"I-- I don't think I can do this..."
"What's the matter, hon?" She grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth.
"I just don't think I can do it tonight... it's not happening." His face was flushed with embarassment as he turned away.
"Hey -- look at me -- it's okay." She turned his head by his chin. "Let's just try again tomorrow."
"ARGH! It's so-- ARGH! frustrating when I can't..."
"Shh, shh... I know, dear. It's okay... it's okay." She reached up to stroke his furrowed brow, to run her fingers through his hair. He was perspiring.
"We waited a whole week to do this!"
"I know, I know. It's okay if you can't... This doesn't make you any less of a man."
"Actually, yes, I think it does!"
"You're just frustrated right now. Why don't we take a break and try again in a little bit? Or I can help--" She reached down.
"No. No." He caught her hand and gently pushed it away. "I'm sorry. It's just something I have to overcome mentally."
"Was it something you had for lunch? I don't know why this time is any different from all the other times..." She picked up the discarded wrapper and crumpled it.
"I guess I'm just not as young as I once was. I have to work a little harder now."
"Well, don't hurt yourself. Like I said, it's okay to try again tomorrow."
"I think it's because it got cold."
"I could warm it back up for you."
"I think it'll be alright. I'll just get some ketchup."
"Yeah, that should help."
"This is so embarassing. I mean, how often is a guy unable to finish all of his onion rings?"
28.3.09
The Most Frustrating Thing
10.3.09
It's that time of year again
when the birds fill the air with their call,
when the snow begins to thaw.
the chill in the air abates and
the Sun breaks through overcast greys.
It is March;
there will be rain.
20.12.08
Pillow Talk
"I'm worried. What's the matter with him?"
My eyelids fluttered briefly, as I contemplated opening them. Short talk: closed; long talk: open.
She turned on the lamp.
My eyelids decided to stay steadfastedly shut; scrunchily shut.
She nudged me gently.
If I pretended to be asleep alre--
She elbowed me in the ribs.
"Eh?"
"Our son. He's been so mopey, lately. Haven't you noticed?"
My ribs let it be known that they would not brook another jab and sent fair warning that I should attend to the source of said jabbing to prevent further abuse. My eyes opened slowly to adjust to the lamplight and I turned to face she of the soft, yet forceful elbows.
"He's 14. Isn't it sort of expected?"
She sat up.
"Can't you take anything seriously? I'm really concerned for him! What if he's gotten into a gang and has been taking drugs or something?"
I mentally chided myself for breaking the cardinal rule of pillow talk: thou shalt not disagree with thine woman. Damage control, STAT.
I sat up as well, and wrapped my arm around her. "That certainly would be a cause for worry. Has he been doing anything suspicious?"
"I don't know. He doesn't talk anymore? He used to be so cheerful; now he looks like everyone's out to get him."
She looked up at me.
Danger! Danger! Imminent request! Imminent request! I knew what was coming next, but I was powerless to stop it. Curse you, mood lighting, warm snuggle and beseeching eyes!
"Can you talk to him?"
I felt the warmth being sapped out of my body. I pulled the blankets higher.
"T-talk?"
"Yeah, you know, man to man, or whatever it is that guys do."
"Uh, guys don't talk."
"Pfft. You talk to me. We're talking right now."
"Guys don't talk to guys?"
"Quit trying to weasel out of it. This is serious. He's your son."
Great idea! How can I weasel out of this? Ah! Throw her off the scent.
"I'm pretty sure it's not gangs or drugs."
"Oh yeah? Well what do you think it is then?"
"I remember being 14. It's probably just a girl." I slouched down against to headboard to return to a position more conducive to sleep. Problem solved.
She turned and put her chin on my chest.
"Really? You were like this when you had a crush on someone?"
"Oh definitely. Mopey, sluggish, completely anti-social."
"That does sound like the way he's been acting. Wait, who did you have a crush on?"
I poked her nose. "You, silly."
"Balderdash. You didn't know me when you were 14."
"Heh. It doesn't matter what age. When you like someone who isn't really reciprocating, you're bound to get mopey."
"I reciprocated!"
"Way too subtly."
"So you think he's just got a crush on a girl?"
"Mmhmm."
She grinned.
"So you definitely have to talk to him about that! Find out who it is! Oh, God. What if he's already... you have to have the Talk with him!"
Ah crud.
22.9.08
Minor Details

The Ford Mustang has updated its branding for the 2010 model.
The change is subtle, but significant.
I think it can go further than that, so I've taken the liberty of redesigning the iconic Mustang badge even futher. You're welcome, Ford.
21.9.08
2.8.08
Porcelain Philosophy 12: On Handling Frustration
Part of a larger collection of peer-contributed devotional writings.
The best laid plans of mice and men
often go awry.
Frustration is the feeling you get when your plans just don’t seem to work out.
There is little doubt that you will face frustration and worry during this trip, be it finances, or rejection from the very people you seek to bring to Christ. Plans are the structures that we build to give us something to fall back on when things go bad. When your plans fail, the frustration often is debilitating.
But wait! There is hope!
Haven’t our sinful selves been crucified at the cross? Haven’t we been raised again anew in Christ? When we go forth to proclaim the Good News, it is not our plan, but God’s. In all things, God will provide; “consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them” (Luke 12:24). If God takes such meticulous care for the creatures of the Earth, why should we, His beloved Children and Bride of His Son, ever worry about anything?
The frustration of rejection need not bother us either. When Jesus sent His disciples out to proclaim the Kingdom of Heaven’s dawn, He instructed them to “shake the dust from their feet” as they left the house or city that chose not to receive the News (Matthew 10:14). When you go forth to proclaim the Good News, you are to be like the voice and breath of God. What obstacle can bar the way of the wind?
28.7.08
Limerence
I thought I had a notion
of all the words regarding emotion;
but then -- anon --
I happened upon
one that looked a lot like Limerick.
17.7.08
Pygmy Orca (Orcinus pygmaeus)

Not to be confused with the Pygmy Killer Whale (Feresa attenuata), the Pygmy Orca is a docile, hand-sized cetacean generally found in sub-tropical waters. Its name stems from the uncanny resemblance to the full-sized Orca (Orcinus orca), known to the Inuits as the Sea Wolf, and more colloquially as the Killer Whale.
Pygmy Orcas, like their larger cousins, congregate in pods of up to 32 for safety. Their communal nature and higher than average intelligence is also evident in their feeding patterns. They work together to herd and swarms of krill into a waiting subset of the pod. Pygmy Orcas are the only toothed whales to actively predate on krill, as it is the only food that will fit into their mouths. Like their larger cousins, Pygmy Orcas employ echolocation to navigate the seas and to find food. Each pod has a designated alpha couple who coordinate feeding and migratory paths. Pods of Pygmy Orcas are often seen coasting in the slipstream of full-sized whales, allowing them to traverse vast distances on minimal energy.
Pygmy Orcas are very familial and mate for life. A couple can produce up to 3 babies per litter, but are only fertile every 3 years. The pups take about 14 months to reach full maturity and size. The adults take turns tending to the pod's nursery, while others hunt. The average lifespan of a Pygmy Orca is about 15 years.
As they are mammals, Pygmy Orcas can live out of the water for brief periods of time, but their skin is delicate in the air and will dry and crack if taken out of the water for too long. They are not large enough to have large stores of blubber, so they live in warmer waters than their namesakes.
13.4.08
Porcelain Philosophy 10: Resonance
according to kinetic molecular theory, everything that has even a smidgen of energy in it -- i.e. has a temperature greater than absolute zero -- is vibrating. by and large, macroscopic objects vibrate very slowly, so you're unlikely to notice them doing so. this vibration is usually referred to as natural frequency: the number of times an object oscillates (moves back and forth) in one second, measured in units of Hz.
physically speaking, everything in the universe has a natural frequency -- even you and me. metaphysically speaking, i would like to posit that everything also has a natural frequency on a spiritual, emotional, psychological, moral, philosophical level. in people, this is manifested as our personalities, codes of ethics and interests. it dictates what we are attracted to or what we are repulsed by, who we get along with and who we really can't stand, why candy tasted so awesome as a kid but has since lost its appeal 10 years later. it's all in the resonance.
have you seen the physics demonstration of two equivalent tuning forks affixed to sound chambers? ringing one fork results in the other ringing apparently on its own accord, without any visible connection (wires, etc) between the two. click here to watch.
this happens because tuning forks of equivalent frequencies resonate with each other (and anything else with a similar natural frequency). when a tuning fork is struck, the tines vibrate at their natural frequency, compressing the air in regular intervals, thus generating a sound at that frequency. when an equivalent tuning fork is held near, the air compressions (sound waves) push against this new fork's tines in regular intervals -- the same intervals, or frequency, as that of their origin.
if you impart a force, even a very small one, at the same frequency as an object's natural frequency, it will move, regardless of how big it is relative to the force. think of it like this: a big kid is sitting on a swing and wants his little sister, who is 1/3 his size, to push him really high. since it is physically impossible for her to do so with one push, she does the smart thing and gives little pushes every time her brother reaches the apex of the swing, just as gravity begins to pull him forward again. eventually, the swing will have accrued enough energy to make the boy happy. same thing with the tuning forks. little bursts of air pressure at the natural frequency of a metal tuning fork can set it in motion. even on something as large as a bridge, resonance can move the entire structure.
frequency can also be understood as wavelength; since everything has a frequency, everything has a wavelength, and is thus a wave. when waves meet, they combine together (superposition principle) by adding together. crests adding to crests makes bigger crests; troughs adding to troughs make deeper troughs, etc. this is called interference. resonance is an example of constructive interference, when everything lines up to make the wave amplitude greater. conversely, there is destructive interference, in which the waves add up to reduce the amplitude.
each person is a bundle of personality, experience, morals, emotions, and thus has a complex set of natural frequencies. things in the world also have frequencies that bombard us daily. some of these things resonate with us; we interpret them usually as, "i like that" or "that was pleasant" or "OMG i'm in love." strong negative feelings are also examples of resonance. the resultant amplitude of the wave interference indicates the intensity of these feelings, be it love or hate. of course there are also things and people that just seem to have no effect whatsoever on us; they are things that are so uninteresting to us that we are essentially blind to them. destructive interference is happening there.
as you grow and accumulate experience, your natural frequencies will inevitably change; the frequencies that hit you everyday will mold you into something different. think back to the tuning fork demonstration; one could prevent resonance by simply adding a mass to one of the tines of one of the forks (like a lump of plasticine). this happens to us too: see enough hypocrisy and you'll grow cynical; watch your mother get hacked up with a chainsaw when you're 3 years old and you'll turn into a serial killer devoid of emotion; spend a lot of time with someone and you'll pick up the same mannerisms, habits, preferences. by the same token, these 'masses' can be shed if you know where to look, restoring your original frequencies, for better or worse.
29.3.08
Puppet Supreme
but soft, what light through yonder window breaks? i woke up super early this morning and felt both relieved and empty at the same time. i'm not even talking about poop.
second practicum has concluded.
i have been stretched and pulled and spun about. flitting back and forth between excited-to-learn english students and i-hate-school science students was a mental hurdle too high to jump in one go. it took several tries.
i already miss them all.
navigating between existence as a teacher and as a student is a cobblestone road to tireless wheels. it is a bumpy, noisy ride and that coffee you thought of drinking is now making its way through your pants, but it does not invigorate you down below.
i have so many assignments awaiting my attention.
feelings are so much more multivalent now: there is joy and pain in love; there is fulfillment and frustration in teaching. i don't know whether to laugh or cry, leap or laze, fly or fall.
the finish line approaches and it is time for the rest of my life.
parting is such sweet sorrow.
26.3.08
lost and found
20.3.08
the one in which a lot of things happened and then i wrote about them
placemarker post for the time being. i will decorate it with words and so on when i has have the time. see the wonderful labels for a brief taste of things to come.
[REALLY]
i went to the Ishskwaday 08 conference last weekend at TKPC. note to self: try to avoid conferences the weekend before school starts up after a march break holiday because you will be completely thrashed for the rest of the week. there was going to be a writeup with commentary and anecdotes, but who would read that? point-form play-by-play it is!
Friday:
Saturday
5.2.08
someone has invaded my happy place
someone has invaded my happy place,
where clouds are shaped like medieval weaponry,
and i'm not sure what to make of it.
there in the still, amongst the greens
and blues and browns, the breeze and birdsong
and burbling brook to no where, she is
now here in my happy place.
29.1.08
i'm getting married
eventually.
lots to plan in the meantime (where, when, who). you're all invited.
this morning, i thought to myself, "hey, you have commitment issues."
"what do you mean?" i retorted, "if i say i will do something, i do it."
"not that kind of commitment; the big-deal commitments."
"i beg to differ, self. i'm very much about the big-deal commitment."
"that's what i mean, me; you commit even before she even has a chance to decide."
"who is this she you are referring to?"
"a hypothetical she; a past-she. you do the same thing everytime someone catches your eye and sort of eyes you in return: dive right in. do you even check for rocks or depth?"
"are you saying the ladies i am attracted to are craggly and shallow?"
"stop abusing the metaphor. just slow it down--"
"nothing going on here..."
"be that as it may, you need to proceed with caution when someone does show up. early commitment will cause her undue pressure; commitment is something that has to be earned and decided upon together."
"can we maybe talk about this when it becomes relevant? feeling just a bit lonelier now."
24.12.07
who i am is not quite who i was
i have been cleaning my room for the past 2 days (because there was that much stuff) and rearranging the furniture and swapping in new furniture, etc. a few minutes ago, i found an old assignment i participated in back in grade 10 or 11. it was an english writing assignment where we'd each submit a short blurb about ourselves as if we were meeting together for our nth year reunion (where n is an integer).
the following is what i wrote. you can clearly see where my priorities were back then; it's not so far off from where they are now.
After graduating from Woburn Collegiate Institute in 2003 as an insignificant student having made little visible difference, Herman quickly rose up the social ranks as a hackey sack champion in Brock University. He double-majored in Greek Mythology and Biomechanics after receiving a scholarship for Insignificant Achievement. While attending Brock, Herman wrote a novel, aptly titled Foot-Eye Coordination and the Flying Beaver, but it was never published.
Graduating from Brock in two years, Herman celebrated his 20th birthday by getting married. To this day, he still doesn't know her name (or does he simply forget? either way, if he doesn't know, she's not telling), but they worked around it. He moved to Zurich, Switzerland, quitting his job at Indigo for a higher paid job at the Indigo in Switzerland as manager. In 2007, Penelope, his first daughter, was born. She exhibited early skills in percussion and visual art, but later changed her mind and became an astronomer. His son, Edwin, was born two years later and grew up to play centre for the Toronto Maple Leafs. By that time, Herman and his family had moved back to Toronto, but outside the city. Herman became a computer game storyline consultant as a result of the move.
In his spare time, Herman enjoys reading, various sports and just plain living. He still occasionally plays hackey sack, but since no one else in his family does, it's not much fun. He had a pet kangaroo named Jenny, and they used to hold jumping contests. Jenny died of old age in 2024.
At the moment, Herman is Manager of Indigo again and resides with his family in Markham. He is contemplating adopting another kangaroo.
i'm sure you're dying to psychoanalyze this. i've taken the liberty of getting the ball rolling to maybe offer a bit of insider insight. it will help you develop your interpretation of my crazy.
1.12.07
the Mystery of Women: Episode 1
women are a mystery. this is by design; everything is on the inside. men, who have (almost) everything on the outside, cannot even begin to comprehend the mysteries locked away in the opposite sex. in this new series, exclusive to pocketfish, i will explore the uncharted and give men everywhere (that read this blog) a fighting chance.
in this first installment of The Mystery of Women (MOW), i will reveal the answer to the question that has been burning on the minds of men since the Pyramids were first conceived: how do women make those towel turbans?
the towel turban has baffled men for many generations. a towel is a large rectangle of cloth; how can it possibly be tranformed into something so elegant as a turban for wet hair? why have we been scrubbing our heads like idiots when we could be letting them dry by turban? it must be magic.
my brothers, the towel turban is not magic. to make a towel turban, you will need the following:
- 1 towel
- 1 head
- hold ends of towel so that its length is perpendicular to you
- bend your body so that you are facing the ground
- drape the centre of the towel over the back of your head so that the two ends dangle on either side
- twist the two lengths of towel together as if making a unicorn horn until there is no more slack
- holding the two entwined ends tightly, stand upright and drape the 'horn' over the top of your head
- tuck the ends under the portion of the towel covering the back of your head
- show your wife, girlfriend, sister and/or mother and gloat
28.11.07
The Journey to the Office of Convocation:
A Hero's Quest for Validation
looking out across the way to the castles in the distance, i stopped to steel myself for the journey ahead. there would be many obstacles to overcome this day, least of all the November chill, so i put on my Scarf of Warmth and Asthmatic Prevention to protect me from the elements and Asthma.
the first obstacle was the crossing of Bloor, a swift-flowing river of metal that stopped for nothing save for red light. the only way i could cross the Bloor was to find some red light and block the river's flow. there was a lantern, strung up high, that periodically changed colour. there were only so many colours in the spectrum; surely it would turn red at some point. and it did. the river, for a moment, stood still and i crossed unimpeded. truly, God was with me on this day.
the journey was long and arduous and though i trekked southward, the cold did not abate. fortunately, i was also equipped with Gauntlets of Soft Almost-Fuzzy Skin, that preserved my precious digits. the ground appeared to be littered with leaves, normal for this time of year, but they were clearly EZ-Slip Leaves (buy a bag! fool your friends! embarrass your enemies!) planted by some nefarious villain who found delight in the misfortune of others.
the land i was traversing was ruled by a tyrant. times have been hard for the proletariate with the oncoming winter and the exorbitant taxes the tyrant must be exacting to fuel the hearthfires of his extravagant manse. no denizen of this district offered cheerful welcome as denizens are often seen doing in other lands.
in due time, i struck westward for my destination as per the instructions i received from Gugel, the chief cartographer of the land of Int Ernet. where was my destination, the humble reader might ask? i was on my way to confront the diabolical Office of Convocation and reclaim what was rightfully mine: a parchment bearing the seal of Ut, confirming my ascension to the rank of gentle.
but there was one more obstacle to surpass. the land was being retilled and retrodden by orange henchmen of the tyrant, riding enormous yellow dragons. i knew they posed little danger, as yellow dragons are herbivorous, but their girth was an impediment. i had to take the long way.
the long way was through the Valley of the Vomit-Swamp. the land itself was easily navigated and there was no treachery beneath each step, but travellers would usually be dissuaded from passing through the Valley of the Vomit-Swamp because it was an affront on the olfactory sense. it smelled like vomit, hence the name. fortunately, my Scarf of Warmth and Asthma Prevention had been enchanted with the charm of Neutral Aroma for such an occasion.
the Office of Convocation was hidden in a tower just beyond the swamp. the tower was oddly unguarded. perhaps i was expected and a trap was laid out. i marched up 3 storeys before i found the Office. at long last, after much wearisome travel, bitter cold and vomit-smell, i had reached my destination.
the door was locked.
there was someone inside; i could see her through the window. she opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her. obviously, this was a guardian troll. odd how she was not hairy in all the wrong places like a regular troll. there must have been budget cuts.
"are you here to pick up your diploma?"
"yes," i said, in my talking-to-trolls voice.
"we're closed at the moment, but i'll be back in five minutes." with that said, she stalked past me and into a rather large dumbwaiter. here i was, all prepared to challenge this troll to armed, and probably mortal combat, with nothing to show for it.
when two whole minutes had passed, another guardian troll opened the door and allowed me passage. this one was even less troll-some than the last. it dawned on me that the real trolls must have been on strike. these non-trolls were more than happy to open doors, be communicative, have hair in the proper places, let you cross bridges, etc. i gave her my identification and she gave me my diploma. i slipped it into my satchel, which was just the right size, and departed from the Office of Convocation with every limb intact and not a drop of blood spilled. what a rip-off.
16.11.07
advance to next checkpoint
i smiled because i didn't have to teach today; all my lessons were done.
i smiled because my evaluation was submitted; i had done well.
i smiled because i was happy to have made new connections and gained new friends.
i smiled because my students stopped on the way out to say goodbye and goodluck.
i smiled because it hid the pain of leaving.
8.11.07
"What Physics Teachers Do During Breaks"
last week, a student asked me
and my associate teacher very seriously,
"sirs, do you talk about physics all the time?"
and i replied, very seriously, "yes. yes we do."
i had meant to be glib, but it was true.
her eyes widened in genuine surprise
and she walked off to tell her friends.
---
today i received a free lecture on quantum physics, de Broglie's wavelength, Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, wave-particle duality, Schrodinger's Equation, and the health benefits of eating salmon. i had forgotten how much i had forgotten from second year astronomy and quantum mechanics and electricity and magnetism.
it's not all physics and fish, however. sometimes we chat about computers, how crappy Microsoft is, why we will have to eat squid when we can no longer sustain cows, how one could go about teaching the Coriolis Effect to grade 10's, whether or not Tigerdirect is selling a Seagate Barracuda 500 GB 7200 rpm 16 MB cache hard drive for $110 when a Seagate Barracuda 500 GB 7200 rpm 8 MB cache is being advertised for $110 as well, etc.
15.10.07
the one in which i pretend that
someone loved me for a little while
when i close my eyes and look real hard, i can see just how far away you are from all the moments we once shared (like the grass-green grass that stood yea tall, the sky-blue sky and the cotton-ball cloud that you thought was a bunny tail); you are so far away it seems i can only see the memories intermingled with scraps of melodies that remind me of how we once had dreams.
