Saved by the Sardine

A few days ago, we completed a two-week Healthy Ingestion Challenge.

It was initiated by my wife and counted five participants.

 

Each day for two weeks, we’ve been writing a list of foods we ingest and then my wife, who is a certified fitness instructor with some nutrition training, grades us on whether we’ve eaten healthy.

 

Knowing the challenge was imminent, I stocked up on foods I thought were healthy; orange juice, nuts, yogurt, V8 juice, bottled water and the like.

 

The first day I rated an appalling C-.

 

I was flabbergasted. I was going cold turkey on that first day, breaking a slew of bad habits and routines by choosing not to ingest my usual cheat foods.

 

Reality check. I was forced to understand by my wife and some other gung ho participants that I would not be graded on the basis of what I did not eat. 

 

I would not be granted hero status for choosing not to drink a small can of root beer, or choosing not to pop a few cookies.

 

It was only about what I ingested.

 

Double drat darn, I would have to get serious.

 

It turns out the yogurt had too much sugar, the V8 had too much sodium, and even the orange juice had too much sugar, even if it is completely natural.

It seems the highest marks in this challenge were being awarded to participants who packed in the protein and who ingested at least three liters of water a day!

 

Perhaps I misunderstood and had unwittingly signed up for a protein ingestion challenge.

 

If I have a slice of pizza, even straight cheese pizza, it must be accompanied by a cola. For me, it’s neural wiring.

 

Thinking a slice of cheese pizza accompanied by a bottle of water might earn me accolades, I put it on one of my lists.

 

Boy, was I wrong!

 

At some point, outside the context of this challenge, Susan had mentioned chocolate milk was a good choice. When I added it to my list one day, I was heralded for the protein it included but whacked for the sugar content.

 

I think sardines saved me from being completely disillusioned and failing miserably. I threw sardines, salmon and tuna in there whenever I could, which the judge deemed roundly positive.

 

I threw in cherry tomatoes, peppers and frozen vegetable mixes. Oh yeah and brown rice.

 

I managed a string of A’s on a few days.

 

My son won the challenge by ingesting heaps of protein and mind-boggling, bladder-busting volumes of water every single day.

 

He just did what he does every day.

 

Sigh.

 

He did get knocked on occasion for low vegetable intake.

 

It was fun; competing against each other and making my flimsy arguments before unsympathetic fellow participants.

 

To keep things in perspective, my sister-in-law was a first day disqualification.

 

Perhaps some of the discipline I mustered during the challenge will persist post-challenge.

 

Wouldn’t that be nice. 

Olympic Worthy? Let's Talk

What fun to see sports I don’t normally get to see, like track cycling, judo, trampoline, wrestling and fencing. 

I appreciate the traditional sports too, like javelin, hammer throw, shot put, pole vault and the running events. I admit there is lots of swimming, but the sport belongs at the Olympics in my view, along with diving, and I’ll even accept water polo.

 

I see synchro swimming as kinda like figure skating. For now, it stays.

 

Gymnastics belongs there, too.

 

I went around and around with my son the other day, discussing what events work as Olympic sports and what events are sadly mistaken.

 

I am self-appointed decider of what goes and what stays - and now that I’ve granted myself the authority to choose what sports remain Olympic ones, I have been trying to wield my power in a reasonable fashion. 

 

Come into my office and have a seat. What have you got?

 

Race walking? Get lost.

 

3-on-3 basketball, beach volleyball, beach football, beach soccer, beach frisbee and beach anything - you’re gone.

 

3-on-3 hockey? No thank-you.

 

Break dancing? Security!

 

Synchro diving is another story. I really do not see the point and would not be surprised to see you try to introduce synchro weightlifting, or synchro tennis, or even three or four divers all trying to synchronize their performances. It’s arbitrary and pointless and is better suited to a circus. Get rid of it!

 

I like watching it, but I wouldn’t strenuously object to the elimination of ping pong in favor of, say, lacrosse, or cricket. We can watch world class ping pong on some other stage.

 

I’m torn on equestrian stuff. Why not barrel racing? Not sufficiently highfalutin?

 

Lay your thoughts on me

 

I do not need to see NHL’ers, NBA’ers, or NFL’ers again. I know what they can do. I don’t need to see them play flag football, or frozen tag, or hopscotch at the Olympics. 

 

I don’t want to see the professional tennis, or soccer players, yet again.

 

Let’s see what each country’s amateur athletic talent looks like.

 

Who allowed golf? You’re fired.

 

I’ll give you four test sports every Olympic year, a sport that is showcased just to show the world it’s out there but not necessarily worthy of recurring Olympic status – like cliff diving, footbag, parachuting, ultimate frisbee or, what the heck, bowling. It’s only for one year and then, as far as the Olympics are concerned, it never happened.

 

I did not appreciate this year’s sewage triathlon and frankly, we have got to fine Paris for making top athletes sick. Take the Paris organizing committee to court and after they are forced to financially compensate the athletes who had to swim in their effluent, we provide members of the Paris Olympic organizing committee with water wings and make them go for a long swim in the Seine after a heavy rainfall. Inexcusable.

 

Don’t call it steeplechase and have humans splash through a puddle in a stadium. Lame. Have them run in the woods and actually negotiate obstacles in the countryside like the mountain bikers and horses at Versailles. Not possible? Get rid of it.

 

Gun stuff? It’s out.

 

Archery? Nope.

 

What did you say? Did you say pickle ball? You have got to be joking!

 

Whatever happened to squash, or racquetball?

 

While you’re at it, find some hosts with credibility and who don’t try to win a medal in Olympic stupidity, narcissism, or contrived coolness. I love the mute and channel buttons on my remote.

 

There are so many activities, pastimes, arts and sports out there, but not all of them belong at the Olympic games. A case can be made for all of them but, thankfully, a reasonable individual is making the hard choices.

 

If you don’t like it, have your people call my people.

Lunch Bag Letdown

Well, that felt even more disappointing than the two or three seasons before.

 

I watched every game this season and started out in September insisting to people I know that the Senators would make the playoffs.

 

#bummer

 

Even during a dismal and disappointing season, it is a pleasure to watch Tkachuk and Stutzle play the game. Guys like Giroux, Kelly, Batherson, and Norris, typically don’t take a shift off and they play like they care, which, if I’m not getting any playoff action, is all I ask.

 

In the April 7^th game against the Devils, Tkachuk threw a record 16 hits for a single game. He is a big-time player, scoring big goals, making big plays, and doing what has to be done to show his team intensity and leadership. No surprise that he’s been nominated for the King Clancy Memorial Trophy for a third time 

 

Stutzle is a whiz, with creative, split second moves, and great vision. Maybe he doesn’t shoot enough and he gives the puck away at times but, for all his exciting talent, I can easily live with the few mistakes he makes.

 

I’ve developed much more appreciation this year for Joseph’s speed and work ethic, as well as Grieg’s more pesky approach to the game.

 

Last year at this time, I was so impressed with Sanderson. He rarely made a wrong decision with the puck, or without it. I ordered one of his t-shirts. He is an outstanding player who, this year, proved he’s human, making many questionable decisions with the puck. I’m hoping next year he’ll rediscover the incredible form he showed last season.

 

Jacob Bernard-Docker really impressed me compared to his earlier seasons. He made good decisions with the puck and showed a lot more physicality.

 

I keep saying it; while others on the team play like they care, Chabot rarely looks like he does. There was a point in the third period of the final Panthers game that he flew back to the Ottawa defensive zone after an offensive rush and I wondered why he doesn’t always skate like that?

 

That same game, Korpisalo had a solid third period, but one solid period here and there will not the playoffs make.

 

Goaltending yet again was sucky and suspect, poor and porous. At one point during the season, Forsberg was ranked 42 of 51 goalies while Korpisalo was 51 of 51. The recurring goaltending issues are bogus and should have been addressed long ago.

 

As inconsistent and unreliable as goaltending seemed to me, I think the season’s low point, apart from Norris being injured again, was the fact that Ottawa failed to record a shot for the entire third period against Nashville, unless I heard wrong.

 

The arrival of Jacques Martin did nothing for me and did nothing for the team. His arrival seemed to coincide with a sag in enthusiasm, or a fizz in the chemistry, between players. Before Martin’s arrival, the guys seemed to have fun playing for each other, but Martin’s arrival seemed to dampen the mood on the ice. The guys seemed to lack the same jump. Just my observation.

 

Hopefully, there are no dumb and drastic decisions in the off season.

 

I wonder what the players themselves believe the problem is with the team. Goaltending and defense must be at the top.

 

BTW - If you’re curious to know how a Montrealer became a Senators fan, I refer to you my September 25, 2010 blog, titled “You Can Keep Kovalazy”.

 

Go Sens Go. 

 

Next year will be better.

 

Can it get any worse?

 

The Optional Octagon

Anyone?

Somebody?

 

Please, is there someone out there willing and able to enforce stop signs?

 

It appears I am the only person on the face of the Earth who obeys these red octagons by coming to a complete stop.

 

Even most police cars I see, tend to roll through.

While walking our dogs, I am compelled to yell at drivers who don’t even slow down; they just drive right through stop signs as though the posted octagon is purely optional.

 

Behind the wheel is another story entirely.

 

The way I learned it, when two vehicles arrive at an intersection at the same time, the vehicle that makes a complete stop first, has the right of way and can leave first. That’s what I expect to happen and it $%#@&* never does.

 

Thoroughly infuriating.

 

As a result, when behind the wheel, I am compelled to honk my horn at drivers who don’t do a full stop. 

 

That has led to road rage behavior by drivers I honk at, which is messed up.

 

I am convinced that if some diligent police jurisdiction enforced stop signs and collected fines from drivers, we would be able to rid ourselves of municipal taxes and, just a few short weeks later, income tax.

 

Should I simply wallow in my learned helplessness and, as a rule, start doing American stops?

 

If you can’t beat them, join them?

 

Hey, you jerks out there…the red octagon is not optional.

 

Apparently, enforcing it is.

 

 

The Valueless Quebec Anglo

A few months ago, the city where we live informed us in our bilingual municipal newsletter that it was no longer permitted to communicate with its citizens bilingually.

Our municipal tax bill, which I just received, is no longer bilingual. Even a bilingual explanation and breakdown of our municipal tax bill is no longer permitted.

Regarding our banned official language, no federal political party gives a crap, no provincial political party gives a crap. We are valueless, inconsequential Quebec anglophones, whose causes and rights are of no interest to any political party, or politician.

 

That Camille Laurin said in 1995, “The English minority belongs to Quebec as much as francophones belong to Quebec”, matters not. 

 

That then-Parti Quebecois leader Jacques Parizeau said in 1990 Quebec anglophones are as Quebecois as anyone, matters not.

 

The dollars and cents earned by proud Quebec anglos in their Quebec jobs helped make Quebec what it is today – and yet no one cares.

 

Mission accomplished?

 

 

Remotely Tyrannical

I seek no complex, unattainable goal; merely homeostasis. I strive solely to keep all bodily systems stable and humming.

The goal is harmlessly modest, is it not?

 

One of the more effective tools for achieving this, it turns out, is the everyday television remote.

 

Allow me to elaborate with the help of these abbreviations…

 

PVR – personal video recorder

CC – channel change

FF – fast forward

RW – rewind

MU – mute

DEL – delete

 

I’m not entirely certain of the reason but, as it happens, I find myself trending in the direction of television intolerance. 

 

Is it that I, myself, have become more intolerant over time, or is it that television has significantly lowered its standards, choosing to allow for interminable propaganda and unambitious programming?

 

Both, perhaps.

 

Regardless of which it may be, the PVR and its remote, almost effortlessly permit me to maintain a stable body and mind.

 

I am no longer forced to endure an onslaught of propaganda, or bombardment by programming mediocrity.

 

Thanks to the PVR and the programs it records for me, there is no longer no option. Happily, the TV remote always provides a better option. 

 

Now when I encounter an irrelevant ad, or some other form of annoying programming, I have plenty of options. My favourite, by far, is FF.

What a welcome relief to be able to fast forward through commercials while watching a show that’s been taped on our digital recorder. 

 

Things I don’t need or want to know - things I don’t need or want to see? Zoom. I whisk through, and peacefully return to the program I’ve selected.

 

If FF is not an option, then MU is the next best thing. Enduring propaganda with the sound off is nothing short of wondrous.

 

The television audio and images together compel us to engage – they lock us to the screen. Not I.

 

Watching live television these days, I obsessively clutch the television remote, digits poised over the mute button. I poke it when the commercials start and poke it again when the commercials end. It makes life so much rosier.

 

Some viewers within our household appreciate the muting of ads, others less so.

 

I can save you having to listen to them. The appeals to pity, humor, responsibility, shock, good health, or charity, are all fairly predictable. Whether it’s banks, booze, betting, fast food, insurance, detergent, or pick-up trucks, their message is the same - we want your money; ASAP.

 

I tend to find most television programming and propaganda irrelevant, insulting, or boring. I am easily insulted, indignant, or stupefied by on-screen content. Who knew?

 

Dollar-starved networks may have discovered they are as likely to attract viewers with stupidity as they are to attract viewers with intelligence. I don’t doubt that there are millions of so-called viewers rooted in front of their televisions who do not demand terribly high consumption standards and, more likely, have no interest in imagining what such a standard might entail.

 

I, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly listen to one more long-winded and genuinely frightening pharmaceutical disclaimer. 

 

While I’m at it, I couldn’t possibly listen to any more of those interminable Dr. Ho ads, or claims about magic pillows and sheets, and if I can help it, I won’t have to endure another peep about that snot sucking machine.

 

News anchors with idiotic questions, or moronic facial expressions? Not a problem. CC. 

 

All types of ginormous humans tugging on underwear for various products? Thank-you, no. FF. 

 

You didn’t catch what he said to the police officer? Gotcha. RW.

 

Utterly vapid sports analysts? They never happened. FF.

 

Popping pimples? Not a chance. CC.

 

Did you see the guy hanging by his teeth? Check it out! RW.

 

Contrived co-host banter? We’re outa here! FF.

 

The intense drama of dysfunctional families? Not today. CC.

 

A reminder that the tip of a balloon resembles the human anus? All good. FF.

 

This is nowhere near the quality of program I expected? Hear hear. DEL.

 

A series of surgical scars, needles in veins, and other scenes that make me squeamish? Not to worry. FF.

 

Regardless of the infernal distraction, or destruction, it may cause to viewers, there is no limit to the amount of propaganda to which television networks insist on subjecting us. Sports leagues are among the champions.

 

The NHL cannot just let us watch a hockey game anymore. They cram virtual ads onto the boards and ice surface. Virtual ads appear on football fields and basketball courts. I resent these virtual ads and I’m reminded of my resentment each time these ads change, or move, during games, or make athletes legs and torsos disappear.

 

It can happen that I lay down my remote while watching television, but those instances are frightfully rare and tend to only occur during commercial-free movies and shows.

 

There are occasionally commercials worthy of my attention for their creativity or humor, but they are as rare as a one-shot COVID vaccine.

 

Unquestionably, I am nearing tyrant status with the remote in my hand. That truth I will own. 

 

I am selflessly looking out for the quality of life of viewers in the room, but mostly my own quality of life, and that thing I mentioned about homeostasis.

 

If you have the fortitude to attentively absorb the relentless propaganda tickling your tympanic membrane and optic nerves, more power to you.

 

I have all the power I need seething through my opposable thumb.