NVDPL – Old Sock Drawer

Currently listening to: some trumpet major practicing études

After a record 11 days of not blogging, I am back in the blogosphere, having been driven sufficiently mad by the past week-and-a-bit’s onslaught of papers/schoolwork and elections and work and well, life in general. It never ceases to amaze me how tiring just…being awake…can be. Suffice to say, my brains are quite frazzled, as are my nerves, and so as I hide out in the Music library, listening to the soothing (?) tones of trumpeting trumpeteers, I’ll do my best to remain coherent. So here goes nothing.

Arts One is pushing me to the brink slowly but surely – the menagerie of Indian-themed books we’ve had piled upon us this whole semester has been in a word, insane. Too much of a good thing can become a very tiring thing, such that any break at all from Indian literature is a huge relief. Which is why Walcott’s poetry, and Survival in Auschwitz, have been so incredibly welcome. For future reference, following up The Satanic Verses with ghazals and A Passage to India after having thrown in Gandhi and The Home and the World and random poetry packages is really not a good idea. As most of us stew in our own ennui and plow through the nth essay on colonial rule and Britain and India, I think there’s a general build-up of frustration and dare I say, boredom. While we’re at it, as much as I’m completely for reading books outside of the Western literary canon, I don’t see why we’re limiting it to Indian literature. It would be absolutely wonderful if we could’ve delved into Middle Eastern writings, not to mention South American books, or even aboriginal/First Nations tales and other such. In any case, we’ve only one book left – The Intimate Enemy, and yes, it too is about India in colonial times – so somehow, we’ll make it through (and pick the essay topic on Walcott).

In other news, French Club elections are over, and as in-house nut/social coordinator (which gives me a bulletproof excuse for being eleventy thousand times more enthusiastic about everything) for the upcoming year, I’m quite excited about all the great fun that ’09/’10 shall bring in due time *rubs hands in wicked glee and tosses blue white and red confetti* in other words, CREPES AND LITERATURE AND CREPES AND HATS AND CREPES AND ~FRENCHY THINGS~ !!!

Sorry. Was the nuttiness showing again?

Anyhow, work-wise, Indigo is great as usual. I’ve quit my position as a page at the library; instead, I am now reading to small children and it is the most amazing and rewarding thing ever. I mean, seriously, how many jobs do you get to act your shoe size and read Scaredy Squirrel Makes A Friend complete with HAND ACTIONS AND FUNNY VOICES? Seriously. The kids are absolutely great, too; they’re all so enthusiastic and happy and untainted by life. God, I wish I were six again. It’s frightening to think that I’ll be turning nineteen this year and twenty the next and grow old. Meanwhile I’ll just live vicariously through the ‘ickle ones, and books like Where’s My Sock? (great book, by the way, the psychedelic illustrations look like they were painted by someone completely tripped out on cotton candy.)

Well it’s still only 2.45 p.m. I’m going to be here till 7 p.m. tonight, sigh. then busing home, hooray. hopefully something ridiculous happens on the bus, such as the re-emergence of Vegetable Sandwich Man, or Celtic Music Guy.

#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.