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By Gary Roberts, September 4, 2009

Image: Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory

Hmm, difficult decision, that one.

It was a toss up, last night, between a free lecture at the University of Toronto, entitled A Map of the Universe: Large Scale Structure and the Cosmic Web, or some homemade Thai curry and a DVD on The Life of Mammals, by David Attenborough.

I’m almost ashamed to say that domestic bliss won out over a chance at some free education—El Franco’s Thai curry just smelled too good and tasted ever better!

And besides, the lecture started at 9:10pm. At this point I was already in my grubbies and settled down to watch Sir David rappel down the Amazon forests to observe the amazing arboreal acrobatics performed by a troupe of gibbons.

That guy has the best job in the world!

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By Gary Roberts, September 2, 2009

Science + The City episode at George Brown College

A friend of mine was working out at the gym this week, and as she was pumping it up she saw a clip on the Discovery Channel on one of the TV screens. It was an episode of one of the Daily Planet’s Science + The City shows hosted by Alan Nursall, in which he questions a group of George Brown College students and staff members in the foyer of the St. James campus.

It just so happens I’m on the video, as one of the audience members. The episode is all about comets; how they’re formed, what creates the tail, etc. We were asked if we wanted to participate in the show and I’ve always loved astronomy and other science subjects, so I immediately agreed to take part.

It was actually filmed last year (2008) but I forgot all about it until now. I’d never even seen the clip, but after my friend told me about it I did a search on the Discovery Channel web site and managed to find the video.

My contribution to the show has been digitally immortalized and I can be heard uttering the profound words: “Organic compounds” at 01:54 minutes into the video time-line. I have other contributions to make, of course, but I don’t want to give it all away—go see for yourself!

Here’s a link to the video (it begins with a short ad).

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By Gary Roberts, August 14, 2009

Well, that’s what I’m hoping to get eventually. I’ve taken the first step by signing up for two courses: Grammar for Editors and Writers, and Fundamentals of Reporting.

I’ve been procrastinating for quite a while now, about going to night classes, but I finally decided to take the plunge and sign up for the courses. I’ll have another two compulsory courses to take after the ones above, then one elective before I can apply for the Journalism certificate. And that’s assuming I make the grades, of course.

Still, I’m looking forward to getting my brain active again after a seemingly long hiatus, so fingers crossed!

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By Gary Roberts, July 3, 2009

The old-style barber chair at Church & Gerrard

When I was a kid in England, my dad used to take me and my younger brother to a local barber shop to have our hair cut. The name of the barber’s was Gillman’s and the owner was this small, compact, neat older guy, whose name I’ve forgotten (and who has since passed away) but he was always referred to as Slasher. He came by this name, I guess, because he was one of those old-school barbers who simply went at your hair with scissors and electric shaver and before you knew it you had a ’short-back-and-sides’, which was so not the moderate trim you had originally requested.

Slasher Gillman’s son also worked in the shop. At least with Dave we could rest assured that, having studied hair styling in college, he would at least know what type of cut we were asking for. It’s funny now to look back and recall how my brother and I would sit there, holding on to the edge of our seats waiting to see who would finish cutting the current client’s hair first—would one of us get lucky and end up sitting in Dave’s chair, or would it be a long, slow walk to the gallows of Slasher’s chair?

I remember those old, iconic barber’s chairs, which would come with an extra detachable seat resting across the arms for those of us who were too small to make full use of the adult seat.

Well, that was all way back then in England. Today I went for a hair cut at the corner of Church and Gerrard and saw, to my delight, one of those old fashioned barber chairs I would sit in in my childhood! It had the old black leather seat and arms, as well as a hook on the side for the strip the barber would use for sharpening his cutthroat razor. It even had a small ashtray in the arm. Hard to imagine in today’s more health conscious and politically correct era that clients would sit and smoke, and shoot the breeze, while having their hair cut in those bygone days!

The barber at this shop was an older Vietnamese gentleman who knew his stuff and took his time with my hair. He and I talked about the old barber shops, the chairs and where he’d purchased them as second-hand items and how proud he was of them. He even let me take a photo of the chair when he’d finished cutting my hair. For me, it was a trip down Memory Lane and I wanted to post the picture to my blog for posterity.

And as a bonus, he was no Slasher Gillman—I got exactly the cut I asked for!

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By Gary Roberts, July 1, 2009

I wouldn’t classify myself as a spiritual or religious person. I eventually became a Humanist after having been raised a Catholic. Being unfettered by superstitious dogma really opens one’s mind to the joys and wonder of living in a purely physical world. This doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t experience certain things in life that appeal to a higher emotion or to the aesthetic sense; things which capture a transcendent moment, or which give pause for reflection. In fact I do have to say that my thoughts  sometimes wander from the reasonable and I find myself indulging in the fanciful. For instance, I can drink in the visual arts and be amazed at how human beings can conceptualize and realize such wondrous works. I can listen to Bach or Mozart and be blown away by the symmetry and complexity of the arrangement of musical notes and how they’re interpreted by our brains. Such things, to me, can be considered wonders of nature. We are, after all, part of nature ourselves.

As realistic as I am about life in general, I have to acknowledge the fact that there’s a melancholy side to my nature. It’s for this reason that I add the following video to my blog. I’ve always felt an affinity for the poem The Lake, by Edgar Allan Poe, since first reading it many years ago, and I now recently discovered that a singer I greatly admire has taken this poem and created a song of such sweet, sad reflection that it almost makes me weep.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

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By Gary Roberts, April 24, 2009

There’s not much blogging being done on my part, these days. My nephew and his girlfriend are visiting from the U.K. in a week’s time, so we’re busy preparing things for them and getting the house up to par. We have an itinerary of events lined up for them, so we’re hoping they’ll enjoy their first trip to Canada, eh?

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By Gary Roberts, April 12, 2009

Easter Sunday was a good day for us when we were kids, second only to Christmas Day. We couldn’t wait to get home after Mass to unwrap our chocolate eggs! We’d remain in our Sunday best most of the day, as family and friends filed through my parents’ house for tea and biscuits. The religious significance of this day wasn’t lost on us either, especially after having just sat through an interminably long sermon by the parish priest about The Resurrection. A scattering of palm-leaf crosses could still be found on the tops of cupboards and shelves, or tucked away behind a picture of Pope John Paul II; souvenirs from our visit to church on the Palm Sunday the week before.

But that was back then. Things are different for me now, as far as church and religion are concerned.

School Years

Me (left) with my younger brother and older sister, in our early school years

Just to give you a backgrounder, I was raised a Catholic. In the Catholic schools I attended—particularly junior (or middle) school—Religious Education featured prominently in the curriculum. I remember learning the Catechism by rote then having to recite it in class along with my fellow pupils, or having to say the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary as a group when we were gathered in the assembly hall each morning.

R.E. was definitely an important part of the curriculum and we sometimes had drop-in visits by the local priest, who’d test our knowledge of the bible by putting us on the spot with his many questions relating to the Old and New Testaments.

The headmaster at our junior school, Mr. McGowan, was fond of interrupting our regular classes in order to stage an impromptu Q&A session about the Catholic faith. Mr. McGowan had a predilection for confusing us when asking such questions. One of his favourite methods was to stare at one pupil and call his or her name before asking his question, while actually pointing at someone else sat on the other side of room as he posed his question. The unlucky subjects of both gaze and finger would stare at each other, dumbstruck, as they each waited for the other to answer first. Neither pupil could know for sure who was actually required to answer. Of course, the two would then receive a reprimand for not being able to read his mind.

It was a ridiculously inane way to teach and its sole purpose was to stroke a power-hungry ego, I’m sure. It also had the effect of instilling a sense of dread in our young minds whenever he entered the classroom.

Confessions

My parents were practising Catholics, my father having converted to Catholicism from Protestantism in order to marry my mother. My mother’s side of the family, being Irish, were fervent followers of the Catholic faith. We had lots of cousins on the distaff side, some of whom were nuns or missionaries.

As children, we were expected to attend Mass with our parents every Sunday until we reached 16 years of age, at which point we were allowed to go to church with friends and cousins. We often skipped Mass, however, and would hang around outside St. Gregory’s church, making sure we weren’t discovered until it was over. When Mass was finished and the congregation began to file out of the church, we’d make our way home with the rest of the crowd; at this point, we were usually seen by friends of the family, who’d then be able to attest to our presence there, should our parents ask.

We were also expected to go to the Confessional at least once a month to unburden ourselves of sin. I never really thought I did anything bad as a child, so I used to have a whole list of trivial and not-so-trivial sins on standby, which I’d mix up every now and then when I was in the Confessional, just to make it  sound more authentic.

Moral Lessons

I’d have to say that throughout my childhood and teenage years I did believe in God, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, the importance of absolute faith, the perils of sin, the horrors of hell. I  remember at times having a feeling of being watched, or judged, and of having a sense of dread at what would happen to me if I should die. Would I be saved? Would I go to heaven? Would I end up in hell? This feeling of being watched was constantly reinforced by the amount of Catholic paraphernalia, either hanging on the walls or standing on any available flat surface in our house and the homes of our aunts and uncles, whom we visited regularly. Pictures of the Virgin Mary, the Holy Family, past and present Popes, crucifixes, crosses, statues of saints and monks and friars of significance could be found in each and every room in the house in which I was raised. There was no escape. You just couldn’t get away from the disapproving frown on the face of some old pope, which would be hanging near a picture of a saint, for example, wearing an expression of beatitude and love.

This was my childhood. The meanings and moral lessons associated with these religious icons were constantly being reaffirmed in our day-to-day interaction and conversations with older aunts, uncles, friends of the family and whatever priest happened to be overseeing our parish at the time.

Jesus, Mary & Joseph

I remember, one time, lying on the bed beside my mother as she rested during the day—and as Jesus, Mary and Joseph stared down at us from her bedroom wall. I was about 8 or 9 years old and we were talking about baptism, the bible and the Catholic faith. I asked her what would’ve happened to all those people born throughout history before the coming of Christ. I was surprised to hear her say that these people—which included innocent children and babies—could never attain salvation, simply because they hadn’t been baptised into the Christian faith. I’m not a hundred per cent sure if this was actually true according to the Church’s teachings or not, but I remember how horrified I felt for those unlucky, unbaptised masses. I tried putting forward naive arguments, such as its not being their fault they were born when they were, before the coming of Christ; or that they may have led good, honest lives.

But my pleas on their behalf just didn’t cut the mustard—these people were toast.

I believe that was a major moral crossroads in my life, one which led to scepticism regarding the tenets of not just Catholicism, but any religion. Scepticism, in fact, not only for an unjust religion in general, but eventually anything supernatural. It all just started to seem like nothing but myth, with no basis in fact.

Enlightening Times

I would say I have a very down-to-earth personality, one which responds well to logic and reason. I was always interested in science, particularly biology, physics, and astronomy. My putting aside of religion came about slowly, over a long period of time, I now know, in which I wasn’t really aware of what was happening. The process followed on the heels of my scepticism and I  just began to believe less and less in any type of religious teachings, without thinking too much about this sea change in me. Any kind of faith that required unconditional belief in supernatural beings—simply because it was written in a book—seemed puerile and lacking. Anecdotal evidence based on revelation and dogma just wasn’t good enough for me.

Throughout history, many disparate and diverse societies had believed in one god or another, worshiping them and even sacrificing to them on a regular basis. There was a time when people believed in Odin and Thor, Zeus, or Apollo. The Ancient Egyptians believed in the sun god, Ra. Reams of literature had been written about each of these deities. I began to realise that if you used the premise that there’s only one god, that your religion is the truth and that all others are false because it’s written so in your sacred book, then the same premise can also be used to explain a whole pantheon of gods (as was the case for pre-Christian Roman society, and even some extant religions such as Hinduism). How could one claim a monopoly on the truth, based on questionable revelation and dubious translation of ancient texts, when other religions could make an equally valid claim? This way of thinking seemed somehow intrinsically flawed.

Aside from these discrepancies I associated with religion, I came to realise I had a problem with how divisive it was, how inhumane and uncaring many of its practitioners were in contrast to the central thrust of its teachings. If anything, religion and its followers were—in the main—more tribal and protective of their beliefs, rather than tolerant and compassionate towards others who held different, or opposing, views.

And yet the basic tenets of these beliefs were supposedly based on compassion, and an adherence to a set of high moral standards and guidelines.

As a gay person trying to lead as good a life as possible and to help people in any way I could (not because a book told me to do so, but because it was in my very nature), I had a lot of trouble reconciling religion with basic human rights, to the extent that religion lost out in my eventual philosophy and interpretation of the world. In short, I finally realised that I was living my life without religion or faith, and that it was okay to be that way. In fact it felt good, if not downright liberating, to be rid of the side effects of religion and dogma. Effects such as guilt or fear at having sinned. Not to mention the mind-numbing, expected obeisance to the Church in general and to God in particular. Independence and freethinking weren’t desirable traits amongst the flock, and certainly weren’t encouraged in any way, shape, or form by the priests in my childhood.

My way of thinking and eventual freedom from religion led me to the belief (if I may use that word) that this life is all we have. Nothing else. Just this one shot at happiness and enjoyment of the world and all it has to offer. This understanding makes faith in any of the major religions, or belief in any of the lesser known world views, seem so trivial. But that’s just my own point of view, something we’re all entitled to—be it religious or not. That’s something I’d like to emphasize here. I know this isn’t how holders of such beliefs would see it, and that to them my way is anathema. But, however firmly they believe in their religion there are many millions of people who believe just as firmly in another, opposing religion.

And the basis for their faith is almost entirely dependent upon the culture into which they were born and raised.

Nowadays, religion fascinates me from a cultural and sociological perspective. It still has the power to shape whole societies and influence the decision-making processes of reasonable, rational people in the 21st Century. Other than that, it holds no sway over me. The only awe I feel at being inside a church is for the architecture of the place, or its historical importance. I appreciate the aesthetics of magnificent buildings, and churches and cathedrals always seemed to be the jewels in the crown of human architectural achievements.

But that’s all they are to me now.

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By Gary Roberts, March 21, 2009

Sadie's Diner

I went to Sadie’s Diner for breakfast this morning. It’s not a bad place to go if you’re vegetarian or vegan and in the mood for some greasy-spoon style food. That’s their specialty there, catering to the veggies and vegans. The place has a classic diner feel to it. The cooks serve up a variety of acceptable dishes, ranging from the staple two-eggs-any-style with homefries, to Huevos Rancheros and an assortment of omelettes. The service is attentive in a bohemian, friendly neighbourhood sort of way.

I was at Sadie’s with the Other Half, having breakfast before walking down to the City Centre airport on Toronto Islands. He’s spending the weekend in Ottawa, visiting friends and getting away from the house to relax for a couple of days.

This means I’m on my own today, so I decided to visit a café and bring my laptop with me. I enjoy these moments; sitting alone in a public space, surrounded by a warm buzz of conversation and a feeling of life going on around me. It makes me content and it also gives me time to sit and write, which I find relaxing and cathartic.

A few friends and neighbours have invited me out for drinks tonight but, frankly, I feel like spending the night on my own with just a bottle of wine and the kitties for company. I rented a DVD last night, which I’ll be able to watch later this evening.

This being said, I’m not committed to being a total hermit, yet, and may take a stroll across to the local pub for a pre-dinner pint before settling in for the evening.

It’s nice to spend time alone, without being lonely.

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By Gary Roberts, February 10, 2009

After downing a few pints of Strongbow in our local pub one evening, what do you think the hubby writes down on a piece of paper for me as we get home and he wants to give me instructions of some sort? He’s on the phone to his friend in Ottawa at the time, while sipping a glass of wine, so not only is he a bit squiffy at this point, but he also has his hands full with a phone to his ear and a glass in his hand as he talks to Melanie about his troubles du jour.

Even so – do you know what it says?

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By Gary Roberts, February 8, 2009

Isn’t it fascinating how a simple click can change one’s life?

The World Wide Web has increased exponentially in size and complexity over the last 10 years, but even back in 1999 it was providing online users with an embarrassment of riches in terms of information exchange, nascent technologies and ever-evolving formats for web sites. The potential to influence lives by communicating with people halfway around the globe at the speed of an e-mail, or an IM, was already in place.

Ten years ago in 1999, I was living and working in my home town of Chorley, in the North West of England. At the time, I was  studying a TEFL course during the evenings and weekends, at the University of Central Lancashire in Preston. At that time, I had owned my own house for 16 years and had worked for a well established company for almost 18 years, but I was looking to expand my horizons and was always interested in continuing education, hence the TEFL course.

A huge boon to learning back then was, and obviously still is, having access to a computer, so that’s when I bought my first desktop PC; a Compaq Presario. I was on dial-up, then, which seems so primitive compared to today’s broadband and wireless networks (which I’m sure will seem just as primitive in 10 or 20 years’ time). I was exposed to the Internet and all it had to offer back then, and I would frequently set some time aside for myself, at the end of a night’s study, to surf the web and revel in the amount of information readily available. There were science sites to discover, news sites, forums and personal dating sites, all of which I found fascinating! I actually entered into a number of pen pal correspondences with people from around the world on some of these sites; people from as far away as Argentina, Brazil, Australia and the United States. I was intrigued by the very thought that all these people were just an e-mail away, and the ease with which I could communicate with my fellow human beings in this age of access.

Eventually, I came across a dating site called One & Only, which back then looked nothing like it does now and was far less sophisticated than its current iteration. Still, it had the capacity to connect people (for a fee) and I decided to add my profile and picture to see where this would take me. It was all new technology to me and, being the technophile that I am, I wanted to be part of it.

Not long after joining the network, I saw a profile of another member and liked the way it was written, so I eventually contacted El Franco, who lived in Canada and who also liked the tone of my reply to his ad. And so it was that (being fully aware of the distances involved) we agreed to become pen pals.

Aided by our shared sense of humour, the long distance online relationship evolved over time to a point where we decided we should meet in person. That’s when El Franco visited me in the U.K. and we hit it off immediately. After writing—between the two of us, literally hundreds—of e-mails to each other, and speaking on the phone many, many times, I would have to say it was one of the strangest and most surreal moments in my life, actually meeting El Franco in person. It was like meeting a best friend for the first time, whose history and life story I knew so well.

Originally, we never thought we’d ever meet face-to-face, so we had been completely open and honest with each other in all of our correspondence and had confided many hopes and aspirations, as well as very personal thoughts about each other and our experiences. So it was a very strange, but not unpleasant, meeting indeed.

However, all good things must come to an end, and El Franco eventually returned to Canada after spending just over three weeks in my home town. Once he arrived back in Ottawa, we quickly settled back into our respective routines, but found that we couldn’t stop thinking of each other and soon became depressed about the fact that we were so far apart, physically, if not virtually.

It was then that, after four weeks or so, I bought tickets for a two-week reciprocal visit to his home in Ottawa, and we picked up the relationship from where we’d left it. During this time, we enjoyed each other’s company tremendously and I got to know all his friends, even visiting his family in Montreal.

Once again, though, the time came for one of us to leave and at the end of the visit we drove to Mirabel airport in Montreal. This was where I’d landed when I’d arrived in Canada, and where my departing flight was due to take off later that evening on my last day in Canada.

El Franco and I were pretty fed up that day, not knowing when we’d see each other again and not even knowing if a long distance relationship was going to work. It was then that we started to discuss (right there in the waiting lounge with all my luggage, prior to checking in) the consequences of my staying in Canada and of our trying to make a go of a life together.

It was all pretty scary stuff, but that night we both decided to take a chance and ended up driving back to Ottawa as my plane took off without me. Needless to say, after all the persuasive talking we’d done that day, we were both silent on the drive back to Ottawa, not knowing for sure if we were doing the right thing. It was such a huge decision to have made.

The following day I had to inform my employer of my resignation and (hardest of all!) my family of my intent to stay in Canada. Things were quite stressful for a while there, not only because I’d made the decision not to return home (which greatly upset them), but also because my family then had to take on the burden of selling my house on my behalf.

And so after going through a lengthy and extremely stressful immigration and eventual citizenship process, and after getting married in 2005 (which is when Canada made it legal for same-sex couples to do so), here I am writing this blog entry on the 10th anniversary of clicking the Send button for that very first e-mail written on February 8, 1999.

That all seems so long ago, now.

I didn’t know what I was getting into when I sent that e-mail 10 years ago today—but it was well worth it and I’m glad I did it. I often wonder what turns my life would’ve taken, had I hesitated and not made that one click.