Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Ba Humbug
It's started: the hypocrisy season is in full swing.
This time of year, the air is ringing with two constant hymns. First, the weeping about materialism coming from the people who are participating in it the most. For example, here's an actual quote from one of the rich big-shots around my office:
"I don't know what I'm going to get for my kids for Christmas. We're going as a family to Jamaica for Christmas week and I'm buying a new Wii for the household. I've tried telling the kids that those are their Christmas presents, but they're telling me that those are family presents and that it's not really Christmas unless there's something under the tree. The season has just become so materialistic!"
Ya know, if you get to the point where your kids are bored with going to Jamaica, you've pretty much lost the spiritual battle against materialism, I figure.
The second song of the season is the moaning from the fundamentalist Christians about secularists trying to "take the real meaning out of Christmas". Well, maybe they should have thought of that back, oh, 170 years ago when they allowed one of their saints to become a symbol of unfettered greed and gluttony; a symbol used to indoctrinate children into those "Christian" values, no less.
Plus, in my experience, fundamentalist types are more materialist than most people. The only thing they hold back on at Christmas is the liquor, the lack of which only makes their bourgeois vulgarity more tiresome.
Really, when you think of it, there is scarcely a more anti-Christian season than Christmas. How exactly are greed, gluttony and liquor supposed to remind us of the spiritual values of that great prophet?
Before I go any further, I should emphasize that I'm as big a hypocrite as any one. I enjoy the festive piss-ups thoroughly and I'm notorious in our family for falling into deep black moods when I feel I've received inadequate presents.
It seems no one, anywhere in the world, can dodge the Christmas virus. For one thing, the world economy practically depends on it. It is an addiction that will probably follow our civilization until its end.
I wish I could be more of a hippy about this. There's a concept I'd love to promote, but my conservative values block me from being too much of an activist about it. Here it is:
Give poetry for Christmas.
Pretty simple, eh? Instead of giving your family all this bullshit crap they're going to throw out in a few months, take the time (i.e. put a few months into it) to write down all your positive feelings about your loved ones. Practice calligraphy. Put it on fancy paper. Maybe even put it in a frame.
How long would your kids treasure a present like that? At first, of course, they would hate it, but in time they would value it more and more, like an investment building interest. After you are dead, your kids would probably cry buckets just thinking about your poems.
And how about spouses? How many marriages could do with an injection of poetry once in awhile?
It's not going to happen, though, at least not in my house. I have a knack for buying presents and I especially enjoy shopping for things to surprise and delight my wife. And my kids, who are not spoiled but rather are hard-working contributors to our home, really have earned a few special wishes. And, gawdammit, as much as I hate to admit it, as un-Buddhist as it is, I thrive on the flattery of material presents too.
But still, it would be nice, wouldn't it? I think it would be very cleansing, like a spiritual enema, flushing out all the materialistic crap our civilization loads on us.
So maybe some year I'll do it. It's a nice Christmas dream to keep alive, don't you think?
posted by Mentok @ 10:23 a.m.,
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Thursday, November 22, 2007
Carving the Turkey
First up, Happy American Thanksgiving to all my American readers.
One thing I give thanks for is good friends. I think they both know how important they are to me.
In particular, I'd like to give a big shout-out to my long-time real-life friend who goes by the blog name Grumps. He's hospitalized with some moderate health issues - not life threatening in any way but bad enough that they've got him on morphine.
It astounds me to realize that I've probably known Grumps longer than I've known what it's like to kiss a girl. Man, those five years just flew by, didn't they Grumps?
We've all heard the expression "I can't believe he had the gall to do that". This turns out to be quite literal in Grumps' case. Apparently his innards have gotten screwed up because he's still cranking out gall stones in spite of the fact that he had his gall bladder removed several years ago. (And, yes, "innards" is the medical term. Jeez, watch some House once in awhile, ya eejits!)
I'm not really clear on how that all works medically. Grumps is a well-known slackass and lay-about (he only works two jobs, after all), so this may all just be some lame excuse to get off work.
Alternately, his erectile dysfunction issues may have come back and he may have slapped together his cover story too quickly, forgetting that his gall bladder was already out.
Quite seriously, Grumps is like a brother to me and I wish I was there to check in on him, so just in case they have an Internet station at the hospital I wanted to embarrass him with a nice big public get-well-soon message.
I hope the doctors keep him doped up on morphine long enough that he is able to appreciate the humour of this post. The rest of you, I fear, will not enjoy such an advantage.
posted by Mentok @ 9:55 a.m.,
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Monday, November 19, 2007
Ultra Vires
Yet another of my pet peeves is the "ultra" brand in advertising. You know what I mean: those products (typically cleansers) that come in containers half the size and twice the price of their conventional counterparts. Because they are supposedly more "concentrated", you are supposed to use less and save money.
Of course, the whole "ultra" fad has more or less been one big scam, since people often don't consciously measure things like dish detergent, so they end up using the same amount for twice the price.
Never has this been more clear than with Charmin's new Ultra brand of toilet paper. Most of the product's advertising focuses on it's softness (and, according to Poop Report, it lives up to its claims.) However, some of its ads also make the tired old "ultra" claim that you "use less".
Now, I'm sorry, but if there is one procedure where I'm definitely not engaged in any sort of rational consumer value calculation, it's ass-wiping. Maybe it's just me, but that's one action I just want to get over with as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Actually, in my house, I'm rather notorious for excessive, pipe-clogging toilet paper use and I doubt very much that Charmin Ultra's "concentrated" nature would inhibit that. My reasons for heavy toilet paper use are two-fold (or two-ply, perhaps, ha!) First, I just really don't want to get my hand anywhere near there. Second, I'm really paranoid about doing an effective job.
My paranoia in this area, I think, stems from being a movie buff. You know how it is when you're in your theatre seat and someone from further on in the row gets up and squeezes past you to leave, waiving his ass in your face as he goes. I find it very hard to concentrate on the movie after that with the stench of someone else's crap in my nose.
So I'm very mindful of not inflicting this on anyone else. "Doo-doo unto others as you would have them doo-doo unto you", I say. I won't go into all the details, because that would just be too gross, but suffice it to say that I'm not above spraying a shot of Axe down the back of the trousers just to be on the safe side. I'd probably even think about installing a bidet but, I don't know, those things just seem a little too creepy to me.
Now how about you, dear readers? Any excessive, obsessive-compulsive personal hygiene habits? Given how low I've set the bar, you should feel free to talk about anything.
posted by Mentok @ 9:45 a.m.,
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Rhys Meyers Arrested for Drunkenness
Actor Jonathan Rhys Meyers was charged with public drunkenness and breach of the peace after a clash at Dublin Airport, Irish media reported Monday.
Source: CBC News
What absolutely amazes me about this story is that Ireland actually has laws against public drunkenness and breach of the peace. Who'dda thunk it?
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posted by Mentok @ 9:25 a.m.,
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OK, I know this is kinda off topic, but I feel almost a public duty to inform people of the terrible labour shortage in Western Canada.
I was in my home town for Remembrance Day over the weekend. Small towns in Western Canada have been hit especially hard by the labour shortage because, of course, most people want to live in cities.
A couple of the town's restaurants have had to close after lunch because, even with increased wages, benefits and flex hours, they can't find enough staff to open for supper. Any new workers who move into town don't stay in the service industry for long before they are snapped up by the higher-paying local oil industry.
Neighbouring towns are giving away lots, low-rent apartments and, in some cases, whole houses in an increasingly desperate effort to lure workers away from the cities.
So there you have it. If you feel like starting a new life and don't mind living out in the boonies, come to Western Canada. Show up in almost any town on the Prairies, tell them you're there to get a job and I guarantee the town will practically throw a parade in your honour.
The truly bewildering thought is that this is just the beginning. This is one of the first places to be hit by this phenomenon, but as the boomer generation starts dying off, labour is going to become a more and more precious commodity everywhere. After decades of treating workers like peons, employers could be in for quite the noodle twister.
posted by Mentok @ 11:39 a.m.,
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Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The Wind is a Nasty Bastard
I hate the cold.
No, really. I really effing hate the cold.
As you might guess, the winter winds blew into town today with all their usual sociopathic cruelty.
At this time of year, my one treasured time of day is when I'm in the shower. For those precious 15 minutes, I am really, truly warm. All the rest of the day, cold haunts me like a ghost reminding me of some past sin.
It's not as though I don't know how to cope. After all, I've been dealing with this all my life. I know all about the power of layering, the importance of keeping one's head covered, etc., etc. But none of it is quite good enough.
It's funny that I'm so attached to this corner of the world, because this is basically the Nation of Cold. Yet there seems to be some strange switch in my mind that shuts off whenever I start to think about going to live in a warmer clime. For some reason, I just can't imagine it.
And, of course, like anyone who endures extremes, I do so love to brag about it when I get the chance. When backpacking in Europe during my college years, I loved to strike fear and wonder into the hearts of Australians by trying to describe -40 C weather for them.
"It's like death! When you walk outdoors in minus 40 weather, you are instantly gripped by the certain knowledge of your own death if you are so foolish as to stand in one spot too long. It is a cold that stabs you through to your soul!"
The Aussie's soft, heat-pampered eyes would grow wide in terror. It was better than telling ghost stories.
Well, there's my rant for the day. How about you guys? Anyone else feel like bitching about the weather?
posted by Mentok @ 9:45 a.m.,
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Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Sixteen Years Gone
Sixteen years.
If I had been born 16 years ago, I'd be getting my driver's licence today, so this would be a purely happy day.
But today is not my 16th birthday. Today is provincial Election Day where I live and my feelings are much more mixed.
Eighteen years ago, I was what they call a Young Turk. I was a young political professional appointed to a high-ranking job fresh out of college. Sharp, energetic and ambitious, I felt (within the context of my little jurisdiction) like a Master of the Universe, as Tom Wolfe put it.
I had a boss, a cabinet minister, who I liked and who indulged my advice. There were grown men and women, much older, wiser and better educated than I was, who felt obliged to suck up to me. I had money, power and all the perks.
I had too much, really, more than I'd earned. Finally, 16 years ago, the mighty hand of The Vote came and took it all away.
When a young politico faces his first major defeat, there are basically two ways he can go. Many choose to see their party's election loss as a wake-up call to get on with their "real lives." They go back to get their law degrees and MBAs or get into one of those suitably mature, bourgeois professions like real estate, insurance sales or financial management. These are the smart people.
But then there are those other poor damned souls who become addicted to political life and decide to stick with it when their party is in opposition, ever pursuing the elusive dream of returning to power.
I chose the latter path. In my partisan arrogance, I figured our opponents could not possibly last in government more than four years. I figured I would still be pretty young and I'd soon be right back into being a Master of the Universe before I knew it.
That was 16 years ago. The first eight our opponents earned. The second eight we handed them through our own sheer stupidity.
Those 16 years of my professional life have been filled with frustrations, heartbreaks, sacrifices and betrayals too numerous to recount.
And good times. Yes, some good times, I must admit. But was it worth it? No, probably not. Finally, I did succumb to the "get a real job" path; I should have done so long ago.
Sitting here, on the verge of a major political change in our province, I find myself as much as anything consumed by sympathy for our opponents. They've grown increasingly desperate as they've come to grips with their imminent loss. I've been there, I know what that feels like. I know many of them personally; good guys, with families to raise and mortgages to pay. They're all pretty freaked out right now. After 16 years, I'm sure many of them figured the party would never end and therefore have no back-up plans. Quite literally, I don't wish that on my worst enemy.
As for me, over time my glorious, romantic dream of the Masters of the Universe faded as slowly but certainly as my hairline. In its place grew a new self-image, that of the heroic Resistance Fighter.
But what happens to the Resistance Fighter when and if he finally wins, when all of his great battles are finally over? What happens to the old soldier to whom peace and victory have become foreign concepts?
I'm about to find out. I don't think I'm going to like it.
[Next post will be back to happy stuff, I swear]
Leonard Cohen - The Partisan
posted by Mentok @ 7:56 a.m.,
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Thursday, November 01, 2007
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!
Ultimately, it's not about the candy at all. It's all about the Halloween Love. It's about all the smiles you inspire, the people who stop in the middle of the street to admire your costumes and the wide-eyed wonder from adult householders just before they say, with child-like glee, "Wow, those are great costumes!"
That's why I like Halloween, better than the other holidays and observances. Although I like Christmas as much as the next person, that season has gotten bogged down by too many soul-sapping reminders of work-a-day adulthood: all the Christmas parties you have to attend (or the resentments you harbour for the parties to which you weren't invited); the keep-up-with-the-Jones' exterior home decorations; all the professional-obligation Christmas cards you have to send to people you don't really like but whose asses you have to kiss; and all the many, many excessive, fun-robbing expectations laid on us by the Martha Stewarts and all the other mighty squares of the world.
But Halloween, by and large, is still just pure goofy, silly fun. The squares and "the Man" haven't gotten to Halloween yet.
I should hasten to add, for the benefit of my lovely wife, that teachers are the exception to this. Halloween, as my wife reminds me every year, is hell on wheels for teachers. It is, for them, a professional obligation and not a particularly pleasant one, so I can't begrudge my wife her occasional bouts of Halloween Grinchitude.
And speaking of the Grinch brings us to last night. For as long as I've had kids, I've dressed up with them and we've gone out as a consistent theme. This year we went as Dr. Seuss characters: the Grinch, the Cat-in-the-Hat and Sam-I-Am. I can say that we harvested our second greatest bounty of Halloween Love this year (our best, of course, being the year we went as KISS).
Big thanks are due to my sister-in-law, a skilled seamstress who foolishly committed to make the costumes for us from scratch before realizing how horribly difficult it is to work with fun-fur.
Not only did she sew the costumes, but she also sourced the material so that they were affordable. I had no idea when I started down the road of the Seuss theme how expensive fun-fur is. Fortunately, my sister-in-law is a power shopper and managed to track down some bolts of discount material. Thanks so much, L, we couldn't have done it without you.
Some people had trouble identifying me as Sam-I-Am, so I started being more aggressive about pushing the Green Eggs and Ham. At popular houses where we had to line up to get to the door, I had a schtick where I'd turn to people behind us in line and ask: "Would you like some green eggs and ham while you're waiting?" They would invariably decline, so then, in a humorously dead-pan tone, I'd vary my offerings: "How about over there? Would you, could you over there? Or in the house, or with a mouse?" This got a good reaction.
My oldest son, a teenager, once again was too cool to join our theme. He went out with friends and dressed as an injured hockey player. He didn't just put on hockey gear; he put real effort into simulating wounds. Most of his friends wore no costumes at all. So I'm glad to see I've at least taught him something about the Halloween spirit.
posted by Mentok @ 10:23 a.m.,
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