Dear Prime Minister Harper: A Note

Dear Honourable Prime Minister of Canada, Mr. Stephen Harper:

Forgive me for intruding on your busy day. It's not for me to get all political by any means, that's your job. We have a great country with a splendid record and we've weathered the economic crisis better than most and for that I thank you and the agencies responsible. But since I was a teen and aware of world events, I've longed for world peace.

Lester B. Person

Canadians have a grand history in the establishment of world peace initiatives. When a ceasefire was declared in 1957 in the Suez Crisis of 1956, (a war between the alliance of the United Kingdom, France and Israel, and Egypt, which was supported by other Arab nations), Canadian diplomat (and future Prime Minister) Lester Bowles Pearson suggested that the United Nations station a peacekeeping force in the Suez in order to ensure that the ceasefire was honored by both sides. Pearson would win the 1957 Nobel Peace Prize for this, and he is today considered a father of modern peacekeeping.

In more recent years, the role of Canadians in peace support operations has expanded to include the delivery of humanitarian aid, the supervision of elections, the repatriation of refugees, the disarming of warring factions and the restoration of shattered landscapes through the clearing of mines, helping nurture human rights and the training of police forces and the judiciary. This is a diplomatic expertise to be profoundly proud of.

Canada is one of only a handful of countries to which the international community has regularly turned to obtain expert advice on peace support issues. Tens of thousands of Canadians have served in more than 40 international peace support operations around the world.

A Canadian led the way in promoting peacekeeping as a tool to help end conflicts and Canadians have long had an international reputation for putting themselves out to support peace. Now, we're in a new age of discord. And we've slipped in the world's recognition of our traditional role as leaders in the peace movement. We've gotten caught up in other things. We've taken sides over matters to appease other countries. And peacemakers don't pick sides. Maybe it's a good time to revisit this aspect of being Canadian and step it up. Listening Mr. Prime Minister? There is an economic aspect to this. People and nations getting along, sharing expertise and resources. Sounds good, doesn't it? How can it not?

But because of alliances and various reasons, we've slipped in world opinion as peacekeepers. Now, with conflict raging in countries all over the world, some think it time to get back to concentrating on earning back the respect that our country has historically garnered throughout the world to be leaders in bringing more peace and harmony to our world.

"Given the escalation of violent conflict, the increased threat of nuclear annihilation and lawlessness across our world today, there has never been greater urgency or a better window of opportunity to promote this initiative in Canada. ... advance an agenda for a new architecture of peace by supporting and establishing activities that promote a culture of peace and assertive non-violence in Canada and the world... In pursuing this initiative, we recognize that the crisis facing humanity is not only social, political, economic and environmental, but also spiritual in nature. We believe that creating a culture of peace is an ongoing and long term process but it is our intention to turn the tide in our generation working closely with Canadian youth." ~ Campaign to establish a Canadian Department of Peace

The time seems to be right to move from an image of past-tense peacekeeper to a world leading, non-violent peacemaker.

Just a thought. Let me know what you think.

Ventriloquistic Cheerios

Few sounds in life have the power to make you drop anything you're doing, can wake you from a deep sleep or immediately stop you from having the greatest sex you've had in a hundred years than the sound of a pet getting ready to upchuck. You know the sound, it's sorta like "Huuagh. Huaaahhh. Whooowauahhghhh!" Instantly, visions of a favorite chair that you'll never ever want to sit in again fill your mind. You can clean the icky stuff all you want and spray with all the cleansers in the world to get the smell out but you know in your mind that deep down in the tiny holes in that foam cushion somewhere lies the potential that you are sitting on pet barf.

You can't blame the pet. It's a natural physical response to stuff they eat that their stomach says "Nope, this ain't allowed. Back out you go."

This morning I thought I heard the cat getting ready to bring up a hairball and I stopped the open heart surgery I was mentally performing and went flying into the bedroom where, it turns out, he was lying completely relaxed on the bed, innocently looking up at me saying, "What?" Turns out the sound I thought was the cat getting ready to hurl was coming from inside me. Evidently the Cheerios I ate for breakfast had one hidden in there that had a ventriloquistic ability that allowed it to throw it's voice from somewhere in my lower intestines sitting in the living room clear through to the bedroom.

Somewhere in the Cheerios factory is a guy with a smirk on his face who's throwing the odd special cheerio every now and then into the batch going, "Ha, this'll get him." Which would be cool if you wanted to impress a date and make her think the cat was hoarking up in another room and you could laugh and go, "Ha, fooled you, didn't I? It's actually a special Cheerio I ate that you're hearing. Neat eh?" Then again, that would probably signal an early evening for some dates...

Only thing is, these special ventriloquistic Cheerios look and taste just like all the others. This makes it sort of the luck of the draw if you get one. And I get the taste thing because you want to keep the quality of the Cheerio eating experience. But maybe they could make the special ones a different color. So if you were having a night out with the guys or something you could pick out the special ones and your intestines could be the floor show. Or you could avoid them if you were having a night out with folks who just wouldn't get the humor. Like the Queen. Or other people that don't have bodily functions.

Which is silly really. Because where's the humor in not having bodily functions?

February 14, 1983

This is a stick. It has no monetary value. It's about 26 inches long with a bit of a knot at one end, which makes it easy to hold. It was found weather-beaten on a beach. At the time it proved to be a handy accessory; useful for prying up shells, urging along critters with claws, inspecting icky things in the sand, poking at embers in sunset bonfires and swiping at tall grass. A cord was added to allow it to swing freely or hang on a wall when its services were not required.

It's a historical fact that guys need sticks like this. It's a symbol of something or another and a testimony to the stylishness of leisurely pokes and the grandness of swings of the arm.

It's funny what we keep, given the number of times we move and each time we do we discard stuff that we've accumulated to lighten the load. But this small piece of wood was always sort of special. It holds memories.

And this year marks its 30 year anniversary. The date inscribed at the time with a pocketknife proves its age as a manly stick. And it has a bit more significance because there are two names carved above the date. They are the names of two people in love; who married the previous February. On Valentines Day. And the stick was inscribed that summer perhaps as an expression of hope and happiness. So while it may not be worth anything to anyone else, it reminds this guy that once upon a time he was loved by the most wonderful woman.

So today marks the day they married thirty years ago. Even though the relationship is long over, perhaps it still matters somehow. Even though they haven't met or talked in decades and even though they both went on with their lives and found happiness with others, it doesn't mean that something special didn't happen and it doesn't necessarily mean that the time spent together as one back then can't be remembered and perhaps even quietly celebrated now.

Events that happen when we were younger, when we share a deep love, help shape the fullness of our lives today. These experiences are rare and can never, ever be replaced. Never should past love be buried in the bitterness or angst of love lost, nor used cruelly as a shield to fend off new love from our hearts, because our hearts have no full gauge. They are meant to overflow. This kind of love knows no time limit, even if it visits us for only a brief period of time. It stays in our souls as pure as it was when it was unselfishly given and enriches us even now. In memories of joys we shared, in how our chests felt buoyant at the mere thought of each other, in kisses kissed, hugs given for no reason and secret smiles shared across crowded rooms. And more. Much, much more.

So, a message to a woman from a guy who had the honor of being your love so long ago might go something like this: even though time has passed and our lives are entirely different now, he treasures the gift you so freely gave back then. And there aren't words to tell you how much that meant to him and how precious those memories are today.

Happy Valentines Day. Happy Anniversary.

Love, Rand

Blundering Through Life's Side Effects

You're sick. You get something to take for it. Prescription drugs. The whole point of taking them is to get better. You know, from evil little bugs and illnesses your good friends give you or your kids kindly bring home from school or you get from doorknobs (and then make sure you lick your hands). In a perfect world, what these drugs really aren't supposed to do is add to your suffering. But you know that really tiny 3 point type at the bottom of pharma ads and the speed read rushed in at the end of their TV commercials? Disclaimers. They outline the possible side effects of taking the medications that are going to make you better.

The disclaimers generally go something like this: "Common side effects include headlessness, dizzy gillespie, tsunami, passing wind, sand pits, rage at the machine, and decreased karma, a side of fries, sore bussoms, banning from public swimming, onion rings, prostratigations (new word), ingrown toe nails, not being able to sleep or even insomnia. Some patients feel the urge to write love letters to Don Rickles, yell at microwaves, hype their playlist, play with bed bugs, or imagine their feet are six feet long. This medication should not be taken if you are pregnant or may be pregnant, planning on getting pregnant sometime in your future, have painted extremities, or have ever dropped Mentos into Coke bottles." And then comes my favorite ending: "In some cases patients have been known to suffer from loss of life and even death." Death. They sneak that in there.

Then they say, "Consult your doctor." So I go to my doc and tell her I want the stuff that I'm not supposed to take if I'm pregnant, or may be pregnant but definitely don't want the stuff that may make it impossible for me to become pregnant in the future. Because someday when medical science allows guys to do this I may want kids (born conveniently at 4 years of age) who can bring home more illnesses for me to catch. Death? Ha! Death doesn't worry me. I laugh in the face of death!

Now, to be fair, any medicine that is out on the common market has been tested and is relatively safe but depending on your metabolism, what you're taking, what else you're taking and how much of it and for how long, there can be issues; just as there can with practically any foreign substance (legal, not-so-legal and just plain scandalous) that you put into your body.

My favorite conversations with my doctor is when she says, here take this and hands me a prescription. Then she prints out another three prescriptions and I ask what they are for. She says, "Oh, to counteract the side effects of the first one." I'm afraid to ask about the possible side effects of the drugs I'm taking to counteract the side effects of the first medicine. Besides, by then she's usually out of the room.

These other side effect meds seem to work. I suffer from very few side effects. Maybe the times I find myself belting out "My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord," while talking on the phone to clients is one. Plus, I'm convinced the mustaches growing just under my kneecaps will fade. And what about those horns, you ask?

What horns?

News Flash Big Guy: Laughing Is A Good Thing

Sorry about being late with this post. I was busy last night.

I thought this guy at the gas bar was going to write me a ticket or something.

Oh, my klutziness got the better of me again. I started laughing. The clerk at the cash did then as well. There we were laughing and the guy behind me in line took exception. I reminded myself that some folks love to be miserable. It's almost like an entitlement. You'd think this guy'd got a degree in miserable or something and was so much of an expert at miserability (new word) that he'd go out looking for happy people and offer to teach them how to be unhappy. He probably had a big tub of cranky in his trunk ready to deliver to my house for me to wallow in. (Wallow, love that word. It relates mainly to large mammals, to "roll about in mud or water, esp. to keep cool, avoid biting insects, or spread scent.") He probably thought he was doing me a favor showing me the error of my laughing ways and I left before he could get around to offering me a wallow.

He probably needed a hug. But I wasn't the one to give it to him. Rule number one with miserable people: no physical contact. Rule number two with people with wallowing tubs in their trunk: stop laughing. On the outside. Laughing on the inside is fine. Rule number three with wallowing people: agree with them profusely and walk away as soon as possible.

I laugh at myself all the time. Maybe it's in my DNA or something because I'm continuously finding new ways to break myself up. And sometimes I share.

An article on the healing powers of laughter, states "when laughter is shared, it increases happiness and intimacy. Laughter also triggers healthy physical changes in the body. Humor and laughter strengthen your immune system, boost your energy, diminish pain, and protect you from the damaging effects of stress." Then there was a quote from a doctor that I was going to include but it sounded like a preachy public service announcement. And we all know these can cause crankiness. You can look it up for yourself, but be forewarned.

I can't remember where I heard this but there was a motel owner who used humor to good effect. When half of his motel burned to the ground in a fire he changed his promo sign out front to read, "Great rates on non-smoking rooms." 

If we can laugh at our foibles it signals to others a self confidence that wallowing pool misery lovers will never project...

...so you might want to visit your own Happy Place yourself, Mr. Gas Bar Grump. (phhhhfffft)

Art, The Pleasure Center and Becoming Very Sexy

It seems we are surrounded with definitions of proper art. Not of the Garfunkel variety. Of the aesthetic kind. Not that Garfunkel isn't proper. Nor isn't he not an Art. Just not the art that can be defined. Perhaps even by Art himself.

"Aesthetic" describes a philosophical theory that defines what is beautiful. Those who think more than most would say art is a unique presentation of interpretation, technique, form, tone, texture, use of color and shape – one that hits the pleasure center in the brain (ie: nuclear accumenitos or NAcapow) via neurotransmongers. Said neurotransmongers, dopahumahuma and serotestical in turn punch out tiny pheromones via quicky messenger. Pheromones are chemical signals first discovered as a sex attractant in insects which make you very sexy. All add to the drama the eye beholds, the ear hears or the fingers touch. So if you hear someone exclaim, "Better than sex!" after taking in a piece of art, or you find them suddenly very, very attractive and want to jump their bones, you'll now know there is a scientific explanation for this phenomenon.

Other, less excitable affectionatoes tell of a conversation that happens between the objet d'art and the viewer. If something speaks to you, draws you in, creates an emotional response; it must be either art, you are off your meds, or you need to take a break from whatever you're imbibing.

Beauty, or the lack thereof, is indeed so subjective that no one can tell you what you should like and what you shouldn't. Most of us unless we're excessively boring, doing an academic paper or detailed gallery review don't consciously make a laundry list of why we like something. We just look at, listen to or nudge it in some way and go "Give me a cold shower!" or at the least, "Ahhhhhhhhhh. Cigarette?"

In marketing communications there is an occasional lack of understanding about the value of art in the design of business material. To draw the eye, create an impression and begin a relationship with the viewer even before a single word is read is a highly misunderstood and feared magic. While creatives yearn to give beauty and substance, marketers sometimes view this as a form of witchcraft; one that conjures the devil and makes one want to shed their clothing, slap paint on their torsos and dance around a fire. Therefore they feel it only prudent to request slapdashery and the mundane.

Artists have a phrase for when this happens.

"Oh well."

Grab A Chair And I'll Put The Kettle On

This is the time of the year when I'm most at a loss for the company of old friends. It's so easy to let time drift us away from one another until one would be forgiven for wondering if you'd ever been close at all. But as much as good friends are ones who can sit comfortably in a room with nothing at all to say, they are also those who can get back together after years and years and sit down like it was just yesterday when you last got together.

The kitchen table was the gathering spot: a destination unto itself. No fancy parlors for us. And no real agendas; although financial reports, the status of initiatives and informal feedback were often part of the proceedings. And personal status was shed with coats and boots at the door. Everyone had an equal say and the right to laugh. These were gabby times of philosophy, plans, ideas, sports scores, the never neglected weather reports and the idlest of who-did-what-to-who and what-they-did-back chatter.

It was common courtesy to save the chair at the table that was closest to the "golden triangle" of fridge/stove/sink for the host; to allow them to move freely to fetch for their guests. Or to putter without tripping over others while you gabbed, with the open chair always at the ready to sit a spell between duties.

And being at a table in a kitchen also meant there was always the calming potential of food close by even if you weren't there to eat. Maybe it was the lingering odor of the Campbell's cream of tomato soup left over from lunch or there was dinner cooking and we all got to watch and enjoy the heady aromas drifting from the oven or the pot: a gift in itself. And once you'd sat in a friend's kitchen a few times you got to know where things were kept. Just the thought of knowing their saltines were kept in the cupboard above the fridge in case you wanted one or two was a source of comfort because you knew if you wanted one all you had to do was ask. And the ready answer was always "Sure!"

And then you could say, "It's okay, I'll get them myself." 

It was almost better if you weren't there for a meal because meals meant they had an end and then it was over and you were supposed to get up from the table. When you were just there sitting around the table there was no formal end. And no dishes to offer to help wash up. If coffee cups and glasses were all that were involved all courtesy demanded was just to place them in the sink when it was time to go. And time to go was flexible. Time hung on a "gotta go" or a "freshen up your cup?"

I can remember many kitchen table talks. Different kitchens and friends of various ages in an assortment towns and cities; we were the kitchen table people. Put the coffee on or fire up the kettle or, especially on hot summer days, pop the cap off a nice cold one or two. Ashtrays and splatters of milk and bottle caps and spoons surrounded by sugar galaxies adorned the tabletop with pets at your feet, top hits from the am/fm radio on the counter and sometimes kids running in and out of the room marking ends to various excursions and the start of new adventures. New folks popped their heads in the back door at times with a smile and a "Hi-how-are-ya" and joined the clutch to add fresh fodder to the proceedings. Often chairs had to be found from other rooms and dragged in to allow seats to be properly parked. And spur-of-the-moment talk fests ensued. Conversations that, on a cold winter day, visit me in remembered expressions, gales of laughter, pep talks, and the occasional tear – always surrounded with warm smiles and better tomorrows to come.

Anyway, there's no point to today's post. Those who have sat around a kitchen table with me will know there doesn't have to be one.

Just shooting the breeze.

Plus ça change

“The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense.” ~ Jane Austen

Pride and Prejudice was released this week in 1813. Two hundred years ago. A drop in the bucket when you look at the age of the cosmos, but to you and me it's easily three or four lifetimes. Or five or six less fortunate ones. Life in that two hundred years has changed quite a bit. Technology has enhanced our health, our communications and our efficiency. Some would say we're doing well. That we're making 'strides'. But it appears the basic state of humanity has remained unchanged, regardless of the wisdom shared from a multitude of sources over the years.

Two hundred years ago, when Jane Austen wrote Pride and Prejudice, the cultural movement called the Age of Enlightenment was just waning. Its purpose was to reform society using reason, challenge ideas grounded in tradition and faith, and advance knowledge by promoting science, skepticism and intellectual interchange. It was sparked by folks like physician John Locke, physicist Isaac Newton, and philosopher Voltaire. But by 1813 these new perspectives on nature and man's place within it were losing ground. Emphasis on reason was giving way to Romanticism's emphasis on emotion. And emotion, it seems, is exactly what the powerful needed for their purposes. Today, evidently, it is this still the act of playing on emotions that allows a few to rule while the general population believes it has a say in how they are governed. Some would say society really functions not by duly elected governments but by the rule of money lords and special interest groups. They would say that we are governed under tables that upon which we are tantalized with emotional red herrings: talk show hosts gaining notoriety by giving respectability to liars and cheats, snappy new apps that make life zippier, fear being spouted in short sound bites meant to enrage the uninformed and keep them in ignorance, and attentions drawn to trivial game shows, quicky payday loans, new treatments for bad breath and astounding antics delivered via reality television.

Because the evil masses have to be kept occupied, you see.

Modern society continues to send men off to be killed in the name of words like "honor", "justice" and "freedom" all for the control of things like resources that other nations want from them. And when they fall in the line of duty grieving families without fathers, brothers, sons and daughters are told they died as heroes to the cause. And, as is the case in Canada, when more soldiers die at their own hands after returning to society with PTSD than were killed in combat, why, that's a shame but let's just not talk about it for the sake of the families. We could easily feed all the people in the world but we continue to turn farmland into strip malls and light industrial complexes. In some places modern society still condones the taking of a life. Scientific research is sponsored by political and commercial interests spinning results tailored to conveniently fit purposes. We fight bullying with bullying disguised as reason and diplomacy instead of compassion and a good look at ourselves. We allow the possibility of assault weapons made for battlegrounds to be placed in the hands of the unstable and resist background checks and bans on the grounds of rights that were written during the time of muskets. We still take delight at figuratively burning people at the stake. Because rule by coercion, intimidation, fear and force is all "these people understand."

But all is not for the powerful. We, the minions, are given miracle cures, gurus spouting panaceas, experts telling us how to improve, how our dishes can come out of the dishwasher spotless, what rules to follow and in what order. What to drive in order to save the planet and still be cool. We're told what we should be worried about. How to get more social media followers. What we should be wearing. Whether our countertops should be granite or marble. All to keep us busy and on a direct route to happiness and self-fulfillment.

Individuals continue to be judged by their beauty, their wealth or the quality of their scoundrelousness rather than the substance of their thoughts and selfless deeds. We are told of the virtues of living with grace, about the value of our heart and love, about the special nature of our soul and how little money really means. More and more the news that is delivered to us is based on whether it will attract the most revenue rather than its intrinsic value. Morning newsreaders are now television personalities that report on news for three minutes and then entertain for the balance of the hour because people have to be "engaged" and because ratings mean revenue. Reporters have to put their pieces through the filter; making sure they're not stepping on the toes of advertisers/corporate owners or offending the politically correct.

We're suckers for all this, in a way. We're supposed to share and support and speak the truth as they take and subvert and shower us with cleverly disguised misinformation. If we complain they say, "Don't be so shallow, think of the war/recession/terrorists/assault weapon crisis/child labour/welfare bums/labor strikes/interest rates/global warming/jobs we're losing to China" when they may be the very people that allowed/caused the calamities in the first place. They perch so much of their considerable weight on our concern and good will, is it no wonder that so often it becomes buried in distrust and disillusionment?

Who are "they" you ask? They are us. Just people. Fallible.

Human.

Deep down we are still the animals we profess to be better than. We scrap at the watering hole of resources, fame, riches, importance, dominance and self-centered gain. It is in our basic nature to compete, to win and to survive at all costs, even if it is on the backs of others – losers all. It is not our fault we conquer. It is their fault they are weak. We profess to be something more than beasts while we tear into those who would threaten us.

If it were not so, surely the last two hundred years would have seen more progress in a humanity that is more humane. Maybe we're ready for a new Age of Enlightenment.

"Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose." ("The more things change, the more they remain the same.") ~ Alphonse Karr, Les Guêpes 1849.

Off my soap box. Sorry for the long rant. I feel better now.

Just Sayin' – Hopefully In The Right Way

Whether you're a kid posting a message to friends on Facebook or a large organization posting to the web; you gotta be careful about how you say things. Because people can take offense. Not only that, but these days with interactive media, they can let you know in no uncertain terms. Very quickly.

An incident this past week hammered this home. An advertiser released a commercial that they obviously thought edgy and humorous. One that portrayed a gentleman's anxiety that prevented him from leading a full life. It showed him unable to function, unable to eat, sitting forlornly in a chair in a backyard. The 'cure' was the company's product.

They launched the commercial on national television, posted it on YouTube, announced it on their Facebook home page and their web site and had it covered by the national trade magazine. The CEO and VP tweeted its launch. No doubt they were proud of their campaign. But it came off as though they were belittling people's health conditions in order to sell their wares. And overnight they became "the company that makes fun of sick people."

The condemnations poured in. Comments were posted on all social media sites that mentioned the campaign. People were livid. Multiple "it wasn't our intention" replies were sent out. A few days later, officials of major health associations posted their concern and the next morning the company finally announced they were pulling the ads. Major newspapers covered the scrubbing of the commercial. In the end, an expensive lesson learned and people will remember this company for a long, long time for all the wrong reasons.

It's a big world out there and there are some advertisers who are willing to push the envelope of good taste in order to cut through the clutter. Most ad creatives know that making fun of a minority, religion, race etc. and doing things like depicting women as sex objects is a way of getting attention akin to pulling down your pants in public and expecting people to still respect you – let alone want to hang out and do business with you.

The danger is that humor in advertising, because of those who have used it poorly, will become something people will shy away from. In fact, humor is a very effective tool for capturing people's attention so long as you're not belittling others. Inviting someone to laugh with you is totally different than laughing at someone's expense.

When properly used, humor is friendly, positively engaging and begins a relationship with a smile on everyone's face.

Some People Have Epiphanies - Some Go Boom

"Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world." ~ John Milton

A typical lightning bolt contains a billion volts and contains a current of between 10,000 to 200,000 amperes. That's about enough energy to light a 100 watt light bulb (of the old variety) for 3 months. I know this, not because I'm a brainiac, but because I looked it up.

And when a person such as I, who rarely thinks they can learn anything new, gets a sudden understanding about something, it's so unexpected it hits like lightening. Some have epiphanies. I go "BOOM" – there goes the brain. I estimate the one I had this week is probably worth about 8 months of energy because I'm a low-light 40 watt guy. Age makes one appreciate energy savings more effectively than any conservation, green-earth pleas. Got an energy crisis? Give everyone ugliness. They'll turn off lights like crazy. But I digress.

Epiphany (from the ancient Greek epiphaneia, "manifestation, striking appearance") is an enlightening realization that allows a situation to be understood from a new and deeper perspective. Sounds pretty poetic... romantic, like a candle lit in a dark room. Often they are triggered by a new piece of information, which when added to prior knowledge allows a leap of understanding. Like Archimedes's discovery of a method to determine the density of an object and Newton's falling apple thing. I didn't shout "Eureka!" or "Hey!" or anything like that. I'm much more of a "WHATTHEHELLWASTHAT?" man. Because I don't tend to have candles lit in dark rooms. I get thermonuclear-grade bad hair days.

So I'm not going to tell you what led up to my big boom. It's not important. What's important is that I had one. And because it takes me a while to recover I only allow myself one per year. So I've had mine for this year. And I won't get another until 2014 now. So check back then.

Or just watch for the mushroom cloud on the horizon.

What Do Words Do?

"The substance of a thought is the peace it brings"

What the heck are words? (I'll bet you were asking yourself this very question.) We don't talk a lot about words themselves. Discussing words is sort of weird because you have to use words to do so. And some of them might not want to snitch on their own kind. Plus some words have singular meanings while others have multiple meanings depending on context; and the first group might get jealous.

So let's not talk about words except to say they're made with letters and we put them together with other words in order to communicate with our fellow humans (and dogs, cats and the occasional goldfish). Suffice to say their effectiveness depends on whether others are paying attention. But without words we'd all be doing charades all day to pass messages between each other. While that would be fun at first (and would make political debates downright entertaining), it's not the most efficient way of conversing. So that's words. Done. Good. (phew)

Now we can talk about what words do. Some might just say they're a link between comprehension and action. They prompt understanding and allow appropriate responses. While one word can be an understandable message, more words add clarity and too many words can just be confusing. And they can have funny effects. Words can either make you want to climb walls or make you so comfortable you just want to cuddle.

So about today's visual. I wrote those words on a scrap piece of paper when I was in my twenties. This was before most of my adult life when I was still something of a dreamer. I didn't mean to keep it. It just stuck around. And over the years I'd stumble across it now and then.

I don't remember who authored it. It was so long ago. Maybe I did (pick this one if you like it) and maybe it was someone else (definitely pick this if you don't like it).

Not being a real 'new age' person (no mantra here), I don't have many words that I say to myself that would bring me peace. I guess I'm more prone to words that prompt my "flight or flee" mechanisms. But I've learned that words from other people can help you relax. Some have done just that for me. I'll leave you today with a few favs from over the years:

• "Your account has been credited with the amount wrongly debited." This is a huge relief to hear. Sometimes they even add neat advice, like "From now on you might refrain from investing in fake shrimp farms."
• "Hey, you're not as ugly as I thought you'd be!" If this is not followed by the words, "You're worse!" this is very calming
• "There's no need to blue-rinse your hair to appear distinguished." Self-help books about aging gracefully are great, aren't they? I'm thinking I this should be my next project
• "The test results are negative." This only works if you're not part of a couple who are trying to get pregnant
• "Just kidding..." Hearing these words usually follows a period of high anxiety induced by a jokester. Smile and activate your "flee mechanism" as soon as is appropriate
• "The reference between you and hamsters wrapped in hockey tape has been deleted." Let me just say that sometimes the humor that goes around a creative studio can get quite weird
• "You may eat with your hands." This was great to hear when I was a kid. It released the animal in me (without being sent to the corner), and finally
• "I keep your book in the bathroom and read it all the time." While this is very nice to hear but sometimes I have a hard time with the picture that puts in my head.

Have a great week everyone!

Free Cat Food And Other Tasty Merits

I got this badge when I was about eleven. I can't remember what it was for but I suspect it was when I single-handedly stormed the beaches of Normandy.

I swear if there is a greater word in the English language than the word "merit" I don't know what it is. Just the sound of it and you think of other great words like: rewards, prizes, kudos, money, advantages, beer, recognition, privilege, honor, pizza, beer, candy, gold stars, fame – a life suddenly made better than what it was before.

Like, open the door and let me on this ride, right?

We merit free cat food when we buy ten 20 lb. bags of cat food at the local cat food store, even if we don't own a cat, and merit points when we use point cards with almost any purchase anywhere. And when we get merit rewards in return for our patronage this tucks us into bed at night with a cuddly sense of accomplishment.

We work hard and get Awards of Merit when we do something that others think is excellent. Some even get merit pay for performing well, merit commendations for pulling babies out of fires, mentions in the pages of publications or maybe even a day named in their honor (which would include a free pizza lunch if they're really lucky). People plan their whole careers around what merit points they will collect next, like a person hunched over a kitchen table with snubby-nosed scissors cutting out coupons from weekly shopping flyers.

Of course, all this began long before you and even I existed. They say the idea might have emanated from the legendary American Dream, the idea of which I hear grew out of Horatio Alger's rags-to-riches stories from the mid-1800's. His stories all centered around the theme, "by leading exemplary lives, struggling valiantly against poverty and adversity” anyone can gain both wealth and honor. At its core was a few basic messages: a) each of us is judged solely on our own merits, and b) we each have a fair opportunity to develop those merits. Some call this the Horatio Alger Myth because they believe that the ability for everyone to develop merits is affected by things like pedigree, race, gender, sexual orientation (or in my case the ugly factor) and those variables do play an appreciable role in how our actions are appraised. But I remain hopeful that, with good people, we'll make it right. Until then I try to remember what my mother used to suggest as I went out the back door in the morning: Do the best you can.

It's interesting to note that when we help others, or when we're kind, or we do great work, or choose to lead exemplary lives, or perform well, it's not always to get something back. Sometimes we're just doing what we probably would have done anyway. For the joy of it.

“Heaven goes by favor; if it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in” ~ Mark Twain

Oh. My. A. Website.

With the preponderance of miracles happening on the interweb these days, I suppose it was inevitable that one would pop up and allow this technically all-thumbs, non-back-end creative type to come up with a web site. Admittedly a simple site, it's the result of a few hours on a Saturday messing about on a site called www.cubender.com (with time out to search for my scissors when they were sitting right beside my laptop, plus multiple treks to the kitchen only to wonder what I went to the kitchen for, and of course time to yell at the cat) has resulted in a hallmark in the annals of history just possibly worthy of note.

Over the last day or so I checked out a few site builders, through mere (almost morbid) curiosity, and I ended up here. The good thing is you can choose between HTML5 based (for multiple device compatibility) or Flash based (for glitz). I chose the HTML5 direction. The site offers a number of templates to tinker with which delighted me because I love tinkering with what other people have done.

It's intended to be a personal work in progress, and somehow the title "Rand Until Now" seemed appropriate. You don't want to say "that's all there is" afterall. I then thought, gee Rand, you should give it a proper name so went to CIRA and registered www.randmacivor.ca, which seemed appropriate, given that's my name and all (and it was surprisingly available). Now, with the URL, when people go there's no mention of Cubender and folks think I'm a genius. Which I am of course, just not at coding.

So, I guinea pigged it for you. Check it out. Tell 'em I sent you. :o)

Male Pattern Bafflegabbin'

Spending some say with main man Ray
He don't got no way of nothin' to say
Portray and sashay all you may
All Ray say is a shady-heydy-hey

Rollin' kookie moves from boddum to detop
Cop rides do the doo-wop to the big bebop
Moves ain't boughten in no jive-ass shop
Doo wop 'n shoo bop 'til you drop.

I may be a nutteroonie but I'm not unaware of the worldishness around me. Patterns of weirdiocrity predominate as we progressitate as a humanility into a new year. News media becoming opinionators. Leaders of people committing citizencide. People who figure they can't meet with people because of the precedentations it might set. Any conversation about issueations brings out crazisaurises. And I always thought that bafflegabbitors was meant to be entertaining confugabblelations for youngsters to squeal in delight. Silly nonsensity meant for giggleheadilating. Instead, I find myself in a worldidity where the ridicularitishishness is the normalitization.

I'm into it.

Ways To Stretch A Dollar... I Mean A Loonie

"Stretched Loonie"

If you're not familiar with Canada, we don't really have a normal dollar, we have a coin called a Loonie. It wasn't officially called that, but the common loon on the tail side prompted the popular nickname and in 2006 the Mint secured the rights to the name. Introduced in 1987 as a replacement for our paper dollar, it was originally made from a bronze-nickel combination, then it was something else and then in 2012 they switched it to a brass and steel composition (which made it lighter in weight and therefore incompatible with some vending machines and most parking meters).

Not only is a metal coin difficult to try to tuck into garter belts and fold to put into pockets, it's almost impossible to stretch to help make ends meet.

But with a bit of innovation even Canadians, who Stephen Colbert calls our "poutine-sucking, health-care-addicted nemesis to the north," can stretch a budget. Here are some ways you too can adapt in lean times:
1) Ask people who live close to you if you can store your milk in their refrigerator. Unplug your fridge. Get keys to their back door. Raid fridge when they're out. Leave an I.O.U. note
2) Take your significant other out to dinner with a 2-for-1 coupon. They won't mind paying for their meal. Really
3) Feed guests leftovers, items just past their best before date... and food that other people bought that you don't like
4) Post a list of free, fun things to do somewhere in your home. Include shoveling snow, cleaning out the closet and visiting distant relatives
5) In Canada, there is no reason to keep your freezer plugged in for the winter. Move it outside to the backyard or balcony
6) Razor blades just get dull. Besides, there is absolutely nothing wrong with body hair
7) Use the fact that the moment you get your car washed it just begins to get dirty again. When you meet people, say, "Can you believe it? I just had it washed!"
8) Wear clothes to work that don't have to be dry cleaned. Dark colors don't have to be washed as often
9) Lighting your home costs money. Memorize where your furniture is and turn off those lights. What's a few barked shins? And finally
10) Paper towels can be rinsed out, dried and reused for at least a few months.

A final note: Economists have come out recently saying we should stop calling our dollar a Loonie because it makes Canada look silly on the international stage. But the great thing about us Canadians is our ability to poke fun at ourselves. Really, Canada's Loonie seems to be doing quite well relative to international markets. The real issue, if there is one, isn't the name but what it will buy. And it's by no means isolated to Canada. Inflation calculators estimate that a 1950 dollar is worth approximately $9.55 today. In the 50's, you could get a loaf of bread for about 12 cents, and a gallon of milk for 82 cents. A gallon of gas cost just 20 cents, and a letter could be mailed for 3 cents.  

That, I would hazard a guess, was the last time a dollar was worth a dollar.

Grownup Grades

When we were little kids, about the first thing we learned after we learned how to laugh and cry was how we were going to get tested and what that meant. When we got a bad mark everyone said, "Aha! You failed! You should feel horrible!" Then maybe we got grounded for, like, ever or at least until we thought about it a while and we promised to apply ourselves better.

We hated tests. Brains froze at the thought of exams. Pop quizzes were the stuff that struck terror into minds. Multiple choice and true or false questions were bearable because there was either a one-in-four chance or a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right. There was a natural distaste of "being brought up to standard".

Britain introduced standardized testing in schools in the late 19th century to try to give everyone a certain quality of education. They brought it over from British India (where it was adapted from the Chinese model) and it spread not only throughout the British Commonwealth, but to Europe and then America, and good grades in standardized testing meant the standard had been met or surpassed. This was all fueled by the Industrial Revolution where new methods of mass manufacturing set standards that allow us to have things like cars with engines that work. Size 10 shoes that fit size 10 feet. Milk cartons with a best before date.

Then, we got older, left school and we were glad to get away from all those tests. But we'd gotten so used to proving ourselves by then we realized the grades we get from others still mattered. Because we wanted to be considered good at what we do, noticed and admired by people we respected.

So today, those who think that we're only as good as our last job, our last game, our last speech or our last kiss; will recognize we're graded everyday on our abilities, our wellness, our dedication, our aptitude, our heart, our sense of humor and our knowledge. By anyone who cares to notice. Even by ourselves.

As much as some people think otherwise, grading ourselves is how we get things to work and get new things to work better. And when you know how things work, you can fix things when they break, or even before they do. Helpfully. By combining what we know with what we do.

Maybe 2013 will prove to a more productive year if we hand out a few grades. Let people know we care. Nicely. And help those who need to apply themselves better do just that.

Come On In – 2013 Style

Happy New Year from a snowy Canada.

We've had a few healthy dumpings of snow in the past week. I don't mind winter, it's just that I'd rather the snowflakes that show up for a visit not park themselves in my driveway. But they do. And there I am, out moving it all around like the control freak I am. It's shovel-time.

For those of you who do not get to shovel snow, it's a wonderful experience. You dress up in multiple layers of clothing that guarantee both limited movement and slow strangulation and put on huge boots that only allow you to move six inches at a step. Then you exit a perfectly good house and go out into weather suitable only for flash-freeze food storage and pick up a shovel. As muscles that haven't worked since the last snowstorm scream at you, you begin shoveling at the door and work towards the street so if you get lost, fall or suddenly remember all the nice things about your warm bed; you have a clear path back home. Once you get going, shoveling becomes second nature and amid the shrieks of neighbors doing the same thing you're doing; you are free to think about other stuff.

So I began shoveling yesterday and as I uncovered my door mat (which was gasping for air), it occurred to me just how much I've welcomed in folks by way of social media over the past year – way more than through my front door. I've met many nice people online, regularly converse with some and have had amiable ongoing relations (without the danger of catching anything communicable) with folks (for example) from India, South Africa, Australia, Denmark, England, Columbia, Singapore and several scattered about the States – all online.

There are a few benefits to meeting with folks on the World Wide Web:
1) You do not have to go through invasive airport body searches
2) Bad breath and poor choice of fragrance is not going to enter the conversation (unless you bring the subject up)
3) There is no danger of getting stuck in a hotel elevator with someone with claustrophobia and a voice that can strip the finish off of furniture
4) Having to listen to cab drivers yell into their cell phone in a foreign language the whole trip to the meeting is a thing of the past
5) Your client's facial twitch* never has to divert your attention again, and
6) Mismatched socks, bad hair days, zippers at half-mast and wardrobe malfunctions are inconsequential*.

*Skype conference calls exempted.

According to Internet World Stats, out of an estimated 7.18 billion people in the world at the moment roughly 2.06 billion are connected to the internet. That's a 566.4% increase from the 361 million souls who were connected in the year 2000. Over 66% of that 2.06 billion people (that would be roughly 1.4 billion) participate in social media. So much for me thinking myself special.

The broader story, of course, is about how the tools we use to communicate have changed over just a generation. Growing up, we had a telephone on the wall of our kitchen (granted, with a long cord). That, and snail mail was it. The way we talk now would have been totally unimaginable back then. You can celebrate New Years Eve in Times Square via webcam, share a cheer with a friend on a houseboat in San Francisco via Facebook, exchange blown kisses with someone nice in a pub in England via Skype, and check in with a whole group of possibly tipsy, like-minded professional friends on LinkedIn. Then, just to be jaunty, you can tweet the Canadian Commander of the International Space Station (@Cmdr_Hadfield). Orbiting the world. In outer space. All from your place. Without having to shovel snow.

Social media makes distances between people disappear, and thank heaven for that; because we get to talk.

Happy New Year to all. And thanks for tuning in to Rand's Place and making my 2012 a very special year.

Top 10 Losers of 2012

Well, Christmas is over and this here teabag is just about all steeped out.

Last December I pledged to make 2012 free of personal angst and, looking back, I think I did pretty darned good. Oh, I got excitable a few times but nothing messy. Over the year more than a few people told me they were expecting to find me curled up in the fetal position on the floor, crying wails of self pity. But you'd be surprised at what a little denial, a fair amount of sublimation and never, ever looking at oneself in the mirror will do for one.

As I prepare to wax poetically on world events over the past year, my thinking is, if you're going to be a loser, you might as well be amongst the best of the bunch. These folks have earned my undying respect for doing just that:

1) That Facebook Geek: You know who he is. He was one of the youngest and fastest billionaires in the world. But unveiling his IPO this year was not the critical success it was hoped to be and he stands to lose 8.1 billion bucks. That's a whopper of a home page status update for you
2) NHLPA and the NHL: Rich players and richer owners are playing fans as suckers in the belief they will remain devoted to the game despite losing what is now half an entire season with a labor dispute. They believe the fans can't wake up, bid the NHL adieu and usher in a return to the glory days of hockey when it was a sport played by poor people with a genuine love for the game. These guys score big in my net
3) The Ex-Champion Bicycle Racer: It only took a thousand page report to reveal a sophisticated program of doping, stripping this guy of his titles, banning him from competitive cycling for-like-ever, losing his multiple endorsement deals, and forcing him to step down as chairman of his charitable organization. When Lance goes down, he doesn't fool around
4) Apple Maps: Australian police called the app "life-threatening." It was supposed to be Apple's in-house replacement to Google Maps, but offered landmarks moved to random locations, other locations dropping off the map entirely, and 3-D pictures that reminded users of a bad acid trip. How these guys managed to get Mr. Jobs to roll over in his grave is truly awe inspiring...
5) That Guy Who Didn't Win The U.S. Presidency: From my vantage point this guy could make a fortune, if he didn't have one already, giving lessons in changing stories as you go along to suit your own purposes. Recently, I hear he said he didn't want to run in the first place but his wife talked him into it. Wow. He just never stops
6) Hello LiLo: Personally, I never understood the allure, but despite an attempt at a career comeback playing Elizabeth Taylor on the small screen, her numerous run-ins with the law, family drama and hospitalizations has been like watching a train wreck in beautiful slow motion. I am in total awe.
7) Crackberry: I admit going through the ten-step program to get off of RIM's devices a few years ago. And despite the fact there have been a few delays in the release of its new product, the new management team continues to up their dosage and refuses to admit a lack of pulse. Just wow
8) Twinkies Makers: Hostess declares bankruptcy, putting 1500 workers out of a job and failing some more expecting pension cheques while a judge approves bonuses worth up $1.8 million if top executives meet certain liquidation goals. Meanwhile hungry buyers line up at the checkout to buy the brand
9) Walmart: Here's a chain of stores selling assault weapons at a brisk pace, while at the same time banning music with swear words. That takes real big gonads. 'Nuff said. And finally, I gotta save room for
10) The Donald: The diatribes and rants heard over the past year have been a wonder of unparalleled weirdness and a pomposity worthy of being the product of the back end of only the finest canine. I'll be ordering my Donald wig ASAP.

Thank God for these people.

It's about time to chuck this wet bag of used-up stuff in the waste bin of life. And put a fresh kettle on for the next year.

Hallelujah

 "I did my best, it wasn't much

I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah"

Hallelujah. Canadian poet, singer and songwriter Leonard Cohen, originally released this song in 1984. It achieved little initial success but has gone on to be covered over 300 times since and is often cited as one of the greatest songs of all time.

Best of the season to you. May you groove on it.

Art That Pauses, The Comma Project

"Commas have no meaning, but they help us to see the structure and therefore the meaning of the sentence." ~ The English Club

Ta-da-da-DA! In-troducing The Comma Project, Vision 2013.

Why "comma", you ask? Commas are funny things and you'd never think to name a project after one but if you pause to consider they represent a pause that allows time for consideration, then I'm good with that.

As a bit of a warning, this is an entirely socialist pie-in-the-sky project because all are invited to join in for the common good. And it's an artsy-fartsy thing only because, well, it's about art. So you can see I'm making a lot of sense here. Here's the poop:

People look all day long, it's in their nature. They see good things and bad. And when they find something of potential value they pause and think about what they see. But a lot of what we see out there these days doesn't want you to think. People are being told, persuaded, lectured to, belittled, sworn at, alarmed, conned, admonished and nagged at. It seems, to some, the loudest, stupidest voice wins. And the top shelf stupid stuff is celebrated as being so stupid it's funny.

This bad stuff often blocks the truly great creative material out there.

So my thought was to take roughly a year to talk about the stuff that often gets lost in the landscape of the riff raff. Work done for the love of it, not for bucks, hype or awards.

Thought provoking work gives purpose and richness to the pause it creates. It prompts feelings, it relates to our lives, our intelligence and it prompts us to express ourselves. Words and images ultimately mean more than the sum of its parts. It happens everywhere: a verse about the wind in the trees is really about love, an image of a child's embrace is reminiscent of all the good in the world. Whether it be an illustration, a photo, a graphic, a poster or a poem, piece of writing or a painting: meaningfulness, wit and invention provides a unique experience, a chance to enliven the spirit and motivate.

This is the gentler, kinder side of art. It pauses, enriches, surprises, punctuates and makes smiles, sighs and cheers. It creates positive culture.

So for 2013, let's look at art in different forms that gives more than its surface value: stuff with a fun twist, that puts heart in where there would otherwise be none, that gives pause for thought, that tells a story. Let's talk. Friends, followers and readers are invited to contribute their work. My hope is that it'll be deserving of your consideration. Being of no cost to collaborators doesn't make it worthless, merely the best of inexpensive. I'll update progress throughout the year. By next December let's see what we have. And we'll go from there.

Contact me if you're interested.

Like A Tragic Love Triangle

Lots of drama this week. You know what I'm talking about. I needn't add to the sensationalism already rampant by going into detail. Suffice to say, it was a terrible event that made many a hardened spirit stop in their tracks, followed by a massive out-pour of emotions and debate. I found myself thinking about what happens when, for some reason, passion is incapable of compassion. If I may, a film noir moment unrelated to current events...

Passion, Love and Desire grew up together in a small town. When they were all still young Passion and Desire, who were from different sides of the tracks, hooked up and planned on running away to join the circus. Love was just this weird kid with a runny nose who no one really wanted to hang out with. On the night the young couple were to escape Passion got caught up in events that prevented her from getting away and Desire was left to join the circus by himself. Everything comes to a head years many later when Desire returns to town and learns what has become of Passion and Love.

Passion: Rich and beautiful, Passion began life thinking she would have an easy life full of joy, if only she could get away from her evil aunt. But on the night she and Desire were to escape she inadvertently kills her aunt with her own cane after the aunt attacks her kitten. Love, the son of her tutor, witnesses the event. Passion, worried her life would be over, makes up a story about a stranger in the house and ends up marrying a conspiring, snivelly-faced and inebriated Love to keep him quiet. Time goes on and, without Desire, the intervening years has been like having to watch reruns of television demonstrations for vegetable cutters over and over. Passion slowly loses touch with reality.

Love: Maybe it was because Love was raised being told over and over that he was flawed that he became so. While intelligent and well intentioned, his insecurities made Love desperate and when he witnesses Passion's indiscretion, he offers his silence in return for her hand in marriage. The union is doomed never to be all Love wants it to be. Still, Love holds Passion hostage to his embrace. Because the dirty little secret is all that is keeping the marriage of Passion and Love together, the arrangement simmers like a pot of overdone oxtail soup left on the stove too long, its wine long turned to vinegar.

Desire: Years after leaving and drifting from job to job, Desire returns to town with no knowledge of the train wreck Passion's life with Love has become. Both Passion and Love think Desire knows about their dirty little secret and expect Desire to blackmail them. Passion turns on the charm and Desire goes about trying to figure out whether there's still a spark between Passion and himself, even though she's tied to a weak and drunken Love. Passion, trying to avoid the inevitable, tells him of her wish to leave Love for him. Nobody's fool, Desire figures out that Passion's plan is to have Desire kill Love for her. He ponders the ramifications like a dog torn between a bone at his feet or a whole cow he can smell just around the corner.

On the final night, Desire tricks Passion into confessing her dirty little secret, realizes she is quite mad, refuses to kill Love and wisely leaves both Passion and Love to their fates. Alone in the house, Love and Passion realize their dirty little secret is out of the bag. While Love holds the gun on Passion, Passion reaches down and pulls the trigger herself. Then, with his Passion dead, Love expires in a second flash of light from the library window.

And Desire is left to walk alone into the fog on a dark, rainy night...

---------

Based on the public domain film noir, The Strange Love of Martha Ivers, (1946) staring Barbara Stanwyck, Van Heflin and Kirk Douglas, produced by Hal B. Wallis. Screenplay by Robert Rossen and Robert Riskin. Directed by Lewis Milestone. No disrespect intended.

The Impending Epidemic of Repost Disease

It's a world of constant change out there with almost daily innovations; technological and otherwise. We scramble to some degree to keep up, lest we miss "the new norm" and are labelled "not with it." Because if we get that label we all know the people who are "with it" think they can eat us for breakfast.

While we play catch-up, it's relatively easy to fake it by tooting slogans du jour from the social media influencers or industry gurus and a lot of people do just that. And keeping up posts and discussions by reciting the teachings of the famous, the powerful and the anal retentive is common practice. But this seemingly harmless but highly infectious behavior is a slippery slope. You may just find yourself suddenly in the gutter, nursing a six pack and sniveling uncontrollably. Because you now have the dreaded Repost Disease. BS levels go through the roof, the drooling begins, knuckles drag on the ground beside your desk and you find yourself only able to post what other people tell you to post. It's so prevalent lately, I've been getting worried that maybe I should be stockpiling vaccine.

Don't get me wrong. I like BS in moderation. I think it can be fun and recreational. But heck, if I'm going to spout BS, which I do (especially on this blog) I'm going to make sure it's my own, it's obvious (i.e. not disguised) and possibly a tad funny.

"BS is not just telling lies or stating untruths for one's own benefit. It's also attempting to portray oneself as someone you're not, or always following the crowd, or sharing opinions that somebody else tells you to share. And Reposting Disease is the bottom of the barrel." ~ (me)

I suspect, as shown in the chart to the right, the more BS people spew is inversely proportional to the amount of trust they garner. In other words, the more BS people post, the least amount of trust you have in them. And I don't know about you but I don't think that's very healthy. In fact, the badly afflicted Reposters are not far removed from those who only say what others tell them they should say in real life. It's something akin to the cashier at the register with the glazed eyes who hands you the receipt and says, "Thank you for shopping at Walmart" or "Have a nice day." I find myself wishing they'd say something real. I love going into a store and hearing a cashier complain about their shitty day. It means they're human. Then, the next day hear maybe what their dog did that made them laugh. This means not only that they are alive but they are their own person with their own lives and that to me is a plus, because I don't want them to be a Walmart clone zombie living a Walmart zombie life.

Personal opinions, discoveries and expressions of individual wonders are healthy, do not normally require preventative medical care and are the stuff of which innovation and progressive thought is made of. Feeding the interaction online in a personal and informed manner spurs other people on to think, respond and grow themselves. And maybe, if you can; you should. And if you find yourself constantly reposting, try posting something original...

...before we're all overwhelmed by posts from people who are just saying what they've been told to say by people who tell people what to say.

My Bizarre History Of Hats

Where did you get that hat?
Where did you get that tile?
Isn't it a nobby one, and just the proper style?
I should like to have one just the same as that!
Whe'er I go they shout, 'Hello!
Where did you get that hat?'

Sorry for the long post today but the subject of hats is a complex one that goes way back in time. Except for the crazy sculptural ones that show up at royal weddings and fashion runways (and such) hats have pretty well disappeared for normal people, men in particular, in the past half century. If I were a person who looked good in hats I suppose I'd wish they'd come back into fashion because I like the idea tipping them at total strangers all the time just to be cordial and civilized. Or pulling the brim down over one eye just to look cool. Nowadays, if we're having a bad hair day and don't want strange looks all we get are baseball caps or maybe a cowboy hat if we're mucking out the stalls in a barn. The lack of hats these days is a shame really. 

Ever since humans began taking care of their appearance heads have been covered, especially wherever sun and rain were severe. As shown by the sculptures of Egypt, the drawings of ancient China, and heads on coins of early Greece and Rome wearing of a hat has always been a mark of rank (not smelly rank – highness of station rank).

Felt is believed to have been discovered by the nomadic tribes of Asia, who made tents and garments by felting sheep's wool. Washing their tents caused them to shrink so much they became their first hats but people found they smelled like wet sheep when it rained so gentlemen stayed indoors if showers were predicted until someone invented the umbrella. In the 14th and 15th century proper head attire was considered necessary for men while it took until the 18th century for millinery fashion to catch on for women. Until then women of class wore men's hats or had Marge Simpson hairdos. 

For a time live, small animals and docile birds were also worn by both men and women especially in winter as they kept the head warm (see Davy Crockett pic, okay it's Fess Parker, with rifle Betsy, right).

By 1600 the use of fur felt took a huge leap when the hat-making qualities of beaver from the New World were discovered. The tall beaver came into fashion and crowns reached a height of 7 inches or more. Short beavers were left alone and today very few tall beavers are found, having been hunted to near extinction.

Next came the derby, invented by William Bowler in London, and was originally a piece of riding headgear. The name came from its appearance at the English Derby. But horses are fine in their place and the derby found itself abandoned in preference the bigger, more stylish summer brim of the straw panama hat and more expansively brimmed soft felt hats in the next fall and winter; thereby leaving the derby wearing for more formal occasions, like hangings and balls and such.

Then all was well with hats and everyone wore either a fedora or a pork pie or a homburg until the 1960's when one's hair became important as a status symbol of hippydom and rock starness. Hats lost their social appeal and thousands of millinery jobs were lost to China. And now when we wear many hats we don't have to be wearing one at all. When you come to me hat in hand your hands may be empty and if you expect something at the drop of the hat or throw your hat in the ring there may not be an actual hat involved at all. Just the suggestion of one. Talking about hats without them being in the room is all old hat now.

I know, I've gone on long enough and have worn out my welcome. "Here's your hat what's your hurry"... I get that a lot. Without being handed an actual hat of course.

Poor Auntie Anteater Is Afraid Of Ants

Poor ol' Auntie Anteater. Deathly afraid of ants. A sad state of affairs. While the rest of the Anteater family loves ants, eating upwards of 30,000 of them a day (each), Auntie Anteater, on the other hand, can't be around them, let alone poke her snout into an ant hill. She doesn't like the taste of them. All the tiny little legs scurrying around give her the heebie-jeebies. And to this day she can't even hear the rhythm of "The Ants Go Marching" without totally losing it.

My mother had the same thing with snakes. Couldn't even watch them on television or hear the word without writhing in disgust. Even the most friendliest of snakes would have her squirming and squealing in terror. Not that we eat snakes in the MacIvor family mind you... still, you catch my drift.

You would think this would make her the black sheep of the Anteater family, beloved Auntie or not. But they try to understand even if they don't and do their best to facilitate her fear.

They suppose her hatred of ants is psychological, due to an unhappy experience while she was a wee one riding the back of her mother but she won't say. My brother had the same thing happen with onion rings. And thus far, no amount of therapy has helped.

So what, you ask, does an anteater eat if it doesn't eat ants? She eats the rarest of foods (chopped into ant-sized bits): Almas Caviar, Kobe beef from Wagyu cows in Japan and White Truffles. Quite the bother. She had to marry for money instead of love. But, luckily she also has a love of ketchup and this gets her through on those days when she can't find the rare stuff. Like the rest of the Anteater family, she has no teeth and a tongue that can measure up to 2 feet in length which makes her very good at getting the last of the ketchup out of the bottle. Being virtually indistinguishable in appearance from the rest of the Anteaters who do eat ants, one can usually recognize her by the collection of very clean Heinz bottles scattered about.

Life is funny like that sometimes. So be nice to someone today who has a fear of something they wouldn't if it was a totally rational world. Because we all know it's not always a totally rational world, through no fault of folks like Auntie Anteater.

Things On Sticks

I don't know whose idea it was to put things on a stick. Musta been a pretty smart cookie though.

Human beings have probably been putting stuff on sticks since the ol' opposable thumb thing happened. Maybe some dude or dudette was eating Tyrannosaurus rex drumsticks one night and discovered they have a knob on the end that allowed them to pick up their food without having to put their fingers all over the end with the meat on it that they were going to eat. And the next day when they were spearing fish or small rodents – they said to themselves, "Hey, maybe I'll just leave it on the stick to eat it."

It's a mystery lost in time. But I'm pretty sure it lead to popsicles and other neat things. 'Cause things on sticks are cool.

Things on sticks isn't the same thing as 'sticky things' but sticky things are great when put on sticks. Candy apples to name one. Marshmallow brooms and all-day suckers are pretty sticky if you let them heat up in your pocket for a bit.

(not an actual tag line)

When I was a kid, popsicles (invented by mistake by eleven-year old Frank Epperson in 1905) came with two sticks and a dent running down the middle that helped you break the popsicle into two when you hit it against the corner of the building outside the store (while still in the wrapper) to share with a buddy. You had to eat them right away while sitting on the curb on a hot summer day because even with your 3-speed Supercycle they wouldn't last if you tried to take them home. And the great thing was if you saved up all your popsicle sticks you could glue them together and make boxes for trinkets or death-defying jumps for sandbox dinky toys.

And you want hot? Get yourself a hot dog dipped in batter on a stick and you save yourself the cost of a bun. If you're into lining small bits up and eating them in a row, give yourself over to exotic yogurt-marinated lamb kebabs or Thai chicken satay with a spicy peanut sauce.

Cold or hot, it's all about convenience and allure and most of all, it's all about the stick. About the only thing that isn't better on a stick is anything thin, slippery and long; like spaghetti... or worms. (Although I hear snakes on a stick are great... with cinnamon.)

There's a phrase in Dutch that goes, "Alle gekheid op een stokje." I don't speak Dutch but I'm told it translates to, "All the silliness on a stick" – and is what people from Holland say when they want to say, "Joking aside," or, "Silliness is great but let's get down to business." The fact that they make it a point to put their silliness on a stick says to me that they recognize that sticks make even silliness better.

This made me realize that things other than food can be put on sticks to make them go from good to great.

So, of course, this week I went around putting things on sticks. I think they look much better.

You can do your bit to make things better too.