I hate "the news". News is nothing more than information that is whacked out on crack cocaine. In that state, it adds little to the betterment of our society. News is to knowledge as the Newfoundland moose is to nutrition. Neither news nor the moose is absolutely necessary. Sure, they provide a little entertainment value and a few jobs, but in the big picture they probably do more harm than good. The comedic group, Buddy Wasisname's lovable character, Dicky Shea - The Townie Politician, had it right. "Get rid of the moose. Wipe'em out. What good are they? They don't pay taxes and they don't buy tickets to the Leaf games". He may of had 500,000 supporters had his next political pronouncement not have been that all of the baymen should be forced to move from the outports and live in the small spaces between the houses of the new developments in St. John's and Mount Pearl. Fiscally, he figured it was a wise move. When pressed about the infrastructure costs related to adding so many people to the suburbs, he replied it wasn't a problem - "The baymen can shit in the woods." Now that would be news worthy.
I'm a seeker of information. Information is knowledge and knowledge is power. Our daily newspaper, radio stations and TV news programs provide little in the way of useful information. The fact that a steroid junkie lost his cool and beat up a guy during a road rage incident is not information that increases my knowledge. The fact that a high profile St. John's lawyer seems to have an unusual relationship with a client in no way serves to make me smarter. These type of stories belong in the trashy gossip magazines. Wouldn't really useful information be something along the lines of: Which lawyer has the best chances of getting me off, even when I'm guilty? How about knowing which Judges are the softies and which ones will nail you to the wall. Surely there are statistics available for all of this type of stuff. Aren't these the things that people would benefit from knowing?
Our economy is often front and center on the news. The debate is raging about whether we are presently in a recession or will we soon fall into one. Some wind bag will appear on the tube or be quoted in the paper and provide a technical analysis of our GDP and the direction of the10 year T-bill rate. Who, the frig, cares! How one chooses to define our economy has absolutely no bearing on whether you can put food on the table and provide a good future for your family. What these educated financial geniuses think about the prospects of a repeat of a 1930's style recession is nothing more than one person's opinion. We all know the famous expression about opinions (if you don't, then I'm about to share) - Opinions are like ass-holes... everybody has one.
I was somewhat more vulgar today than usual. I apologize for that. Perhaps I am a little miffed that a major story these last few days has been that a yet-to-be named resident of Newfoundlander has won $21 million in last Saturday's 6-49 draw. By my definition, that is not news. That story does not provide me with any useful information or add to my knowledge of anything. It is a waste of good newsprint and of airtime.
If I had won the $21 million, then I would put the money to good use. I would start a 6 o'clock broadcast on TV that would be chalked full of real information and educational stories that bestow useful knowledge to the viewers of our fair province. I would call it the "Hour of Power". I would want to have a popular and well known face in front of the camera, so I'd try to get Dicky Shea to be the anchorman. Politicians would be allowed on the program only if they left their opinions at home. Rather than have one mindless politician after another on the program, like the present news shows do, it would probably be more informative to interview the despised moose to see how it has been coping with being #1 on the province's hit list. Another good story would be to investigate the health consequences of the mounds of human feces showing up in the woods surrounding the metro area. Pictures could be obtained to show how it gets "dumped" there. On second thought..... maybe too much knowledge is not such a good thing after all.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Coloured By Numbers
My dog sees the world much clearer than I do. Apparently dogs cannot see colours, but take in the visual world in shades of grey only. The fact that there are an infinite number of shades of grey means that Jasper's perceptions of reality are probably not too far removed from the true pictures being transmitted. He likely sees a bright red as a bright grey, while a very light yellow colour probably is just a tad removed from whitish grey.
The canine world has never observed colour, so they can't miss what they've never had. When Jasper looks at a rainbow all he sees are semicircular shades of grey that supposedly lead to a pot of grey coins. I doubt he even cares about the rainbow or its mystical bounty and I bet he can never quite understand his master's fascination with those things. I learned in elementary school that a rainbow also holds the secret of the colours of the spectrum. I have never forgotten that ROY G BIV lives inside every rainbow no matter where in the world it may be - Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet. They are beautiful.
Colour is everywhere. It has come to symbolize moods (red = anger), gender (pink = female), the environment (green = eco-friendly), and the rainbow itself is the symbol of the gay and lesbian movement. I know these colours are out there. I sense them. I'm just not sure that I completely comprehend and appreciate them. You see, I've always known that I have a tendency to see everything in only two colours, either black or white. As a result, I often see only only two solutions to a problem, two outcomes to a situation, two courses of action from which to choose, you are either someone I like or you are not, you are a good person or you're not, you are a team player or you're not.
I'm not certain why I'm like this. Perhaps it is a means to simplify a complicated world. This is not necessarily a positive thing. I tend to limit my options too quickly, I see people as being one way or another and don't allow for the prospect of change in those I have preordained.
I actually started this story thinking about how numbers are the essence of black & white thinking. A number is a finite thing, it is quantifiable and unquestionable in its value. It is what it is. Despite this, numbers always seem to come with a secondary meaning attached. This meaning is what colours the numbers and makes them so confusing. The confusion only grows when numbers are manipulated. Let me show you an example: In 1989 I was 185 pounds. Today I am 235 pounds. (I'm not fat, I'm just short for my weight.) I have gained 50 pounds. That sounds brutal and it is, but let's look at it another way. In 22 years I have gained an average of 2 1/4 pounds a year. Now that doesn't sound too bad. Put another way, I've put on 3 ounces a month. That's represented by a couple of Timbits. Losing weight is going to be easy when I frame it using those numbers. If I cut back on those Timbits and throw in a bag of chips or two, then the weight will just fall off of me. If I lose just 10 pounds a year, when I'm 66 I'll be 35 pounds. If I'm going to be that thin, then I'd better play it safe and not cut back on the chips.
I'll continue to work at being more open minded and to appreciate the abundance of colourful people that make up our world. I'll also continue to observe Jasper and try to learn a little more about how our non-judgemental canine friends have flourished despite being colour blind. Forgive me if I happen to invade your personal space in the coming days and weeks. Getting a good sniff seems to help dogs to form an accurate opinion of people. I'll try to avoid getting too close to your crotch, but I make no promises. So please follow the advice of your mothers and always wear clean underwear. The colour of them doesn't matter.
The canine world has never observed colour, so they can't miss what they've never had. When Jasper looks at a rainbow all he sees are semicircular shades of grey that supposedly lead to a pot of grey coins. I doubt he even cares about the rainbow or its mystical bounty and I bet he can never quite understand his master's fascination with those things. I learned in elementary school that a rainbow also holds the secret of the colours of the spectrum. I have never forgotten that ROY G BIV lives inside every rainbow no matter where in the world it may be - Red Orange Yellow Green Blue Indigo Violet. They are beautiful.
Colour is everywhere. It has come to symbolize moods (red = anger), gender (pink = female), the environment (green = eco-friendly), and the rainbow itself is the symbol of the gay and lesbian movement. I know these colours are out there. I sense them. I'm just not sure that I completely comprehend and appreciate them. You see, I've always known that I have a tendency to see everything in only two colours, either black or white. As a result, I often see only only two solutions to a problem, two outcomes to a situation, two courses of action from which to choose, you are either someone I like or you are not, you are a good person or you're not, you are a team player or you're not.
I'm not certain why I'm like this. Perhaps it is a means to simplify a complicated world. This is not necessarily a positive thing. I tend to limit my options too quickly, I see people as being one way or another and don't allow for the prospect of change in those I have preordained.
I actually started this story thinking about how numbers are the essence of black & white thinking. A number is a finite thing, it is quantifiable and unquestionable in its value. It is what it is. Despite this, numbers always seem to come with a secondary meaning attached. This meaning is what colours the numbers and makes them so confusing. The confusion only grows when numbers are manipulated. Let me show you an example: In 1989 I was 185 pounds. Today I am 235 pounds. (I'm not fat, I'm just short for my weight.) I have gained 50 pounds. That sounds brutal and it is, but let's look at it another way. In 22 years I have gained an average of 2 1/4 pounds a year. Now that doesn't sound too bad. Put another way, I've put on 3 ounces a month. That's represented by a couple of Timbits. Losing weight is going to be easy when I frame it using those numbers. If I cut back on those Timbits and throw in a bag of chips or two, then the weight will just fall off of me. If I lose just 10 pounds a year, when I'm 66 I'll be 35 pounds. If I'm going to be that thin, then I'd better play it safe and not cut back on the chips.
I'll continue to work at being more open minded and to appreciate the abundance of colourful people that make up our world. I'll also continue to observe Jasper and try to learn a little more about how our non-judgemental canine friends have flourished despite being colour blind. Forgive me if I happen to invade your personal space in the coming days and weeks. Getting a good sniff seems to help dogs to form an accurate opinion of people. I'll try to avoid getting too close to your crotch, but I make no promises. So please follow the advice of your mothers and always wear clean underwear. The colour of them doesn't matter.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Do You Know Moammar Nixon?
These past few months have seen the dramatic rise of democratic forces in several Middle Eastern countries. The citizens of Libya, Egypt and Syria have challenged the dictatorships that have ruled the political and social landscapes of these countries for decades. Freedom of choice and the rights of the individual have proven to be more powerful than the weapons of the loyalist armies and more fluid than the oil that flows so freely from the sands of these lands. No societal model is perfect, but one that discounts or marginalizes the populous is eventually doomed to failure. Tyrants can no longer count on citizens being ignorant and uneducated about the goings on of the world at large. Once a taste of freedom is savoured or even thought to be possible, people will choose the hard road every time in order to be able to sit at the table of democracy.
This serious, in tone, geopolitical preamble was necessary in order to bring me to the point of today's writing story. I'm usually not so cryptic. I think my 9 year old daughter may be an offspring of Moammar Khadafi, Hosni Muberek or Bashar al-Assad. It's not that she has any of their physical features - thank god for that - nor does she resort to torture in order to get her way. Well, not torture in the traditional sense. Avery is able to push my buttons with merely a look. As I peer into those wide, watery eyes, see the quivering lower lip and those way too adorable freckles, I'm left feeling like I deserve to spend the rest of my life getting stretched on the rack. Surely, for this child to feel such woe, then I must have done something unthinkable. The punishment must fit the crime. Khadafi and company failed to understand this fundamental principle and their empires crumbled because of it.
Before I banished myself to the dungeon or to remedial classes for dissident dads, then I had to find out what wrong I had perpetrated on my youngest offspring. If we do not take the time to understand the mistakes of our past, then we are bound to repeat them. There will come a time when the shoe will be on the other foot and I'll need someone to change my diaper and to comfort me at night with a story. I have but two children, so better not to alienate one of them so early in life, thereby greatly reducing my options for ageing gracefully and avoiding the old age home until I'm ready to go there. I doubt that Khadafi had such foresight or perhaps with tyranny comes the illusion of divinity. I am neither a tyrant nor divine, so keeping in the good books of my kids is my plan for ensuring bliss in my later years.
Avery told me that her angst was due to the fact that she does not like family meetings. OMG, she really does have a predisposition towards tyranny! A few months ago, I began to hold family meetings as I believed they were a great way for the kids to be included in the decision making process, for them to learn that their opinions matters and that it is important for them to speak their minds. Was Avery against the idea of having a say in her future? I was perplexed. It turns out I didn't have to wait long to find out. Yesterday, while Avery and I were struggling through grade 4 math homework (ok, I was the only one struggling), she blurted out that she no longer wanted to be involved in swim club and that she wanted to return to dance lessons. This was all a surprise to me. In fact, during one of our recent family meetings, the fall activity schedule was discussed at length with the kids and the decision was made to take a break from dance this year after seven years of ballet, tap and jazz. I suggested to Avery that we wait for mom to get home and we could then have a family meeting to discuss this. Immediately, the eyes watered, the lip quivered and the freckles freckled. A soft, broken, little girl voice declared "I don't like family meetings, they make me upset." I was back on the proverbial rack. What have I done to my sweet child to make something that was meant to be so good, come across as so bad? Time to re-evaluate.
I think I know what happened. Sure, the intent of our family meetings is to let the kids have a say, but in reality, Lynda and I had already decided what activities the kids would be joining this fall. As an example, we didn't want the kids to partake in dance any longer, so we weren't truly committed to listening to their suggestions. We took them down a road that they didn't want to travel. We muffled dissenting opinions. We ended our family meeting thinking that we had a consensus, but in reality, it was a consensus obtained fraudulently. We didn't mean for it to be that way and it is only as I write this that I see and understand what may have happened. It took a little while, but Avery figured it out. She figured it out before I did and opened my eyes. Even a nine year old knows when her freedom of expression has been suppressed. I'm proud of her for standing up for herself and articulating what she wants for her life. I said earlier that she may have some of the traits of a Middle Eastern dictator. If she has any, then I know where she gets them. Sometimes, her mother can be a real tyrant. Just kidding Honey.... really.... Ok, I know the routine...I'll strap myself myself to the rack when I get home.
This serious, in tone, geopolitical preamble was necessary in order to bring me to the point of today's writing story. I'm usually not so cryptic. I think my 9 year old daughter may be an offspring of Moammar Khadafi, Hosni Muberek or Bashar al-Assad. It's not that she has any of their physical features - thank god for that - nor does she resort to torture in order to get her way. Well, not torture in the traditional sense. Avery is able to push my buttons with merely a look. As I peer into those wide, watery eyes, see the quivering lower lip and those way too adorable freckles, I'm left feeling like I deserve to spend the rest of my life getting stretched on the rack. Surely, for this child to feel such woe, then I must have done something unthinkable. The punishment must fit the crime. Khadafi and company failed to understand this fundamental principle and their empires crumbled because of it.
Before I banished myself to the dungeon or to remedial classes for dissident dads, then I had to find out what wrong I had perpetrated on my youngest offspring. If we do not take the time to understand the mistakes of our past, then we are bound to repeat them. There will come a time when the shoe will be on the other foot and I'll need someone to change my diaper and to comfort me at night with a story. I have but two children, so better not to alienate one of them so early in life, thereby greatly reducing my options for ageing gracefully and avoiding the old age home until I'm ready to go there. I doubt that Khadafi had such foresight or perhaps with tyranny comes the illusion of divinity. I am neither a tyrant nor divine, so keeping in the good books of my kids is my plan for ensuring bliss in my later years.
Avery told me that her angst was due to the fact that she does not like family meetings. OMG, she really does have a predisposition towards tyranny! A few months ago, I began to hold family meetings as I believed they were a great way for the kids to be included in the decision making process, for them to learn that their opinions matters and that it is important for them to speak their minds. Was Avery against the idea of having a say in her future? I was perplexed. It turns out I didn't have to wait long to find out. Yesterday, while Avery and I were struggling through grade 4 math homework (ok, I was the only one struggling), she blurted out that she no longer wanted to be involved in swim club and that she wanted to return to dance lessons. This was all a surprise to me. In fact, during one of our recent family meetings, the fall activity schedule was discussed at length with the kids and the decision was made to take a break from dance this year after seven years of ballet, tap and jazz. I suggested to Avery that we wait for mom to get home and we could then have a family meeting to discuss this. Immediately, the eyes watered, the lip quivered and the freckles freckled. A soft, broken, little girl voice declared "I don't like family meetings, they make me upset." I was back on the proverbial rack. What have I done to my sweet child to make something that was meant to be so good, come across as so bad? Time to re-evaluate.
I think I know what happened. Sure, the intent of our family meetings is to let the kids have a say, but in reality, Lynda and I had already decided what activities the kids would be joining this fall. As an example, we didn't want the kids to partake in dance any longer, so we weren't truly committed to listening to their suggestions. We took them down a road that they didn't want to travel. We muffled dissenting opinions. We ended our family meeting thinking that we had a consensus, but in reality, it was a consensus obtained fraudulently. We didn't mean for it to be that way and it is only as I write this that I see and understand what may have happened. It took a little while, but Avery figured it out. She figured it out before I did and opened my eyes. Even a nine year old knows when her freedom of expression has been suppressed. I'm proud of her for standing up for herself and articulating what she wants for her life. I said earlier that she may have some of the traits of a Middle Eastern dictator. If she has any, then I know where she gets them. Sometimes, her mother can be a real tyrant. Just kidding Honey.... really.... Ok, I know the routine...I'll strap myself myself to the rack when I get home.
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