In Christian circles, we talk a lot about “thought life,” recognizing that the little voice in your head or, less laughably, the way you speak to yourself throughout the day, has a lot to do with how you behave on the outside. A simple repeated thought like “i’m ugly,” “the world owes me a living,” or “kill Danny” can manifest itself in real and unwanted behaviour.

At church, we’re encouraged to monitor our thought lives - or as the apostle Paul said “captivate every thought”.

Have you ever done that? Have you ever grabbed the little voice inside your head by the throat and said “WAITAMINUTE!”, then pulled it in real close, nose to nose, and said “Whuddid you say to me?” You should try it. You might be surprised at what that inner monologue contains.

This morning, for example, while i was riding the streetcar, my little voice was telling me a story. i’d never really listened all that closely. The little voice in my head is kinda like a jumpy little pooch to my tough gangster bulldog - “What’re we gonna do today, Spike? Are we gonna chase some cars? Huh? Huh? Are we, Spike?”

So today, i grabbed the little guy by the throat as i was surveying the crowd on the streetcar and realized that i’ve told myself this story more than a few times:

What if there was a nuclear holocaust, and somehow, by some crazy twist of fate, me and everyone in this streetcar/crowded elevator/office Christmas party/hotel lobby survived?
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My wife and i had a conversation about bacon.

Our baby girl just started eating solid food a few days ago. i had hopes that, unlike other babies, she would be prim and ladylike and an excellent eater, and was disappointed to find the same old story of gloppy rice cereal splattered all over her face and neck and hands and spoon and clothes and me. Way to be, baby.

i guess i’m like any other dad in that i just want my baby to be extraordinary. Is that too much to ask?

Anyway, last night i asked my wife how often we should paint our baby with solid food (”solid” being a relative term). She said about three times a day.

Then i came up with a brilliant idea. We should feed the baby bacon.
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The city of Toronto has an idiot paper called the Sun.

i call it an idiot paper because it is written by and for idiots - people with very low intellect who want the day’s news described to them in pro wrestling metaphors.

This is the paper that fills its third page with its horribly unappealing SUNshine girls. This is the paper who, despite a press blackout or a plea from the family, will publish the gory photos of a murder scene or highway accident. This is the paper who, on the death of beloved puppeteer Jim Henson, announced “Kermit Croaks.”

Does your town have a paper like the Sun? There are essentially three big papers here. The Globe and Mail is read by stuffy types - accountants, bankers, investors, and stodgy intellectuals. The Star is read by liberal types, most of whom probably have their B.A. in English Literature and a teaching certificate. The Sun is read by that toothless guy who sits on the porch in his undershirt shooting squirrels with a homemade pellet gun. More or less.

i don’t often like to comment on current events - i find it dates the timeless flavour of my journal and sullies it for the endless future generations who will likely revere it as scripture. While this rant against the Sun may contain a current event, please know that it’s a longstanding beef with a paper that constantly manages to offend.

Take, for example, today’s headline about the suspected pedophile and murderer of a little girl named JonBenet Ramsey:

Snake on a plane. i hope i’m not the only one who finds it beyond tasteless to make an increasingly unhip reference to a current cult action-comedy film in an article about an alleged child-killing pedophile. Snake on a plane? Are you joking?

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