You Are What You Eat

Some of you have commented on my insatiable appetite, or the fact that I often eat 5 meals a day. While I don’t yet answer to “The Human Carburetor”, the truth is that A) it is not McDonald’s Big Macs I am consuming and B) I only eat like a crazy woman on days when I have 3 workouts scheduled (3+ hours) or two super-long ones. Thus, Wednesdays and weekends are my prime food days. Note that I have maintained a steady weight for the past, oh, 10 years. But I welcome constructive criticism, so if anyone thinks I am fat please post your comment below. I am still making slow but steady progress on improving my body composition.

I thought it might be fun to do a detailed analysis of my food intake on one of these turbo-days. So, thanks to http://www.nutritiondata.com/, a site that uses information from the USDA's National Nutrient Database as well as data provided from a variety of popular restaurants, I logged my consumption for Wednesday January 23rd into the virtual “Pantry”. Some adjustments were necessary for my activity level; namely, I increased the daily caloric requirement from 2,000 to 3,000. I also increased micronutrient requirements by a factor of 1.5, to align with the caloric increase. This method has some drawbacks; firstly, my “additional” energy requirements would be mostly carbohydrates, with the remainder distributed between protein and fats, and secondly, the RDA for vitamins and minerals is not based on caloric intake or expenditure but rather by gender and body size/type. I may also need a bit more sodium and other electrolytes than sedentary people, more iron, and perhaps require more Mg, Ca, and Zn for muscle repair and bone health, but I would doubt that it would be at the same rate of energy expenditure. To my knowledge, there is no definitive answer to these questions; however, I have done some research on the maximum tolerable daily intake of the essential vitamins and minerals, and I know that for the vast majority, it is safe to consume at least 1.5 x the RDA on a medium-long term basis.

Menu for Wednesday, January 24th

Early morning snack (pre-swim): 1 cup coffee with milk, 1 homemade Ginger-Pear muffin
Breakfast (pre-run): 2 cups coffee with milk, 1 organic apple, 3 oatmeal-blueberry pancakes, 1/2 tbsp Nutella
Lunch A: 2 cups green tea, 2 homemade peanut-butter and jam muffins, pasta with tofu, cauliflower & tomato sauce
Lunch B (pre-bike): 1 cup green tea, jambalaya (chicken, brown rice & veggies)
Dinner: 1 can tuna, 2 cups steamed veggies & 1 cup brown rice
Snack: 2 cups decaf tea with milk, 2 Ginger-Pear muffins

Energy Summary:

Total Calories: 3020
Carbohydrate: 61% (479g, 177g from sugars and 61.4g from starch)
Fat: 21% (18.8g Sat, 23.9g Mono, 21.1g Poly, ~0g Trans)
Protein: 18% (144g)

Nutrient Summary (at 150% RDA, with the exception of Total Cholesterol which I lowered to 130% RDA):

Vitamin A: 23919 IU (319%) – Gotta love those carrots.
Vitamin C: 159 mg (177%)
Fibre: 67.4g (182%)
Calcium: 1800mg (120%)
Omega-3 fatty acids: 3709 mg

Cholesterol: 392mg (98%)
Caffeine: 430mg
Alcohol: 0mg

Too High:
Sodium: 5288mg (147%)

Too Low:
Iron : 28.5 mg (81%)
Zinc: 18.6 mg (81%)
Vitamin D (15%)
Vitamin B12 (61%)
Pantothenic Acid (73%)
Vitamin E (70%)


Observations:
1. First of all, I take a daily high-potency, broad spectrum vitamin-mineral supplement. If I add these values to my dietary intake, I meet all nutrient requirements. I also take extra Vitamin E, Zinc, Magnesium, Calcium/D, B-complex, B12, Vitamin C, and Omega 3 or 3-6-9 on a rotating basis, and Glucosamine Sulphate during high-intensity weeks.

2. While dietary Zinc and Iron consumption fell short, I do eat red meat several times per week and thus am probably closer to meeting the required levels.

3. Vitamin D (the “sunshine” vitamin) doesn’t need to be obtained through diet alone; however, in the winter months it can be hard for your body to produce enough by sun exposure (more about this from CBC). I walk outdoors about 2 hours daily in the winter, but usually only my face is exposed; thus, I rely on my daily multivitamin (400 IU) and occasional Ca/D supplement (200 IU) to ensure that I am meeting the RDA. I may re-think this and invest in some plain D supplements, however, since the Canadian Cancer Society now recommends that Canadians consume 1,000 IU of Vitamin D daily during the winter. Health Canada’s guideline, established 10 years ago, suggests that 200 IU per day is sufficient (source).

4. Health Canada recommends that healthy adults curb their caffeine intake at 400mg per day. I slightly exceeded this with my 430mg, but then again, my calorie and nutrient intake was 150% that of the average adult. My caffeine intake fluctuates from week to week and from season to season, but I think I’d average 3 cups of coffee per day year round (400 mg), and I do not drink soda pop or consume “excess” amounts of chocolate. Generally, is acknowledged that modest amounts of caffeine can have beneficial effects on sports performance and other activities requiring alertness. However, there seems to be no consensus on either the dangers or the advantages of caffeine to one’s general health, with the exception of a (serious) warning to pregnant women and those wishing to conceive.

5. Sodium deserves special mention, as I was shocked to find that I had exceeded the RDA x 1.5 in the off-season. This may be partly due to calculation errors, because I don’t measure baking soda and salt when I bake, and because I had to estimate the salt content of Mrs. Dash Roasted Red Pepper & Garlic spice mix. The results made me pause to think about what my sodium intake is like in the ON-season, when my requirement is higher, and I actually eat “real” salty snacks like pretzels, tacos, and Ripples chips during or after long workouts and races.

In short, an eye-opening project!

Avoiding the Bus

Yesterday I walked to the St Laurent shopping centre from the Rideau Centre, because I really hate busses…especially Sunday busses. Unfortunately, it was -15C. (Did I say that I really hate busses?) I searched two more stores for swimsuits—notoriously hard to find in January—and then I walked back home. With a mixture of jogging and walking in my huge bundle of gear, I was able to make the trip in 50 minutes each way. I also saved myself $1.90 in bus fare. Woo hoo.

On a more positive note, I think I escaped frostbite—although there is a small white spot on my cheek that wasn’t there before. Heh. Darn wind.

Two more suits (my reasoning is that at least one will work!) and now no excuses, since my last one was actually giving me blisters on the shoulder. Weird, eh… Only the left shoulder, because I breathe 90% of the time on the left... Sad, I know! Apparently, that makes me atypical for a right-handed gal?

You know you're a musician when

Recently, I have been thinking about how strange it is that none of my friends, co-workers, employers, or acquaintances in this city know of me as anything but a UO Finance grad, and/or a somewhat stoic public servant who is perhaps obsessed with her bicycle and believes that “walking distance” means up to 60 minutes of fast-paced striding.

While I was plugged into my ipod the other day, someone asked me what I was listening to. “Beethoven” was my unthinking reply (and the truth). The person was dubious. “Really?” huh. But why can’t I switch from indie rock to jazz to Classical to New Age to Brit pop if I want?

I'll admit that it is unusual for someone under 30 to listen to Beethoven on an ipod; indeed, for someone under 30 to listen to Beethoven at all. Now sub “50” in for “30” and you see where I am going. There has been so much diversity in—and experimentation with—musical styles, tastes, and equipment since the turn of the 20^th century that the “Art” music genre has almost been forgotten. (“Classical” is a misnomer, and should refer to the Classical era only… so I try to avoid the term whenever possible). I used to think that I could both pinpoint the demise and provide the solution for preserving the beauty and history of the Western musical genre from the Renaissance through the late 20^th Century; but that arrogance was borne of youthful optimism. I still have ideas—and those may be the subject of another post—but for now:

You know you’re (still) a musician when:

You’re listening to Fleisher/Szell because you know they are legends, and you can hear the hammers hitting the strings over the range of the soundboard, and you can feel the crystal depth of the piano sound;

When you can hear the variance in sound “height” (bass-treble) in an open concert grand;

When you can hear the non-wind players breathing with the phrase;

When you can distinguish finger vs. key depressions on a clarinet, flute, or sax, and identify what key each is playing in by these key-sounds;

When you can feel the timpani causing vibrations through the floor of the stage;

When you notice the soft hiss of the double reeds as the first note sounds;

When you can both hear and see the bowing of the strings while listening to a recording;

When you can feel the brass “placing” the low note, and you can place it yourself using auditory imagery;

When you can imagine the conductor’s downbeat at a section start; and

when you can feel heat of the stage lights, and an occasional puff of air from the fans as you squint ahead into the dark hall.

You are a symphony player

surrounded in the swell of music

behind you and in front of you

and beside you

and you know unconditionally

that there is nothing else that matters at this very moment

Nothing.

The notes on the page take on an unearthly significance

you lose your ego and become someone else

you forget the dreary monotony of life

your little crises and your big tragedies

your past and your future, and

you can escape with others who understand exactly what you do

right now

together

and everything will be ok in this instant

forever in this instant.

Wicked Wicket

Passport lineups? Oh yes, they are still long… long enough to merit camping out in order to get to work on time. Flush with assurances that offices have been staffed up and wait-times reduced to “five minutes”, I foolishly arrived at the Sparks St office just after 7:30 AM. With my application in perfect order, my actual time at the wicket ended up being less than 3 minutes… but the wait to get there was about 2 hours. But apparently even this 2-hour wait is not the norm… Passport Canada staff advised us that the line was usually much longer, that on Tuesday the queue had snaked around the entire 3rd floor (somehow that did not reassure me in the slightest). To make matters worse, while I was sitting in the queue—realizing I’d be late to work—I attempted to make a call from my cel… no reception! Then the battery died. After leaving the building, I ran frantically to catch the #2 bus that was passing by… jumped on and breathed a sigh of relief, only to discover a minute later that I was heading the wrong way. I had entered and left the CD Howe building from different directions, and now was left to curse my stupidity. Two stops later, I catapulted straight off that bus and into a pile of grey slush, at which point I began an equally frantic run down Bank St in the opposite direction. What a triumphant start to the day.

While waiting in line, I overheard several of my fellow citizens discussing their passport application experiences. Many were here for the second and third times, sent back with incomplete forms or inadmissible ID. One particularly cocky young fellow was dispensing opinions on everything from amount of time it would take to get to the front of the line, to how many empty chairs remained in the waiting room, to how long it would take to process, to the guidelines for guarantor signatures. He had absolutely no authority to do so—as far as I could see—and, since he was lining up for his professed third attempt to submit a passport application properly, I would not want to take advice from him regardless. In general, I was shocked at how little the applicants actually knew about the passport process. The information is readily available online, in both official languages, and the application itself includes 5 pages of clear instructions and a final checklist. In my very humble opinion... if you can read and follow instructions, then you can complete the application properly and satisfy all the requirements. The agents themselves—all very friendly and competent young people—have my sympathy, because I’d imagine they have to deal with quite a few (ahem) idiots each day.

But perhaps the most mind-boggling question for me was: “Why, after waiting in line for 2+ hours, do you not notice when finally your number starts flashing on that big digital screen?” I was in the actual waiting room for about an hour and during that time, I lost count of how many people either did not read the number they were assigned, did not understand that they had to go up to the appropriate wicket when their number flashed on the screen, or who were not watching the screen at all.

However, I got the process over with and now, hopefully, am one step closer to my vacation in Ireland & the Netherlands.

A Tale of Two Cubicles

This is not a rant. I am committed not to talk about my job; indeed, not to think about it on my personal time. So I am not. I repeat: I am not talking about work. Ok, now that we’re all clear with that, I think it is my moral responsibility to disclose office craziness when I see it. To laugh or not to laugh, that is the question.

Bureaucrats are great problem-solvers. When it gets a bit slow in the office, somebody decides that it would be a good idea to move, and this keeps everyone busy for weeks. Nothing like a change of cubicle to wreak havoc on those stodgy, governmental minds.

The first stage is denial. After the announcement has been made, most employees will shrug off the impending move as at best, another misguided attempt by upper management to improve communication and efficiency, and at worst, the latest empty administrative threat. The “red tape” mentality is so ingrained into the collective consciousness that it is almost impossible to imagine any governmental action that can be co-ordinated and executed within the next year (or before the next head of government comes to power).

The second stage is for petty complaints and petulant whining. After the announcement is made, there are always some poor souls for whom the move will be a traumatic disruption to their daily routines. They cite health reasons, productivity reasons, and personal reasons. They complain that they are too far from the kitchen, or too close to the kitchen; they complain that the heater makes too much noise, that sitting by the window is too cold, or that sitting near the corridor is too distracting. They complain that they need to walk an additional 20 steps to the photocopier. They ask “Why us? Can’t some other group move instead?”

The third stage is frantic negotiation. The affected employees now want to delay the move as long as possible; there is much foot-dragging. They offer to take shorter lunches, to work harder and bring coffee for everyone on Fridays. They threaten to quit. Inevitably, some DO quit…

The fourth stage is self-pity. “Woe is me,” they say. They huddle by the water cooler, discussing their views of the upsetting event to come, their hushed chatter punctuated by an occasional rueful laugh. They regale every sympathetic ear with tall tales of moves past and present, even as some are overcome with nostalgia for the great cubicles of history.

The final stage is acceptance. By the week of the move, the affected employees have perked up considerably, and are now devoting their efforts to finding enough packing tape and cardboard boxes to satisfy their packing needs. Labels are at a premium, and those who have had the foresight to keep a decent black marker unpacked are in high demand. There is much speculation as to the speed of computer hook-ups and phone number changes; a festive air can be felt throughout the office. Packing begins at least 3 days beforehand, and thus little work is accomplished. On the day of the move, food and drink are shared, jokes are told, and Lysol is passed around in a rare bout of co-operation and pleasantry. The merriment is doubly justified by the fact that the LAN team comes right after lunch to disconnect all the computer equipment, rendering all displaced employees totally useless for the remainder of the workday.

No Rhyme or Reason

My new yoga instructor told our Yoga for Beginners class that proper breathing would make you taller, and consistent practice of yoga asanas would make your feet and hands bigger. I am already endowed with gargantuan paws and stand 5’11”, so I’m not sure I’m game for that kind of elongation: could be beneficial for swimming, though.

Rumour Alert! Disgraced Tour de France cyclist Michael Rasmussen may be staging a comeback with IM France; however, I seriously doubt ‘The Chicken’ will be able to pull himself through the water with those skinny arms of his.

Bought a coffee and sandwich at Tim Horton’s yesterday, and the flustered cashier gave me an extra dollar in change. I usually don’t even look at my change, but since it was a $5 bill rather than the expected $4 coinage, I noticed the mistake. Funny how this situation brought back the memory of a particular class given by a venerated senior professor… I remember him standing there in Vanier hall, preaching to an auditorium full of impressionable first-year students. I remember his reaction to the prospect of “free grapes”. I remember being shocked at what I perceived as a blatant disregard for ethics in this case, shocked by the students’ appreciative laugher when he suggested that it was ok to profit from others’ “stupidity”. Big deal, one dollar, who cares.

I wrote to him afterwards, expressing my dismay. One dollar may not mean much to us, but a cashier with a till one dollar short is often accused of stealing and “written up”. These people have families and need to put bread on the table too. The professor’s reaction was one of surprise; he suggested that I had misunderstood (which is the only defence he could possibly have claimed), but I never forgot. For the next 4.5 years, whenever I saw him, talked to him, took a class with him, or read his name in the paper, I recalled that incident. That, and the time he said the only good reason for attending business school was to get rich.

I gave the cashier a loonie.

Had a breakthrough last night with “Les robes bleus” : I found out the meanings of some words which had been eluding me. That is, I found out why I couldn’t find them in the dictionary... had to go to the Alternative French Dictionary of vulgarities and slang. Ahh, makes much more sense now (I can’t mention them here, because somehow it is more embarrassing! Let me just say that I found out “putain” is not your average adjective). As an author, Findlay is a pretty intense dude, but I never realized how liberally he availed himself of crudities.

It's a Flat, Flat World

Last night, after a heroic effort to find groceries at the grossly under-stocked local Loblaws, I slaved away in the kitchen for a couple of hours and cooked up some “Popeye” lasagne. Indeed, “some” is an understatement: I made about 8 meals worth, and my freezer is duly stocked. I’m actually proud of myself for stretching $3.00 worth of x-lean ground beef into 8 portions… I did this by watering down the tomato sauce and mixing a can of lentils, two onions, a package of mushrooms, and some green pepper in with the meat. The “Popeye” nickname comes from the spinach and cottage cheese mixture that is spread between the layers; altogether, tasty, nutritious and convenient.

Convenient, except for the two hours I spent in the kitchen. Thus I took the opportunity to listen to several more chapters of Milton Friedman’s “The World is Flat” from the audio-book recording I’ve borrowed from the library. I think I’m about 1/3 of the way through it, but at the risk of sounding pompous… I’m not sure I want to continue with it because I’m almost certain it will be more of the same. While the “flat” world concept (to over-simplify, this is just a catchy term that encompasses globalization and its offshoots, effects, and socio-economic perspectives) was probably novel in 2004 when the book was first released, in 2008 it seems dated. Technology is changing rapidly, to be sure—but all this gushing over open-source software, China as the elephant in the room, outsourcing, off-shoring, in-sourcing, and the shift to tertiary economies in both developed and developing nations is old news. Often, I found myself wanting to reply to the over-enthused narrator: “Tell me something I don’t know”.

To be fair, I’ve been fed this information for 4 years at school… force-fed and then required to regurgitate on tests and exams; but it never ceases to amaze me how businesspeople insist on making even the most elementary market concepts seem so complicated. I mean, if you want to look smart, you should have gone into aerospace engineering or something. Take a PhD in mathematics… but don’t stand on your virtual podium and “name-drop” like it’s going out of style. Gag.

Oh, that brings me to my second quibble with Friedman: Enough with the self-aggrandizement. Every second sentence he mentions some CEO or Wall Street hotshot he knows personally, and talks about flying hither and thither as if he had unlimited jet fuel, time, and cash at his disposal. Even if he did… it is not polite to brag about it; does this not imply something quite unflattering about his character and the intent of his book?

When Friedman discussed the economic advantages of outsourcing basic tax return preparation, phone support, and transcription of medical dictation to India, I immediately thought of how much money the Canadian government could save if it outsourced its mountains of clerical work to a more cost-efficient workforce overseas: quite absurd, but interesting to ponder. Then I found myself vaguely disturbed by the fact that when I call my bank, credit card company or utility, I am probably not even speaking with an employee of said bank or utility.

Finally, it is impossible to forget the elephant in the room… no, not China this time; I am referring to the notion that the West gets rich at the expense of the rest of the world. Isn’t communism great, because it keeps poor countries poor and enslaves them to the capitalists? Isn’t it great to outsource our low-skilled jobs and manufacturing, because then citizens of less-developed nations can labour at unsatisfying and perhaps dangerous jobs—overworked, underpaid, and under-represented—while we sit in our cushy office chairs and take our lunch breaks religiously, secure in the arms of a giant and powerful union? After all, this world order allows us to shop at stores like Wal-Mart, where we can afford to buy truckloads of cheap crap that we really don’t need. And this, THIS is supposed to be wealth, the good life? As it prances glibly along the path of modern progress, “The World is Flat” fails to hide a sad truth: our society is consumer-driven, materialistic, greedy, power-hungry, and proud.

My, I did not intend to end this on such a depressing note. Something more uplifting will follow tomorrow.

Sins of Babes?

I’ve recently acquired the somewhat hare-brained habit of reading multiple books at once. While plugging away at Timothy Findlay’s "Les Robes Bleus" (traduit du "Spadework" en anglais), Robertson Davies’ “A Mixture of Frailties”, and listening to Milton Friedman’s “The World is Flat” on CD while working in the kitchen (!), I decided to pick up Saint Augustine’s “Confessions” and pace myself at several pages a day. My reasoning for this was that Augustine’s fare would provide more food for thought than the others, and thus would be best absorbed in small doses.

However, I was taken aback when—immediately after the preface and translator’s notes—as I had just barely begun to delve into the work, the author begins to confess for the sins of his infancy. He names his incessant crying and flailing of arms when hungry as an undue call for attention and a symbol of selfishness; no matter that he has no recollection of it at all. Indeed, he ascribes these sins to himself after watching the behaviour of other babies, and confirming with his mother that he was no exception.

While I personally find this notion absurd in the extreme, I also must acknowledge that it fits well with the theory that all human beings (and some would argue, all sentient beings) are born with the tendency to commit wrongdoing. If we cannot believe that people are innately good, we must assign such sins to babes. Since Augustine subscribes to the orthodox Christian view—now upheld by the Catholic Church as well as most Protestant denominations—that we are sinful creatures from the womb, it is fitting that he begins his Confessions from the very point of his entry into the world.

The argument of good and evil in nature is as old as humanity; in this, as throughout Augustine’s writing, it is not my aim to argue for or be attached to a particular side, but merely to point out the elements that I—as an ordinary layperson—may fail to understand. Perhaps I also have a perceptual bias in this: I was born premature, and came close to death several times within my first 48 hours on this earth. As a child, I often wondered what would have become of “me” if I had perished as an infant. Would God have given me a second chance? If I had had a soul, would He have “recycled” it for some future birth? Who would I have been? Who was “I” and would “I” even have existed? I didn’t like to think that He might have banished me to Purgatory, or to Hell, or to some zombie-world where doomed innocents went to pay for their unknown sins.

Does that seem consistent with a God who is fair, just, and good?

I suppose I will have to keep reading.

Two Movies

I have been abstaining from TV lately, but suffered a lapse this weekend and watched two movies. Perhaps my brain was fried from the chlorine, or deadened by doing 7x 5-2 killer intervals indoors on the bike while listening to Arcade Fire... hmm.

Juno: I saw this one Saturday at the World Exchange Plaza, and altogether it was a charming and thoughtful film. Cute, but not nauseatingly so: a coming-of-age tale that almost everyone could sympathize with. While the movie was imbued with a Disney-like innocence, I personally suspect that the experiences of most pregnant 16-year-olds would not be as fortunate. Without the competent and efficient stepmother to get those practicalities out of the way, the father’s unconditional love, and the best friend’s unperturbed and loyal companionship, this journey would not have been so agreeable. Then again, neither would the film. As a modern fable, Juno is certainly worth watching for its unique screenplay, clever dialogue, and uncanny way of affecting even the most cynical viewer.

I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry: Rumour has it that Prime Minister Harper saw this one at Place D’Orleans with his family this past summer. In fact, that rumour is what prompted me to give this movie a chance, because I never would have considered watching it otherwise. To me, the name Adam Sandler equates with slapstick, dirty jokes, crude dialogue and a plodding, foolish plot. Not interested! But this one was different: at least different enough for its meritorious points to make it worth finishing. Sure, there was gratuitous vulgarity, crudity, rudeness, and general bad taste… but there was also an exceptional sensitivity in the way the story was presented. There were sad and poignant moments in the film, affecting in their truth… discrimination and intolerance run rampant even in our democratic society. The movie gently pokes fun at stereotypes, and in doing so, forces the reader to reflect on how he or she might contribute to a more inclusive community.

Eclectica

Eclectica (n): Miscellany gathered by an eclectic; or, the result of behaving or thinking eclectically.

Don’t check Webster’s.

1. From CBC yesterday: the news that a cocaine “vaccine” is in development in Texas (see article). While it is eerie to think that we actually need to pharmaceutically engineer something to prevent certain people from destroying themselves, the initiative may hopefully prevent even more tragedy. I’m no expert on substance abuse, but during my volunteer shifts I see first-hand the effects of addiction and how it ruins lives. I wish that a similar antidote could be made for that cheaper, “legal” addiction: alcohol. But most of all, I’d wish that no-one ever felt so abandoned and hopeless in our society that they would turn to drugs as a coping mechanism.

2. Speaking of coping mechanisms, music was mine. Why would anyone want to drink, smoke, or snort if they could instead hear—and lose themselves in—the most beautiful musical passage ever written? The slow movement of Beethoven’s 5th piano concerto always makes me shiver; I can’t help it! Sure, you laugh now… but I dare you to listen.

3. The best headline of the New Year: Machete-wielding Grinch caught on tape deflating Christmas display. Whoa, and I thought I was the only one who disliked such gaudy exhibits of Christmas commercialism.

4. I bought Oil futures in my “fantasy stock exchange” game, but in real life it also would have paid off. As for gas, “Les Canadiens vont payer”; that’s not just gas at the pump that will be more expensive, but also air travel, food, and other commodities. Whether or not you accept James Howard Kunstler’s theory of “peak oil” (and really, it’s not hard to see the logic in that), the golden age of the automobile is losing its lustre. Our long commutes and suburban retreats will eventually become luxuries, unaffordable for most. Not an overnight phenomenon; just the inevitable consequence of the world’s reliance on non-renewable resources.

5. Internet trivia: Albatrosses have a glide ratio of 22:1 (which means they can glide 22 meters for every 1m of drop). They may also weigh up to 22 pounds... In general, I've been wary of the class aves since I was dive-bombed by a seagull in front of the CN tower several years ago. A flying creature as big as a dog is a frightening image indeed.

Étude no.3

Yesterday, a friend asked me to identify the song at the beginning of a particular movie clip, to help his team out in a trivia contest. Indeed… behind the sickening melodrama of a farewell scene on the beach, I could recognize a tune that was annoyingly familiar. Granted, to me there are a lot of tunes that are annoyingly familiar, as over the years I have amassed and/or absorbed more music than most people; however, this one was particularly tricky.

After a few seconds, I hastily jumped to the (wrong) conclusion: “piano concerto”. After all, there was a piano, an orchestra, and a theme that seemed to fit the “Adagio” middle movement in the standard form. There are many works of this genre that have produced popular film tunes, and spawned hoards of cheesy, overplayed rip-offs: Rach 2 & 3, Tchaik 1, Schumann, even Beethoven 5. “Easy”, I thought, “it’s the slow movement from one of the popular piano concertos”. But then I listened to the clip again.

The orchestra was echoing the pianist—actually duplicating the notes—and this continued for most of the clip: definitely a sign of weak orchestration. The rubato was over-done, and there was no rhythmic presence. It lacked depth. This could not be an original composition. I listened again: which instrument fit? Which timbre fit? The piano… and the piano alone! It must be an orchestration for film (tawdry and awful, nonetheless). The piano sounded unmistakeably like Chopin.

Besides, the tune was familiar… too familiar really, to be a piano concerto. It was so familiar that it must have been on one of the Classical compilation tapes that my mother used to play at breakfast when I was a kid. But the key to this mystery was actually in the first few notes; in fact, the first interval, because I could actually feel that interval… I realized that I could feel that interval on the piano… and then I knew I must have played it before.

That certainly narrowed it down, because I am not that familiar with the piano repertoire outside of the symphonic context. I could place it as something I’d played through but never studied, and I could place it at UofT; however, Chopin wrote a lot of work for piano solo. Then I looked through my CD collection and saw “12 Études”, remembering the night I peeked through the glass in Walter Hall and watched Bill Aide fly through the entire cycle. It was magical. I remember being amazed at how a series of… well, études... could really come alive. And I remember digging the work out of the library and playing through it the next day, just for fun.

The song in question? A (bad - what else?!) orchestration of the opening melody of Chopin’s Étude no. 3 from the 12 Études, op.10.

Goals for 2008

Do you have any New Year’s resolutions?

Most people nowadays scoff at the question; how passé, how out of vogue! The most common answer is: “I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions,” and it is said flippantly with a small, condescending smile.

To be fair, “resolution” is an ugly word—indeed, a misnomer. Resolutions are made to be broken! They are doomed to failure, because they imply broad and sweeping transformations of self; such changes are admittedly difficult and complex, often requiring the support of third parties and a timeline longer than 365 days. Such transformations are total life changes, and should not be consigned to the January–February cycle of failure. I do not wish to suggest that they should not be attempted, but rather that a series of smaller, attainable goals with tangible rewards may be more beneficial in the long term.

Lest I not appear a hypocrite myself, I offer my own experience for 2007: last year I set 10 personally challenging but achievable goals which I did in fact accomplish during the year. Two of these were subject to modification in June during the mid-year review, but on New Year’s Eve I checked back through the list and could feel genuinely happy with my progress. Thus it is with the glow of past success—and some measure of blind foolishness—that I present a new list for 2008.

Note: I have had to edit for public digest.

1. Whoops – can’t disclose this one!

2. Travel out of the province at least once (somewhere I haven’t yet been)

3. Travel out of the country at least once (and the US doesn’t count)

4. Begin the pursuit of either a professional designation or a second degree

5. Double my Net Worth (calculated as assets – liabilities)

6. Whoops – can’t disclose this one either!

7. Stop ripping my hair out (yup… don’t laugh)

8. Earn at least a ‘B’ in French oral (c’est assez difficile à parler bien en ANGLAIS)

9. Do at least four of a list of skill-building clinics, events, or group training sessions relating to triathlon (which I will refrain from listing here).

10. Do at least three of the following (caveat: I learned to swim last year!):
*Move up a lane
*Learn ‘fly (oh please!)
*Learn to do a somewhat decent dive
*Learn flip-turns
*Complete an open water swim >= 2K
*Do my first ‘real’ triathlon

11. Do at least one of the following:
*Improve my best Oly Du time by 5 mins (2:33:46)
*Run a Half-Mary sub 1:50
*Place in top 3 women in any event (or top 25% of women in triathlon, given my atrocious swim times)

12. Write 3 letters or articles that are accepted for publishing in the media

13. Do at least three things this year that scare me to death (note: a lot of things scare me to death).

And just for fun, a list of things that my friends would like to see me do for 2008:

1. Drink more
2. Stay out late
3. Train less
4. Stop worrying
5. Have more fun
6. Answer the phone more often
7. Wear colours other than black, white, blue, and grey
8. Walk slower
9. Sleep in past 8:00 on a Sunday
10. Stop using the words “only” and “10k” in the same sentence

Ascèses

Seven years ago, I spent a few weeks worrying over the definition of the word “Ascèses”. I couldn’t find the term in any French dictionary. My professor—even with his much more thorough comprehension of the language—had never heard of the word. It was the title of André Jolivet’s work for solo clarinet (originally written for flute in C), and the piece I stumbled upon while searching the endless dusty shelves in the basement of the UofT music library. It was under-performed; rare enough that I could feel free to make it my own. But despite studying it carefully for the duration of the semester, I couldn’t determine whether “Ascèses” should refer to the concept of ascension, interchange, or opportunity.

There were 5 parts to the work (I wouldn’t say “movements”, but rather “exercises” or even “chapters”):

1. Pour que demeure le secret. Nous tairons jusqu'au silence
2. Tu surgis de l'absence
3. Matière, triple abîme des étoiles, des atomes et des générations
4. Le Dieu a créé les rêves pour indiquer la route au dormeur ...
5. O femme qui ne sais que tu portais en toi le monde

The entire work was mysteriously eerie and chant-like, and the somewhat unusual order of sounds worked together so as to affect the consciousness; a transcendental aim, perhaps. I chose to play #1 and #5 at my first-year juried exam, and yet I never did find out what the title signified. I even took “Ascèses” to Ottawa for one last little performance, but found no answer there, either.

And then last night, on a whim, I searched for the word again… and I found it, in English, thanks to Merriam-Webster’s and WordReference.com online:

Ascesis

Function: noun
Inflected Form(s): plural asceses
Etymology: Late Latin or Greek; Late Latin, from Greek askēsis, literally, exercise, from askein
Date: 1873
Synonyms: self-discipline, asceticism
Rigorous self-denial and active self-restraint

Exercises in asceticism! Not an earth-shattering conclusion, really. Perhaps this is something I should have guessed from the nature of the work and the titles of the individual nos. 1-5. But when I saw the definition I immediately felt a pang of regret, because now it all made sense: a deeper meaning linked all of those “ascèses” together, each so calm and compact, meditative, holding something back. Simple… exquisitely simple.

New Year, New Blog

This past autumn, after a brief and uncharacteristic period of clarity, I discontinued my GreenOttawa blog. Loathe to contribute to the perpetual navel-gazing of the blogosphere, and disenchanted with the lack of progress being made on the environmental front, I resigned myself to the inevitable: We will all die in an ugly and toxic world, the next generation will struggle to find luxuries like clean air and water, and nobody gives a rat's ass.

The only thing I learned from that exercise was that the majority of us are short-sighted and self-centered hedonists.

Yes, darkly funny indeed. But now I'm going to try again: not because anyone particularly cares what I say, but because if I don't write, I won't think. Since I graduated from university my brain has been on the decline; I'm on the fast-track to imbecility. The following quote from John Stuart Mill in "Utilitarianism" is fairly self-explanatory:

"Capacity for the nobler feelings is in most natures a very tender plant, easily killed, not only by hostile influences, but by mere want of sustenance; and in the majority of young persons it speedily dies away if the occupations to which their position in life has devoted them, and the society into which it has thrown them, are not favourable to keeping that higher capacity in exercise. Men lose their high aspirations as they lose their intellectual tastes, because they have not time or opportunity for indulging them; and they addict themselves to inferior pleasures, not because they deliberately prefer them, but because they are either the only ones to which they have access, or the only ones which they are any longer capable of enjoying.(1)"

Much less eloquently then: If you're not challenging both your mind and spirit in your daily life, you will eventually lose the capacity to appreciate the more cerebral pleasures: art, theatre, music, other cultural pursuits and travel, language, and literature. I would venture that one's spiritual curiosity would also be diminished.

What do we then replace these "higher" pleasures with? Television, blockbuster films, booze... you get the idea. Of course there is still a place for these "inferior" pleasures; in my case though, when I look back over the last 4 years and think to myself: "Wow, I watch a lot more television and waste more time surfing the 'net, yet haven't attended a symphony concert in almost 2 years," I feel a certain sadness I haven't realized before. Il y a quelque chose qui manque.

It's one of those feelings you would like to shake off and ignore, but can't... It's the burden of realizing you're becoming somebody you never intended to be.