the chatter

Thankful for tribe of one JONATHAN GOLDSTEIN

I’ve just arrived to Minneapolis and am driving a rental car to Steve’s. It turns out that, while at a family cookout, a drunken aunt revealed that Steve has a sister his parents put up for adoption before he was born. As part of my podcast, I’m helping Steve find his long lost sister.

“I wonder if she’s out there feeling like she’s not among her tribe,” he says. “But maybe all humans feel that way.”

While driving to his place, I recall the first time I ever met Steve.

We were chatting at a wedding reception while eating hors d’oeuvres when a large piece of french fry flew from his mouth and landed on my wife’s lip.

Never losing a beat in the story he was telling us, Steve reached out and wiped it away with his finger. He was so matter-of-fact about it, so comfortable in his own skin, that my wife found the gesture exceedingly charming.

It perhaps also bears noting that Steve wasn’t actually invited to the wedding; but still, all the guests were both happy and unsurprised to see him there.

It was like a lovable Saint Bernard had wandered in to the reception hall. Would you send an official wedding invitation to a St. Bernard? Of course not. But would you be darn pleased to see one show up? Absolutely.

Arriving at his place, Steve asks how the flight was and then tells me about the last time he was in Montreal, how he came to the city and made friends with a waitress serving him one night and invited her and her friends to come home and party on the boat he was staying on.

Steve tells me about how they stayed up until dawn and are now all friends for life.

I don’t know that I’d feel comfortable calling even the friends I’ve had all my life “friends for life.” Who knows how things might shake out?

And the only time I remember staying up all night with any of them was when Josh and I got food poisoning from eating Italian Poutine.

Which is all to say that Steve and I are cut from a different cloth and I like him for it.

When we get into the rental to head out on our quest, I try to imagine what another member of Steve’s tribe might be like.

Someone with a keen sense of play and spontaneity. Not to mention a big heart.

It’d be great to have as many of such people around in my life. Weekend Post

DON’T TAP THAT APP LAURA HENSLEY

Tinder is passé. Back when the dating app launched in 2012, the only people who used it were hip urbanites in-the-know. Now, everyone and their grandma has heard of – or used – Tinder. It has become the pumpkin spice of dating apps. The UGG boots of hookup culture. The avocado toast of … well, you get my point. Tinder has infiltrated the mainstream and become basic. Since you, my friend, are anything but basic, you need to delete the app. Remove your selfies, erase your curated bio and deactivate your profile. Even if you believe love is only a swipe away, I must inform you it isn’t. Tinder was chic in 2014, but meeting people in real life is now all the rage.

To kick off 2017, the Washington Post declared, “Tinder is so last year.” Ouch. Citing reasons like widespread ghosting, cheque-splitting and overall swiping fatigue, the Post talked to dating experts who said people have lost faith in the platform. This distancing from Tinder dependency is causing people to seek out niché dating apps, or, shockingly, meet potential partners in real life.

It makes sense that meeting someone in real life would be en vogue. People have been burned too many times by disappointing matches and are sick of spending cash on lacklustre dates. Organically crossing paths not only gives you an opportunity to see if you like someone before committing to a date, but it lets you know what you’re getting up front.

There’s another reason why Tinder is on the down-and-out: it’s essentially a blind date maker, and blind dates are the worst. Think of those friends who set-up their only unattached friends with each other, as if being single is enough of a commonality to bond. Tinder is that friend. Friends who pawn off friends without actually considering compatibility are not, in fact, wellmeaning friends: they are evil puppeteers who relish in watching the love lives of those around them.

So if you’re searching for a long-lasting relationship, do not reach for Tinder. Go to a coffee shop, join a run club or hangout at a networking event. Stop Instagramming your brunch and get outside. Love may be waiting around the corner. Weekend Post

Getting oneself in tune DANIEL MELFI

The year is 2040. I used to produce music in my studio, but recently it’s become a bit of a zoo. Let me explain: Sometime around 2017, I decided to change my life completely and take a vow of authenticity.

As an electronic music producer, I was used to creating songs efficiently with the assistance of samples — small chunks of somebody else’s work. By combining a few basic beats from the hottest sample pack with a soulful vocal by some long-gone singer, I would only be a few sponsored Facebook posts away from finding my tracks in Top 10 lists.

But it all came crashing down. My perspective would be forever altered.

My marketing manager told me one day that if I wanted to get better bookings, make more money and gain greater notoriety, I would have to be more “authentic.” I wasn’t sure what he meant. Then I started doing some research and came across a number of musical artists who, as strange as it sounds, make their own songs, even at times recording the instruments live, themselves.

I knew this was my ticket to the big time. I immediately set to buying a set of original Pearl drums and told myself I wouldn’t leave the studio until I had perfected the art of drumming.

As I began to record the drums – after only two years of practice – I realized that I had no true connection to the instrument. I hadn’t crafted it, nor did I know where it came from.

Off into the woods I went. When I returned with two pieces of fresh, high-quality maple wood from southern Ontario, I assembled the drum with a brand-new hide from the local tanner.

Between learning to play, chopping wood and assembling the drum, I felt it was a waste to use someone else’s material to finish the project. Naturally, I traded some unnecessary studio machines like my computer for a small plot of land and a couple of young French goats.

Jean-Paul has been growing now for almost a decade, his hide will be the finest yet. Back in 2025 I came close with his brother Simone, but a tragic accident rendered his offering unusable. I’m hoping that with the help of Jean-Paul, my dreams of an authentic snare drum will finally come true.

It presents a problem for the future however; I’ll have to begin my studies of electrical engineering. I couldn’t possibly listen to my music on speakers I didn’t build myself. Weekend Post

PARENTAL GUIDANCE PREFERED SADAF AHSAN

I do not have children. And yet, on an average day, I am inundated by kids. On the bus, the subway; at the grocery store, the library; when I’m out to dinner. I can hear them. I can smell them. And I can see them. I have nothing against children. I even love some of them. I’d like to churn out a few one day. But in the meantime, I feel as though we’d all benefit from keeping some places just for adults. Because not everything needs to accommodate a child.

This shouldn’t need to be said, but leave it to kids to worm their way into child-free spaces and make it all about them. In an effort to draw more parents back to the theatre, Mexicobased movie theatre chain Cinepolis announced its plans this week for a new in-theatre playground concept, Cinepolis Junior, which will feature a colourful play area near the screen in front of the seats, a jungle gym and beanbag chairs. “It’s really intended to make kids feel welcome and comfortable,” said Cinepolis USA Chief Executive Adrian Mijares Elizondo to the L.A. Times. “The whole idea is to make it easier for parents to take their kids to the movies and let the kids have more fun.”

In all of the recent efforts major theatre chains have been making in an attempt to draw more viewers, from VIP screenings to moving chairs, there can be no more life-like viewing experience than a kid saddled next to your ear as he trips his way down a jungle gym in the middle of a theatre. How exactly is a movie enjoyed with the earsplitting cacophony of children screaming on the not-so-distant other side of the room? Forget cell phones, this is the real crime against the cinema-going set. How will a parent enjoy a movie when they have one eye trained on their kids in the corner? What happens when the kids inevitably spill on to the stairs, get hurt or need a moment of discipline? Frankly, what Cinepolis has proposed is not a movie theatre. It’s an in-house playground with a movie that just happens to be playing in the background.

If you can afford movie tickets for the whole family, you can just as easily spend that money on a babysitter or daycare, and treat yourself and your partner to a night out at the movies — or wherever it is your heart desires – and leave your spawn at home. Weekend Post

Itinerary is really i-tyranny DUSTIN PARKES

The key to handling a missed flight is to move past denial, anger, bargaining and depression, and go directly to acceptance. Employ the Nexus Pass version of the Kübler-Ross model.

Like most human beings, I am an impossible set of contradictions. Typically spineless when it comes to challenging authority, the moment a travel itinerary lands in my inbox I begin humming the chorus to “Do You Hear The People Sing?” It grows from melodic murmur to well-timed foot stomps before I’m singing out verses like Enjolras himself. Itinerary? More like i-tyranny.

I’m aware of how ridiculous this reflex of mine is. I recognize it’s not the least bit reasonable to feel the way I do, but I feel it nonetheless.

This usually translates into embarking on a laissez faire approach to travel: I’ll get there when I get there, boarding schedules be damned. And in turn, this has led to my missing a fair share of planes. But a funny thing happens the moment I’m informed it’s too late to board. All of my inclinations toward insurgency fade, and I accept my fate like a captured participant in a failed coup. My protest was noted, and I am prepared to face the consequences. Customarily, these ramifications include spending more hours than one would like at an airport.

Most recently, I missed a plane in Orlando. I got to the baggage drop off one hour before my flight took off, but the airline representatives wouldn’t let me through. I didn’t fight their policy like the people beside me. I accepted it. And unlike my fellow late travellers, I got booked on the next flight free of charge. The only cost was having to wade through a dozen extra hours in the Orlando airport. Instead of humming the opening chords of a Les Miserables musical number, I checked my bag and prepared for the downtime. There was nothing that could be done, and the sooner this is realized, the better off you are to deal with the inordinate amount of down time. In this particular instance, I learned you could rent a day-room at the hotel in the airport, which gives you access to a rooftop running track and swimming pool. I spent my wait getting exercise, cooling off and enjoying the sun as planes departed and arrived overhead.

Did I deserve this last bit of relaxation? Absolutely not. But through a mixture of passive aggressive defiance and utter surrender to authority, the world truly can be your oyster. Weekend Post