Dale wants to be a cable boy

Over the holidays I realized there was something missing in my life.

No, I'm not talking about that special someone, a place to spend Christmas Day or a good pair of winter boots – I have all of the above.

The void I'm referring to is cable television.

Since deciding to man up and move out of my parents' place in November, I've been without cable. My reasons for going sans cable are mixed, ranging from wanting to spend less time in front of a screen to procrastination to frugality. Perhaps I even feared I'd end up being stalked by a deranged cable installer like Matthew Broderick in the 1996 black comedy The Cable Guy.

But over the last few days I've hit a breaking point. A few nights ago a friend from journalism school made his debut on CBC's The National, which I couldn't watch. Meanwhile, HBO continues to pump out the best in television, and I miss it all. But the straw that broke the camel's back is the upcoming third season of Jersey Shore that I'm not going to be able to ridicule – and secretly enjoy.

The Western world is comprised of primarily two types of people: those with cable and those without it. Typically, the latter look down on the former for subscribing to such lowbrow entertainment, while those with cable pity the cableless for being out of touch with pop culture.

But I'm not your typical cableless Canadian. I don't scoff at television watchers – I envy them.

Subconsciously, I think I've put off getting cable because, deep down, I have a problem ¬¬– I'd just watch away my days and nights. I'd be too busy trying to follow the Kardashians to keep up with housework. I'd probably end up on one of favourite programs, Intervention, while my distraught family and friends urged me to give up my out-of-control television habit.

But with so much new programming flooding the channels, can I be blamed for loving TV? There are literally hundreds of stations – broadcasting sitcoms, news, sports, movies and, of course, reality shows – available for a reasonable monthly fee.

Cable has evolved a lot since my parents' childhood. I remember my mom telling me tales about watching one channel on her home's single television set. But, then again, it seems like everything from her childhood was singular – one TV with one channel, one pair of shoes, mass once a day, one radio station playing one band (the Beatles). The only thing kids from her youth seemed to have more than one of were siblings.

Perhaps if there weren't so many stations available today then I wouldn't be craving cable so badly.

Got resolutions?

People are the world are ready to start the new year with a resolution.

From joining a gym to starting a diet to getting up earlier in the morning, the start of 2011 presents an opportunity for fresh beginnings and a new start on life for many.

But why is it that the majority of individuals' resolutions are more fragile than a 95-year-old woman's hip, and ultimately end up breaking?

The British author Oscar Wilde once said, "Good resolutions are simply chequess that men draw on a bank where they have no account."

But the problem isn't people's will power to follow through with their promises, it's in the resolutions themselves.

Make no mistake, I'm no better than the average person. I've broke way more resolutions than hearts in my 26 years. That is, until I took a new approach to my annual New Year's pledge.

Instead of vowing to do something unpleasant (like go to aerobics classes, eat more spinach or follow Dancing with the Stars), try doing something that's enjoyable but hard to find time to do. For example, one year I decided to go to the movies once a week. While you may be think this resolution doesn't make me a better person, you may be right, but the point of my pledge was to make my life more enjoyable – and mission accomplished.

So don't aim for something that will you'll hate doing. because the goal isn't to make the next year miserable. Rather, opt for a pact that will make you happier – it could be vowing to spend more time with your family, attempting to learn a new language, going for walks through the woods, regularly reading this column, or finally working up the courage to perform a standup comedy routine at amateur night.

Use the start of another year to motivate you to do all the things you didn't do the previous 365 days. Don't live by carpe diem when you can carpe annum (seize the year).

And I pity the people who think they're above resolutions. These individuals are either scared of failure or afraid of improvement.

Benjamin Franklin, who helped pen the American Declaration of Independence, once said, "Be always at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let each new year find you a better man."

I know, I know, I should be quoting one of Canada's founding fathers, but Sir John A. McDonald, though a great leader, wasn't known for his one-liners.

Shopping 101

For many, Christmas shopping can be the hell before the holidays.

As an efficient gift buyer myself, I would like to share some of my shopping tips to help everyone have a merry Christmas this year.

Call me a cliché, sports-minded male, but I believe most challenges in life are best approached with a competitive game mentality.

So here we go. First, it's all about small victories when shopping. Forget big ­glories because they can lead to large failures.

First step: find a parking space – this can be nearly impossible on a weekend at a London mall. So remember to aim small. Go to the outer edge of the parking lot near the least used exits, or beside a shopping cart corral, you're sure to find a spot at these pieces of undesirable ­parking lot real estate.

Don't drive up to the entrance near a department store hoping to get ­lucky – you'll only end up disappointed. And never try the stalker method (slowly ­following a pedestrian as they exit the store) because the shopper is probably running back to their car to deposit some bags, and more importantly, it's weird and annoying.

It's all about strong starts, so spending 20 minutes looking for parking is going to break your confidence. And confidence is essential to efficient and successful shopping.

Once in the mall have some sort of game plan – don't just wander around aimlessly hoping to stumble into great gifts. Come equipped with a list – either paper or digital – of everyone you need to buy for and potential gift ideas for each person.

A piece of advice I live by when playing basketball, is always go for an easy first shot. This, too, can be applied to ­Christmas shopping. Begin with someone who's going to love anything you give them, whether it's a box of chocolates or a spatula. I like to start my shopping by buying a present for my cats; they never complain about anything I get them.

Once you got that easy-to-buy-for ­person checked off your list, move up the hierarchy towards the more difficult friends and family members. Remember, if you get stuck on someone's gift don't spend too much time searching for it – just move on to the next person on your list. With each check mark you put beside a name your list, your confidence will build.

And don't make the amateur mistake of taking a break from shopping for a bite to eat in the food court, or you'll lose your momentum. Instead, use food as a reward for when you're done shopping. Always keep your eye on the prize: getting out of the mall with a gift for everyone on your list.

Once you get into a present-buying grove then it's time to tackle the hardest person on your list, which is usually a ­significant other. Unfortunately, I don't have any suggestions for a gift that is sure to please your spouse or loved one, but if you follow my shopping advice, by the time you get to that special person, you'll have no problem finding them the perfect present.

London park hits the mark

The city's Victoria Park truly is a park for all seasons.

During the springtime, the downtown park becomes a hub of activity as Londoners emerge from hibernation to rediscover the great outdoors. Then in the summer people picnic and throw Frisbees in the abundant green space, while the less athletically inclined individuals read books under the shade of the century-old trees. By autumn, the park becomes a great destination to take in the fall foliage, boasting a wide array of oranges, reds and yellows. On Nov. 26, the downtown park transformed into a winter wonderland as thousands of Christmas lights turned on and space was made for the ice rink once the weather realizes it's December.

Established as a social hub in 1874 after years of military use, Victoria Park is the Canadian equivalent of the United State's Central Park, albeit much smaller, spanning only 15 acres compared to the big apple's 770-acre green space.

Londoners make use of the park all year round. During the fall, Remembrance Day is observed at the cenotaph in the park's southeast corner. Revelers pack the park to ring in the New Year in the winter (real Canadians don't party indoors on Dec. 31). In the spring, protesters descend upon the bandshell and make some noise about one issue or another – probably hoping the bandshell's good acoustics will help get their message heard. And I don't even have enough space in this column to list the many festivals happening at the park throughout the summer. From Ribfest and Sunfest to the International Food Festival and LOLA, the City of London estimates that one million visitors pass through the park for numerous special events.

There's no off-season for the downtown park. And although the grass isn't fit to putt on, it looks pretty good for all the trampling it takes.

If James Brown is considered the hardest working man in show business, then Vic Park is the hardest working venue in the … park business?

Sadly, with the onset of winter, the park loses its beloved mascot: the squirrel.

Nowhere in the world are squirrels as friendly – or as fat – as they are in the downtown park, where it's not uncommon for one of the furry rodents to eat directly from people's hands.

I doubt the wildlife at Central Park would eat a peanut out of anyone's hand. But, then again, New Yorkers aren't renowned for their friendliness.

Winter fitness 101

I think I’ve finally discovered why Canadians are slimmer than our neighbours to the south.

According to a 2004 Statistics Canada report, the obesity rate in Canada is 23.1% for males and females over the age of 18, compared to 29.7% in the United States.

While experts like dieticians and scientists place the blame on fast food, video games and other culprits, I’ve found the real reason: winter.

Yes, we’re thinner because of our cold northern winters.

Think about all of the extra physical activity we Canucks get from December to March. First, we shovel hundreds of kilograms of snow. While the white stuff may look soft and fluffy in pictures, it’s much like a woman’s purse – easy on the eyes but hard on the shoulders.

Then there’s the second exercise in the winter workout: pushing stuck automobiles. This lift primarily works the latissimus dorsi (back) and the deltoids (shoulders). And don’t forget clearing the car, an exercise that tones and defines the triceps though repetition.

Canadians get their daily cardio fix by putting on all those extra layers of clothing. With all the bending and squatting to pull on three pairs of socks, the reaching down to lace up boots, and the stretching to get appendages into snow pants and jackets, getting dressed for the outdoors is the equivalent of completing a yoga session.

I find it ironic that gyms typically get a whole lot busier in January as people rush to the treadmill to work off those extra holiday calories and honour New Year’s resolutions. All these well-intentioned individuals have to do is run more errands to shed those unwanted pounds.

Look at it like this: a trip to the grocery story requires you to get bundled up, then you’ll have to shovel the snow from the mouth of your driveway because the plow just finished your street. Next you have to chisel a thick layer of ice from your windshield, then you’ll probably have to stop along the way to help push at least three cars stuck in the ditch (the fifth Canadian commandment is thou shall always help push). Finally, after spending a half hour in the store, you’ll come out to a snow-covered car and have to repeat cycle.

So the next time you complain about the snowy season, just look down at your waistline and remember that winter isn’t so bad.

A whole set of sweet teeth

It's understood that working as a reporter may be a dangerous job at times.
From covering conflicts to exposing corruption to reporting on crime, many journalists have died in the line of duty.
But when I landed a job as a multimedia reporter at the Londoner, I thought I had a pretty safe gig. Since starting my new job a few months ago though, I discovered a grave threat to my health: workplace sweets.
Sugary snacks seem to be everywhere I turn at my office. My co-workers at the Sun Media building on Gainsborough Road bring in leftover cookies, extra Halloween candy, random cinnamon buns and all sorts of other confections. We even have a bi-weekly cake day!
Make no mistake, I don't hate these tasty treats – it would be much easier if I did. My problem is I have an insatiable sweet tooth. And it's my teeth I'm worried about. At 26 years old, I've never had a single cavity, but that streak can't continue with the amount of sweets at my workplace. Sometimes I feel like I work at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
It doesn't help that I sit just a few feet from most tempting source of all: the office candy jar.
As if it wasn't hard enough to be within eyesight of this candy mecca, but to make maters worse the container is constantly stocked with amazing treats like Swedish Berries, Aero bars and Jolly Ranchers.
It would be much easier to ignore the jar if it was stocked with black licorice or candy corn.
Since starting in September, I've gone through three stages. First, I indulged in the treats, eating as many as I could, sometimes waking up with a sugar hangover the following day. Next, I felt guilty about all the junk I was eating so I tried to eat in moderation, but ended up binging again. Finally, I decided to quit sugar cold turkey, but soon the cookie cravings became too much, and then cake day hit and I relapsed.
My situation reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets fed up with the atmosphere of excess sugar consumption at her office and swears off sweets, only to realize she's hooked on mid-afternoon cake.
When I'm packing my lunch in the morning I'll throw in an orange or an apple thinking it might substitute for my daily candy fix, but when lunchtime rolls around my fruit doesn't look so appealing compared to a chocolate cupcake.
My name is Dale Carruthers and I'm addicted to sweets.
This addiction is especially embarrassing for a man my age. You never hear of rock stars addicted to licorice, and professional athletes hooked on donuts don't make the headlines. There's nothing glamorous about my addiction. I can only imagine my dentist shaking his head when he reads this.
But I guess the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

Lawnmower man

This week I'll roll out my lawnmower for the last cut of the season.
And although this might be a welcome occasion for some, I'll dearly miss cutting the grass.
While lawn mowing technically falls into the chore category, it's one task I've always enjoyed. First, it's outside, and I love the outdoors. Second, the smell is second to none. The aroma of fresh cut grass is more appealing than the scent of clean laundry and the smell of sizzling bacon combined. Throw in a faint waft of gasoline from the engine and I'm in olfactory heaven.
I remember being young and desperately wanting to mow the lawn – a job held by my father. One day, my dad, intrigued by the idea of cutting down his share of the housework, told me I was finally old enough to use the lawnmower. This was a male rite of passage in my household. My older brother mowed, my dad mowed, and now it was my time.
After a brief lesson that involved more instructions on what not to do, I was ready to mow.
I was a natural, my dad said, assigning me to cut the front lawn once a week.
Yes, I was finally the lawnmower man – not to be confused with the bizarre 1992 film, Lawnmower Man, based on the Stephen King story, in which Pierce Brosnan experiments with virtual reality (I bet Brosnan's never done a decent day's mowing in his life).
As a man who can't fix a toilet, assemble a barbecue, tile a floor or do anything remotely handy, it feels good to be able to do a somewhat manly task.
There's something satisfying about cutting grass. A house with a freshly mowed lawn looks so much better than a residence with an overgrown yard.
Every spring I eagerly anticipate the first cut of the season. Now, I'm bidding goodbye to my beloved seasonal pastime for six months.
Another sad part about putting the lawnmower away is that it signifies that snow shoveling is in the not-to-distant future. I don't find any joy in snow removal. Maybe if I had a snow blower I'd like it more. After all, it wouldn't be so different from pushing a lawnmower, but without the shinning sun and sweet smell.
But gazing on a freshly shoveled driveway doesn't provide the same sense of accomplishment as looking at a perfectly cut front lawn.
This weekend when I fire up my lawnmower's engine for the last time, I'll make sure to savour each column and row I cut in the thick, leaf covered grass because it will be the last time I mow my lawn in 2010.