Sep 2017 15

As always, I’m full of excuses, and low on my own writing.

But since it’s the advertising world that has me occupied these days, here’s a piece of actual advertising from ‘Dissolve’, a stock photos/footage library. Historically, stock footage libraries for use in advertising have been cliche and depict lives that seem a little too perfect or too banal. I don’t think I’ve ever looked at a stock shot and thought ‘yup, perfectly natural’.

Love the insight of this piece. Totes.

CREDITS (as far as I can dig up so far):

Agency: And/Or
Script: Kendra Eash

Sep 2017 09


Sometimes a commercial comes along and I just go ‘Yes. But how the heck did they get the client to do this?’.

So creepy. But it certainly taps into a truth about the product. Ice cream does make us all feel better. Even when we’re faced with A.I. dystopia, and our own mortality. And, well, nevermind.


DIRECTOR: Mike Dahlquist

CLIENT: Halo Top

Aug 2017 30

My writing job that pays the mortgage has me pretty busy this week, so for now, useless tidbit writing!

I was looking for an interesting, out of the ordinary word on Google and this came up.

Did you know the word ‘ogdoad’ means a group of eight?


So when you see a bunch of geese instead of saying ‘gaggle’, you can count and possibly say they are ‘ogdoad’.

Tell Alex Trebek I said ‘hello’ when you win that Final Jeopardy question cause of this.



Aug 2017 24

Some vacation thoughts on the debate on changing the names of our schools that are in honour of John A Macdonald. Wine may have been involved. 

Melody Village.

The school I went to in Rexdale, part of the venerable Etobicoke Board of Education, was named after her. All the time I was there, I just took it as a name. At various times, I loathed the school, and loved it. I just took it as a name. It could have been Benjamin Braddock Public (plastics!) or Beer on Tap Shampoo Academy (they told two friends and so on, and so on).

But little did I know Melody Village was an evil person. Trying to push music, the notes of the solfége on me. It wasn’t until I was in my adulthood that I even sought to look her up, to see what oppressive values my school had put upon me.

Teachers in Ontario are vying to change the name of countless schools across Ontario that are named after John A. Macdonald, one of the fathers of Confederation. The reasons? He is a symbol, and perpetrator, of crimes against our Indigenous people. And it is insensitive for a school to be named after him. A reminder of how we looked upon people as lesser than.

Look, I am all for being more sensitive and inclusive.

And I am not a teacher, and I will ask some after I post this admittedly hot-take.

But really, can’t we view this as a ‘teaching moment’? An opportunity to sit the kids down on the first day, or week, of school and tell them the reality of why schools are named after this person – who he was in the scheme of things, his mistakes, what Canada is today, and where we need to be mindful and grow? Can’t we put our energy there for now?

I am really not against changing the names.

But I know I’d personally prefer our fight was against separate school funding in Ontario. Let’s focus our righteousness somewhere closer to home, please?

Religion has no place in our school system. And that shit is wrong.

I can prove John A. Macdonald existed, and we can debate his merits and faults. But Jesus? I cannot prove he existed, nor his value in a world gone awry.

Melody Village. In my mind, she was a lovely and kind person.

Not. I didn’t give it another fucking thought other than – Oh, that’s what my school is called.

Let’s focus the education on where it matters. Teach the kids. Teach them everything and what matters. Knowledge is power.

Ignorance of the past teaches them nothing.

I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way. 

Aug 2017 24


Posted In Blog,The world

Some cottage-inspired tripe, but forgive me – I’m on holiday from the heavy thinking for a week.

While attempting to use this cottage microwave to reheat half a burger, leftover from the other night’s dinner, for breakfast and judge all you want, it occurred to me that we have achieved nothing as a species.

Because we can’t agree on a fundamental universal language – for microwave ovens.

I have used dozens, possibly hundreds, of microwave ovens in my life now and one thing they all have in common besides my belief that you should never stand directly in front of the window is that none of them speak the same language.

Media players, computers, printer/copiers, cars – right down to the climate controls, hair dryers, even clock radios (“What are those?). All contraptions of the present or past that decided to use a baseline of symbols or protocol to help users out. Regardless of brand.

But not microwaves.

Other than a now-seemingly universal ‘baked potato’ button. Which in itself doesn’t even make sense.

After fiddling for 2 minutes trying to figure out how to set this ‘Danby’ microwave for 70 percent power for 20 seconds, I gave up. And ruined a formerly-perfectly cooked medium rare burger.

We are savages bereft of hope.



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