So I’m sitting with some friends in the thirteenth row of some second-rate theatre. We’re watching As You Like It by William Shakespeare and awaiting the appearance of our friend Rob. He has a major role in the play as the young heartthrob, Orlando. It’s the fight scene, which he has also choreographed. I watch him flip his opponent to the ground like something out of the WWF. I lean forward. Now we’re talking. The fighting reminds me of that scene in Star Trek where Captain Kirk is forced to battle Spock in the alien coliseum. All that is missing is that excellent Star Trek battle music:

♫Da da, dah dah dah dah, da da, dah dah drrrrrrreeeee! drrrrreeeeee!♫

Sigh…the fight scene is over. That was quick. Again, I’m bored out of my mind. I can’t understand half of what is being said and I have no idea what is happening. Nor do I want to know. Granted, the actors are doing as good a job as they can possibly do, what with the dated material — all these couples in love and all of them wearing disguises. How come nobody recognizes each other? Their disguises are worse than Clark Kent’s glasses. Why am I here in the first place? Twenty-five dollars down the drain. I would never have come to this play if my friend was not in it.

What is it about plays and friends? Why do we have to go see them? I’m told it’s because “that’s what friends do.” Friends support friends. You want me to come to your play? Well, let me ask you: back when I was in the real world, how come you never came to my office and applauded me for my work? I don’t remember you calling for an encore after I gave a particularly good presentation, or giving me a standing ovation for a well-crafted spreadsheet. Oh, but the theatre is entertainment? Well, masturbation is my entertainment. So I expect a bouquet of roses next time I pleasure myself. Just be careful with those thorns.

And then the play finally ends. My friends and I exchange quiet smiles and we all head outside the theatre to await His grand arrival. He comes out, all dressed in black. He grants me one millisecond of eye contact before his eyes dart off in other directions as he takes in his admirers. The irony is that for all the acting Rob did, we are the ones that are going to deserve an Oscar for the performance that we are about to put on:

“Yes! That was great!

“I got to say, you were so believable. I literally forgot it was you. You were the character!”

“Awesome, man. Great play and you really stood out!”

And if that’s not bad enough, afterwards we then follow him and his actor pals to some party that is filled with even more actor friends. They are all high on booze and coke. They are talking shop and nobody cares about us. I sit on the edge of the sofa listening to them criticize other actors, directors and shows. To make conversation, I turn to another actress in the show and compliment her on her role. I get a half-smile and some uncomfortable silence before she moves off in another direction.

And of course, my acting role does not end that night. The show must go on, and my performance is on an extended run, as over the next few days, other friends ask what I thought of the play. This is most painful if Rob is in earshot when I am asked. Even if he is fully engaged in conversation with a third party, you can still see his head tilt slightly and his ear start twitching as he waits for my scripted response: “Yeah, the play was great, and Rob … fantastic. You must see it!”

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Oh — and I’m hoping to get called up again for Yuk Yuk’s Amateur Night next Tuesday, October 23rd. Here’s hoping you can make it…

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Last night, I went to a fund raiser put together by Step by Step, a charity for organ transplants. I met George Marcello, the founder of the charity and an outspoken advocate for organ donation. I had no idea who he was before this event. I had noticed him though before he took the podium; something in his eyes told me that this was a man who’s seen a lot of hardship. I later learned that he’s been the beneficiary of two liver transplants. For over ten years he’s been working to increase awareness of this issue in Canada, including leading a 769 day march across Canada.

I spoke to George briefly after his speech, and he told me there were two things that would instantly solve the problem:

• Signatures: Most people actually support organ donation. But that doesn’t help the 150 Canadians who die each year from lack of organs or the four thousand currently on organ transplant waiting lists. The number one challenge for this cause is not getting people to endorse it. It is getting their signatures. It’s getting people to actually sign that slip of paper that says that they are willing to be an organ donor. It’s that simple.

• Political will: The sad thing is that the reason groups like Step by Step have to canvass each individual is because the Canadian government does not have the political will to modify the system. . Other countries like Spain, Austria and Belgium have “opt-out” systems in place and more efficient organ harvesting practices. There, people are presumed to be donors unless they opt out and organ donation rates are 2-3 times higher.

The amazing thing to me about the issue of organ donation is that this is not about looking for a cure for breast cancer, a cure for aids or a cure for Parkinsons. This is not about giving a dollar a day to help those poor bloated African babies who are always hungry. This is not about stem cell research or some faraway dream. Rather, this is something that could be fixed tomorrow.

The organ transplant industry does not need a cure because the cure is already here. The cure is in our bodies. This cure will be rotten and ruined and useless to anybody except worms and maggots within a few days of our bodies’ death.

At the fund raiser, I saw a photograph of George with former Prime Minister Jean Chrétien. I know little of Canadian politics so I do not know what role — positive or negative —Chrétien has played in helping this cause. It may be very wrong of me to say anything derogatory. All I know is that I felt a twinge of anger when I saw the photograph. George met the Prime Minister? They must have exchanged a few words. So why haven’t things been fixed? Why is there no “opt-out” or more accommodative system in Canada? The issues are simple. This is not rocket science. Political changes to facilitate organ transplantation could be enforced tomorrow, with a stroke of a pen by our lawmakers.

The twinge of anger was not only directed at the government. It was directed at to myself. If I look at my life, there is not a whole lot of anything that I have done for anybody other than myself:

• I have never volunteered for something unless it was going to benefit my resume or impress a girl.
• While I have given to charity, I have never given charitably to charity.
• I have never cried for any of the actual suffering that abounds in the world. I did cry though for the pig in the movie Babe. I also cried at the end of Rudy.

This cause is another example of something I could do to help those around me, but haven’t done. But the beauty of it is — unlike the starving infant in Africa who never got that dollar a day from me — in this case it’s not too late. Nobody has died yet because of my inaction in respect of organ transplants. My body is still alive. It can still be harvested. My organs haven’t gone to waste — yet.***

I’ve done it this morning, and there is one simple thing that you can do right now:

Print and sign these two donor cards. That is the simplest thing you can do. Put the left one in your wallet —I strongly suggest you laminate it. Give the second card to your wife, husband or parents. Tell them you want to be a donor.

Now here’s the annoying part. Unfortunately, it may not be enough to simply sign those cards, because there is no national standard for organ donation in Canada and practices vary across the board. Click on this link for specific requirements by province. For instance, in British Columbia, you need to record your decision with the organ donor registry while in Quebec you need to obtain a special donation sticker and apply it to your Medicare card.

In Ontario, these two donor cards should be sufficient but to be 100 percent certain you can also register with the Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care and have your wishes recorded on your OHIP health card. What is amazing to me is having just moved back to Canada, I recently obtained an OHIP health card. Only today did I find out that this was even an option and that there is a special form that I could fill in. But why was I not told about this choice at the time that I applied for the card? How many Ontario residents know about this option? How many lives could be saved by that simple action?

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***Unless I count my dick. It’s seen no action in months. What a waste! Otherwise, my liver, kidneys, and other transplantable organs continue to be useful. My corpse could ultimately save up to seven lives after I am dead.

I finally saw the movie Sicko, the Michael Moore documentary that unfavorably compares the US health system with other countries. I liked the movie but found the Cuba segment misleading. Walking out of the theater, one might almost believe Cuba is a utopian paradise — a retirement haven superior to Florida. But I know better. Why would anybody move to Cuba when there’s no Disney World — let alone Parrot Jungle Island?

I have only superficial knowledge of the diverse health systems mentioned in the film, but there’s little doubt in my mind that the Canadian medical system is superior to that of the US — at least for the patients. Overall, I’m proud to be a Canadian. I admire the concept of a capitalist system with socialist intentions. Adam Smith’s “invisible hand” may be pretty effective in satisfying our insatiable demand for Playstations, Nikes and injections of Botox. But it hasn’t worked too well when it comes to intangibles like fresh air. Perhaps it’s because fresh air is also “invisible” — until it’s not.

Since I moved back to Canada, I can’t help but notice the smug attitude of many Canadians towards their friends down South. Granted, 49 percent of Americans are righteous morons — the reason George Bush was “elected” back in 2000 — and an even bigger offense: the reason we have to watch his cousin — that tool, Billy Bush — as a host on Access Hollywood.

Still, that’s no reason to look down on Americans. If anything we should feel sorry for them; Canadians have certain advantages they lack. Our kids can get a college education for less than half of what it costs in the US. Our life expectancy is two years longer. Even our minimum wage — what with the strong Canadian dollar — now surpasses the US. We’ve also got Tim Hortons, Harvey’s, Schwartz’s, and best of all: strippers for as little as ten dollars a lap dance — try and get that in the States.

Despite these advantages, we’re far from perfect, we may not have Billy Bush or American Idol but we do have Ben Mulroney and he hosts Canadian Idol. His wooden demeanor makes me nostalgic for The Beachcombers. I am referring to the logs — not Bruno Gerussi.

Still, the average Canadian does have it good. There are a number of reasons: our higher taxes — 37 percent versus 34 percent in the US — give the government more cash to play with. Moreover, there does appear to be a genuinely more compassionate social mindset here. But not everything can be attributed to our eh- xcellence. The other reason for our success can — in my mind — be summed up in five words: The United States Armed Forces. (more…)

In Hong Kong, the locals are fanatics when it comes to property. Everybody has an opinion and knows the smallest details – from the average price per square foot of a luxury condo to the bank with the lowest mortgage rate. I thought returning to the West would give me a respite from this mania. I´ve been proven wrong. The number one question I get in Toronto – after “do you have a publisher?” – is: “do you rent or do you own your condo?”

The fact is I would never buy a property anywhere until I’ve done my research and fully understand the dynamics of the market. I haven´t completed my homework yet on Toronto and even if I had, I wouldn´t offer an opinion here. I´ve got no interest in writing about the Toronto property market outlook. There´s no upside for me in entering this debate. But there is one thing I want to get off my chest that annoys me. To all those people who always argue in favor of buying and flat out tell me that I am throwing away money by paying rent instead of owning. To them I say, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The decision to buy – or rent – should be based on “opportunity cost,” a term I learned back in Finance 101. Opportunity cost measures the returns you would generate if you did something else with your money. For example, to measure the opportunity cost of buying a condo, you need to calculate what else you could have done with that money — if you hadn’t bought the condo. Yes, it is true that if you don’t buy the condo, you will have to pay rent. But it is also true that you would have excess cash that would otherwise have gone into the property purchase. This money could be invested in bonds, the stock market or even a business. You should always consider the returns you could generate on this money, before you make a purchase decision.

Take my apartment for instance. The apartment next door – identical in every respect – sold two months ago for $370,000. I am currently paying $1,600 per month rent. So let us assume for simplicity’s sake that I have $370,000 in the bank and instead of renting, chose to buy my unit at the same price. Would that be a smart move? The table below spells it out.

At first glance, it appears I would save $61 per month by buying rather than renting. To reach this conclusion, I assume that — as a tenant —my $370,000 earns a miserly risk-free rate of 4 percent per year and I pay the typical 30 percent tax rate that the average Canadian would face. I then subtract my rental bill. This leaves me short $690 per month. On the ownership side of the equation I add up the recurrent expenses – property taxes, management fees, home insurance – that arise from home ownership. This adds up to $629 per month. The difference between the two — $61/month — is what I lose by renting.

In this analysis, I have not included the one-off costs associated with the purchase of a condo – land transfer costs, legal fees and renovation – which would easily exceed $7,000. Nor have I taken into consideration maintenance or back-end costs – like an agent´s fee – that will arise should I sell this property in the future. All these other costs easily outweigh the $61 monthly deficit I face as a tenant. And let’s not forget that I estimated a 4 percent return on my money when, with a little risk, I should be able to earn more. So all things being equal, it appears buying has no financial advantage over renting, more so the opposite.

The table above assumes no mortgage. But if I do need a mortgage then the calculations argue more strongly in favor of renting. For example, in the case of a 70 percent mortgage –all things being equal – renting would save me $406 per month. And that´s before factoring in the one-off costs of ownership I discussed above!

I keep saying “all things being equal.” By this I mean that I assume nothing – including property prices – changes going forward. So, if I buy a condo and property prices don´t change over the next five years then I will have a property worth $370,000 at the end of five years. But if I were to rent the condo, then five years from now, I will also have $370,000! I may not have $370,000 equity in a home, but I do have $370,000 equity in my bank account. I also have the costs/savings that come from renting that I discussed above.

The reality is that all things are rarely equal. Obviously, if property prices continue to rise then I will regret not buying my condo. That is, if prices rise enough to offset the rental savings I discussed above. A couple of percentage points per year is all it would take. But they do need to rise. Of course, I also need to consider the outlook for rents, and of course interest rates, too. There’s a lot of things to consider before I can make an informed decision. But a snap judgment that buying is always better than renting is the wrong conclusion. Not until I’ve considered all the factors.

A lot of people will not bother with estimating opportunity cost because “property has historically been a great investment. The Toronto market has been rising for years. And only fools do not participate.” But while the Toronto market may well continue to rise, only a true fool would ignore the fact that no market is a sure bet and that all markets ultimately reflect their underlying fundamentals — which are not always apparent at the time of the purchase. Just ask a homeowner in Florida or Las Vegas who bought two years ago when everybody was screaming “buy.” Alternatively, you could continue to talk to fellow Toronto property owners – who will tell you how savvy you are. And if you need a tenant for your new condo, feel free to talk to me, unless my own homework on opportunity cost tells me otherwise.

I remember playing a game back in high school. We were told by our teacher that there was going to be a nuclear war, one that would wipe out the entire planet. But there was a specially designed bomb shelter that would survive the apocalypse and could accommodate eight people, who would live there until the planet was free of radiation. Our class had to choose eight members to be allowed to go down into the bomb shelter. These would be the only survivors of the cataclysm and the future of humanity. The teacher randomly assigned each one of us a character, defined by occupation, age and physical traits. There was an interesting range of characters: a mid-forties male family doctor, a mid-thirties female neurologist, a brilliant late-fifties male scientist, a mid-forties female architect, a mid-twenties carpenter – the list goes on. The most memorable characters were a 22-year old female playboy playmate, who also happened to be sterile. This contrasted with a 22-year old female high school drop out, who happened to be fertile –and homely.

Each one of us – around thirty-five students – had eight votes and we could not vote for ourselves. We would have to present our case to the rest of the class in order to make it into the shelter. Some of the characters got in quite easily. The family doctor got the most votes. The carpenter beat out the architect. There was a surprising amount of support – at least among the boys –for the playboy playmate. I actually voted for her. My philosophy was “screw humanity.” What´s this crap about me being responsible for the future of mankind? Does mankind deserve to survive in the wake of this event? And in the aftermath of the destruction of everything I hold dear, can´t I be allowed to have some fun? The character assigned to me – by the way –was of a mid-thirties male lawyer. Needless to say I did not make it into the shelter either.
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I think I finally understand why Sweden is a socialist country. I understand why it´s a welfare state, with a massive public sector (half of its workers are employed by the government), one of the highest tax burdens in the world, and chronically high levels of employee sick leave. It´s probably fair to say that not many Swedes are reaching their full potential. It´s not because they’re lazy. It´s not because the government is corrupt or incompetent. It´s not even because of the inefficiencies inherent in trying to communicate in that laughable language – can you imagine getting any work done if you spoke Swedish? I´d be cracking up relentlessly and constantly inserting pretend words into my dialogue, just like the Swedish chef in The Muppets. No, it´s none of these reasons that the Swedes are not as productive as they could be. There´s a wolf in sheep´s clothing in the Swedish economy. I am talking about beloved, home-grown corporate giant IKEA.

I understand all of this because Thursday was an IKEA day for me. And so was Friday and Saturday. As I write this, in bed this Sunday morning – my arms still trembling from the exertion of holding a cabinet up by myself as I tried to attach it to the wall – I dread the fact that today must also be an IKEA day. That is because my IKEA Vattern cabinet is still not on my bathroom wall. It sits on the floor, door slightly open, as if it is beckoning me to begin my day´s efforts. My apartment is strewn with enough cardboard to make that homeless guy who wanders my street turn green with envy. There is plastic wrapping everywhere, nuts and bolts and that vile found-in-almost-every box tool that only an IKEA frequenter will recognize.

I recently learned that IKEA´s founder was associated with pro-Nazi movements in his youth. Oddly enough, the IKEA tool does remind me of something else that is rather repugnant and evil in my eyes.

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