Short Man Syndrome

"As tall as he is...I will kick him out of the country."



May 25, 2008
Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe renewed his election campaign with a fresh round of attacks at his perceived enemies in the West, as he accused the United States of political interference and threatened to expel its ambassador.

Build-a-Bench

The "simple" bench as it was to be made. Found the plans on the inter-web.


In our backyard with all the raw materials and a milk carton doubling as a saw horse.


Trial run after I put the seat box together.


So close...the plans called for the longest pieces to be an inch shorter than the actual width of planks available in the real world. Had to make some compromises. Seat should have had spaces between each plank like a real bench.

Tarah was instrumental in putting the screws in after I had drilled holes into the seat planks. This meant that tired old dad didn't have to look for screws. Way to go Tarah!!

Seth was a great help, he used a manual screw driver to screw the seat planks into place after my battery operated drill died. Thanks, Sethy!

Trial run of the bench over our backyard window well. The bench serves a dual purpose: It is a place to sit and it covers up the window well so no little kiddies will fall in. Looked everywhere for plastic or wrought iron covers but could not find one that fit our larger than normal well.

Naipaul Redux

My view on V. S. Naipaul continues to solidify. The man is petty, arrogant, and as I wrote previously, "self-centred, masochistic, vile, womanizing, racist, and I suspect, a self hating man."

Now I realize that Naipaul may not be rocked back on his heels by my opinion, but geez, what can there possibly be to like about this guy. His latest book, A Writer's People: Ways of Looking and Feeling, has been reviewed at Powell's Books. The reviewer, a former editor and correspondent of The New York Times, writes,

His fellow Caribbean Nobelist Derek Walcott is portrayed as a writer who "exhausted the first flush of his talent" without ever really finding a consistent voice...In another instance, brutal honesty comes across as disdain or, it almost seems, payback for some unstated ancient slight.

This sounds very familiar. Again, read my previous post on Naipaul's vindictive swipes at Salman Rushdie.

Good Bye

Good bye Robert Trewin. I am saddened to hear that your grumpy-old-man-routine will no longer be mine to see. I am saddened for the people who you have left behind...your loyal wife, your loving daughter and son.

I will miss your colourful suspenders and your day old beard. Your blue jeans at even the most serious occassions. Your quirky sense of humour and your no nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is ways.

I will see you on the other side. In the meantime, put in a good word for me, won't you?

Rest Your Eyes

Darfur: On and on...

Here's an excerpt of a recent article by Eric Reeves on the Christian Science Monitor's web site.

Eric Reeves is Professor of English Language and Literature at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. He has spent the past nine years working full-time as a Sudan researcher and analyst, publishing extensively both in the US and internationally. He has testified several times before the Congress, has lectured widely in academic settings, and has served as a consultant to a number of human rights and humanitarian organizations operating in Sudan. Working independently, he has written on all aspects of Sudan's recent history.

The brutality of the Khartoum regime's military actions in the Darfur region of western Sudan continually forces a question that seems to have no morally intelligible answer: Is there no act of civilian destruction so cruel, so savage, that the international community will finally respond vigorously and unambiguously?

Bill Cosby Tells It Like It Is

Just finished reading a barn burner of a speech given by the elder statesman of comedy, Bill Cosby. I don't agree with all the points made in the speech, but it is a very good piece of rhetoric, down to earth and speaks in language we can all easily understand.

Here's an excerpt:

I’m talking about these people who cry when their son is standing there in an orange suit. Where were you when he was two? Where were you when he was twelve? Where were you when he was eighteen, and how come you don’t know he had a pistol? And where is his father, and why don’t you know where he is? And why doesn’t the father show up to talk to this boy?

And then they stand there in an orange suit and you drop to your knees: “He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything.” Yes, he did do it. And you need to have an orange suit on, too.

Sex and The City

Me and the girls at work get together, sometimes for absolutely no reason at all.

Chris, Pam, Terry and Val are the usual standbys. I suppose I'm the token male. Things work out well in our small group. We all enjoy going out for basically the same reasons and when we're together, everyone gets their fair share of the spotlight.

It turns out that Chris' birthday and Val's birthday are close together and it has been suggested, by Pam, that we might go see a movie. Okay, I like going to the movies. Popcorn, pop, sitting on my ass and being entertained. Yep...I like the movies. Unfortunately, Pam suggested we go see Sex and the City! I told her I would go to the theatre and watch some other movie and meet them outside after. There's bound to be a critically acclaimed movie with car chases and some gun play for me to watch.

The movie has already premiered in England and this is what one guy had to say about the movie:

I don't think SATC is just for girls. I am a reasonably well-adjusted bloke and I am looking forward to seeing the film with my girlfriend. I am then looking forward to poking my eyes out with red-hot pokers, burning my skin off, and rolling around in salt for a while."—Phil Mann, Newcastle upon Tyne.

Yeah....me too.

Source: chicagotribune.com

And then Georgie would make the fire lights,
As it was logwood burnin' through the nights.
Then we would cook cornmeal porridge,
Of which I'll share with you...

Bob Marley
No Woman No Cry lyrics

Inside me

Inside me lives a skinny woman crying to get out. But I can usually shut her up with cookies.

Ottawa, The City of Girlfriends

I haven't been posting anything lately because of that time cosumer of a web site - Facebook. Most of my computer time is spent playing scrabulous and posting notes of no great consequence on friend's pages. I am writing today from Ottawa. I have been here for the past three days. A nice little town, the pace is slower than Toronto and memories galore.

I lived in Ottawa for a school year in 1984/1985. It was a year of great academic achievement and sad for the loss of my then girlfriend - Angela. Oh, she is alive, but we were in the midst of a breakup and blah, blah, blah.

I visited the YMCA residence, where I last met my previous girlfriend - Christine L. Another chick that dented my heart.

Oh yeah, the National Art Gallery, was where I had the greatest day visit with Jacqueline I-D to view the once-in-a-lifetime Degas exhibit.

Ottawa has been a lightining rod for many turns in my life. This visit adds a more mellow and pleasant layer to all the other bitter sweet memories. I head back to the famiglia today at 6 p.m. and will land in toronto a mere 50 minutes after take off.

In other news, I just booked tickets to see Salman Rushdie at the The Danforth Music Hall Theatre on June 9, 2008. Hurray for Zap. Salman is, of course, the sleepy eyed wordsmith from England who was the target of Iran's Grand Ayatollah's fatwa in 1989. Poor bugger! Didn't sleep a wink for the next five years. Sold a lot of books though.

p.s. I have posted a picture of Salman and his ex-wife Padma Lakshmi in solidarity with all shorter, bald men with literary leanings. Talk about beauty and the beast...sheesh!