Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 
All The Colours Of The....

In a glorious reliving of the 80's (though happily without the Flock of Seagulls haircuts), Mel & I have been watching a few downloaded episodes of Rainbow Brite. This marks one of those rare occasions where something I recall from my childhood doesn't entirely seem so silly when I view it at an older age. The animation quality, given the time, was surprisingly good. After watching the first two episodes, I have also come to the following conclusions about the series:

1) Starlite the horse couldn't be any more gay.

2) Lurky, the big dustball of a villain, resembles the result of a genetic splicing between Snuffleupagus and the Hamburglar.

3) Twink, the fuzzy little star-shaped sprite (read: magical girls' obligatory talking mascot), really needed to have been eaten in the first episode. Ideally chewed the recommended 30 times before being swallowed. At least then he would have served a purpose (other than annoying me incessantly).

4) continuity really needed to be checked in episode 2. As our heroine is on her quest to find the seven Colour Kids (one kid per colour, natch), she saves Red, Yellow and Green. Shortly thereafter, the villains capture Indigo, Blue and Orange. Mysteriously enough, however, when Rainbow Brite rescues them, we now have Indigo, Green and Orange. Possibly Blue was trained in the ninjitsu art of substituting some object for himself in order to avoid capture. Alas, he switched with someone who already head been rescued. He needs to work on his ninjitsu. Or else take better notes from David Copperfield performances.

5) the green colour kid, Patty O'Green, despite her namesake, is not Irish.

6) the red colour kid, Red Butler, really does seem to give a damn. That and he bows like a girl.

Quote of the Day: and the exact words uttered by Mel have not been changed in the slightest too. "No hands down [Chaos'] pants, unless they're mine!" Mel insists I give proper context for this. If it's context she wants, she can write about it in her livejournal. Mwah hah hah ha ha ha!


posted by Phillip at 6:39 PM

 
Crack 2.0

If you gaze down upon the bunks at the front of the store, the ones that contain all of our wallets, you will suddenly discover what it's like to look at a wicker basket at 10x magnification. It's a veritable basket-weaving of black on the men's side. On the women's side it resembles something a Kindergartener would make, having been given a pile of strips, each one a different colour, and wove a basket.

Either way, I'm not really of the mindset to deliver massive brain damage and physical trauma to the designer(s) who came up with this new way of presenting out wallets. I think this checkerboard pattern of having 3-4 wallets with their spines facing up, and then a stack of wallets with their sides facing up proves that the designer(s) have already suffered much brain damage and physical trauma in their childhoods.

I blame a lack of TV and violent video games.

Actually, I lay blame on the majority of district and store managers who were at a meeting this past week, and were shown the new design pattern for the wallets. And 90% of them liked it. Possibly even loved it. I am pleased to defend my store and district manager, since they both quietly agreed with each other that this idea was crack-induced crap.

Lori especially holds not-so-subtle displeasure towards it. If she could get away with dousing the wallets in kerosine, lighting them ablaze and claiming it was an accident, the store would have had a hell of a marshmallow roast this afternoon.

I for one cannot wrap my brain around this pattern that is not only visually and aesthetically offensive to me, but is a pain in the proverbial ass to maintain. Not to mention we can only display 3/4ths of the wallet styles we originally had out. I'm hoping someone comes to their senses and recants before I have to dust off the ol' Customer Appreciation Pancake Maker, and turn it into the Managerial Appreciation Pancake Maker.

On the plus, side, the checkerboard pattern now allows us in fits of boredom to play chess on the front bunks. At least there's a distinctive silver lining in this cloud.

Today's Lesson: shoe manufacturing companies do not actually use the best possible adhesive for glueing the soles to the rest of the shoe. Mainly because (apaprently) anywhere up to 90% of all people are rather allergic to the glue. So as a result, they use a less allergy-inducing but conversely not as effective glue. (The things you learn from some Scottish customers.)


posted by Phillip at 4:09 PM

 
Zombie, Eh?

Some debates were just meant to be carried on. Even after posting the last little bit of nowhere, Mel & I found ourselves debating the status of zombies in Canada. Mel still is adamant that zombies would never be able to get in Canada--or if they were, they wouldn't be staying for long. If Canadian Immigration makes it problematic enough for an American citizen to immigrate, she argues, it certainly has to be harder for someone without a pulse to do that.

To which I replied, "They'd probably claim refugee status."

Mel then indignantly remarked, "They'd probably get it too!"

This immediately conjured up the image of a Canadian Immigration officer, played by Eric Idle of Monty Python fame telling a zombie applicant, "No, I'm terribly sorry, but your immigration application has been rejected. You'll have to return to your native land of," he pauses to consult his file, "uh, hell."

To which the zombie will of course angrily mutter, "Uuuurgh!"

And Eric Idle would reply, "I don't care if there's no more room there! Feel free to walk the earth all you want, but you can't do it on Canadian soil anymore."

Today's Lesson: granted, this lesson should have been listed about 3 months ago, but even still it's quite relevant even today. When you're making a chocolate milkshake with one of those blenders, put the lid on before you hit the frappe button. On a completely unrelated lesson, projectile chocolate milkshake can soar high enough to hit the ceiling.


posted by Phillip at 6:01 AM

 
Dog Eat Dog 2: Zombies Not Eat Dog

Well, it's been an evening filled with pillaging a used CD store, hanging out with friends for coffee and then going to see the zombie-infested apocalypse Dawn of the Dead. I am happy to say that they at least had Tom Savini there for a cameo. Much rejoicing.

Overall, I'm rather impressed with the revamped version. Though ultimately the only real things it shares with Romero's original are: there are zombies; there is a mall; and there are people trapped in the mall who feel that if they let the zombies inside, the zombies would surely make a horrible mess as they shamelessly ravaged the clothing racks at American Eagle looking for good deals.

This has me considering what might happen if, let's say, zombies invaded Canada. What would happen if Canadian zombies roamed the streets? Now Mel argues that zombies simply would not come to Canada; Canadian immigration would not let them through. I think they would, since national border patrols admittedly leave something to be desired. They'd be around, eating some random hapless schmuck, but they wouldn't be allowed to legally work.

But I digress. Which, given the topic for today's little bit of nowhere, is a lot better than if I were digesting. I'm suddenly reminded of a Shel Silverstein poem about someone eating a baby...

Anyhoo, back to Canadian zombies. Those of you easily offended by such things as satirical stereotypes, or just the letter 'T', should probably go elsewhere. Might I recommend www.disney.com

If zombies were to manifest themselves in Canada, I don't think the Canadians moving around with an actual pulse would have much reason to worry about eating lunch. No, Canadian zombies wouldn't be attracted to human flesh. They'd be after a much more precious Canadian commodity: donuts.

Tim Hortons all over the country are laid under seige by hordes of donut-hungry zombies ready to mercilessly sink their teeth into a honey cruller or Boston Creme. Angered Canadian citizens are trapped on the roofs of Tim Hortons, trying to pick off as many zombies as they can, as the store employees fend off zombies from getting anywhere near the coffee makers.

Of course, Canadian zombies might also be pretty polite and decent, so they might wind up running the Tim Horton's they overrun. I can see it now: walking up to the counter, and on the other side is a decomposing zombie with an ungainly shuffle and a work uniform & badge telling me Hello My Name Was Tom.

Me: ^-^ "Hey there, Tom! I'll have a large coffee, double cream, one sugar."

Hello I Was Tom: "Uuuuurgh..."

Me: "Right then. So...see the hockey game last night?"

Hello I Was Tom: "Uuuuurgh...."

Me: "I, uh, noticed the new zombie forward on the Leafs ate the goalie for the Red Wings last night. What do you think about that?"

Hello I Was Tom: "Uuurgh!"

Me: "Yeah, I know they're coming down hard on the fighting and cheap shots these days. But did he really have to eat the ref that tried to throw him out?"

Hello I Was Tom: "Uuuuurgh."

Me: "I guess you're right; an eight game suspension is tough but fair. So, when you're done your shift, want to join me and the guys at the bar for some beer? Just promise me you won't be a glut and embarrass me by doing that drunk striptease on the table again."

Hello I Was Tom: "Urgh!"

Me: "I don't care if you don't remember a thing! I do! You know that your various...appendages can fly off easily. One thrust of that pelvis, and I had to reorder my glass of scotch!"

Hello I Was Tom: "Uuuuurgh..."

Me: "You damned right you're buying for me tonight. Say, nice toque you're wearing today."

Hello I Was Tom: ^-^ "Ruur!"

Me: ^-^ "You're welcome! Hey, wait a minute...I didn't order this Soilent Green donut."


Hey, it could happen. Or else they'd mug & eat some poor buggers portaging their canoe through downtown Toronto.

Today's Useless Fact: the movie caption tells us that when there is no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth. If Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett are right, then that means hell's maxed out on space for door-to-door salesmen.


posted by Phillip at 9:50 PM

 
Dog Eat Dog (Among Other Things)

You'll notice a reocurring theme in today's little bit of nowhere: there's not a vegan in sight. Today is entirely dedicated to carnivorous things. I'm not sure if I'd ever be able to make this an official National Carnivore Day, but it would be interesting to then see how fast other pseudo-holidays like National Vegetarian Day and National Cannibal Day get ushered onto the calendar.

Our first entry hails from, ironically of all places, FOX News. I don't ever really think I've seen a case of Continent Vs. Corporation before, but here it is. Actually, it's not an official continent per say, but it's the European Union, so there's a fair bit of Europe to be had. And the victim they wish to dine upon? Microsoft.

Check out the link: http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,114881,00.html

Next up, we have a more reliable news source than FOX: Jon Stewart's Daily Show. In Monday' night's broadcast, Stewart announced that Mel Gibson's movie The Passion of the Christ was at last toppled from first place at the box office. It's replacement? Dawn of the Dead. (Or as some people call it, voting day.)

While this is a bit of a paraphrase, Stewarts commented, "You know, this does say a lot. While people like a good story about one man's resurrection, they also think that the more people coming back from the dead, the better!"

Jesus Christ and brain-eating zombies. While some might argue the latter aptly describes the Christian and/or Catholic church these days, I smell a sequel to Jesus Christ, Vampire Hunter coming....

And for our final entry in Those Wacky Carnivores!, I give you a slight case of death from Germany, where a man was killed and subsequently eaten (well, mostly eaten) by his pets. No, the cuplrits weren't cats. Not dogs eithers. Think higher numbers and smaller bodies. Think of 3-digit numbers, and in some cases near-microscopic bodies.

Think black widow spider. And then think 200 other spiders. And also think of many snakes and reptiles. Oh, and don't forget the gecko lizard named Helmut. Though you may not want to think of the several thousand termites who helped pitch in too.

The news link's here: http://www.thesun.co.uk/article/0,,2-2004092008,00.html

This will make even the hardened individual shudder from a good case of the willies. I personally can't get that image from Creepshow 2 out of my head now, where we discover that in a battle of man vs. cockroach...the roaches made themselves one hell of a trophy house.

Today's Lesson: there will always two (for lack of a better term) "people groups" that it will always be politically correct to skewer, mock and mercilessly obliterate: Nazis and zombies.


posted by Phillip at 7:51 AM

 
The Couches Go Marching Two By Two, Hurrah

Just when I thought I was one step closer to solving the mystery behind the perpetual couch dumping, this had to happen. The garbage bin has been filling up quickly the last few days, with a large portion of space in the bin going to the dead couch. I have naturally been expecting another deceased couch to magically appear inside the bin when it gets emptied today or tomorrow.

And yet last night, as we took Shady through the underground parking lot for her walk, what should Mel & I see but another couch sitting by the entrance, obviously awaiting its chance to leap into the garbage bin when there was room. I am boggled that already another couch is prepared to become the latest sacrifice to a proverbial island volcano.

How is it possible that already the couches are lining up like this? Is the garbage bin being mistaken for the latest, trendiest furniture night club? Is our bin some secret couch burial ground I have been uniformed about?

At this rate, I fully expect everyone in the complex other than us to have replaced their couch before the end of spring. This in theory means that we should be seeing no more couches in the bin for at least another year or two. Then again, this is theory we're talking about.

In all likelihood, when the summer begins, we won't see anymore old couches in the garbage bin. From there on in, it'll all be dining tables and coffee tables. Every time the bin will get emptied, another dying table will take the place of its predecessor in...I don't know, maybe guarding some precious treasure hidden inside the bin?

It's all theory, folks. All theory.

Today's Lesson: even dogs can have bedhead. And they know when you're laughing at their bedhead state. And they are seriously not impressed by it.


posted by Phillip at 9:34 AM

 
And Now, The Latest Installment Of "Name That Crack"!

You really do have to wonder the name of the crack designers are on sometimes. I will admit that it does hold some allure, though only in the sense that you want to just see the looks on everyone else's faces when you proudly display your newest acquisition. Inside our store, there sits a 4-piece set of luggage. It looks like a Hawaiian tourist exploded all over it.

Picture this for a moment: an otherwise black suitcase covered with white Hawaiian floral prints. And I do mean covered: top, bottom, sides, front and back. From what I've heard from another store, this style also comes in purple.

This almost rivals the crack those wacky purse designers were on when they crafted such things as Cleavagepurse, or the purses that look like someone just skinned seven or eight white (or red, or blue, or toothpaste mint green) lace doilies and slapped some handstraps on them.

And yet, it's not necessarily these designers who scare me. It's the people who seem to be buying all such strange-looking items who do geniunely frighten me. I readily acknowledge I have very little of anything resembling a sense of fashion. And yet I understand that these things are glaring violations of most colours and patterns found in nature (or in the case of Cleavagepurse, ridiculous-looking mimics thereof). Yet other people think they are somehow appealing and/or trendy.

I'm still trying to come up with a proper name for the luggage, in the meantime. "Hawaiian Tourist Suitcase" is just too bulky a name, and sounds more like some ill-conceived DC superhero from the 1970's. Likewise "Exploded Tourist" doesn't quite seem to do the suitcase design justice, since there is actually no red on the suitcase. If anyone has a suggestion, feel free to Email and let me know.

Today's Lesson: there are many ways to debate and/or argue about a movie. This is not one of them:

http://cnews.canoe.ca/CNEWS/WeirdNews/2004/03/18/387085-ap.html



posted by Phillip at 2:58 PM

 
Conspiracy Theories

Every time we pass by the large garbage bin outside our apartment, there's a couch. It might be a couch sitting in the bin itself, or just happily sitting right next to the bin awaiting the garbage truck to send it to that big living room in the sky. It might be a couch that looks like mint toothpaste exploded all over it, or that hundreds of doilies gave their lives to make it, or that a cat had used all 9 lives carving it apart.

But the fact remains that every time the garbage bin is emptied (and it is emptied about twice a week, at least), a new couch suddenly if not magically appears to take the place of the last couch that got carted off.

I am admittedly perplexed about this. I know that we have roughly 45-48 individual apartments in our complex, and the residents of each apartment all have their own sets of furniture to use, abuse and inevitably discard.

This strill does not answer why, for the last 3 months, going on 4, there has been a new couch in the garbage bin every time the bin gets emptied. And this happens during weeks when people are not moving in or out either. How is it that one apartment complex can have so many couches?

Are there couch breeders in the complex, and the "runts" of the litter are tossed aside? Is there some secret, midnight Furniture Fight Club that meets in our indoor parking lot every week, and pounds the literal stuffing out of each other? Is there a Jack The Furniture Ripper lurking in the neighbourhood, and the couches we see in the garbage are in fact his latest victims?

Or perhaps these couches are in fact alien beings who are spying on us...and as a result seeing a lot more than they bargained for, given how many asses sit down on a couch daily. Though this might have a connection with all the rampant rectal probing we hear so much about.

So what is the truth behind the mystery of all these castaway couches? The world may never know....

Today's Lesson: never lie about merchandise to a store employee who can call your bluff with a simple receipt. Idiots....


posted by Phillip at 8:20 PM

 
Open Mind, Empty Head

I'm always one to advocate freedom of speech. I like what anti-censorship institutions like the CBLFD (Comic Book Legal Defense Fund) stand for and protect. The freedom for any person to be able to express their views without having duct tape slapped across their mouths, blindfolds wrapped around their eyes, and then getting beaten until they submit to someone else's opinions is an important one.

However, the sword is double-sided. If you allow for freedom of speech, by the same token you have to let complete idiots be able to shout out the saddest dialogues and vulgarities that they want. I'm glad I in turn have the freedom to disagree with them, and tell them this to their face should I choose to...but I'd rather not have to face a society that panders to such idiots in the first place.

So naturally I can only groan and shake my head at the ever-ebbing faith I have in humanity in light of recent events. Earlier tonight, Mel & I walked past the elementary school as we took Shady outside, and saw spray-painted on the walls various grammatical uses of the word "fuck" in relation to the school and some of its teachers. This message was concluded by a peace symbol and the words "peace out."

The only silver lining I can see is that at least they manage to spell everything correctly.

This having been March Break, I don't know if any of the teachers have been around the school and noticed the graffiti. This also being Friday night, I don't know if any teachers or custodial staff will be around over the weekend and notice it before school resumes Monday morning. Mel & I are going to try and contact someone at the school to at least know they are aware of the graffiti. Ideally it can be blacked out before Monday. Sure, most of the kids probably know all the swears and have uttered them on one

I think it's more the audacity to use the words "peace out" that has me particularly perturbed. It's unintentionally ironic that such blatant rage-inciting remarks be rounded out by a word that is meant to symbolize its complete antithesis. Personally, I find it a rather public act of cowardice; if you can't say such things outright in front of those you have a problem with, then spray-painting it across a wall isn't going to make you seem any more impressive. Personal delusions notwithstanding, of course.

There's exercising your freedom to speak your mind, even if it's rather unpopular or ill-conceived or outright narrow-minded. And then there's being a right arrogant tit who perhaps deserves a little bit of Clockwork Orange therapy. I'm not a particularly violent man, but if I do happen to be in a conversation with the twit(s) responsible for spray painting that across an elementary school, and they congradulate themselves for it, I think my immediate response will be to let my fist do the talking. I'll let it make one profound statement, and then leave the room to allow for my opinion to sink in further.

Today's Lesson: postponed until I reassert my faith in humanity again.


posted by Phillip at 8:35 PM

 
It's Raining Maintenance Men....

Hallelujah?

Well, actually, had the maintenance guy made one wrong step or even shifted his weight, I would have had the most interesting Store Incident Report to fill out. Namely: 'guy fell through ceiling.' There were a number of maintenance workers running around the mall, checking each store's sprinkler heads for the fire system. This required him to go above our ceiling tiles and rummage around to make sure everything was in proper working order.

So while he was standing on a ladder (as opposed to doing some crazy Mission: Impossible thing like cling to the ceiling rafters & hanging precariously above the tiles), it was rather interesting to come into the store and see this pair of feet sticking out from the ceiling. Especially if you didn't see the ladder first, for a moment you would think that the maintenance guy had actually gotten stuck in the ceiling and couldn't get down at all.

From one of my own previous jobs, I can attest that it's rather fun to be poking around above the ceiling tiles of a store. Granted even I weighed too much to actually be able to crawl around in there, and thusly had to use a ladder, but it's still pretty neat to see just how unkempt everything is behind the scenes.

And in other news, I have discovered that the most effective way to traumatize my wife is to molest cute stuffed animals she wants to purchase. Most of you have now paused and reread that last sentence over again just to make sure you'd read it right. Allow me to explain: we were buying some groceries for dinner, and came across a bin filled with large, Easter-themed stuffed animals.

Now Mel has an impressive Achilles Heel: her iron will turns into tin foil when confronted with cute things. And amidst this pile of plushies was a large, cute-looking sheep. When I say large, I do mean large. This sheep was larger than Shady, our Shih-tzu. Upon seeing it, Mel immediately squeaked, "Cuuuuuuute!" and glomped onto it. She then proceeded to give me these Bambi eyes, imploring me to purchase such a cute sheep for her.

Admittedly our budget is tight, with rent and expenses and groceries, so I knew we couldn't afford to buy the plush sheep. Nor was I about to endure a 10 minute sulking session where Mel would walk around moping about how cute the sheep was, and how she had to leave it behind. (If you think I'm being cruel in my description, then you obviously were not around when she was pouting over the KareKano DVD box set she couldn't buy...and I did buy behind her back as a Commercialmas present.)

So what was I to do? We had to leave the sheep behind, and I also didn't want a sulky-saturated aftermath. Then I had a brilliant idea! Well...it was an idea, at any rate. I smiled at Mel, took the sheep in my hands, held it's back end against my crotch, and slowly turned to Mel with a very evil grin on my face.

To say she was horrified would be an understatement. I only wish I'd had a camera there to capture her sheer shock and disbelief for posterity. Needless to say we didn't get the sheep, and Mel didn't moon over it either. Instead all she could do was gesture towards the stuffed animal bin and let out these sad, horrified squeaks at random intervals. In all honesty, she couldn't picture the sheep anymore without seeing my evil grin right behind it.

Ah, trauma. Nothing kills consumerism quite the way it does.

Mel's Lesson of the Day: "Never mix sex and hot showers. It makes you light-headed and dizzy." And I quote. (And will no doubt hurt because of it ;)


posted by Phillip at 8:22 PM

 
Bride of Trufflepurse

Just when I thought it was safe to think that fashion accessory designers could be left alone without any adult supervision, a new purse comes in with the latest shipment. Many of you who read this regularly do, I’m sure, recall the wonders of the Trufflepurse--which more resembles an oversized piece of chocolate than a purse. In a similar vein is a purse that has the same small, cylindrical shape, but is black with white trim. While this purse does look a lot more normal than its compatriots, it does bear a striking semblance to a piece of licorice.

I almost behooves me to say that our store must now proudly display the Mallowpurse on the front racks. Imagine, if you will, a small, cylindrical purse that is marshmallow white. In fact, were you to touch the fabric, you’d think it was made of marshmallow too given its soft texture.

I’m not entirely sure why all my nicknames for purse designs gone horribly awry all seem to revolve around food. Maybe my brain is subconsciously telling me that I want a salad after all....

Then again, there was the Cleavagepurse.


Today’s Lesson: it is one thing to worry about a puppy licking your face and wondering where it’s tongue has been. It’s an even greater worry to know that the puppy licking your face was previously cleaning its crotch.

posted by Phillip at 6:37 PM

 
Humility

There hasn’t been much to this little bit of nowhere as of late. It hasn’t been for lack of trying. However, it’s difficult to write when you sit down in front of the computer, and find yourself unable to type anything. I wish it were something as simple as writer’s block. I’m sure I could write of a few quirky experiences, or even of the ice cream of the future. But this had to be written before all that. And it’s not been so easy to write.

This little of bit of nowhere somewhat exemplifies why I like writing things down where people can read them if they so choose, but be unable to immediately reply. Ultimately, it’s a record for me. It asks not for mercy or pathos, not for criticisms or commendations. It’s my pain and my catharsis, my memories and my sorrow.

Last week I lost my grandmother. At the very least, she died peacefully in her sleep, though I know the months leading up to this were not so peaceful. It’s one thing for your body to shut down. It’s another for your mind to shut down in the process, to suffer dementia and a complete loss of self and recognition.

Standing next to her open casket in the funeral home remains only the second time I have stood before death. This time I had no say in the matter; the first time I stood like this, death came at my choosing, and it was perhaps the longest and toughest choice I have ever had to make.

About a year ago, Shady had a puppy (courtesy of her brother, and two parents I will never let babysit a dog in heat ever again). Given how young she was, it was amazing the puppy wasn’t stillborn, though there was a second who did not make it. However, the puppy had incredible trouble breathing, and Shady did not seem to like him at all. As Shady’s owner, I was given a choice by the vets: take care of the puppy (and at the time, it would have been feedings ever two hours for the next two weeks at least) but risk there being further health complications due to the delivery and parentage; or put the puppy to sleep, and ease the suffering he was already and notably going through.

You can call me callous for choosing what I did. You can even call me a selfish bastard, or blame the medical background I was raised amidst for giving me a defense mechanism that helped me put far enough distance away from the puppy. That particular night I had to make a choice, and I asked that he be put to sleep.

His name would have been Connor.

Sleep came very difficult for me that night, and rare is a day that goes by where I am not reminded of him, and where I still ask myself if I had made the right decision.

Now, roughly fourteen months later, I have found myself in the company of death once more. Anything I could have chosen, anything I could have said or done, would not have made a difference in saving my grandmother. The Alzheimer’s was first to take her, and the systematic shutdown of her body followed.

I was not there when she died, though Mel & I were going to be visiting her and my grandfather not twenty-four hours later to offer up what support and assistance we could. Perhaps if I had, I would not have been standing during in the funeral parlour, staring into my grandmother’s open casket, and thinking how surreal and stupid it felt to be half-expecting her to suddenly open up her eyes, yawn and remark how she’d needed that nap.

It took a closed casket resting in its gravesite to break me, and once more I was back in the hallway of the veterinary clinic, suffering the scars of humility. I stood humbled not by the frailty of human life, but by the sheer, relentless power of death. If it is one thing we all share, regardless of colour, creed, religion or caste, it’s that everyone bleeds and everyone dies. No one is immune, and no one escapes.

Families tend to gather for two significant events: life and death. In between, we gather together to celebrate hope.

I plan on visiting my grandfather as often as I can. But now everything has changed, and there will be no Grandma Layng there to greet me as well. I have a picture of her sitting by my desk, where she is starting to show the signs of her ailing mind and health, but she still is smiling as she holds Sinatra (one of Shady’s brothers), who resembles Snoopy given the way his head is looking straight up.

The grandmother in the photograph is a far cry from the grandmother I saw two weeks before she died. In all honesty, the Grandma Layng in the picture is the one I would rather remember. I can still see the vibrancy and laughter and love in her eyes there.

There were words I wanted to speak during her eulogy, though I was unable to, and in all likelihood could not have said without breaking down completely. It remains rough and unpolished, but this is meant for me. This little bit of nowhere is my recording, so I won’t forget what I wanted to say.

There’s not much to believe in anymore. Anyone who would like to claim that this world is a great place is as poor a liar as they come. But that doesn’t mean that everything is gone, and that there is no reason to hope. If someone wants to challenge me on this, then I offer up this apologesis.

If a man stops me on the street today and asks me to show him someone who was admired and spoken highly of by all those around her, from those who knew her intimately to those who knew her only by name and reputation, I will give him the name Thelma Layng.

If that same man then asks me to show him someone who always smiled, who showed equal love to any and every person she ever met, I will give him the name Thelma Layng.

And if this man then asks me to show him someone who loved his wife and who was ready to sacrifice all he had for his soulmate, I will given him the name Don Layng.

Buildings burn and fall. Bodies crumble into dust. Even memories fade into blurs and forgetfulness. After all that, love still remains.

“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.” --Oscar Wilde
posted by Phillip at 9:34 PM