Tag Archives: community

Fans & friends at the Marlies

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Although I spend most of my time focused on the ice at a Toronto Marlies game, I also like to turn the camera into the stands. Here are a few of the crazies at Star Wars Night at the Ricoh Coliseum on Saturday.

Well-timed holiday spending tip

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How would you like to give the greatest gift of all without emptying your bank account?

Introducing,

TIME

More than things. More than money. Time is our most valuable commodity.

The willingness to spend time with someone—or some many—is the greatest sign of their value to you.

Spend time listening to a loved one.

Spend time helping a stranger.

Spend time remembering those we have lost.

Spend time with yourself.

With no money down and no payments until EVER, show people how much you care by giving them your time.

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As an added bonus: For every time you give another, you get a time for yourself. That’s two times the time for one small investment of…you guessed it…TIME.

Win-Win weekend for Marlies

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For those of you who don’t like hockey, you will be forgiven for moving along. For the rest of you: PICTURES!

Another amazing weekend in the 2015-16 Toronto Marlies hockey season as the American Hockey League-leading team continued their winning ways.

After an extended but successful road trip–an annual pilgrimage triggered by Toronto’s Royal Winter Fair–the Baby Buds returned home to defeat the Rochester Americans 5-1 and the Binghamton Senators 6-4 before impressive Ricoh Coliseum crowds.

If you want an impressive recount of both games, I highly recommend you check out the blog of my friend UKhockeyfan, linked below:

Rochester Americans vs Toronto Marlies (Saturday, November 21)

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Binghamton Senators vs Toronto Marlies (Sunday, November 22)

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All victims, all loved

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Participants observe a minute of silence during a vigil honoring the victims of the Paris attacks at Sun Yat Sen Memorial Park in Sai Ying Pun. 14NOV15

In the days since the attacks on Paris, I have watched my social media streams explode in two directions.

The one includes demonstrations of support for the victims. Messages of love and commiseration. Prayers for a peaceful future. Shared tears of loss, both physical and spiritual.

But while these messages may represent the majority in my social circle, there are others that I find disturbing. Others that by their tone and content seem all the larger.

I have been surprised and dismayed by the venoms of hate and anger that blots my timelines. Friends and family spewing abhorrent messages against Islam, against innocent refugees, against anyone who does not look or sound like them.

And although I am not the target of these comments—my timeline merely one poster board on which these messages are painted—they cause me pain. They trigger anger and even fear within me.  I want to lash out, to attack.

But I cannot.

These are not discussions of logic that can be ameliorated by a well-considered series of facts. And lashing out would accomplish nothing. Spewing venom on top of venom only makes the world more toxic.

Instead, I must respond with love.

At the same that I extend my arms to embrace my like-minded friends suffering in the aftermath of the insanity, so too must I embrace those who I feel are piling on to the tragedy, exacerbating the fear, the hate, the pain.

They too are uneasy and uncertain about the future. They too are confused and frightened about the prospect of these events unfolding again and closer to home. They too need comforting and a renewed sense of security.

While the words these people write and speak may be abhorrent to me, they themselves are not. And difficult as it may be at times, in the face of my own pain and fear, I must always remember that.

And so, I open my arms to everyone, and will myself take solace in the return embrace.

I truly believe that this is the only way.

Peace and love to you all.

4967

Falling into autumn

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Last week, I took my camera out to catch a glimpse of nearby Toronto’s Kew Gardens and the fading remnants of our Remembrance Day commemorations.

Blood red poppies

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Remembrance Day

Every year, as October transitions into November, I go in search of a new red poppy pin in honour of Remembrance Day on November 11. It is a tradition in my family and across Canada to append the crimson flower to our lapel as a reminder of the bloody sacrifices made a century ago.

I also wear it to honour my great-grandfather Francis Sowden, who came home from the Great War, unlike so many others, including siblings on my great-grandmother’s side who are sadly just names without faces to me so many years later.

I am one of few in my generation to have known Francis Sowden.

I am one of few in my generation to have known Francis Sowden.

Recently, I have heard people complain that the commemorative symbol of the poppy has been co-opted by those who want to hail it as a symbol of the glory of serving in the military, if not actually the glory of war itself. This bothers me.

I greatly thank all those who have, do and will serve in the military both in Canada and abroad, many risking their lives to keep others safe. Although I was an unthinking idiot in my youth, I have learned that these people, while frail humans, are noble titans who see conflict as a last resort.

For all that nobility, however, the poppy must remain a separate symbol.

A painting from the Royal Ontario Museum that haunts my dreams. (sadly, I cannot remember artist)

A painting from the Royal Ontario Museum that haunts my dreams. (sadly, I cannot remember artist)

The poppy reminds us of the horrific toll of war. It is a crimson stain upon our lapels that taints us all and reminds us of the fragility of the peace that surrounds us. The bloody hue taunts our civilized smugness with a warning of how easily we can fall into the pit of violence, whether as individuals, communities or countries.

While we wear the blood red poppy to honour the fallen of World War I, we also wear it as a badge of shame that the war ever took place, and that the war to end all wars wasn’t.

This dual purpose must never be diminished. We must strive to be better.

And next year, as October transitions into November, I will go in search of a new red poppy pin in honour of Remembrance Day on November 11.

I will never forget.

A cemetery near my home reminds me of the sacrifices

A cemetery near my home reminds me of the sacrifices

To vote, or not to vote…that is your decision

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I used to think that not voting was a valid form of political protest, but I now understand that it is only the first step.

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If you choose not to vote, I respect that. But I challenge you that it accomplishes nothing.

If you choose not to vote as a protest, I presume that you want to change the system in some way. And yet, you have offered no alternative.

The election will go on whether you vote or not. The raccoon that raids my recycling bins won’t vote either.

When people protest through marches, sit-ins or hunger strikes, they make themselves visible. When you don’t vote, you remain largely invisible. So if you’re not going to vote—a right I voted to defend, in some ways—then do something.

Hold a “we didn’t vote” rally. Gather other non-voters and raise your voices in protest. Offer your own platform; suggest an alternative to the current electoral system.

If your idea is viable, you might gain support from voters. You might actually create the change you seek.

But if you simply do not vote, then you are not only invisible to the rest of us, but you remain complicit in the system you despise.

Parliament Hill

Race in writing

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One race, many peoples (from mediadiversified.org)

One race, many peoples (from mediadiversified.org)

I’ve spent a few months now reading dozens of teleplays, and one thing that stood out as a new trend for me was the phrase “mixed-race” when describing a character.

“Attracted to the noise, JOANNE (27, tall, mixed-race) looks up from her laptop. A smile blossoms across her face.”

Now, lest anyone take offence, I really don’t care to what race a character is attributed. Nor do I care if the character has parentage of different races or even different species (looking at you, Spock).

Instead, what struck me was that in only one of these teleplays did the fact that the character was mixed-race in any way influence the story and/or the character’s worldview. Which begs the question:

Why mention race at all?

In a screen- or teleplay, you should only be telling me things I need to know to understand the story or interpret a character’s behaviours and attitudes. Unless being 7 feet tall means a character can do something no one else can do and the plot in some way turns on that ability, then I don’t need to know the character is 7 feet tall.

Likewise, if a character is a Korean-Italian and the only thing this fact influences is possibly his or her name, who cares? Where are the subtextual or textual influences of this genetic melange?

Spock was every bit his warring human and vulcan sides

Spock was every bit his warring human and vulcan sides

In the case of Spock, entire stories were built around the internal and sometimes external conflicts arising from his mixed heritage. He fought constantly to suppress his human side and that influenced his relationships and reactions with everyone else.

In the single teleplay I read where the character’s mixed lineage did matter, the character struggled with being treated as an outsider by both communities. Thus, in being ostracized by both cultures, she built the defence of being a rebellious loner and responded to her world thusly.

American father, Chinese mother, Kwai Chang Caine lived conflicting cultures

American father, Chinese mother, Kwai Chang Caine lived conflicting cultures

In none of the other teleplays was anything like this even remotely the case. In none of those scenarios, did the writer use the choice to inform the character. In fact, in almost every mixed-race teleplay, the writer never specified what races had been mixed.

That’s how unimportant this fact was to these writers. And there’s the real shame.

Although I don’t know what the writers intended by making their characters mixed race, I suspect it was simply to make themselves look socially conscious.

What they achieved, at least in my eyes, was the exact opposite.

Back to visit the Ex

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My annual pilgrimage to the Canadian National Exhibition, an end-of-summer ritual in Toronto. Sadly, The Ex is our national fair that seems to get smaller and smaller each year.

The grand old lady has definitely seen better days, but she still entertains the crowds.