Wrapped and Ready... Halleluhah!

Wrapped and Ready... Hallelujah!

I remember fondly listening to Santa clause curse and tell Mrs. Claus that she was not being very helpful while he assembled the Barbie Surf’s Up Pool and Cabana set under my Christmas tree. I am filled with happy memories of the year that I wept with joy because I was so happy to unwrap the Tears For Fears cassette tape and George Jetson sweatshirt that I’d been dreaming about for months. Over the years, I asked for some very fancy and I’m ashamed to admit, selfishly motivated things: A Corey Hart poster, multi-coloured legwarmers, white moon boots, Sweet & Soft perfume, and a set of walkie-talkies so I could give one to my best friend across the street so we could secretly talk at night. What I don’t ever remember however, is asking Santa for an iPad.

The other day, I was standing in line at the grocery store behind two women who were excitedly talking about Christmas; professing their disgust at the commercialism that this ‘season’ has become and how people have strayed so much from ‘the true meaning of Christmas’. In the next breath, they were discussing the gifts that they still ‘had to buy’ and one of the women said that she was getting her nine year old son a tablet and couldn’t decide between the iPad and the Samsung Galaxy.

It got me thinking, if Jesus really is the reason for the season, then it makes sense that a nine year old needs a tablet... I mean, Moses is clearly the inspiration for the tablet. I think that it is terrific that parents and kids nowadays are not being sucked into the vortex of overwhelming seasonal debt and social peer pressure and really getting back to the basics; Jesus, Moses... Christmas truly is morphing back into a genuinely Biblically inspired holiday. I am disappointed in myself for not seeing earlier that my youthful lack of understanding about the true meaning of Christmas was very irresponsible me, Santa, and my parents. I mean, instead of that tasselled jacket back in 1988 that Santa brought me, I really should have been given my own space in the yard for my very own backyard temple. Drat.

For the past several years, I have fancied myself a bit of a pre-ghost-visits Scrooge. Now that I have experienced this supermarket epiphany I think I can finally let go of my cynical view of Christmas and embrace the season. I plan on calling the bank today to ask for a loan so that my children can experience the true ‘reason for the season’. I will buy my ten year old a flat screen television so that she can receive messages from across the realms, essentially a modern day burning bush, and for my 17 year old, I think a yacht is in order... I’d hate to see him stuck in a precarious situation in case of a flood.

You know, Christmas truly is a time of miracles. I am very thankful for my newfound appreciation for the true meaning of this joyous season and if nothing else, my children will surely become more humble and gracious people because of it. Thank God.

Captain Obvious

So it’s autumn, or as I like to call it, the season of ‘master of the obvious’. Socially speaking talking about the weather is widely accepted as a very reciprocal and neutral conversation topic. Now that summer has taken its predicable turn into autumn I find myself immersed into not a world of vibrant orange leaves and Aran cable knit sweaters but rather into an inescapable sea of altocumulus cloud inspired predictable small-talk
.
During a recent verse of, “Oh yes, it is getting chilly out” followed by a chorus of ‘I can’t believe that Christmas is just around the corner’, I started to wonder what our everyday lives would be like if we all started stating the obvious... about everything.

Imagine starting a conversation with your neighbour like, “Good morning Jeff. You are wearing pants today”, or with the bank teller, “Hello Myra. I signed this cheque with a blue pen”, or your child’s teacher, “Mr. Johnston, Billy told me you had a lot of gas yesterday. I hope you are feeling better today”.

Why is honest and obvious only socially acceptable when the topic is related to the weather patterns? Who was the smart-guy who started this whole climate of vague and pleasant? Why are there such far-reaching consequences both personally and professionally for choosing not to accept this atmosphere of pointless banter? Why is there such pressure to connect with strangers that we have to pretend to care about the weather over and over again each day?

There seems to be a recognized daily universal themes, for example, International Talk Like a Pirate Day, Global Handwashing Day, International CAPS LOCK DAY, World Nutella Day and International Cheese Day... just to name a few. I would like to know who I can talk to about establishing an International Captain Obvious Day; a day where in addition to the weather people can speak freely, without fear of negative repercussions, about their personal observations that occur outside the confines of their typically socially acceptable umbrellas... a day where its okay to simply tell the truth. While I believe I can speak for us all when I say that of late, the air is a little chilled I think I can also safely say that talking about it every day is anything but refreshing.

Reflective Rigmarole

Perhaps it is the weather, but I’m feeling rather reflective and so I thought I’d try something new in my blog today.

In the late 1920’s, Hungarian author Frigyes Karinthy, introduced the concept that each of us, (and not just Kevin Bacon), are six degrees of separation from every other person on the planet.  This idea has since been explored by mathematicians, embraced by society and has recently evolved into a drinking game... so it must be true.

I find things easier to understand if I can ‘see’ them, so I like to conceptualize Karinthy’s theory as a parking lot.  If you are parked only six spaces from your dream car wouldn’t you walk over to have a closer look; to peek inside the windows and have your sister take a picture of you with your cell phone standing in front of it?  Is a grainy cell phone photo acceptable as our only contact to our own personal six-steps to greatness or should we be waiting for the owner to come out so we can ask for details about financing and then request a ride to the dealership?  

Aside from dressing up and showing off our Paris Hiltonish pink-parts, she-banging out off-key music like William Hung or happily giving birth to nineteen kids and counting... how can we, as individuals being parked only six steps away from the our own brand of George Jefferson greatness, get our own  little slice of hard-earned east side pie?  What to do, what to do?

I think the first step is to just decide in what direction we start counting because simply by nature of having everyone in the universe at our sixth fingertip, our possibilities are endless.   Is it being so famous as to be on the Perez Hilton hit-list or smart enough to regularly keep company with Stephen Hawking?  Is it being fit enough to be a Budweiser girl or rich (and philanthropic) enough to join Bill Gate’s 99% club?   Is it becoming inventive enough to join the ranks of Rudolph Diesel or Thomas Crapper?  

Does the six steps to everyone stop once we reach our first goal or do they start all over again and how do we know when we are standing face-to-face with the first person (or parked next to the first car) in the que that leads to the sixth?    

In other words, in six steps or less we are each connected to our own version of someone who has the potential to help us reach our ideal. Alternatively, each of us are that 6th  person for someone a few steps away in the other direction.  Kermit was right... it is a small world after all and I’m not just saying that because Jim Henson very well may be my fourth cousin, twice removed.

What's that smell?

I’ve recently had occasion to wear a cape.   As I wore my cape, I, like many of us, imagined what it might be like to actually be a super-hero complete with shiny over- the- trouser underpants and in possession of special mega-human powers.  Running through the predictable standard super-powers, you know the ones; invisibility, flying, mind-reading etc.  it occurred to me that if I had my druthers, my particular strength would be one of subtle surprise that would easily fit into everyday life.   I would be able to instantly find my enemy’s weakness and morph my attack to exactly fit the individual and the circumstances... a perfect union of power and justice.  Like the universally known untraceable fart, I too would be called Silent But Deadly; a un-provable, potent crusader.

I would require no magic words, wands or well-intentioned side kicks.  I would have no single nemesis, nor would I drive a tricked-out car or be summoned to fight crime by a light beacon in the sky.  I would simply ‘be’.

Through the power of my mind, I would be able to change the pre-set radio stations in cars from Classic Rock to Old Country.  I would have the power to cause others to have uncontrollable and untimely bodily functions, such as burping or stomach rumbles.   I would be able to pop shirt collars from meters away and alter the language settings on cell phones… the possibilities are truly endless.  With stealth and efficacy, my blitzes would be executed with flawless perfection and the best part would be that my 'enemies' would not even be aware that they were being targeted.  The ‘incidents’ would be chalked up to bad luck or eating too many trans fats. 

Just imagine it…  the ill tempered neighbor who hollers at children for walking too close to her lawn would wake up to find her once lush blanket of Canada Bluegrass turned to straw.  The Bell Canada genius who decided that naming the clueless auto-attendant Emily would make the system more ‘user-end friendly’, would discover during breakfast one day that his wife and children all started to talk like Emily-bots and refused to do anything he asked or the know-it-all front-row-sitting keener in science class would find herself with a nasty case of mushroom soup smelling body odor, rendering her forever unable to raise her arm in class to be called upon to answer a question.  Road-rage-tailgaters, bad-referees, loud chewers and loquacious sesquipedalian’s (people who use big words just to be ‘like that’… ironic name I think) would all get a nice dose of what’s comin’ to them courtesy of the great caped SBD (not to be confused with STD... two totally different things).

My superhero slogan would be, ‘Karma’s A Female Dog’, or at least some derivative of that...  though I*think* this slogan may have already been coined….

Because I'm Worth It....

Recently I have noticed an increase in the amount of prescription drug advertisements on television. As a result of our country’s strict direct-to-consumer-advertising (DTCA) rules for prescription drug promotion we, as the consumer are not allowed to know the ailment these medications have been developed to treat… only the name of the drug and their potential side effects. We are supposed to deduce from the drug company’s clever use of images and soft soothing music what ailment we will (potentially) have taken care of if we ‘go ahead and ask our doctor’… but what exactly are we expected to ask about? ‘Hey Doc, I saw an ad for Pristiq that claimed I may experience horrible constipation if I take it… please tell me more about that… it sounds awesome!” or, “Hey Doc, I’ve been really considering changing my facebook status to ‘Suicidal’, can you help me out and prescribe some Lyrica to get me on my way?” Does anyone really do this?

I truly appreciate the honesty which drug companies are forced to employ when pedaling their products. I would love to see the same laws that govern prescription drug advertising be in effect for all advertising for products that have the potential to cause negative side effects in our lives. For example:

This Valentine’s Day, show her how much you care; surprise her with a high quality engagement ring because, 'Every Kiss Begins with Kay’s'. In many cases causes weight gain, decreased libido, premature aging and bankruptcy. Consult with your lawyer before you say ‘I Do’.

Dissarono… taste the seduction. Serve chilled over ice. May cause venereal diseases, nausea or criminal records. Carries a high risk of obnoxiousness and dependency. After using Dissarano, please talk with your friends if you have the urge to bring anyone home with you.

Find easy recipes online at www.ilovetocook.com. Possibility of fire, obesity, allergic reactions causing death, familial judgment and overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and failure.

These three examples barely scratch the surface of possibilities. Imagine a world where McDonalds clearly outlines the extreme nutritional vulnerabilities of ingesting nuggets of mechanically separated chicken, where big box stores explain how buying their undercut priced toilet paper eventually forces small business owners to have to close their doors and sign up for food stamps (redeemable at Wal-Mart) to feed their families or how Ford’s fuel efficient full size pick-ups though a wonderful deal right now, (0% financing for 72 months!), are annihilating any hope of providing healthy air for our kids any time soon.

I realize that in every instance, the truth is subject to many perspectives. I also understand that the entire purpose of advertising is to create a specific societal need and then meet that need with their product. I just don’t ‘get’ how the same advertising laws allow me believe that in only six short weeks I too can have my very own Bowflex body if I simply ‘press on’ using their easy-fold-away workout equipment (um… lie) yet require Olestra to tell me that though it may improve health in some small way, taking their drug may also possibly cause me to develop a nasty bout of anal leakage. Laws that encourage us to embrace the lie and fear the truth. Not surprising, but still odd... yes?