Moment

I want to know. . . . . .

What Bill Murray whispered into the ear of Scarlett Johansson at the end of the movie “Lost in Translation”?

My life doesn’t have enough moments like this.

Revelation

Let me tell you about my name.

I’ve been accused of being a closed person, that I am cool and detached; a mystery to even those closest to me. “What boils beneath? What stirs his soul?” have asked many a person drifting into and out of my life. What a deprivation this inward temporal life can only serve – what a waste, as it is but only a few fleeting moments we share on this earth. So, let me share with you that most personal and intimate piece of myself. Let me tell you about my name

I was named after chocolate, specifically Cadbury Neilson Slowpokes. Perhaps you’ve wondered about the origin of my name; whether there was heritage, familial significance or history attached to it; that perhaps I was named after my father, or his father or a great-grandfather who fought in a war for the salvation of his country. Alas, no, I am not burdened with upholding the rich legacy of my forefathers. Not in my name.

Call me Slowpoke.

A person’s life can be shaped by a name. I am fortunate. How difficult a childhood it would have been if named Macaroons, Willocrisps or Mr. Big?

How can one lead a normal life named “Rain”, “River” or “Leaf” even if spelled “Leif”? And worst of all were the daily traumas of my old friend Charlie Brown. What kind of cruel parents did he have?

Gratitude: (Friendship - Part I)

Another Year.

I used to measure myself by much I had. With the wisdom born out of time and reflection, I see this is not the best way to view one’s life. I have neither more nor less – it is the same, but I’ve discovered that those same things have become better, and those same friendships have grown much deeper. It has been a good year after all.

Thanks very much for remembering and making the effort, for otherwise this would have been just Another Day, nothing more.

That you did so means I have a place in your life and for this I am humbled, flattered and for the moment, the most fortunate of all the world’s bumbling fools.

Formula One

The Formula One season starts this weekend. I am so excited.

I can feel it.

Sunday, March 6.

The unveiling.

West McLaren Mercedes has constructed the MP4-20, the weapon that will loosen the stranglehold Ferrari holds over the world championship. Three years ago the McLaren team plunged itself into a project of revolutionary design, devoting months and months, and pouring ten of millions of pounds into an ultimately futile effort. Week after week during the 2003 season, a shroud of disquiet blankets the Paddock, incessant whispers and frightful anticipation over the mystery of when the MP4-18 would gain entry into the FIA Formula One World Championship. Is it here? How fast is it? This was the car to strike fear into the competition. This was the car to dust Ferrari off the road.

The MP4-18 was never allowed to race. It was very fast, unreliable and terrifyingly unsafe, having failed every single crash test imposed by the FIA. Ferrari and Michael Schumacher have won the Constructers’ and Drivers’ titles every year since 2000 and do so again in 2003 and 2004.

For 2005 the McLaren team has retained the services of the Colombian driver, Montoya to race alongside the young super quick Finn, Kimi Raikkonen. The McLaren cars will by piloted by the two drivers that are arguably the bravest and the fastest in the world. The Renault team is very strong; Alonso will win races and the return of the highly celebrated but overrated Villeneuve will disappoint for Sauber.

Ernst Hemingway wrote that there are only three true sports, Boxing, Mountain climbing and Auto racing. The rest are just stick and ball games. These three are the sports that reveal a man, exposure one’s true nature and truly test the depths of machismo. No other human endeavour combines the same combination of skill, strength, courage and faith as Formula One, the highest level of the world’s most dangerous sport. The anticipation to the start of a new season is electrifying. Overblown? Hyped? Yes perhaps, but there is resolution as well. Optimism reigns in pre-season testing. Every team believes they have constructed a very special car; the first race will reveal the pretenders. The first race will show us who got it right, who will be in for a long difficult season, who will have to re-design their challenger. Sunday March 6.

The 2005 season has 18 races scheduled in 17 different countries on five different continents. It is the world’s most elite, exclusive and expensive competition. In the sporting world only the Olympics and World Cup soccer hold sway to larger audiences for their events. They are staged but once in four years. Formula One is the only annually contested global championship. With an annual worldwide television audience exceeding five billion viewers, every person in the world watches on average, one Grand Prix race per year.

Formula One is the world’s most beautiful paradox, with rules so sophisticated yet so elegantly simple. As a spectacle, it is the technology that makes it spectacular, the human element that lends it passion. Predictable, yet prone to the most unexpected sudden of events, there is drama and consequence until any other. We see the events on the track, but this often belies the truth of the matter. There are other hidden dramas, unseen conflicts, in the pits, over the radio, within the rumblings and synchronicity of the engineering, within the politicking of team brass. It is the most glorious and cruel of sports. It can be unfair and full of bitter betrayal. But it is absolute. Competed with relentless intensity for their entire duration, close grand prix races are taut and captivating, scene for many of the most gripping moments in sporting history. Few things in life are more cathartic than a brilliant maneuver in an F1 race.

When I was very young, I was an enormous fan of the Ferrari driver Gilles Villeneuve from Quebec, Canada. Dead twenty three years, he is idolized in Italy to this day for his tremendous skill, honour, drive and passion for life. I remember the day of his death in a qualifying accident in Belgium, May 8th, 1982. I heard the news from the CBC that Saturday mid-afternoon in my room on my portable black and white TV. I can’t describe to you how sad I felt. I did not watch nor follow Grand Prix racing for many years after. Until Senna.

The greatest that ever lived. The late Senna was the best of a very special group. The best of all racing drivers. Courted by royalty, worshipped by the proletariat, so few of them walk among us; there are only 20 men from twelve countries on this planet both privileged and skilled enough to contest the 2005 championship. Rich, glamorous and talented; they are famous the world over and mythic in their homelands. Living under the dark omnipresence of danger, they walk a higher ground; they are the beautiful people. We may all come into the world as equals, but we do not share the same patch of Earth as the Formula One drivers.

I’ve been to several F1 races in Montreal and Indianapolis. Twice, I’ve had to go by myself. That’s how much I love it. I am willing to drive for hours to cities I don’t like by myself if need be for the privilege of sitting in a grandstand hours before the event and waiting. I savor the wait. I love watching the grandstands fill up around me over the course of two or three hours. In the days of 12 lap low fuel qualifying, my favourite seat at Il-Notre Dame in Montreal was the back of the starting grid across from the last Paddock garage. The cars break hard in front of the pits with a quick right left before opening up onto the front straightaway. There is a concrete wall, and during qualifying the back end of the cars slide out, having gone over the “edge”. For fractions of a second it appears the driver(s) has lost it, but just as suddenly the car will snatch back, missing the wall by mere inches. These are thrilling heart-stopping moments. Only live is the element of speed so apparent. During the standing start, a wave of excitement ripples through the grandstand, the entire crowd stands, leaning, peering to their right to take in as wide a view as they can. Simultaneously the red lights turn on one at a time as engines rev higher, and louder, distorting the sights with their heat waves, until suddenly when the lights go out, they are gone. Disappeared behind the pillowing clouds of tire smoke.

At the mecca of racing, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, the fabled Turn One is the best place to sit. At the apex of the oval during at the 8:30 practice you can see the cars emerge from the early morning mist and slingshot down the straight before disappearing again into a vanishing point through the infield. This is the widest field of vision you can take in of an F1car at any circuit in the world. If you are a true-blue, hardcore racing fan; if you go to take in the racing with no interest in the distractions around the event weekend, then you must go to Indy. Placed in a different context than Il-Notre Dame, the F1 cars are completely transformed here. Fully released, the engines are monstrous, the speed and the cars truly frightening.

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Two years ago, Scott TECHRITER and I drafted an outline for a book proposal that we sent to the Wiley Corporation, the publisher of the “For Dummies” series. The book was to be titled “Formula One for Dummies” and we detailed 18 chapters and 5 appendices for a volume that we estimated would be approximately 350 pages. We were hopeful, but realistic that it was no more than just a slight possibility, and when it arrived two months later, we were well prepared and accepting of the rejection letter. Our idea was a good one, but they had already solicited that same project onto someone else, so said the letter. About six months ago in a Chapters store, I couldn’t help feeling very disappointed when I saw a brand new book that had just been published, “Formula One for Dummies.”

It is similar to what we had outlined, but I believe ours would have been better. It would have been a deeper felt labour of love. The published book is written by two editors of the British magazine “Autosport”. It is not a bad book, but flipping through the pages you can see clearly it was a mechanical exercise, just another dispassionate assignment for a couple of beat writers.

I suppose it really was just a fantasy believing that a couple of fans could somehow gain access to such a closed world, even if only briefly in an indirect peripheral sort of way. Who are we? We have no affiliation with F1. All the authors of the “For Dummies” books are experts with credentials or some sort of close association. The computer books are written by geeks, others by teachers, this F1 book by magazine editors, the “NASCAR for Dummies” by Mark Martin, an actual driver for the Pf-zer sponsored Viagra car.

Scott TECHRITER is a real writer. With over 200 published writing credits to his name, he’s very talented and his work is both tidy and efficient. He brings something. Me? - Well, I’m not sure, but here’s the bio we included in our proposal. The last line’s not true, but the rest is.

“Slowpoke played with toy cars as a child and has since grown up to be a full-time motor racing enthusiast. He dedicates his Sunday mornings to televised Grand Prix events in Europe and makes annual excursions to Montreal and Indianapolis for the whining V10s and burning rubber of Formula One. If you can find him in the crowds of 100,000+ fans, you’ll see him wearing the cap of his favourite World Champion, Damon Hill. In his hometown of Toronto, Canada he enjoys July weekends along the shores of Lake Ontario, breathing in the methanol from the Molson Toronto Indy.”

You don’t need qualifications to be a motor racing enthusiast.

The Formula One season starts this weekend. I am so excited.

The Underbelly: (Teaching and Tutoring - Part II)

Thoughts for today centre on that most unsavory and taboo of subjects: money. Well, not really, but money is at the root of it. Forgive me if you find this crass. Forgive me if you find this self-indulgent.

As an avid hockey player, but mild fan, I’ve been asked many times over the last few weeks for my thoughts on the NHL situation. Well, I’m getting tired of commenting on it over and over again, so I’m going to say something about it just to flush it out of my system. I do this knowing full well that this particular readership circle has absolutely no interest. For this, I must apologize in advance.

I understand how the players feel, but I have no sympathy for them. Their position is ultimately about money, although they insist it is really not – that it is based on ideology. The strength and loyalty to which they currently uphold their position is based on a certain moral indignation formed and developed only recently from within the animosity of tense negotiation. From their narrow view of the world, they are correct except their principle is flawed. They want to be paid at the same level as athletes of other major North American pro sports. The hockey players believe they are deserving because they are the best at what they do, just as the other ball players are the best at what they do. The market conditions don’t allow this. There are only two options. Accept the owners’ offer, or don’t play. There is not a third option.

I’m thinking about cutting back on my private tutoring. I know I’ve indicated before that teaching is something that fulfills me, something that I love to do, but there are necessary elements to it that are becoming more and more difficult all the time. Money. Not cash itself, but the principle of money. I charge people for my private tutoring. I enjoy doing this and I don’t particularly need the money, but I think what I’m doing is very valuable and therefore people should pay for it. I do not solicit. People approach me, yet in spite of this, too many times in the past I’ve had people try to fight me over my rate.

To make a comparison and to state an opinion to which you may disagree; to my mind there is just no question that tutoring for a professional accounting program is worth more than tutoring for grade school math. The benefit/ end result is more tangible, immediate and direct. I am teaching working adults, who if they pass exams, will be qualified for better jobs that will earn them more money. Now. That is an indisputable fact. The people who come to me do so because they do not believe they can pass without my help. That is also a fact.

What acts against me is the reality that people are willing to give and sacrifice everything and anything if it is for their kids. And often they are not willing or able to spend anything on themselves. Correct or incorrect, equitable or not, this is a truth I have to accept. This is the basic premise that enables grade school tutors to charge more money for their services than I do for mine. I believe what I provide is more valuable, but I cannot be compensated for what I believe is its true worth. There are only two options. Accept what the market will bear, or don’t tutor. There is not a third option.

Because money is sometimes just a principle, there are certain circumstances when I will relax my financial requirements. I will be tutoring SD starting in April. This will be her fourth attempt on this exam and this is her very last course. If she does not pass this time, she will be asked to withdraw and her years of work will be for naught. Her entire sense of self-worth is wrapped up in this exam. For a desperate case like this, sometimes I will be flexible.

Her case is much different to what I have going on right now. Last week I just finished up tutoring a couple of guys for the March exam. They asked me to spend an extra session with them for free. Free. No charge. They decided they couldn’t pay me anymore. I stared right through them and listened with indifference to their hardship story about being new Canadians and being forced to accept low paying jobs that were beneath them, how in their home country they were so much more etc etc. whatever !!! . . . This is the sort of thing that enrages me, and not just because we had already made an arrangement they were now trying to re-work. This was the first attempt at this course for both of them. There was no prior evidence that the content was difficult for them or that they needed professional expertise or guidance. Most people study independently – on their own. These two guys wanted a tutor because it saves time studying. Put another way, they were paying for a luxury. In this circumstance, I am very stubborn. I hold no regard for hardship stories.

My “favourite” hardship was the outlandish case of BT who three years ago “decided” for him only, I should reduce my rate by exactly one-half because another tutor, SW charges half. I would not, and told him to contact SW instead, a suggestion he clearly did not take to. Upon seeing that merely asking would not yield the desired outcome, he decided to just come out and be “open” and upfront. He told me he could not pay my rate; it was too much of a burden given his “situation”. His “situation” was that he has five children and they were all “sick” and often he had to take time off work and couldn’t earn money. . . . . . . A heartfelt story, yet I am strangely unmoved. His next idea to aid in his financial relief, was for me to spend twice as much time with him per session, thereby still allowing me to earn the same amount of money I would otherwise. It’s wasn’t ever clear to me how this was supposed to “lift” his financial burden. Eventually I did tutor him but the sessions were poison. He coerced a friend to join him. This other person was there for the sole purpose of helping pay me but otherwise was obviously not interested. Mid-way, we had a disruption due to the three week trip to Africa BT took with his “sick” children.

Then there was the woman who asked me to wait two months before payment because she felt her liability should be contingent upon her passing . . . .

I love doing the lectures, but I want to cut back on my private tutoring. I said this last year too, but didn’t. The spring lecture session hasn’t even started yet and I already have four people I will be tutoring, so it looks like this year I will not either. I did an all day review session on the weekend and M. from my workplace was on site but at a session for another course. She told me later there were people in her session who had taken my class or review before and they were talking amongst themselves, saying many flattering things about me. No one’s ego no matter how humble, is immune, but what a nasty trick that is – saying those things to keep me from quitting.