I find zombies uncanny and oddly revelatory because they are simultaneously unlike and like us. What could be more different from me than a walking, hungry corpse? On the other hand, any good zombie movie won’t waste much time collapsing the difference between the zombies and the remaining humans, who will act in increasingly selfish, ravenous, and thoughtless ways. And noticing this dis/similarity raises, in turn, huge questions: what does it mean to be alive?
Through Lent, Internet Monk is doing Fridays with the Church Fathers. The first installment is up: Clement of Rome.
Street hockey, it is the ultimate Canadian rite of passage for all children. When I was a kid, the game was almost always spur of the moment, and as soon as one person brought out a net in our neighbourhood, kids would come from up and down the street with the sticks, balls, and sometimes actual safety equipment. The game, always in the most desperate of moments (one point down, two minutes to go) would have to have a time-out as a car needed to be let out of a driveway. The kids would grumble and complain as the net was moved off to the side of the street to let the car through. And then, without hesitation, the game would start back up again. Parents in our neighbourhood never needed to worry where their kids were, they just had to listen for the sound of hockey sticks scrapping the asphalt.
It is a symbol of Canadiana. Which is why I was shocked by this story: A Dad was actually fined because his kids dared to play ball hockey in the street. Thankfully, the courts threw out the fine.