Doreen Heaps Wants to Die

At a bed-and-breakfast in Indian Point, Nova Scotia, we met a charming and chatty woman named Doreen Heaps. Highly intelligent and well into her 80s, she wanted to hear our views (and share her own) on world politics, sailing, Iran and the future of Canada, among other things.

She lives in Halifax, in an apartment building inhabited by other older people who, she says, "quite frankly bore me to tears." Arthritis had somewhat slowed her gait but not her mind, and she was lovely to talk to. She and her husband had both been university professors and sounded like they were fairly pioneering in their work.

During our conversation, she mentioned obliquely that she wanted to go to Switzerland. This sounded like a fairly innocuous request and we enthusiastically said to her, "you should go!" She suggested that it was not quite that simple and I wondered what she meant.

Later that weekend, while reading an old copy of the Guardian Weekly, I read about Dignitas, a Swiss nonprofit that promotes assisted suicide. Suddenly, I understood what Doreen wanted. It made me sad to think that such a interesting and vibrant person would reach a point where she felt her life was no longer worth living.

She gave us her phone number and said that next time we were in Halifax she would take us for lunch to her yacht club. We offered our contact details, but she said no, that it would be our responsibility to contact her. I really want to go and have that lunch soon.

White Boys Can't Crank That

Gawker is holding a contest called 'Who is the Whitest Kid you Know?'

I'd nominate Daniel and Derek here, if only I actually knew them:



Just to put that wackiness in context, the dance they are trying to emulate comes from this music video by Soulja Boy:

Not the Daily Show, with someone who is not Jon Stewart

In case you need help understanding the writer's strike, here's a crystal clear explanation:

Marathon Men

A year has passed since I blogged on the 2006 New York marathon. The world truly was a different place then - I was under-employed for one thing. Our car lived in Canada and was still unmolested by errant cab drivers. I still hadn't quite readjusted to New York at that point, or it hadn't readjusted to me.

And most of all, my father was still here. He wasn't well, but I didn't want to really acknowledge that. I still thought if he just TRIED harder, he'd be ok. I still believed that if you really wanted some badly enough, you would get it. And I really, really wanted him to get better. I still do...