Categories
Miscellaneous

#051: Beavertails are tasty. End.

Currently listening to: “Defying Gravity” – Wicked

So the media is right on the heels of a certain U.S. President Barack Obama, a complete media circus complete with overanalyzing political analysts (sidenote- am I the only one who thinks Canada needs some good political pundits? I definitely think that Rick Mercer and Russell Peters should join forces in an epic show of political snark and wit), etc etc. But honestly, following the poor man all the way down to Byward Market and speculating on his reasons for getting a beavertail? Now that’s pushing it a tad bit, methinks. Now, not to be trite about this, but when CBC, CBC again, the National Post, CTV, and the aforementioned ABC News all link to the Beavertail-consuming event, well…let’s just say it might be a fun issue, but not worth the hoopla.

Now don’t get me wrong, Obamaniacs, I think the guy’s marvellous and everyone likes to hear about media-friendly newsworthy political figures, and beavertails are more than marvellous. But maybe that’s all there is to it. CBC speculation on television at circa 1.30 p.m. PT was rife with theories on Why He Got A Beavertail. No, he’s not snubbing off the US embassy (which is three minutes away from Byward), as one lady speculated on the news. Why should he, we haven’t done anything outrageously ridiculous to our neighbours down south lately. So why get a beavertail then?? Sure, blare as much as you like about cultural identity and whatnot, if it makes you happy. Newfangled conspiracy theories aside, one need only consider the simple fact that beavertails are delicious. That’s all there is to it. They are scrumptious. The mere thought makes my mouth water. They are comfort food (along with poutine), and you don’t need a reason to have poutine, and you shouldn’t need an excuse to have a beavertail.

Mind you, I’m preaching to the converted here, though. If you haven’t had a beavertail, I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND.

These things are amazing. They are like Christmas nights, summer lovin’, and late night stargazing wrapped into a large doughy piece of fantastic and magic, topped with cinnamon and sugar (and other toppings which you may choose from). They are like the best days of childhood where you could run around with fingers sticky with honey and jam and run in meadows of little yellow flowers and prance till the sun set. They are, for the less metaphorically-extended, basically Mini-Donuts from Playland, except large, and flat.

Seriously.

Go get one, and then you’ll understand.
You’ll never need an excuse to have one.

Categories
Miscellaneous

#050: A tale of two books

Currently listening to: “M79” – Vampire Weekend

Before I start, [insert obligatory yay-reading-break-huzzah comment here].

So I bought two (2) books yesterday. Yes, it’s always the same old story. Work at a bookstore, can’t leave without getting something. In any case, one of the books was absolutely bloody brilliant, and the other one was a complete disappointment. Can’t always be having the best of both worlds now, can we? So here goes nothing.

He’s Just Not That Into You

(Except I bought the cheaper movie adaptation paperback, not the hardcover.) Now this was one huge flop of a read. Sure, I understand it’s supposed to be lighthearted and well, supposedly quite humourous, but unfortunately, I failed to see the humour OR the good advice. Firstly, the book is just not funny. At all. For a self-help book that touts itself as being a book one might find at Urban Outfitters (and for the record, you can’t find it there), it’s not very amusing. Secondly – god, the advice! The advice given! Honestly! This book should be titled “If He’s Not Obsessed With The Sole Thought Of Sleeping With You, Well, He’s Just Not That Into You”. For a book that claims to be perfectly rational, it’s certainly placing a high order on the sheer helplessness of humanity when faced with pheremones and hormones. In one strategically placed chapter (smack middle of the book) Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo express the opinion that, well, sex trumps all other forms of expressing love, going as far as decrying the (in my humble opinion, very charming and darling) gestures of cookies and warm nights spent cuddling before the fire and pleasantries and chivalry. How reassuring to know that the prospect of sex is the one thing that drives and paralyzes humans and renders them incapable of doing anything else. I guess everyone I know must be completely abnormal then. Do you see anything wrong with that sentence? I think I’ve made my point.

The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism

And now this. THIS. Naomi Klein, you are my hero and I would nominate you for sainthood. THANK YOU FOR WRITING THIS BOOK. THANK YOU FOR ACTUALLY DEVOTING A WHOLE CHAPTER ABOUT THE BOLIVIAN WATER FOR PROFIT ISSUE. I COULD LOVE YOU JUST FOR THAT ALONE, but you went on and wrote a whole brilliant book. Thank you for – well, talking about what the world needs to know about how the rampant imposition of Western capitalist free-market views on developing countries is a venture that is doomed to failure. Sheer imperialistic arrogance, hidden under the sleek facade of humanitarian efforts. If you’re planning on doing anything regarding global finances and trade markets, please read this book. With the slow but steady corporate domination of the developing world, this book is incredibly valuable in demonstrating how the undermining pre-existing states of government (which work for their respective populations) in favour of implementing “democracy” is a sheer free-for-all grab for wealth and power. Rich growing richer, poor getting poorer, a diminishing middle class, and the top dogs of First World countries smirk as they watch on. I frankly feel ashamed to be fortunate enough to be born into this percentile of the world which lives without fear of starvation, threat, or governments selling off national interests to multinationals. And I feel incredibly, incredibly lucky to have all these resources at my fingertips. Also, more saddeningly, I feel incredibly powerless to do anything in the face of all this. What more can I say? I’m at a loss for words here, so I’ll stop. (Oh, I’m going to read Milton Friedman’s Capitalism and Freedom next, for an opposing viewpoint. I promise I’ll write a review of that when I’m done. And maybe do some refuting of my own.)

It’s nice to know for every rubbish book there is out there, there is one which will blow it right out of the water.
I’m willing to lend out either book to anyone who’s interested.

Categories
Miscellaneous

#049: Even more adventures in photography!

Currently listening to: “If You Seek Amy” – Britney Spears

Second roll of Elitechrome 200.
I’m intrigued by the bluish effects- I did the exact same process to my first roll of Elitechrome, which turned out a lot greener. Cross processing does yield such incredibly unpredictable results, you just gotta love that stuff.

Granville Island

and now, some UBC

—

French midterm at 10 a.m. tomorrow, Psych midterm at 11 a.m. tomorrow.
Hooray.

Categories
Careers / Work

#048: Of charlatans and fools

Currently listening to: “The Great Wall of China” – Billy Joel

I think self-help authors are an absolute crock of rubbish. No, that’s not entirely true. To be precise, I think self-help authors who portray themselves as faith healers while invoking some sort of power from some sort of imaginary god figure are completely deluded opportunists preying on the minds of fools who need to feel as though some sort of supernatural being existed in order to feel better about their empty lives.

Why do I go on so, you ask? Why do I fume in indignation, why don’t I just let those fools prance off in their blissful wake as long as it makes them feel good? I’m not trying to be to self-help books what Richard Dawkins is to religion (well, maybe a little bit, but only because Dawkins is one of my all-time heroes). I would just like to let it be known that this man here, who calls himself “Master” Zhi Gang Sha, is 1. either a complete crook, or 2. absolutely bloody insane. I’m thinking a good combination of the two.


(The caption was going to say something else, but it was inappropriate for the contents of this public entry.)

Let me start at the very beginning. So Indigo announces that he is going to do a book signing and a talk. We are all rather amused – these author visits are usually rather entertaining. We sell lots of books. It’s all good stuff.

But entertaining doesn’t even cut it here. I don’t know whether I am more amused or more angry. Firstly, this man calls himself a “master”. Master of what? Poor oratorical skills, off-key chanting, failure to stay in one key when chanting? Master of being a general twit? Master of obtaining fans who are completely rude and inept (more on this later)? As you may have deduced, yes, he chanted heartily throughout a good portion of his talk – a chanting, which he tells his transfixed audience, will heal their souls. He begins to chant in absolute gibberish, which he claims is “soul language”, and by jove, the audience is overwhelmed! They are falling for this trash! Now let’s pause here. Heal their souls? On whose authority is he “healing” souls?? What makes him think that anyone wants him meddling with these souls?

Furthermore (and here is where I am absolutely bloody furious and indignant on the behalf of these poor people who sincerely believe that he’s some kind of faith healer), he made it known that people would be blessed for purchasing his crock of rubbish, um, I mean, his books. “Buy a bunch of my books and I’ll bless you”?!?!?!? What absolute blarney. I’ll write a freaking amazing book and go around blessing people and become rich. Marvellous. God, could he be any more of a charlatan? You know, if you were really sincere about being a charlatan, at least be a wicked cool one like Rasputin. THE WORST PART? People bought it. People bought books. People wanted to be blessed by this madman, this crook, this ridiculous caricature of all those evangelical pastors and New Age spiritual kooks put together. People came down to the cash desk absolutely raving about how he changed their life.

People are so stupid they’re willing to believe anything they want to believe. Twats Self-help authors like these simply capitalize on that knowledge and scam them out of hard-earned money just so that they can feel like there’s some sort of purpose to their miserable existences. If you can’t feel like your life has a purpose without having someone chanting and telling you that they’re going to save your soul, you should probably re-evaluate your priorities in life. The charlatans are opportunists, the gullible are willing victims.

That aside, I dropped off my two weeks’ notice for the library. I’ve been paging for over two years, it’s time to move on. Screw having a real job, I guess I should go pen up a colourful book on healing souls and go make a fortune.

P.S. regarding his fans? Some of them are so incredibly rude. One man came up to us and was practically shouting, “You don’t know who he is, you don’t know what he’s done, you don’t know!” Oh dear sir, I’m afraid I -do- know what he’s done, what he’s doing, he’s an absolute crook; it appears to me that YOU are the one who’s lost the plot.

Categories
Commuting

#047: Airing dirty laundry on public transit…

Currently listening to: “La Reine” – Les Cowboys Fringants

I continue my coverage of general Vancouver oddities seen and overheard in this post (previous ones include Vegetable Sandwich Man and Drunks before 3 p.m.).

I’ve always been intrigued by people who hold extremely loud and personal conversations in the loo, on the bus, in the cinema (god, honestly!), etcetera. In particular, I’m always puzzled as to whether some subtle exhibitionism compels such people to expostulate on their entire lives while on public transit. Be it jabbering into a cellphone at 293152 wpm, or yelling at their iPod-listening friends as the rest of the bus/Seabus listens on, it’s a source of endless entertainment.

Today was no exception. While reading Chuck Klosterman’s hilarious pop culture rants in his collection, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs: A Low Culture Manifesto on the 211, I was treated to one of those incredibly scintillating conversations which nobody needs to hear, but just can’t stop listening to. (Somewhat like Lady GaGa’s stuff- you don’t really want to listen to her music, but just can’t get those catchy pop chords out of your head. But I digress.)

So this aforementioned character had such mad dramatic news that he just had to call up five friends and repeat the same story to each one of them, getting progressively louder as he went on while the rest of the bus listened on to his blow-by-blow detail of exactly how much he wanted to sleep with the lead singer of a Celtic punk rock band, which plays mandolins and electric guitars. We were also treated to a description of exactly how rousing he found aforementioned Celtic rocker, and I don’t mean that in the whole grandeur of Celtic music way.

Now, I’m sorry, but firstly, what exactly is a Celtic punk rock band? Is that like Lord of the Dance crossed with Led Zepplin with a side serving of Simple Plan? Will they play rounds except with screaming? Will there be Irish dancing? Does one smash a mandolin? Most importantly, do they do covers, and if so, will they do a cover of Queen’s We Will Rock You in an Irish accent? These questions are plaguing me at present, so I’ve taken the liberty of researching this: according to Wikipedia, Celtic punk is “punk rock mixed with traditional Celtic music”. How very helpful. In following the links, I must say that Scottish Gaelic punk sounds a lot more intriguing…but I digress again.

Secondly, was it really necessary to hold that conversation on the bus, yelling into a cellphone (where presumably, the other party is probably also on a bus, knowing the sort)? I don’t feel the need to speak about my tooth-brushing habits on the bus; nor am I compelled to (twist and) shout about my metaphorically raging hormones. Also, was it necessary to tell five people the exact same story? You could have mixed it up a little for all our increased entertainment. After a while, it was somewhat like listening to an audiobook on loop. Yes, we know your Celtic rocker is absolutely “just so f-ing hot” and can play without a pick. Yes, we know that you’re getting turned on just thinking about it. Bloody brilliant, I’m sure. But no matter how intrinsically entertaining it may be the first time round, after three renditions of the same tale, things get a bit dull. It’s like over-milking the cow (or some metaphorical expression like that). It’s just not that funny any more (except in theory). And Chuck Klosterman does not appreciate your distracting me from his brilliant tripped-up rants.

If I ever so much as breathe that I don’t like busing, remind me of all I’ll be missing if I start driving, or living on rez.

I definitely will be writing another blog post tomorrow, regarding self-help book authors and how easy it is to delude people. But that’s a story for another time. Till then, cheers!

P.S. This kinda made my day: LOL, BLAGOJEVICH

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