What's Red and White and Red and White and Red?

Canadians in a blender of course! Aren't I so funny? Hahahaha.

Anyway.

So it's a hot summer's Sunday and you've made a last-minute decision to visit Centre Island. A nice cool swim with the whole family sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? But the thought of packing for a such a trip makes your head spin. The lawn chairs need to be brought in from the patio. The camera batteries need to be charged and the memory card unloaded. You've run out of sunscreen, your volleyball is deflated and your six-year-old son broke that plastic sandcastle bucket during last year's trip. How will you ever get everything repaired, re-bought, and packed in ten minutes?

Fear not! The Americans have come to the rescue under the guise of being Canadian! And if you don't know what I speak of, everything will make sense in just a few hours. This trip might be possible after all. Simply pack your bathing suits, some towels, and a simple lunch. What's that? You can't find a bag or a box or a cooler or anything to store those in? And you've run out of reusable bottles and bottled water? No need to worry, everything will be fine.

So you've unwisely followed this idea, and the closer you come to the lakeshore, the more nervous you get. How can you possibly have a good time with virtually nothing packed? You manage to find a free parking spot and begin a ten minute walk to the harbour front, juggling a tangle of clothing and towels while your husband attempts to keep a stack of sandwiches balanced precariously over a container of diced fruit. Within moments you realize how brutally the sun is shining and question whether it would have been a better idea to stop at Shoppers for a new bottle. It's too late to turn back now.

While you are worrying about dying prematurely from cancer, your husband speaks up. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

You stop dead in your tracks. You absolutely are not sure this is the right way. Nor can you check, because you have no map with you.

“Look, a bullseye!” your son shouts and runs up to a red and white target painted on the ground nearby. “I bet it's this way!”

You decide that there's no harm in following, and, after all, targets are what you're supposed to aim for, right? You see another up ahead. After following several more targets you exhale enormously with relief. There is the dock, right in front of you. And there is the row of ticket booths.

The ticket booths. Your heart skips a beat. You didn't bring your wallet. How can you pay for a ticket?

You notice several young women all wearing pink shorts and white t-shirts with a big target on the front. Perhaps they are employees. You approach one. “H-how much is it to ride?”

You hope faintly that if it's less than twenty-five cents per person, you might be able to scavenge some change from a fountain or something.

“It's free. Target is paying for your ride today.”

Free? As in no money required? Did you hear that correctly? What kind of otherworldly god is this Target? You must have been blessed for your generous volunteering at corporate events last year. Either way, you keep your mouth shut, nod your thanks, and step into line behind a large crowd. Your son runs off to a nearby bench, where he throws himself against a little white cushion with a red target.

“Interesting,” your husband says with raised eyebrows.

When the ferry pulls into the dock the first thing you notice is that the boat is covered with targets. Inside, there are more of those cushions. You're tempted to take one but they're firmly bow-tied to the seats, so you take the passive-aggressive approach to deal with your frustration, conveniently ignoring your son while he beats up the cushion with a series of rapid-fire punches.

Once you're back on land, you follow the crowd past a sign that says "Bullseye Beach." You wonder what all this obsession is with bullseyes and some higher deity named Target. Perhaps it is a new religion that has infiltrated North American culture with the potency of a pre-pubescent male singer.

It certainly seems so when you arrive at the beach. It's like a shooting gallery. Everywhere you look there are targets. You can imagine a running commentary going on inside your head that seems a little too realistic to be imaginary.

Welcome to Bullseye Beach! You're carrying quite the load! Would you like a complimentary drawstring bag to store those clothes in? And how about a nice free shopping bag for the food? You must be thirsty, after taking such a long trip. Why don't you relax with a drink from our juice bar, on the house? Of course, you'll need to grab a complimentary water bottle first. Oh, and you don't have any sunscreen on, do you? Take this bottle and put it on straight away! Don't forget these free sunglasses, either. And while you're waiting for the sunscreen to take effect, why don't you sit down on a couch, under the shade of one of our canvas tents? We offer a variety of magazines that you may peruse to your heart's content.

Here at Bullseye Beach, we're committed to offering you the best experience ever known to humans. That's why we'll stop at no end to serve your every need, want, desire, demand, wish, fancy, and passion. We offer an extensive variety of engaging activities. Swimming is now more convenient than ever, with our on-site change stalls. No need for the awkward towel-around-the-waist, or running halfway across the beach to get to the washrooms.

If swimming isn't your thing, there is plenty more to do. Put your abilities to the test at our activity station, or play volleyball by our net. Keep the kids busy with a complimentary sand bucket and shovel. They can even enter our castle building contest!

Tired? Grab one of our folding chairs, beach mats, or recliners and set up an umbrella (all yours to keep!) wherever you wish. Watch our sailboats (with target print sails) glide by in the distance. Just lean back and allow the music, courtesy of Virgin Radio, to sink in.

Hungry? Come eat at one of our picnic tables. And for dessert, why not enjoy some free ice cream from our very own ice cream truck?

Leaving so soon? You haven't even experienced the best part yet! Come pose by the two giant logos over here. We'll take your picture, print it, and package it in a nice greeting card, all for free! There you go. Have a nice complimentary return trip!

***

There were also duffel bags, but I only saw an employee carrying one, so they might not have been available to the public. Also interesting was the fact that we stumbled upon the wedding of Mike Layton and Brett Tryon, and while we correctly guessed it was some sort of wedding taking place (the only clues were white tablecloths and flowers), we had no idea it was them, or that they were getting married.

Also, don't you love how consistent my narrative style remains?

White Waters

I just love coincidences. See, I can call them symbolism and pretend I'm a highly complex character in a stunningly well-written literary novel who, by the end of a two month time span, makes an equally stunning and provocative judgment about the world.

Now since I've got you on the topic of coincidences and we're also talking about the Olympics and this post is getting a little satirical, I thought I'd just share another completely coincidental, Olympic, and satirical observation/discovery. Also, just putting it out there, this post does not reflect my views on anything in particular.

I spent some of Tuesday at the library, glossing over the collection of books they had there. After skimming through a whole volume of DIY water landscaping (which had really pretty pictures of fountains and waterfalls and ponds, all installed in people's backyards), I ventured deeper into the collection of adult non-fiction. My eye was caught instantly by a bright book sitting on the featured display. Whiter Shades of Pale the title read. By Christian Lander. What could this be? I looked for the description.

If you thought you had white people pegged as Oscar-party-throwing, Prius-driving, Sunday New York Times–reading, self-satisfied latte lovers—you were right. But if you thought diversity was just for other races, then hang on to your eco-friendly tote bags. Veteran white person Christian Lander is back with fascinating new information and advice on dealing with the Caucasian population.

"!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" was what went through my head as I wrenched the book open.

After spending a summer volunteering with a certain half-white friend, I'd become obsessed with pointing out our cultural differences. Such as her kitchen. We would play impromptu games of "guess-the-spices-I-have-in-my-spice-cupboard" and "guess-the-small-appliances-I-own" in which I discovered she had about three ice cream makers, a snow cone maker, two food processors (a big one and a "mini" one), a cocktail shaker, a milk frother (I still don't really know why you would want your milk frothed), and a whole bunch of other things I can't remember at the moment. Also, a seventy dollar pepper mill, which secretly makes me envious (come on, I can't be the only one who runs into the kitchenware aisle just to test out all the pepper grinders!). So, getting back to my point, what a coincidence that such a book landed in my hands. It was as if the world was just begging me to read it and figure out more questions to annoy her with.

The very first section I read convinced me to take the book. It was about swimming, and why white people like to swim, despite numerous tragedies at sea such as shark attacks and sunken/lost ships. But read this:

Another theory of why white people enjoy swimming so much is their ability to completely dominate the sport. Of course, this domination doesn't come from years of training and crushing competition; it owes mostly to the fact that white people only have to compete against other white people. This is in turn because even at the highest levels, nonwhite competitors are mostly limited to a few overeager Chinese Olympians or some adorable underdog from a third-world country who just learned to swim. 

Swimming at the Olympics is actually another example of how good white people are at figuring out how to maximize the few ways in which they can eke out athletic dominance. White people have helped ensure that you can win medals in swimming for different distances, relays, and, most important, different strokes. So white athletes can win upwards of five medals for doing the butterfly and the backstroke, but in track, a sport long abandoned by white people, they could not obtain additional medals for running backward or doing a crab walk.

As amusing and truthful as such a comment seems, I didn't take Lander's words very seriously. Until today, when I finally filtered the medal breakdown by athlete. Let's take a look at the top ten rankings, which consists of fifteen athletes because five are tied for 9th and two for 10th. Unsurprisingly, Phelps is at the top. He's followed closely by Franklin and Schmitt, both of whom are swimmers. All swimmers and all white. As a matter of fact, an overwhelming eleven of those athletes are white swimmers. Oh, there's also that "overeager Chinese" swimmer in the mix, which amused me much more than it probably should have.

Now before the accusations are fired, I should say that I don't have anything against anyone or any group of people, and I'm sure Lander doesn't either (considering he's white). Just thought it was an interesting observation and a satirically golden theory. If anything, I'm just thoroughly annoyed at CTV for interviewing Missy Franklin seven thousand times. "But her parents are Canadian!" Okay, we get it, now leave the poor girl alone and start talking with some actual Canadian athletes.

Oh, and as for the book, it's okay, but it's not that great. The swimmer entry was the funniest I came across, and the rest is either too white for me to understand, not my humour, or just not as funny. I can't really tell which it is. There are some other golden entries, however. I like the writing style: very modest, almost academic, with just a little bit of attitude. And as the summary suggested, it's written as a guide for nonwhites with tips on how to take advantage of/piss off/become friends with white people. I thoroughly enjoyed the "How to Win Arguments with White People" flowchart, which I will not spoil.

Scattered Thoughts on London 2012

I don't know about you guys, but the Olympics always manages to suck me into watching hours of competitions each day. (Admittedly, even while writing this post, the TV is on in the background.)
There is just something about these competitions that is exhilarating: watching athletes compete to become the best of the best; cheering on Canada on every medal won.

And yet at the same time, watching these races is very ironic. While the athletes are working their asses off (sorry, lack of better description) trying to win, we merely recline on their couches, eyes glued to the screen watching, likely growing less fit by the minute. While they are going out there, doing their best chasing their dreams... what are we doing with our lives? I guess what I'm trying to say is that the Olympics should serve as an example of what you can achieve when you put your heart to it. They did it, so why can't we? The Summer Olympics especially, should encourage us to take action and do something productive with the time we have.

But then I realized something else, as I was watching an online interview with the mother of Gabby Douglas, one of the athletes on the USA Olympic Gymnastics Team. Her mother was talking about all the sacrifices their family had made in order to fulfill her daughter's Olympic dream. And then she said, "you know, it's really tough for all of them, since only five girls make the team each Olympics". That's when I realized, those who make it to the Olympics every four years aren't the only ones who are making sacrifices and trying their hardest. There are so many more out there who do the same, maybe work even harder, and yet fall that many steps short of achieving their dream.

So in the end, I guess the Games, like life in general, is all about balance. It is certainly imperative to go out there and chase something we desperately want, but at the same it is just as important to know the boundaries and not get discouraged in times of failure. For some athletes, simply getting to the Olympics would be a dream come true, but for others, even a silver medal is a huge disappointment. I think that, no matter what happens, they shouldn't be disappointed - the process is part of the success, and knowing you gave it your all is accomplishment in itself. As for those who didn't make it? Well, there are always more competitions to come.

This post may have seemed a bit all over the place, because I had trouble connecting all my thoughts on these Games into a single post that flowed well. Hope you at least get the gist of it! Also, speaking of productivity, A POST ON ALASKA IS COMING SOON. I PROMISE. (Yes, for those who didn't know, I went to Alaska for a week and it was awesome! But more on that later...)

When TOPS Kids Play Pool

They never finish. Actually. The game will not end for hours because they're using the most miserable looking cue (the only one) in the recreation room, and because all of them have the aim of blindfolded pigs. Actually, it's a bit worse than that, because TOPS kids tend to miss the ball completely and then knock another one away while laughing hysterically at their attempt.

Two players in particular have reached such exceptional consistency with their signature faults that (a) missing the ball and (b) moving it two millimetres are no longer two nameless atrocities (although they will remain nameless for the sake of preserving dignity). Indeed, one of them pulled off five fantastic (b) moves in a row. Move (a) was, thankfully, never chained together.

Saturday the twenty-first was the day of the birthday party. (Yes, I've put off this post for that long. Don't judge.) We started off with a very rigged game of air hockey at LaserQuest, in which the scoreboard only selectively incremented if it felt like awarding points for a shot. Seriously. The other team scored three times in a row and the numbers did little more than blink. By the time we "officially" reached seven points, the score was much closer to 9-13 in actuality.

In terms of technique, it wasn't much better than the pool game. I scored on myself about three times (which was only a little above the median), but also managed a few aces (if that's what they're called in air hockey). Thankfully, the scoreboard took pity on me and the other team only got one point for my three fallacies.

The actual laser tagging itself wasn't that bad, although a certain partygoer did manage to shoot her own sensor. She saw her reflection and shot that, thinking it was someone else. Apparently, it deactivated. Which isn't a bad deal, considering you earn more points for shooting someone than what you lose for getting shot. One friend's advice for the group was to prey on the little kids and stalk them around the arena, which I told myself I wouldn't do, but kind of ended up resorting to at the end because they tend to be oblivious as to what direction they're being targeted from and so can safely be farmed. I also ended up with a delightful blister on my third finger from the trigger, which still has not healed completely.

After that, it was back to the arcade. This time, we tried out the other games. The basketball shootout was pathetically coordinated between three players, with several collisions right over the net where two balls could have made it in. The shooting gallery thing just didn't happen. Because we were so observant, we paid our fare before glancing at the giant error message on the screen. The best part? The machine rejected our refund request. So we had to go to the front desk to request a reimbursement.

And then, what must have been the most epic part of the day. A story to be passed down for generations: the guaranteed prize claw crane. The large prize round isn't a guarantee, but the plushies are actually worth the dollar. We got really lucky during our attempt (lucky enough to knock a giant crayon from the large prize pile over the divider and into the small prize pool). And we all know what that means. Unlimited tries for a large prize!

ROUND ONE

I think we stayed there about fifteen minutes, applying different techniques and grabbing different parts of that goddamn crayon that refused to be lifted. We stationed people on two sides to optimize the x/y-coordinates, but after a slip-up with the controls, the claw missed the crayon and plunged into the stock of generic small prizes and hitched onto some insignificant plushie. Our collective "NOOOO!" must have caused major seismic waves. And then the plushie slipped from the claw and we were all flooded with relief.

Relief for half a second, at least, until we realized there was still something clutched in the claw. It was thin and flowing. A ripple of satin? A dapple of silk? Nope. A pathetic, limp tissue/lint sheet pinched between the claws like a dead robin. That was what hung from the metal grappler, making its way steadily closer to the drop-off chute.

No sequence of Unicode characters is capable of representing the bitter disappointment, the failure of our situation. I'm not even sure we groaned, although I was too busy trying not to fall over with laughter to notice what anyone else said.

"What a wonderful birthday present."

"Yeah, best present ever, of course!"

We held it gingerly, as though it were infected, before deciding to once again complain to the staff. The woman at the counter gave a small "huh" of amusement, although her face showed no humour. More of a polite bewilderment. Her eyes slid toward her co-worker who cracked a joke about its value and how excited we should be.

The woman was still standing there holding the tissue. She seemed not to have heard the joke. "What the hell?" Her voice sounded more annoyed than anything else. She refunded our purchase after a few seconds of hesitation. Which means...

ROUND TWO

We spent another ten minutes trying to coax the goddamn claw to grip the goddamn crayon, which would not goddamn budge. In the end we nudged it further into its corner and sealed off any chance of victory. And so, with a half-hearted shot at the crayon tip, the claw once again missed and brought us a standard small plushie. Oh well. At least it wasn't a Bounty sheet.

And so we went back to the birthday girl's rec room where we held our private party despite the fact that we made no reservation and paid no money. Shhhh...

I'm not sure whose idea it was to play pool. But within minutes I was dragged into it, and the first game took around three/four hours, with the second game about an hour shorter. And it was always the same rally. One team rapidly sinks all their balls and then works on the eight ball for two hours while the other team is stuck on their last (non-eight) ball. Play alternates between misses and penalties until the second team finally sinks their last ball and someone spears the eight-ball into its rightful hole. Honestly though, that cue was so bad. An enormous crack down the middle constantly threatened to skin our fingers.

After pool, we tried our first board game, Deal or No Deal (yeah, I didn't know that was a board game either). Basically, the players take on the roles of the host, contestant, and case holder models. Apparently we should have all failed our literacy tests because nobody could interpret the instructions without a brain ache and, apart from cracking up at our models' dramatic facial expressions before opening the cases, it was generally a disaster. Our contestant simply refused to consider the bank's offers, slamming the No Deal button before any sort of offer could even be set. Which turned out to be quite worth it, since her chosen case contained $400 000.

Other highlights of the party include Mario Party, Dance Central 2, a lot of food, Taboo, Uno Attack (which I won), and a sad game of Nerf capture the flag with improvised rules. We definitely spent more time recovering the pellets and picking a suitable area than we did playing.

That party was definitely one to remember. Like our summer this year, we broke a truckload of records. Because that's what TOPS kids do. They just never stop.