s feet were moving in best old-man-at-the-club fashion, Perry filled the stage with young kids from the audience and handed out hugs and photo-ops as if she truly meant it. Why Sesame Street once deemed her too hot to handle is a mystery.

Hadleigh doesn’t dance in public; she’s either too cool or too reserved for that just yet. Instead, she glazed intently at the spectacle, barely blinking, absorbing the myriad sights, sounds and smells (dry ice and cotton candy) of her first visit to the altar of pop.

I suspect she will remember the event with fondness when she’s old enough to worry about the influence of popular culture on her own children. But for now, I’ll have to make do with the curt “really good” when I asked for her verdict during the ride home. Showing her age, she added, “I’m really tired,” and fell asleep in the back of the car.

Honestly. That’s today’s youth for you.


Jan. 25, 2018 "Finding meaning in music again": Today I found this life essay by Kelly McQuillan in the Globe and Mail:

Lately I've noticed some videos making their way through the social-media feeds, featuring kids confronted with late 20th-century technology – specifically, music technology. It's a good laugh as they try to plug headphones directly into cassettes or stare helplessly at a Discman, searching for the touch screen.

The humour also promotes reflection. I think back to when I grew up, which was long enough ago to have placed my adolescence at the confluence of the analog and digital eras. When I graduated from high school, the internet was in its infancy and vinyl, cassettes and compact discs were our sources of recorded music. 

For me and many (if not most) of my friends, music permeated our teenage experience and much of our time was spent acquiring, listening to and discussing it. It meant everything to me. 

Now, years down the line, well into the Digital Age, I can't help but wonder if modern technology, for all of its benefits and convenience, might be robbing us of a certain depth of experience and connection with music and other arts.

My 1990s listening adventures usually started with a trip downtown to a couple of favourite record stores. My friends and I spent delightful afternoons browsing, feeling the rush of excitement as we flipped through the plastic cases to reveal an as-yet-unheard of (to us) album by a favourite artist. 

Our piecemeal research was done via magazine articles and what we picked up on MuchMusic. Discovering a new album felt as if our world had just expanded. Sometimes, we would have the opportunity to preview parts of albums at listening stations, if the obligatory long-haired dude in the tie-dye shirt relinquished it for a few minutes. 

Because we purchased entire albums, not individual songs, we had to whittle our desires down to an affordable selection before we reached the till and forked over our hard-earned babysitting/part-time job cash. We rode the bus home, clutching our treasures, often sneaking a peek at the liner notes on the way.

One of my favourite things to do was to pry one of those CDs out of its pristine jewel case and place the shiny new disc in the player. I listened to the album start to finish, my ears bathing in the sound as my eyes devoured the liner notes, cover to cover: lyrics straight from the songwriter's pen (not the oft-poorly transcribed ones you find online now), the names of writers, performers, audio engineers, producers, when/where the album was recorded, and the gratitudes. 

This knowledge both informed and enriched my experience of the music.

In contrast, let's fast-forward to my typical music consumption. I recently purchased, downloaded and listened to a new album by one of my favourite singer-songwriters. I was able to do this while standing at the bathroom sink getting ready in the morning. So easy, so instantaneous and I really liked what I heard. But I haven't listened to it since. 

It has been consumed and shuffled into hundreds of other music files on my phone. If I had purchased the CD, or vinyl, I would have made time to sit down, listen to the songs in order (I realized later that my iPhone was on "shuffle") and read the lyrics along with them. I would have read each and every liner note to help me fully appreciate the context and creation of the work of art that filled my ears.

Does the method by which we experience media affect our engagement with and appreciation of it? 

This musing grumbles in the background of my mind, leading to a bigger question: Because downloadable, digital music is now ubiquitous, is anyone else out there beginning to feel as though their everyday experience of music is ringing a little hollow? 

Does the new medium devalue the art form? 

Songwriters and artists who receive fractions of pennies from streaming services might agree with that.

Music and other arts have always been an enormous source of 

meaning, 

comfort 

and inspiration in my life. 

I want to ensure that my son understands that this wealth is available for him as well. 

But connection is a two-way street. 

Music, art, poetry – they all come from somewhere, nurtured into being by inspiration and hard work. 

Doing a little work on our end helps us to experience art in a deeper, more meaningful way. 

A song is so much more than an instantly playable cover image on a screen.

Somewhere in the busyness of everyday life, I had succumbed to the temptation of easy listening (in the most literal sense) too many times. My experience of recorded music had become flat as an Mp3, guided by whim and convenience and lacking in meaning. This is the opposite of what I want for myself and my son.

Fortunately, all is not lost. We were given a turntable and my husband began to play records on weekend mornings and it's now a much-loved family ritual. I was inspired to dig out my old CD collection and started listening to them again, reconnecting with some meaningful favourites. 

We recently moved and our vinyl, CDs and cassettes made the move with us. The space it takes up is worth it. Our son is only 2, but he knows how the turntable and CD player work and he delights in rummaging through the plastic cases and cardboard sleeves, chubby little fingers seeking the familiar covers that he has already made positive connections with. We haven't completely shunned digital music, but we've become more intentional about our listening and more receptive to the experience.

As the digital world becomes increasingly saturated with media, I am concerned that arts such as music are losing their perceived value during a time when it could be argued that we need them the most. 

Our data-driven, fast-paced lives benefit so much when we take an occasional intentional step back out of the flow.

There is hope. Audio-visual stores are beginning to stock vinyl and I recently overheard teenagers talking about how they want a record player – a record player!– for Christmas.

Kelly McQuillan lives in Comox, B.C.

https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/first-person/i-am-finding-meaning-in-music-again-with-a-new-familyritual/article37721460/



Sept. 23, 2023 My opinion: When I was teen to early 20s, I loved music.  I like listening and dancing to music.

I also love TV and movies.  However, in my mid- 20s, I have veered away from music.

I was about becoming a TV writer and producer, and reading the business news and trying to get an office career.

Tracy's ideal life (as a TV writer & producer, Actor, Office Career) vs. Tracy's real life (Part 1)


http://badcb.blogspot.com/2020/04/tracys-ideal-life.html

Tracy's ideal life vs. Tracy's real life (Part 2)/ "Missing Out: In Praise of the Unlived Life" by Adam Phillips


http://badcb.blogspot.com/2021/11/tracys-ideal-life-vs-tracys-real-life.html


This week's theme is about is about life essays:


"Putting my best arm forward"/ "The journey to a good night's sleep" (life essays)

http://badcb.blogspot.com/2017/12/life-essay-swimming.html


"The peace that lies behind the punch"/ "When push comes to shove" (life essays)

http://badcb.blogspot.com/2023/10/the-peace-that-lies-behind-punch-when.html


Oct. 3, 2023 "'Why pay double for everything?' Meet the adults who live with their parents": Today I found this article by Aastha Shetty on CBC:

Peggy Ryan first moved back in with her mom 10 years ago as a last resort.

She had lost her job and it was getting harder to keep up with all the bills.

Moving back into her childhood home just made most sense at the time. Ryan, 36, planned to save on rent and food and move out when she found work again. But as the years passed on, she realized living with her mom made most sense in the long term too.

"This is where I grew up. This is where we lived with my grandparents," Ryan said. "I really can't see living anywhere else."

Living together costs the Ryans $5,000 a month for everything they need, including hydro, home and life insurance, groceries and the mortgage.

She said if she were to live alone, she would likely be spending more than half of that on just rent.

And based on national data — Ryan likely isn't alone in feeling that way.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/kitchener-waterloo/living-at-home-multigenerational-parents-adult-children-1.6965979


If my kids want a place to stay they have a place to stay ,plain and simple.

  • Reply by Patrick Bricker.

    For 10 years in their 30s?

  • Greg Anderson

    9 MIN AGO

    Waiting for parents to go.

    The new normal.


    REPLY

    1 REPLY

     4

    SHAREREPORT

    Reply by Baron Von Trollenstein.


    BV


    Baron Von Trollenstein

    6 MIN AGO

    Reply to Greg Anderson - view message

    Welcome to the rest of the world. At least here the parents can help you with child care if you're working...instead of scrambling around and adding to the gridlock by shuttling the wee ones off to daycare.



My opinion: My sister, brother and I have lived with our parents and grandma for years.  My sister is the only one who moved out for the first time in her 30s.

I like this article because it's about spending time with your family and saving money.


Oct. 3, 2023 "House of Commons elects Liberal MP Greg Fergus as first Black Canadian Speaker": Today I found this article on Yahoo:


OTTAWA — Liberal member of Parliament Greg Fergus has been elected the House of Commons Speaker in a historic mid-session vote, becoming the first Black person to hold the position in Canada's Parliament.

Fergus, 54, was first elected to represent the Quebec riding of Hull-Aylmer in 2015.

MPs gave him a standing ovation as he was announced the winner of the vote, and members of the Liberal, NDP and Bloc Québécois caucuses shook his hand and hugged him, as did a small number of Conservative MPs.

"The Speaker, to use the old hockey analogy, is nothing more than a referee," Fergus said in his first speech from the chair.

"And if there's one thing I know, it's that nobody pays good money to go see the referee. They go to see the stars: you."

Fergus said he wants to ensure there is decorum during the passionate, hard debates that are necessary in Parliament.

"I'm going to be working hard at this, and I need all of your help to make this happen," he said, adding that he will be meeting with deputy Speakers Tuesday to discuss how to improve decorum.



Oct. 4, 2023 "Manitoba NDP to form majority government in historic win for First Nations premier": Today I found this article by Steve Lambert and Brittany Hobson on BNN Bloomberg:

Wab Kinew, who is to become Canada's first First Nations provincial premier, spoke to young Indigenous people and those from all backgrounds in his victory speech Tuesday after the NDP won a majority in the Manitoba election. 

"I was given a second chance in life," Kinew said to a cheering crowd. "And I would like to think that I have made good on that opportunity. And you can do the same." 

Kinew's late father was not allowed to vote as a young man under Canadian law at the time. His mother's birthday was election night, and he brought her onstage to celebrate the historic win along with his wife and three sons.





Oct. 3, 2023 "'On my way with a bottle of Cheese Whiz': Major Ontario highway closed due to celery spillage": Today I found this article by Corne van Hoepen on Yahoo.  They can still wash the celery thoroughly to eat or feed it animals:





"'Take the night off': Frosted Flakes maker pushing cereal for dinner to boost sales": Today I found this article by Leslie Patton on the Financial Post:


WK Kellogg Co., the maker of Frosted Flakes, is betting on expanding cold cereal to dinner and snacking to attract customers and fuel sales for the Kellogg spinoff.

About 25 per cent of cereal consumption is already outside of breakfast, and that percentage can grow further, chief executive Gary Pilnick said in an interview. Besides growth in more cereal-based snacks, the evening hours are a big opportunity to revive ready-to-eat cereal in North America with legacy brands including Raisin Bran and Special K.


I always enjoy a big bowl of sugar before bed time.


Tim Jones

22 HRS AGO

Wait until the class action lawsuits start. This will be the poster for the plaintiffs. Sugar is the new cigarettes.


My opinion: I eat cereal for breakfast and a snack.  I may eat it for other meals if there isn't anything else in my home.


Oct. 3, 2023 "‘Don’t fall for this scam like me’: Woman’s Facebook Marketplace PSA goes viral on TikTok": Today I found this article by Cassie Morris on Yahoo:


Michel Janse (@michel.c.janse) gained over 1.1 million views, 52,000 likes, 3,600 saves and 1,700 comments after she uploaded the PSA to her account.


“For my safety, I just want to confirm that you’re a real person,” the buyer allegedly wrote to  Janse. “Are you ok if I voice call you from Google?”

Though her gut told her the request seemed odd, Janse agreed to send her phone number.

She then received a text with a Google Voice code, which the buyer asked Janse to relay to her. Janse complied — only to realize afterward that she’d been scammed.

According to the Federal Trade Commission, if you give a scammer your phone number and then relay the code from Google Voice, the scammer is able to create a Google Voice number linked to your phone number. The scammer will then use your number to rip off other people and conceal their identity.

However, sometimes these scammers are after more than just your phone number or a Google Voice code. “If they get enough of your information, they could pretend to be you to access your accounts or open new accounts in your name,” the FTC says.

For those who have already been scammed, there are steps to reclaim your Google Voice number — steps that Janse says she took after realizing her error.

‘… thank you for this warning’

Over 1,700 TikTokers commented on Janse’s video, many of them thanking her.

“I actually have never heard of this so thank you for sharing. So glad you were able to get things back,” commented @prairie_girl_4life.

“As someone who just started using facebook market, thank you for this warning … ngl i could’ve fell for it,” wrote @azenaetherial.

Some, however, had heard of the scam before — and some had fallen victim to it themselves.

“I have heard of this. I always tell them I prefer to keep communication on fb messenger and they never write back,” wrote @cherylann212.

“Happened to me too. I no longer have access to my Facebook,” commented @fiftiesrediscovery.

How to avoid other Facebook Marketplace scams

According to the FTC, there are multiple ways that scammers can cheat you out of your money, including fake payments, bogus refund requests and fake check overpayments.

To avoid being scammed on Marketplace, the FTC advises sellers:

  • Don’t accept a mobile payment from someone you don’t know.

  • Never deposit a check (or mobile payment) for more than the selling price.

  • Don’t share your Google Voice verification code — or any verification code — with someone you don’t know.

But it’s not just sellers who can be victimized by a Marketplace scam. Buyers can be scammed as well. Facebook advises Marketplace users to be aware of the different types of scams and to learn how to avoid them.

“Scams can happen to both buyers and sellers. Some listings may also be scams. Scams come in different forms, so it’s important to know what scams are, and how to recognize them when buying and selling on Marketplace,” the platform explains.

How to report a scam

According to Facebook, if you see something you think is a scam, you should stop communicating with the buyer or seller and report the suspected scam to Facebook.

The FTC advises victims to also report the incident at ReportFraud.ftc.gov.

In The Know by Yahoo is now available on Apple News — follow us here!

https://ca.yahoo.com/news/don-t-fall-scam-woman-233701912.html


Oct. 5, 2023 "She called 911 during a break-in scare, but says the operator left her feeling helpless": Today I found this article by Nicole Williams on CBC:


At first, Maria Sabourin wasn't sure what to do when someone started yelling and banging on her apartment door one night in late April.

The 55-year-old tenant, who has mobility issues, said a lot happens at her highrise building in Lowertown. The building belongs to Ottawa Community Housing (OCH), which provides subsidized rental units for people with low income.

Then the person started kicking the door, picking at the lock and trying to force their way in. 

Sabourin said that's when she became "terrified."

"Everything came through my mind, you know? All the horrible things that can happen to a woman," she said.

But it was the six-minute call she made to 911 — during which Sabourin said she was repeatedly interrupted, misunderstood and treated with disrespect by the operator because of her status both as an OCH tenant and a Cuban immigrant with an accent — that left her "emotionally destroyed."

CBC has obtained the operator's notes and an audio recording of the call from Ottawa police through a freedom of information request.

The operator also asked Sabourin to repeat herself on several occasions even though she was speaking English. Police records show the operator noted a "language barrier."

"At that moment I was blaming myself," Sabourin later told CBC. "'If I only could speak like a white person' — that's what went through my mind. She probably wouldn't have talked down to me."

The call taker then asked Sabourin for more information, including her middle name, her birthday and if she had called OCH security. Sabourin asked four times if police were on their way before the operator plainly stated nearly five minutes later that they were. 

By this point, Sabourin said she felt so helpless and upset she hung up the phone just over a minute later.

"I hang up on them because she was instead of helping me, she was judging me. That's what I felt. I felt judged," she said.

The would-be intruder at Sabourin's door eventually left, but police reports conclude her complaint was "founded." The officers cleared the scene after determining a man had tried to enter Sabourin's apartment after mistaking it for his own.

https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/ottawa/ottawa-community-housing-911-call-dispatcher-1.6986247

My opinion: I listened to the first min. of the call and then stopped.  I'm already getting angry, depressed, and in a bad mood.  I'll read the article and be upset.

I mainly can't control this.  My Counselor #1 Judy told me: "If you get angry about something, what is the lesson here?"

Sabourin filed a complaint, and asked for more sensitivity training, and told the media like CBC about her experience.


Fri. Sept. 29, 2023 I got a used flip phone: I found an old flip phone from my mom.  I went to the Rogers at City Centre and they switched the SIM card from the broken phone to my mom's phone.

You can copy the phone numbers and texts to the SIM card, and then put the SIM card to the other phone.  There weren't any important numbers or texts that I wanted to transfer.

The 2 guys at Rogers were helpful.  Rogers owns Fido and they're stores are connected.

Saving money: I saved $111 from getting an old phone from my mom.

You should ask your friends and family for their old and used things to save money.

In 2019, I was asking around for a keyboard and my friend Cham gave me her old one.

I also redeemed another McDonald's coffee card to get a free medium coffee.


Henry's place: Henry hosted and we mainly talked about current events like living in Ontario, British Columbia, Toronto, Vancouver, Calgary and Edmonton.

I got some job advice like Shiya said go to Fiverr.  I told them I did and to get proofreading and editing work.


We ate some pizza from Fresh Slice, and nachos with salsa.

There was this chocolate and caramel cake from Vi's Pies which is really sweet.

Kumar

Denny

Shiya

Anne

My parents drove me there and picked me up because they were going out.  I was there from 6:30-9:30pm.


Sat. Sept. 30, 2023 Live theatre and shows in Edmonton: I'm looking for a job in the entertainment industry.  I applied to some live theatres.  


I see that there are a lot of shows in theatres, hotels, and casinos like the River Cree Resort and the Century Casino.

https://www.todocanada.ca/Performing-Arts-and-Theatre-in-Edmonton/


You don't have to go to Las Vegas for shows.  I went there earlier this year, and I didn't pay to see shows.  There were some free performances at bars and malls:


http://badcb.blogspot.com/2023/07/i-went-to-las-vegas-k-days-2023-81-year.html


Oct. 3, 2023 "Can You Use PayPal on Amazon? Four Indirect Ways": Today I found this article on Putler because I had some money on my PayPal account.  I don't really use PayPal:

Funds transfer

Transfer funds from your PayPal account to your bank account and then use your bank account to make a purchase on Amazon. Here are the steps to transfer funds from your PayPal account to your bank account:

  • Log in to your PayPal account.
  • Click on “Wallet” at the top of the page.
  • Click “Transfer Money.”
  • Choose “Transfer to your bank” and follow the prompts to complete the transfer.

Once the funds have been transferred to your bank account, you can use your bank account to make a purchase on Amazon.

https://www.putler.com/can-you-use-paypal-on-amazon/#:~:text=The%20most%20popular%20payment%20gateway,direct%20payment%20method%20for%20purchases.


I wanted to buy some snacks like chips and cookies there.


Shoppers Drug Mart: I typed in "chips" and I got Quest chips and chocolate chip bars.  I wanted No Name, Doritos, Lays, President's Choice, etc.

https://shop.shoppersdrugmart.ca/search?text=chips&sort=relevance&page=0&q=chips


Oct. 4, 2023 Found:


"Each year, over 600,000 people are reported missing in the U.S., but not all cases receive the proper attention. Gabi Mosely and her crisis management team make sure there is always someone looking out for the forgotten missing people."


https://www.imdb.com/title/tt9071808/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0_tt_8_nm_0_q_found


My opinion: I watched the pilot and it was good.  I will record the series and will watch all the eps in a couple of weeks.


Fall 2023 season: 

1. Found

2. The Irrational: I recorded the series and will watch the show in a couple of weeks.  Probably during the summer time when there aren't a lot of shows to watch.

3. Yellowstone: I recorded the series and maybe will watch this.

4. Robyn Hood: I watched the pilot and then I never watched it again.


"What Color Is Your Parachute?: Your Guide to a Lifetime of Meaningful Work and Career Success":  I have heard of this book by Richard N. Bolles last year.  I went on the internet to fill out the worksheets: 

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1984861204?tag=randohouseinc47720-20

University of Pennsylvania: These are all these personality tests to know thyself:

https://www.authentichappiness.sas.upenn.edu/testcenter



Posted by at No comments:

"The peace that lies behind the punch"/ "When push comes to shove" (life essays)

Nov. 28, 2016 "The peace that lies behind the punch": Today I found this life essay by Tom Du in the Globe and Mail:


I always thought I knew how to throw a punch. It’s simple, I told myself.

But I was wrong.

Several years ago, I joined a martial-arts school with two friends. We walked in like curious kindergartners, listening to our teacher with a peculiar mix of apprehension and excitement.

We trained hard into the cold winter evenings, repeating countless blocks until our muscles ached and dark bruises snaked across our forearms. Amidst the repetition, we gradually uncovered our own vulnerabilities and strengths.

I vividly remember my third class when another student barrelled toward me with raised fists. I can still feel my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes madly scanning for an exit. Any exit.
I think back to my ruthless bully – Henry, I think – when I was seven years old. In that moment, my mind screams at me to run and be afraid. Because, make no mistake, I am afraid.

The student is now less than two steps from me and I’m still frantically thinking about what I’m supposed to do.

Do I move forward? How should I be standing? What if I just flail my arms clumsily to distract him from my equally clumsy kick?

As his right fist shoots forward, something happens. I suddenly stop overthinking and everything slows down.

The fear is still there. It does not disappear. 

But I hold onto that shred of serenity and my hands somehow dart out to meet his oncoming punches. 

I have since struggled with this inherent contradiction in martial arts. 

A contradiction nestled between an ostensibly violent exterior and the need for a peaceful mindset.

Indeed, the purpose of martial arts is widely misunderstood, twisted by Hollywood and fuelled by misguided stereotypes. 

Martial arts is not merely about fighting; 

its purpose is profoundly philosophical and personal.

Martial-arts training, then, is like rereading a favourite book. 

One can appreciate unseen details in the second reading or the hundredth reading.

One just needs to be willing to open that book with an eye on the journey and not the endpoint.

And the journey is neither easy nor direct. 

It is equal parts perseverance, curiosity and humility. 

It is about constantly balancing – not suppressing – instinct, emotion and reason.

I didn’t always think like that though. I downright resisted it. I was younger and more rigid then; I wanted to somehow “master” my martial art. I trained up to four days a week and, in turn, I dislocated my shoulder and injured my knee. I pushed myself hard – but with an eye on the wrong goal.

No matter how hard one trains, there will always be someone better. In fact, I have never felt as humbled as the afternoon I was (easily) taken down by an elderly martial artist. Ego slightly bruised, I learned a lot about myself that day.

Perceptions of winning and losing can be distracting. 

Comparisons can be self-destructive. 

And illusions of knowledge can be the most dangerous of all. 

So, perhaps Socrates was right – perhaps knowing you know nothing is the key to self-cultivation and mindfulness.

Imagine trying to maintain that mindfulness after taking two hits to the ribs in a sparring match.

Imagine looking at your sparring partner not as a hostile opponent but as a respected peer.

Imagine stripping away your daily stress to focus on the present, to focus on mindfulness and balance.

For me, that balance is central to both martial arts and everyday life. It brings a sense of appreciation to those Monday morning meetings and urgent deadlines. In all likelihood, I may never fully achieve that balance – and that’s okay – because striving for balance opens the door for less obvious training.

Things such as tenacity, personal awareness and adaptability cannot be taught. These can only be fostered through training – and, more importantly, failure.

When I fail to disarm an attacker with a knife in training, it sparks personal questions such as, “How can I better control my attacker’s wrist without committing my hands?” 

Similarly, failing to land a kick does not lessen its value as a kick; failure adds to my understanding of the kick, its applications and myself.

I’ll likely never need to fight in my daily life, but that doesn’t diminish the value of any lesson. 

Those lessons have introduced a more focused, balanced and peaceful mindset to my life.

Ultimately, I would not be on this journey without the guidance of my teacher, Sifu Calvin Chung.

There is more to martial arts than physical techniques and I am indebted to the many layers of his teachings. I also appreciate my martial-arts peers for their support and willingness to explore the very purpose of our training.

Because training to punch is more than just training a punch.

It represents an intensely personal journey. 

A journey that frees us from the fallacies and fears that too often characterize everyday life and the modern human condition. 

A journey that illuminates the value of a peaceful mindset in everyday life.

So, after years of training, I have to admit I still don’t know how to throw a punch.

But then again, that was never really the point.



Mar. 23, 2017 "When push comes to shove": Today I found this life essay by Florence McCambridge in the Globe and Mail: 



I’m lying in corpse pose at the end of my vinyasa flow; eyes closed, trying to breathe calmly in and out through my nose. But my eyebrows are furrowed and my jaw is clenched. I’m not reconnecting with my breath or feeling any of the benefits of this final relaxation. Instead, I’m thinking about the girl who shoved me last night.

My yoga teacher tells us to slowly make our way out of savasana and up to sitting, but I don’t hear her.

I’m too busy replaying the events of the night before in my mind. A complete stranger walked up to me on the street and asked me for money. I ignored her – and then she shoved me.

By the time we bring our hands together in prayer position and whisper “Namaste,” I am pissed off. Not just that this stranger pushed me, but that I did nothing about it. My instinct was to not react, to just keep walking.

I didn’t sleep the night it happened.

I was afraid that I’d have the dream I’d had many times before. Someone is chasing me and when they reach out to grab me, I try to scream but nothing comes out. I wake up sweating, but I can always reassure myself: it was just a dream. And I fall back asleep knowing that if it really happened, I’d scream. I’d do something.

Only now I knew that wasn’t true. I did nothing.

I bow to my yoga teacher. This is her fault. She’s done nothing to prepare me for being attacked on the street. 

Yoga teaches you to be present, to focus on this moment. 

It teaches you not to worry about what comes next because you can’t control or change it. 

But if I’d done something to prepare for being assaulted, maybe I could have defended myself. Maybe I would have pushed back.

That’s how I found myself at a Krav Maga class.

Through some frantic Internet research, I’d discovered that this form of martial arts, originally developed for the Israeli armed forces but adapted for use by law enforcement and civilians, was probably my best bet for learning to defend myself.

The instructor gave me a rundown of what to expect. The focus of Krav Maga isn’t just to learn how to fight, he explained. “The techniques you learn in this class could save your life.”

He went on with his best sales pitch and I was convinced that this would become a new way of life for me.

No more noodle arms. No more yoga class. I’d keep my pastel-coloured breakfast smoothies, but I would damn well add some protein powder to them.

By the time the instructor pressed play on the angry-rock playlist, I was ready to learn how to fight.

I regretted the colour of my shirt immediately. Everyone else was in black, or at least sombre grey. My partner for the day would describe my bright purple T-shirt as “peppy.”

So now in addition to the sparring gloves and groin guard that I’d have to buy for my new, kick-ass life, I’d also need to pick up some more serious workout attire.

For the next hour, I hit with everything I had. My knuckles turned bright red and burned. My arms felt like jelly after only the first round of punches. My partner told me I was doing a great job. I thanked her while drilling my knee into the padded shield she held in place for me.

“Groin kicks!” The instructor commanded, reminding us to use our shins not our feet. I made a mental note.

I caught on faster than I thought I would. It’s easy to see how the moves would become instinctive with enough practice. 

I left the gym with sore knuckles, an aching back and the overwhelming desire to keep punching. I walked home going over what I’d learned: 

jab fingers into eyes; 

aim for the bridge of the nose; 

kick kneecaps hard.

I heard footsteps following a bit too close behind me. I crossed to the other side of the street. The man didn’t follow me. Turned out he was just in a rush.

But what if he had followed me?

It would take me years in training to increase my odds of survival in a serious attack and even then, when faced with the real thing, would I be any better off?

I had done the right thing in crossing to the other side of the street. It’s what I should have done the night that girl shoved me. 

If I had taken a better route home, which I normally do, and if I’d been more aware of my surroundings, which I normally am, I could have avoided the whole thing.

I should have done what yoga taught me to do. I should have been present. Then I would be coming home from yoga class feeling grateful for what my body is capable of, instead of coming home from a self-defence class feeling terrified of what it isn’t.

I didn’t go back to Krav Maga.

Instead, I’m back in corpse pose at the end of my vinyasa flow; eyes closed, breathing calmly in and out through my nose. My eyebrows and jaw are soft. I’m reconnecting with my breath.

I’m still thinking about the girl who shoved me, but with one final cleansing breath, I decide to let it go.

Florence McCambridge lives in Toronto.

http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/an-unpleasant-encounter-made-me-give-up-yoga-and-take-up-kravmaga/article34367319/


My opinion: I probably would have kept walking too.  Probably thrown in: "Don't touch me!"

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"Putting my best arm forward"/ "The journey to a good night's sleep" (life essays)

Aug. 18, 2015 "Putting my best arm forward": Today I found this life essay by Samantha Warwick in the Globe and Mail.  This was inspiring and fun to read about a woman and her ocean race competition: 


I collect my swim cap and secure a time chip around one ankle. A race organizer draws number 19 on my shoulder with a marker. Dance music pumps from loudspeakers at Port Forum Beach, Barcelona, and the conditions look okay, except for the breakers crashing against the shore. Of the 320 registered swimmers, 53 are women.

Swimmers are warming up behind the surf, loosening arms and legs like responsible athletes. I sit on a towel and buy water from a peddler selling pop and chips out of a plastic bag. I have not adequately prepared for this 2.5-kilometre race due to health interference – but here I am, in Spain, at the right time – so I’m doing this, because I told myself I would.

The pre-race briefing is completely in Spanish. I understand nothing except the countdown. A countdown sounds the same in any language, and then you run into the ocean and try to stay close to at least one other swimmer. Diez. Nueve. Ocho. Siete. Seis. Cinco. Cuatro. Tres. Dos. Uno! 

We all dash to the ocean and dive. The fastest swimmers take off in a drove. I swim steadily with competitors to either side. The pack thins out and I know there are swimmers ahead of and behind me.

I approach the first buoy, overjoyed to notice that a swimmer has taken up residence to my left. We stroke in unison around a giant orange bobble. Underwater, I can see her swimsuit has a comic-book pattern. We take turns sighting and keeping each other on track toward the next buoy. She has smaller arms than I do. 

Actually, she appears small in general, and for the first half of the race I have two predominant thoughts: “You can swim 2,500 metres,” I tell myself; and “Please, don’t be 12.” I don’t want to pace this course alongside a child, as endearing a thought as this may be. 

Were children even allowed to register? I’m not sure. “You can swim 2,500 metres.” Stroke, stroke, breathe. “Please don’t be 12. You can swim 2,500 metres. Please don’t be 12.”

Why have I promised myself to swim this race despite my lack of training? 

Despite the fact I don’t feel well and my last open-water race was 13 years ago?

Because I am losing touch with the truths this sport taught me in my early 20s about life and perseverance – about calm, quiet determination.

 When you swim long distances, you are reminded that the best way to respond to unexpected currents, rip tides, rogue waves (and bad news) is to relax in the turbulence as much as possible. 

Breathe. Stay calm. Do not make decisions based on fear. 

You must try not to project, overthink, panic or punch relentlessly against a current.

This wastes precious energy. 

Above all, you learn to recognize (and reject) the insidious voice that says: “Stop. You’re not good enough;” “What are you doing? You'll never get through this;” and “Who do you think you are, anyway? Loser!”
Somewhere along the way, I’ve forgotten parts of this. I’ve developed a burgeoning sense of trepidation. Instead of tucking my dreadlocks into the back of a cheap wetsuit and declaring, “What’s the worst that can happen?” as I did when I was 19, now I ask that question with my brow furrowed, one eyebrow lifted: “No, really,” I lean into a scenario, “What is the worst that can happen?”

We round the third orange buoy at 1,300 metres and raise our heads simultaneously, unable to see the next marker. We bob in the swells, and Comic-print says something in rapid Spanish. “No comprendo,” I say. “Sorry?” Together we sink into a trough and catch sight of another buoy. “Over there,” I wave. She points, “Alla, alla!”

We swim toward the 1,500-metre buoy. She is not 12, she is definitely an adult. After 1,500 metres, we don’t realize that we’ve started to zigzag. The swells push us around. We stop and look for the next buoy, see nothing but ocean, and put our faces back down to keep swimming, so close together that our arms occasionally graze. Stroke, stroke, breathe. Sight. Back down. Swim.

A yellow blur slides across our horizon. We bob like seals. Lifeguards on a paddleboard. A fit of Spanish breaks out between my pacer and the guards. The guards motion for us to bear left. Comic-print turns to me, points, nods, “Okay?” “Okay!” I say.

The final buoy comes into view. We pick up the pace. How had I forgotten the adrenalin of the finish, when the bottomless dark brightens to a sandy glow, lighter and lighter until you can grab the sand in your fists and crawl onto your feet?

Comic-print runs up the beach and finishes four seconds ahead of me. On the other side of the finish line, where officials retrieve our chips, we release our goggles and grin at one another. “Thanks,” I say, delivering a weak punch to her shoulder. “Good job,” she says. There are still 20-odd women behind us, and I sit on the beach to watch.

I close my eyes and replay the seafloor coming into focus after the chaos of deep rolling water. 

There is always a finish line, one way or another. 

It’s a matter of trusting this when we are exhausted, frustrated and impatient; when we don’t know where we are and clarity is obscured by troughs and debris. 

Ocean racing taught me how to rally, gather confidence and keep going, putting one arm in front of the other.

Samantha Warwick lives in Calgary.

 https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/the-quiet-determination-of-long-distance-swimming-in-the-open-seas/article25990090/



Aug. 3, 2017 "The journey to a good night's sleep": Today I found this life essay by Sarah Bauer in the Globe and Mail:








I like the picture.



On the first day of September in 2012, I stopped sleeping. My body gave me no warning for this abrupt and rude physiological change. I went to bed exhausted from a day of moving with my best friend Charlie across Vancouver, from our basement suite off Cambie Street to a renovated apartment above my favourite bookstore on Commercial Drive. When Charlie and some friends went out for the night, I crawled into bed early, anticipating a deep and restful sleep.

It never came.

I laid all night waiting. The next day, punchy and bleary-eyed, I muscled through unpacking, visiting with family and hiking the Grouse Grind. That evening, I thought, I surely deserved a long rest for my efforts.

Instead, Night 2 saddled me with panic. If I didn’t sleep at all tonight, what would happen to me tomorrow? The terror of what could come hurled my body into a state of flight-or-fight. With my heart throbbing fast and terrible adrenaline zipping through my veins, everything was on fire. Sleep was beyond grasp.

By the fourth morning, with less than an hour of shut-eye banked on either side, I was a brittle leaf in the wind; unhinged beyond measure and chipped on all corners. I didn’t recognize myself.

But I had resources. Charlie was in medical school and he bore witness to my disintegration.

By day five, I was in the walk-in clinic with him and a doctor, crying wildly like a distressed animal. Between the three of us, we came up with some options for tackling the beast.

Over the next six months, I waded through solutions. Some came from the doctor, while other came from my faulty, exhausted logic. 

They almost all cost me money, but at the end of the day, what saved me was the most simple – and free – change in thinking.

On my path to rest, I learned more about myself than any other life event has provided.

It altered me in a pointed and meaningful way. If you are struggling with insomnia, read this story. Save yourself some bucks.

Alcohol: $230

Passing out drunk works until it doesn’t. Once I was home from the bar, the night’s five whisky drinks would direct me into sudden and blank sleep. The mean tang of the next day would remind me why it wasn’t worth it.

Meditation app: $2.99

I bought the app based on user reviews and desperation. Both times I tried using it were during the day (nap time?) with the sounds of the Number 20 bus hissing to a stop outside my building.

Yoga pass: $45

When the doctor rambled off a list of possible solutions, yoga and meditation was at the top of her list. This I could do. Yoga is cool and good for you. My hamstring strength improved somewhat, but my sleep did not.

Sleeping pills: $13

The most concrete result of my dramatic doctor’s appointment with Charlie was my first prescription for sleeping pills. The quality of sleep on this stuff is brutal. You wake up feeling as if your head is a fishbowl. But it did permit me sleep. And that wretched, drug-induced sleep fortified the bridge of strength I needed to cross over to recovery.

Hypnotherapy: $300

Near the beginning of my bout of insomnia, I clung to hypnotherapy with a spiritual fervour. But at $150 a session, I had no choice but to urge my chosen healer to please expedite the miracle. He believed somewhere in my old memories lay the trauma that had suddenly kept me from sleeping. 

So we searched in visions of my childhood self for more than two hours. I went back to a couple of times in my life where I was small and felt abandoned. I held her in my mind and told her it was going to be okay. After two sessions, I left feeling alive. But I never got to sleep.

Luxury leggings: $180

My first hypnotherapy session was exhilarating and motivating. 

I wanted to grasp the world by the face and kiss it all over. 

So I skipped right into Club Monaco on Robson Street and dropped some cash on cashmere blend leggings. Two pairs, in black and blue.

Cognitive therapy: $0

My medical plan covered four sessions. It took several failures in sleep remedy before I finally picked up the phone on my lunch break one day in December to make an appointment with a therapist. 

Within our time together, my therapist had me face a terrifying suggestion: What if I never slept?

I confronted it on paper, writing out a long and melodramatic worst-case scenario which ended in me being committed to a mental institution, gone insane from not sleeping. 

I would read it out to myself night after night, looking at it and letting the shudders of fear turn into mild tension in my bones. 

Then, one day, I looked at it and didn’t care. So what if that happened? I would make it through, if I had to. I would live.

My therapist and I only met for four sessions, but she taught me how to abandon the desire to sleep. 

She made me question why it mattered so much and reminded me how young mothers and leaders of great countries function remarkably on limited amounts of sleep.


Oddly and so beautifully, it was a book my mother recommended that ultimately rocked me back to sleep. With its sweetness, The Help became the book I didn’t want to put down to go to bed. 

I would read through the night, nodding off naturally around two or three in the morning, book on my chest. 

Bless that book. Bless all books for the worlds they allows us to sink into when we need them.

Sarah Bauer lives in Kelowna, B.C.


https://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/to-overcome-my-insomnia-i-had-to-change-the-way-i-thought-aboutsleep/article35857116/



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