Jip Dogg Runnin' For Charity

Let's give it up for the Jip Dogg. I understand that taking time out of his busy schedule to even run a marathon is extradition, let alone train for one. I was surprised to hear he was willing to make that commitment.

Then he took it one step further - he stepped away from the gangster lifestyle and in a move that may reflect a serious life change: he is raising money for a charity. I understand that he has joined Team Diabetes. (here is the link to his site: J-P Runs Dublin Check it out)

We're not sure just how fast a man of his criminal background can run the marathon, but if you saw episode 257 of cops, then you'll know that Jip Dogg (or - as his lawyer pointed out - quite possibly a man who wished to emulate the Notorious J I P) can sprint.

Some say that having a celebrity like Jip Diesel run a marathon only takes deserved attention away from the top runners and threatens to turn the event into a media circus. For one, I feel that's a sacrifice that is worth making. Especially when a 'former' gangster says things like,

"Y'all lucky though. The reason Jip Diesel ain't been doin' no tourin' lately is 'cuz he be doin' some runnin' and I's got lots of shit to talk about--stories from my trainin', messages of positivity for my peep's, and what it's like bein' a runna in these times. So put down that bottle of Haterade, pick up tha 4-0 and chill y'all. Respect!"

I think it shows that running can be a positive outlet for anyone. And if a wonderful charity like Team Diabetes can benefit then all the better.

And those top athletes don't need to worry to much. When I asked Jip Dogg how he expects to do in the race, he said,

"I told you one time already that I only have one rule on this so-called race. That is that I keep it real. I don't let the man tell me when I gots to go. If I ain't got nuthin', why I gonna run? A'ight? If I'm too tired to fly 'cuz I been up all night cold-lampin' then they ain't nuthin' you can do about it. A'ight?"

Happy 50th Williams

Kamloops

I'm just wondering if anyone else doubts the authenticity of Kamloops. I mean the whole area. Is it real? The first time I came down the trans-Canada highway into that dry dusty valley I was struck by a notion that has never left me. As you drive along the road you are framed in by hills whose soft folds and giant wrinkles that remind me of the folds and creases of a stiff wool blanket crumpled carefully. Beside you a river meanders its way down the valley. It looked fake to me immediately and yet oddly familiar. A feeling I couldn't understand, having grown up in such a different part of the world. I had never seen trees so sparse. These were not the thick woods of my youth.
And then the train appeared. Riding the rails between the highway and the river, it seemed to be heading straight for me. It struck me that this is just an oversized train set in someone's basement. They didn't have enough trees to cover everything and so they have spaced them out until they make more.

Genius Invention

I love ingenious twists on mundane items. Especially the little ones that often go unnoticed and certainly go unheralded. I guess my question is why don't we love the people behind them.

Sure the flash of clarity behind - I don't know, say the spork - that brilliant light that went off in the mind of whoever invented the spork may have just that: one single wonderful brilliant spark of genius. Maybe that person never had another good idea. But I, for one, love them for it.

I wonder if it was the same person who came up with the name spork forever obscuring their own identity or if the name came from someone else unrecognized. If we had a clever name for the toilet right off then Mr. Thomas Crapper wouldn't be the funny little trivial pursuit answer that it is today.

Perhaps it was the clever porcelain design or just the nature of the invention, but crapper never really stuck or at least not in the right circles. In the end, his name wasn't heralded as it should be and only came to mean, well you know that already. But what about Susan. Her name stuck and along with it came Lazy. Why not the Clever Susan or the Crafty Susan? In the end, maybe it is better to be looked over by history.

So, I don't know whose ingenious mind gave us upside down squeeze bottles of ketchup and mayo, but they will have to make room on the genius shelf in my fridge. This year we have the salad spritzer. Spray on salad dressing. Genius. Thank you, whoever you are.

Weather Warning: Hurricane Cal Hits Land

Vancouver, CANADA. Environment Canada's Weather Office has issued a critical update. An isolated storm, Hurricane Cal, has hit the lower mainland. Although the eye of the storm is situated over Kitsilano, residents are not reporting the usual 'calm' associated with the epicenter of a storm like this. Daytime nappers are warned to turn off all cell phones, close back alley windows, and ignore both buzzers and knocks at the door. Most importantly remove and Canadian Club whiskey and/or Okanagan Pale Ale from your home as these items are known to prolong storm activity

Bard on the Beach

My friends, Stephen and Laura, are heading down to the Bard on the Beach to enjoy a little Shakespeare under a big tent. To them I say beware the wine. My mother-in-law would have you believe that they serve a potent glass (or two, or three) down there and while I won't share the details, things can get a little out of hand. Can't they Jane?
(Oh I wish your daughters had brought a camera. My kingdom for a photo.)

Camping with Donna

Just a word of advice for anyone ever camping with Donna - She thinks it's really funny in the morning, when she wants to get up and you might not quite be ready yet to get out of the warm cozy comfort of your cocoon of a sleeping bag, to pull out the great big rubber cork in the air mattress leaving you to sink gently to the cold hard ground.

Farewell Ian

This afternoon, more than three hundred people flowed into the Canadian Memorial Church to mourn the passing of our friend Ian. The church, which seemed, quite large at first seemed to shrink as more and more people poured inside. Ian clearly touched many lives.
Ian wasn't a close friend of mine, rather he and Cathie were friends of our friends John and Max. Like us, John and Max tend to host a lot and that's how we knew Cathie and Ian.
At parties, I tend to find a comfortable spot to hunker down. I gravitate towards similar people and with very few words exchanged I knew immediately that Ian was also one of those people. We would often chat leaning against the kitchen counter comfortable knowing that our better halves were out there socializing, confident that all the important news would make its way back to us sometime later that night. We would talk about meaningless distractions like Kobe and Shaq or nagging pains in his feet and my knee. We would talk about work and play, but nothing too serious. Then we would turn to coaching and Ian would come alive. He had a passion for it. He had hopes and dreams for so many of the young lives he touched. While those hopes may have been hidden beneath a layer of gruff sarcasm, it was a thin layer, and the excitement shone through. I saw so many young faces in the crowd today and it made me sad to think of their loss. I can't even imagine the loss his own two boys will feel over time.
I had the chance to talk to him not long ago, when there was still hope, and I marveled at his composure, at his refusal to feel sorry for himself, at his ability to find humour in tragedy. He was getting better then and yet he knew that the cancer could come again without notice.
Ian had been sick for so long now that most who knew him had a chance to say goodbye in some way. But gathering in one place was hard. It was hard not to feel how terribly unfair death can be. He was my age and we had a lot in common. My heart aches for Cathie and her children. I just can't imagine.

In a Pub, Slamming Back Poetry?

Two nights ago, four of us decided to meet at Cafe Deux Soleils on Commercial Drive where they were hosting a Poetry Slam. As it turned out, it was in fact an International Poetry Slam. The cafe was overflowing when we arrived. I hadn't put much thought into what the atmosphere would be like - but in the way that you sometimes meet someone others talk about, and you don't think they look the way you thought they would, but can't offer a description of what that would be other than that's just, that's not it - and I was surprised to see people spilling into makeshift aisles, leaning against counters and newspaper racks lining walls, hanging on to patio railings trying to hear from outside. Nor did I expect the sort of crowd reactions we heard. Donna had been practicing snapping her fingers on the way there, half expecting that to be the appropriate response to the poetry - something artsy. And I feared she was right. In contrast, they were thundering applause and hooting and hollering their approval. It felt more like a sporting event.
And I suppose that's it. You see it turns out that this Slam element means to imply that this is not a poetry reading in a library, but a ranting in a pub. This is not a tea and cookies, but rather beer in pitchers. And strangest of all - it's a competition. Not in the way that the first day of school is a clothing competition, or the way some neighbours have a lawn competition. This is a judged events with score cards and winners and dare I say ... losers. Poetry losers. Wow.
The loser aspect didn't seem to get to them and I suspect that they are really just playing at competing. I say that because the judging was clearly unfair and at the end someone stood on stage and said something about how it is not really about the points but about the poetry. All of which isn't really any different than a little league game of tee ball. What was different was that in place of a few hockey dads and soccer moms dropping their heads and half heartedly mouthing some sort of agreement, this crowd roared it's consent.
The points didn't matter to them. It was just another form of encouragement. Take the only booing of the night for example. It was aimed at the judges whenever the crowd deemed the scores too low and as a result the scores steadily climbed throughout the night in a slow building frenzy that echoed the pitch of the crowd.
That's all sweet as pie, but like a true sports fan, I'm still a little choked that Anise lost just because he went up early in the night.