I Knew It!

I knew it! Except you didn't.

I could probably write a whole book on words of phrases I don't like, from redundant portmanteaus (guesstimate) to new expressions that should never have been allowed to exist (no homo). But for now, I have to discuss an old classic that gives me language indigestion.

"I knew it" is a flexible little guy. Like a cockroach or tumour it finds ways to exist anywhere at any time.  What the phrase does which is both brilliant and annoying. It allows the speaker to retroactively use details from their memory to argue that they knew a recently discovered fact all along. I know. That's a pretty wordy phrase for a guy halfway done a general arts degree. But I can explain through an example.

"... and it turns out that Ashley was actually gay all along."

"I knew it!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well- she used to always wear converse shoes in high school. It's a lesbian thing."

When it comes to homosexuality, "I knew it" comes up way too often. Whenever someone comes out of the closet, there's always a person who claims they knew it all along. The thing is, they didn't. There's a big difference between having a suspicion and knowing something. If you saw Ashley making out with a girl at a gay club one year ago, sure. Then you knew it. But if you noticed her wearing questionable shoes, you certainly didn't know anything. Except maybe how to identify shoes. 

There are some grey areas where I believe the phrase is acceptable. Sometimes if there are unsurprising repetitive outcomes to an ongoing subject, then "I knew it" can be justified to an extent.

"... so we all thought that this was going to work out. It was Ashley's third time in rehab. But the progress she was making was promising. But then, out of the blue during group therapy, she used a chair to smash open a window, and ran away into the night."

"I knew it."

"How so?"

"Ashley never changes. This is her third time in rehab after all. She has consistently not stuck to quitting drugs for ten years."

While it's not perfect, I wouldn't call it incorrect usage of the phrase, although "I'm not surprised" would have be a safer choice. The thing that the speaker knew, was Ashley's qualities that have remained consistent, unchanging and previously confirmed. This new circumstance is a logical continuation to Ashley's ongoing habits. 

So the next time Ashley does something surprising or out of the ordinary, carefully consider what you say next. 

Note: these rules also apply to people not named Ashley

What's the Game in your Head?

I have this game I play in my head when I'm walking in a residential area,

If a car should pass me as I'm walking, my foot furthest from the road must be on the ground, while the other should not be touching the ground. It may sound like some sort of compulsive habit, but it is a game to me. The trick is to make it seamless, and inconspicuous. 

I haven't consciously thought about this game until recently. It's always just been going on in the back of my head. But I know there are other internal games going with your minds too. I'm curious to learn what they are. Maybe I could pick one up even. 

What is your head game?

Goodbye, Safari Car

Safari Car made every ride feel like an adventure. We weren't just driving around, we were on a journey. Now he's on a different highway, cruising all the way up to the big guy.

Safari Car started his life around 1992. My grandfather needed a hardy vehicle for getting to his bee farm. The property was down a bumpy country road, and only a standard car with 4 wheel drive would be able to make it. That was when Safari Car entered my life.

We started out by doing simple things. Grandpa would drive me down to High Park so that we could look at nature, and Safari Car would be right there with me, taking me to where I needed to be. I was too young to fully understand that this machine was a family member, and not just mode of transportation.

Once my grandfather was too old to drive, Safari Car came to live with my family. Again, I didn't get to know him very well even then. He was just the secondary car, and he was much smaller than the big beige Taurus. When I started to learn how to drive, I avoided him altogether. No one wants to drive standard, when they have the option to go automatic. I was scared, and unready.

Then one day, when the Taurus was on vacation with my parents, it was just me and Safari Car. We didn't deal with each other. I stuck to public transit. But when a friend needed a ride home to Burlington, it was time to give this ride a try. We started out slow and awkward. There was a lot of stalling, and false starts. But after a bumpy two hour trip we somehow made it to our destination. And I had made a new friend along the way.

This was our honeymoon period. Safari Car and I went everywhere together for a good four years. I learned that by driving stick, I was driving with the car. We were interconnected. Not like automatic, which is mostly just pressing down a pedal to go. Some friends embraced the thrill of the Safari Car ride. Others needed time to adjust to his wild ways. And there were even some who refused to ride with him at all.

Safari Car had come to me late in life. He was an old soul. There were days where he would have trouble getting started. He didn't even let the key into the ignition sometimes. And when I drove on the highway, I could hear the wind passing through the door that never quite shut right. I knew we wouldn't have much time together, but I made the most of it. I can guarantee that much.

A few days ago, we realized that Safari Car was on his way out. My parents made it clear to me that we would have to 'put down' Safari Car. They assured me that we would get a new car, that was just as good. I didn't want a new car. I wanted my old partner to be okay. But that wasn't going to happen.

I don't know what happens to us when we die. I certainly don't know what happens to cars when they die. But when life gets bumpy, I always knew I could get in Safari Car and we could ramble along together.

Just wanted to say goodbye, old friend.

Party Philosophers.

Drunk people. We think we're so smart.

I went to a party a few nights ago, and met this very intelligent man, Mike (I'm sure he won't mind me mentioning his name since he's a very 'chillz' guy). He was very into philosophy, and discussion. I believe we spent most of the night talking ideas, literature, policy and other lofty matters. I remember feeling engaged and enthralled.

Today, I'm trying to remember what it is specifically we talked about.

It happens a lot. These deep conversations that only come out under the moonlight and maybe some moonshine. If you have ever been to a party and had more than two drinks, I guarantee you have talked about one of the following:

You know man, people should be able to do what they want no matter what. Except for pedophiles. That's fucking gross. And those people that piss on each other.

You know, I don't consider myself a religious person. I'm more 'spiritual.' Like you know, that feeling when you walk in the park on and autumn day, and you can, like, feel god. It's like, whoah.

Oh man, pollution is the worst. I can't believe what we're doing to the world. It's all those corporations and shit that are fucking everything up. I mean, I don't recycle or conserve or do any of that stuff. But I care. I really care, you know what I mean?

This may prove the theory that alcohol does indeed make you dumber. 

My Super Peppy Spirit Year

I will be a residence advisor this year. Also known as a don. I've  been training for a while now, and I see that this is a good fit for me for this year.

Seems odd that I would want to do this. I'm going into my fourth year (though I need to do a full fifth) so I should be pretty busy with  assignments  and  such. I do need to have straight A's this year to get into grad school, especially if I want to secure a good TA job. But there is rationale to my madness.

I miss camp. Being camp counsellor is such an intense and interactive job. Being an RA is like this, except with an academic twist. And drunk adolescents. I need to do this. I need to get this out of my system.

With the experience I gain here, I may be able to get a graduate position at a residence for grad school. That way I could live for free for wherever I go (Waterloo is currently my first choice still, followed by UBC or Concordia). That would save me a lot of money. A lot of money. My english prof is still paying off his grad school debts. I don't want to be that guy.

So friends, I'm not insane. This is good. And who doesn't love parody cheers?

I love Low'Keefe and I cannot lie. You other peeps can't deny. When we walk in with pride in our face and spirit up in the place you get, WHAT? LOW'KEEFE! WHAT? LOW'KEEFE!

Dining in the Dark.

Dining in the Dark. My friends and I decided to try out Toronto's take on it. Some places are very  gimmicky. They have night goggles, or masks. O Noir, which is the one we attended was very well run. Most of the staff was blind, so there was a sort of message to the whole evening.

We went into a waiting room, and ordered. Then once we were ready, our blind waitress got us each to put one hand on each other's shoulder, and walk into the dining area. It was disorienting, but we found our spots alright. 

Eating was difficult at first. Spreading butter on bread was a nightmare. But once we got used to it, everything felt very fluid. Like we were all bodiless voices talking in the night. One  common  occurrence  that  happens to people in this sort of situation is that they play around with removing some articles of clothing. A couple girls opened up their tops, and some of us boys let it hang out. Seriously. The dark does odd things to you.

In a way, we paid on average an extra ten dollars to eat at a restaurant that saves a lot on electricity. But it was worthwhile. It made eating an even more sensual experience.

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