A "Shameless" Plug

Do you remember the heyday of the "after school special"? Or when there was "a very special episode" of your favourite sitcom, usually in 2 parts? When shows opened with a stern disclaimer, reminding you to ask your parents' permission before watching that episode of Diff'rent Strokes where Arnold's buddy Dudley played "naked movie star" with the creepy old bicycle shop keeper? That's how they dealt with "important issues" for kids in my day.

We sure didn't have something like Shameless back then!

According to the by-line on the cover, Shameless is "for girls who get it". The editorial description calls itself "a progressive magazine for teenage girls". About a hundred years ago, when I was in that target demographic, I had a subscription to "Young Miss" (or, YM if you're nasty!). I recall one YM article that explained that if you were really into Simply Red then your best fashion style was probably a tartan mini-skirt and blazer. In my initial flip through issue 13 of Shameless my eyes fell on a brief article about the "Gulabi Gang" of northern India: female vigilantes dressed in hot pink saris carrying lathis (an Indian self-defense weapon). Banding together by the hundreds, the Gulabi Gang have halted child marriages, intervened in domestic abuse, hijacked trucks carrying stolen crops and rushed corrupt police station. Wow -- now that's making a fashion statement!

Shameless includes all of the standard features you'd expect in a "chick mag": relationship advice column; articles about body image; book, comic, blog and music reviews. There's even a DIY tip on how to cut your own hair. There's also pieces on cool careers, overseas volunteering and an article about the importance of campus radio (yay!). Of course, there are strong feminist overtone throughout all of this -- and in this era of "stupid girls" that's a good thing!

The magazine is all black & white, peppered with hip "indie" style comic art and illustrations lending it a cool underground vibe. No topic seems to be taboo either: lesbians, menstruation, itty-bitty-titties, hip hop, politics, poetry. There's even a brief interview with Toronto performance artist Jess Dobkin on her vagina dentata ("toothed vagina"); a follow-up to her "Lactation Milk Bar" in which she invited people to taste the breast milk from different women.

Obviously, not everything within these pages was my "cup of tea" BUT reading it did teach me a few things I didn't know, it was presented in a cool and appealing style and it held my interest. And considering I'm old enough to be a mother to its target audience that's pretty impressive. (Gah! Did I just say that?) Certainly no patronizing fluff pieces here. Let's say that for the next gen, Shameless is "a very special" magazine.

Thank you for not smoking

I have a confession to make:

In my teens and twenties I was a social smoker.

My best friend at the time was a smoker. You'd have to know him but suffice to say he was a real character. He was a prickly guy with a real sassy mouth, a cocky attitude and was surprisingly stronger than he looked. He would do pretty much anything if it was offensive or pissed people off. He was the type of guy who loved to argue and was perpetually in fist fights. Since I could be equally contemptuous (minus the fist fighting) we got along famously and I was kind of what you'd call his "wing man". So like all good young rebels somewhere along the way he started smoking. It was a natural progression for him. Hell, is there any photo of James Dean in existence where he doesn't have a cigarette dangling from his gorgeous teenage pout?

Of course, it was a different world we lived in back then and although we all knew smoking was "bad", cigarettes were still cheap & readily available. Smoking had a sexy, rebellious and grown-up appeal. There was just something so rock & roll about the act of smoking: the squint you make when you light it and take a drag. The nonchalant way you could hold it in your hand, casually waving it around as you speak that would suddenly make you look more world-weary and intelligent, like an old school artist or poet.

So when my buddy took up cigarettes he supplied them to me. I always got them for free. My preferred brand was Camels because they weren't the ones you'd commonly see the other kids smoking and they had a harsh, distinctive smell. Or sometimes I'd get Matinees because that's what I noticed my history teacher smoked. Anyway, since my friend supplied them I really only ever smoked while we were together. In those days I had different pockets of friends (school friends and neighbourhood friends) that didn't mix so some things were acceptable to do with some but not others. I never got "hooked" on cigarettes. Honestly, I never experienced a "buzz" off them. I really just did it for appearances. It was never a habit with me, just something I occasionally did to cop an attitude.

Later on, in university, I had another friend who was a "social smoker". For her it was drinking that caused her to smoke. There was something about having a beer in her hand that made her crave cigarettes. By this time I'd pretty much lost touch with that high school buddy so I rarely ever smoked anymore. I do have a wonderful memory of one night the summer that I graduated from university, though: me and 2 other girls were at this beautiful big house out in the country. The three of us were sitting on the deck in the backyard, looking up at the huge night sky, looking at the stars, chatting about nothing in particular. But it was a hot summer night, we were all moving on to new chapters in our lives and we were filled with hope and anticipation for the future. Just three friends having a moment... and beer... and cigarettes.

The world we're living in today has changed. As the slogan they used in Virginia Slims ads said "You've come a long way, baby". Sure, Humphrey Bogart made cigarettes look cool -- of course, Bogie also died of cancer of the esophagus. People just didn't know then what we do now. In those days, smoking was a rite of passage into adulthood. Now smoking is just a badge of ignorance. With all the health information that's available today there's little excuse to keep up this habit. And with inflated prices and severe limits on places where you're allowed to smoke, I'm amazed that anyone continues to do this.

Now, my exposure to cigarettes is extremely limited. Whenever I am around smokers I find the smell sickening and offensive. Maybe because I'm rarely around it now but my sensitivity to tobacco smell is much more acute: the worst is sharing an elevator with someone returning from a smoke break. More to it, my mind attaches a stigma to smokers. I just think it's trashy. Sure, if you're in a 1940s Noir movie it looked cool. If you're shivering in the alley sucking on a cancer stick today you're just tacky. And yes, people in the glamorous days-gone-by smoked a lot. They also had unprotected sex. It's a different world we're living in, even within my lifetime.

So I've openly admitted to the mistakes of my youth. Youth of today have no excuses. If you're under 30 and you smoke, you're an idiot. And when I stand at the bus stop every day the teenagers seem to be the biggest population of smokers. (Just an aside: Equally repugnant, smoking seems to accompany spitting these days. The sidewalks uptown are splattered with spit. It's worse than pigeon droppings. If your habit fills your sinuses and throats with that much mucus, take that as a sign there's something wrong!) Kids today really have to go out of their way to even find cigarettes, they're harder to buy and certainly more expensive, and the health warnings are clearly labelled on the packaging. You can't tell me there's anyone in the western hemisphere who isn't aware of the risks. Sure, all kids make mistakes, that's how we grow. It's just part of being human. Just try to choose your vices better -- at least then you can feel a little smug about being smarter than your parents' generation. If you're an older person you can at least plead ignorance for your poor choices but it's time to get in tune with the world you're living in today. Step into the 21st century. Smoking is so passe.

Picnic: A Socio-Sexual Examination. Part 2 (Or, "Don't hate the player, hate the game")

"Picnic". Columbia Pictures, 1955. Directed by Joshua Logan, based on the play by William Inge. Starring William Holden, Kim Novak, Rosalind Russell, Susan Strasberg & Cliff Robertson.

This is the second installment of my "slightly tongue-in-cheek yet I'm not entirely making this up" review.

Recap: Sexy drifter Hal Carter, a man with a checkered past and an apparent "Spanish fly" effect on women, arrives in a small Kansas town on Labour Day.

Cut to the beach for a little pre-picnic swim. Show-off Hal makes quite a splash (groan!) at the lake, drawing much attention from the female swimmers. Millie becomes the envy of them all as she boasts that Hal's her date for the picnic. Score one for the nerdy girl!

It seems this whole swimming scene was included for one purpose alone: the changing room sequence. Wet bathing suits are peeled off & hit the floor. The camera pulls back to reveal a cut view of the men's and women's changing room, separated by only a joint wall. Being 1955 and for modesty, the camera is strategically placed most of the time but the effect is we see our characters standing around chatting in the nip. At one point, Millie tries to sneak a peek through to the men's side and can't help but join in on Hal & Alan's conversation. It's a cute scene, but again, it's purpose does seem only to add to the titillation.

Back at Mrs. Owens' rooming house they're packing their picnic baskets. Rosemary Sydney, resident cougar, awaits her boring beau, novelty salesman (read:purveyor of fake dog doo) Howard Bevans...all the while hoping she'll get a better offer. She claims there's a mystery man she met at a dance who wants to marry her and he could arrive any minute to whisk her away. But then, she also claims that she was as beautiful as Madge in her younger days -- another dubious claim. Rosemary Sydney is a boiling pot of repression and sexual frustration. While she's quick to keep up the appearance of propriety and wear the label of "old maid school teacher", she's desperately horny. She's desperate for a man, desperate for an escape from the other old maids at the school and the rooming house. It's Labour Day and the school year's about to start again -- she's got to get her hooks into a man. Today. Enter Hobo Hal, arriving at the house to pick up Millie for their date. The ladies are charmed by Hal, and Hal is quick to oblige them -- taking off his jacket to reveal his muscular build. Rosemary Sydney has a hallelujah moment.

Too bad for Rosemary: boring Howard is her date not buff Hal, and she's pretty pissed about it. She becomes increasingly cranky and prissy. In an odd scene that's vaguely suggestive of oral sex, Howard produces a bottle of whiskey in the car and coaxes prudish Rosemary to have a tipple. So now we have Rosemary: bitter, desperate, horny and just drunk enough to shed a few inhibitions. Yeah, this is going to end well.

Gathered together at the picnic, the gang from the Owens' rooming house see more of Hal in action. He swaggers about, climbing trees, doing push-ups -- anything to draw attention to his physical prowess. Relaxed, he lets his guard down a bit, dropping hints about his troubled past: particularly abuse he suffered from an alcoholic father. Again we see the dichotomy between Hal the show-off and Hal the vulnerable. On the one hand he flaunts his body, brags about his sexploits and appears to be the typical "big man on campus" jock. At the same time we see Hal's child-like naivete and his fractured past. It seems like most of Hal's problems have stemmed from the way others have treated him. Could it be Hal is simply a victim of his own simple-mindedness and the deviousness of others? Or, maybe his sexy pheromones are clouding my opinion too! One thing's for sure -- Rosemary Sydney can't take her eyes off Hal's pants....



The picnic itself is a bizarre spectacle. The townsfolk amuse themselves with a variety of physical competitions. Sure, there's the standard 3-legged race and pie eating contest. But then there's also a game called "trained seals" where the men are tied-up in submissive positions and gagged with a stick in their mouths as the women toss rings at them. (Not surprisingly Rosemary Sydney is particularly fond of that game.) As night falls they have a group hymn sing. What a sea of bored faces! As I look across the glassy-eyed crowd I can't help but wonder if this is what Jonestown looked like. The evening is capped by the crowning of the "Queen of Neewollah" (that's Halloween spelled backwards. Slightly demonic, wouldn't you say?). Naturally, Madge is a shoe-in as Queen. The Queen floats down the river in a swan-shaped boat in a seemingly dark pagan ritual. The citizens take on a creepy, cult-like demeanor, bowing and chanting in unison "Nee-woll-ah".

It's amazing they don't don hooded robes and chuck Millie on an altar as a virgin sacrifice! At any rate, let's just interpret this as comment on the drone-like conformity found in small-town America. Despite the apparent festivities of the day we get the impression this could be a very closed society... not at all the type of place welcoming to free spirits.

Now that their Queen has been crowned, they celebrate with a dance.

Next: The Climax... coming in Part 3

"No Doubt" by Robin Gibb

Mmmm, oh, ooh, oh baby.

It's Friday night, and I just got paid.

Going out on the town, trying to get my freak on.

I can't see me staying home all alone.

No, it ain't right, I got to go out and see if I can find that special one.

You can be the one that I want to get it on with, you and me, me and you, rocking to the break of dawn.

You can be the one that I want to go home with, take you from the club to my spot, then we can get right to it, yeah.

No doubt - me and you, yeah, yeah.

No doubt - popping Christal, yeah.

No doubt - chilling at the house.

Get into the shower for half an hour, yeah.

No doubt - all inside the club, yeah.

No doubt - get some good lovin'.

No doubt - I just want to break you off.

Oo-wee to the break of dawn.

I can tell that you need a love like mine, but you try to lay shy like you ain't feeling my vibe.

But I know what you need,the only kind of love I give.

So why don't we both keep it real, do the kind of things we feel?

Oh yeah.

You can be the one that I want to get it on with, all night long, me and you, getting it on.

Is that what you were thinking?

You can be the one that I wanted to go home with, the one to go home with then we can get right to it, yeah. Take you from the club to my spot, then we can get right to it, yeah.

No doubt - me and u, yeah, yeah.

No doubt - poping Christal, yeah.

No doubt - chilling at the house.

Get into the shower for half an hour, yeah.

No doubt - all inside the club, yeah.

No doubt - get some good lovin'.

No doubt - I just want to break you off.

Ooo-wee to the break of dawn.

No doubt, no doubt...

"No Doubt" by Robin Gibb, from the album "Magnet". Lyrics and image are copyright their owner, Robin Gibb.

Review: "Escape from Special" by Miss Lasko-Gross

Ever since the public library started a comics and graphic novel collection I've been discovering all kinds of wonderful new things. The best part about it is they're FREE, so it's like a no obligation test drive where you can find out whether or not you're going to enjoy a series without committing $20 to buy it! (Perfect for an unabashed cheapskate like myself!) On more than one occasion now I've hit upon something really wonderful there-- the type of book that just strikes a chord with you.

Last Friday I made one of those discoveries: "Escape from Special" by Miss Lasko-Gross.

"Escape from Special" is the first book in a trilogy of autobiographical coming-of-age comics. The format is short anecdotes, usually laugh out loud funny ones. In this first installment we meet Melissa Gross: a headstrong, curious and neurotic little girl whose strong personality often puts her at odds with those around her. This first book covers Melissa's life from her first memory as a toddler up until the end of middle school. Everywhere she goes Melissa is alienated... and that makes her "special": whether she's the lone atheist at temple, the independent thinker at school, or the outcast on the playground. Through random anecdotes we see how in pretty much every situation Melissa manages to sabotage her own attempts to "fit in".

To me, this is very reminiscent of Jeffrey Brown's comics, only from a female point of view. To find a female coming-of-age book like this is very refreshing for me; I can think of similar experiences from my own childhood.

Maybe we aren't so "special" after all.

Rendered in muted black & white with a tight, almost childlike drawing style the book perfectly captures the awkwardness of childhood and adolescence. The style lends it a freshness & sense of immediacy but at the same time we know we're looking back on those moments with adult eyes. You feel that sense of urgency that kids have -- that everything that's happening is the end of the world -- while at the same time acknowledging the ludicrousness of it all.

I read "Escape from Special" on Friday; on Saturday I bought the sequel, "A Mess of Everything". I haven't had a chance to read it yet but based on the first book my expectations are high.

"Picnic": A (slightly tongue-in-cheek) Socio-Sexual Examination (Part 1)

"Picnic". Columbia Pictures, 1955. Directed by Joshua Logan. Based on the Pulitzer Prize winning play by William Inge. Starring William Holden, Kim Novak, Susan Strasberg, Rosalind Russell & Cliff Robertson.

(All photos & video clips used solely for purposes of review.)


Introduction. As my fixation with William Holden continues I am slowly going through his filmography. From all accounts, "Picnic" is cited as Holden's most sexually charged performance (just look at this movie poster for crying out loud!) so naturally I've been biding my time for the right moment to savour this one. Here's my interpretation of a seemingly innocuous little film that's one part "Rebel Without A Cause" and one part "American Beauty" with a healthy dash of "WTF" thrown in too. (Be warned I am going to hyperbolize a bit as is my poetic licence to do!)




Synopsis
"Picnic" opens with a freight train (yes ok, an obvious phallic symbol) pulling into a sleepy little Kansas town. From the train leaps a stow-away: a dingy hobo named Hal Carter. Hobo Hal wastes no time peeling off his clothes to bathe in the nearby river before venturing into town. (Footnote: William Holden in varying degrees of undress, usually bathing, happens at least once in almost every movie I've seen him in -- it's practically his trademark!) With his fabulous physique now a little more presentable, Hal wanders into a residential neighbourhood, knocks on the door of an elderly lady offering his "services" for hire. Noticing Hal's obvious, um... assets... Mrs. Potts puts Hal to work in her backyard... under the condition that he removes his shirt (ostensibly because she wants to wash it, and... ya know, he's a man so going topless is fine and... YOU GO GIRL, MRS. POTTS!!!) Of course, as Hal stands working behind the trash barrel his lower body is hidden, creating the illusion that he is nude. It's probably no coincidence that Mrs. Potts puts Hal in plain view for the rooming house next door for all there to enjoy the view. You sly ol' dawg, Mrs. Potts!

Cut to the rooming house owned by Mrs. Owens, a single mom whose life has passed her by. Languishing at the bottom of the social strata, she ekes out a living renting out rooms to spinster ladies, such as self professed "old maid school teacher"and part-time cougar Rosemary Sidney. Mrs. Owens vicariously places all her hopes in her two teenage daughters, Millie and Madge. Millie, the younger daughter is a brainy tomboy who resents living under the shadow of her more attractive, but otherwise bland older sister, Madge. Madge is the local all-American beauty queen with a surprisingly bad case of ennui. She's pretty and popular and is dating the richest boy in town but she's bored and unhappy -- and worse, she isn't bright enough to know why. What she does know is that no one is really interested in her beyond her good looks and that her boyfriend Alan is a bit of a bore. She admits to her mom that they "make love" down by the river but hints that flaccid Alan gives her no pleasure physically. Still, Mrs. Owens would prefer that Madge bag her rich beau while she can because really time is ticking away on Madge and once her looks fade she'll have no chance to make it in life. Admittedly, I'm kind of in agreement: Madge seemingly has no personality, interests or skills. As an aside, "Picnic" was Kim Novak's first breakout role and honestly her performance is very wooden. She easily could've been replaced by a mannequin.

Back to flaccid Alan, who it turns out used to be Hobo Hal's old college roommate (that is, back when Hal was riding out a football scholarship before being chucked out of the frat house for poor grades.) Hal tells Alan his hard luck story of how he was bilked out of all his money by essentially a liquored-up & rapey Thelma and Louise in a sports car.


Don't hate him because he's beautiful; the poor man can't catch a break. Hal begs rich Alan for a job...preferably an executive position with a corner office and personal secretary. Alan gives him a job as a farm hand. We begin to see Hal Carter as a man with a small brain, a huge penis and a distorted sense of entitlement. As footnote, William Holden initially refused this role. Being 37 years old at the time he was correct in thinking that he was too old to play this character. However, Holden pours a lot of bravura into this performance and manges to pull it off. He throws in equal amounts of swagger and dim-witted earnestness, enough to make you unsure of Hal's true motivations. Is he really a scheming con man or just a handsome idiot?


So Hal's got a job now but no work today because it happens to be Labour Day and the whole town shuts down for a huge picnic. Naturally Alan is taking Madge so he invites Hal to tag along as little Millie's date (because who better to pair up with a rebellious underage girl than an over-sexed homeless man, right?)


What could possibly go wrong?

More in Part 2.

M.I.A.

No, I haven't forgotten about this blog. I've just been on a bit of a "hiatus" working on other things. Hopefully soon I will have some new items to post. In the meantime, here's a sampling of what I've been up to lately...

For starters, I deactivated my Facebook a couple of months ago. I haven't regretted it. I didn't "advertise" the fact I was leaving it, I just did it (and I'm sure no one really noticed I was gone). Social networking isn't for me. I'm not the least bit interested in reconnecting with former classmates, past co-workers, etc. If someone is not currently part of my life there's probably a very good reason for that. Ironically, the handful of people from my past that I wouldn't mind staying in touch with don't use Facebook. Also, the minutia of my acquaintances lives frankly doesn't interest me. Constant status updates about every mundane little thing they're doing (the fact they enjoy coffee or that they changed their socks today) annoy me. I really prefer to keep at arm's length with a lot of people. And I really question the need for virtual "approval" from people. My mood has much improved since deactivating Facebook, and my productivity/creativity has probably doubled.


Obviously I've been following the final season of "Lost". Absolutely one of the best written and most ambitious shows on television ever. That's no exaggeration. If you haven't been following it you're really missing out (but you've got to watch it from the beginning -- in order!!!) Damn, I'm gonna miss this when it's gone.




Back in my university days I was very into jazz music. Not "modern" jazz; I mean mostly swing from the 30s and 40s. Lately I've been rekindling my love of old jazz. Recently I got some CDs to replace some of my old worn-out cassettes (this "Okeh" Duke Ellington double cassette set used to be a particular favourite of mine). I feel like there's a time & a place for certain music, sometimes it feels like putting on a comfortable old pair of slippers. I've been nagging Chris to help me do an electronic "jazz" album (old style jazz/swing/scat inspired tunes done all on synths with some triphop beats), and I hope to do some Duke Ellington covers. I'm not sure he exactly shares my vision yet. :) Ok its not everyone's cup of tea... but if it ever gets done it will be awesome -- trust me on this.



Recently I picked up an ultra cheap SD camcorder, similar to this one and I've been making videos. The image quality is pretty poor... but I guess that's part of it's charm. I have lots of ideas of future videos I want to make -- the only thing slowing me down is my lack of skill! Keep checking YouTube for updates.

I won't mention any books or movies here yet -- I'll save them for upcoming reviews. Suffice to say I've been running the gamut from awesome to WTF lately...


Stay tuned!

CD Review: "Self-Portrait" by Jay-Jay Johanson

As I look back upon the past year, certainly my biggest disappointment was missing out on the chance to see Jay-Jay Johanson perform live in Montreal. My departure and his arrival in la belle province were within days of each other. Although I'm certain there will be other opportunities to see him, I can't help but feel a few pangs of regret in my more self-indulgent moments. The next best thing (I suppose) was that I finally got my hands on his latest album, "Self-Portrait". I realize that I'm a bit late to the party on this one, as the album was released in 2008, but it was incredibly hard to find here in North America. I was grateful to finally receive it as a birthday gift (thanks Christian!)

As I've stated in reviews of his past albums, Johanson is a highly introspective artist. His medium is trip-hop/jazz/electronic characterized by sombre tones and autobiographical lyrics. With each album it seems that Johanson bares a little bit more of his soul to us. His previous effort, "The Long-Term Physical Effects Are Not Yet Known" was, to my mind, pretty much his most perfect album so I had very high expectations for "Self-Portrait". After all, with a title like that I expected more of the same.

Ironically, I found "Self-Portrait" to be a much less personal effort. This is not so much a view of Jay-Jay the man, but rather a look at Jay-Jay through the lens of relationships he's had with women throughout his life. None of which, it seems, were very successful. Not surprisingly, if this is a "Self-Portrait", then the picture is a bleak one. Musically, the album veers away from anything catchy or pop; it falls more under the umbrella of jazz with lots of piano and hints of downbeats. The tone is dark and melancholy, brimming with regret.

The lead single, "Wonder Wonders" opens the album and sets the tone with musings of whatever happened to a past love. "Lightning Strikes" continues with much the same dwelling, marking the passage of time and healing of old wounds, leading to "Autumn Winter Spring". To my untrained ear, there really is very little variation on this album. Most of the songs are similar in tone, tempo, instrumentation. If you were to interpret "Self-Portrait" in visual terms, it would be a canvas of a solid, neutral colour. The difference between songs feels a bit like discerning the spectrum from grey to charcoal, slate, silver, oyster, pearl or taupe... Ok, that's a bit unfair, but there really isn't any "stand out" track on this album for me. "Liar" is short and sweet, like a brief interlude which gives us a bit of a break. "Trauma", definitely the most "jazzy" is probably my favourite track. I've always been drawn to maudlin, angst-filled lyrics and these are some pretty good ones:

"On the borderline of silence,
Trauma setting in
And the loneliness is killing me
So you've got to accept my apology
It'll all become a catastrophe."

Musically, the strongest and most stand-out track would be "Broken Nose"; a story of domestic violence marked by an urgent, pounding staccato piano line. Although I feel I've come to know Jay-Jay fairly well from his songs, I'm not really sure who the abused woman is in this tale of woe or how she fits into his autobiography. The vocal melody in "Medicine" seems inexplicably familiar to me, as though I've heard something similar before but I can't place it. The album ends with "Sore", which feels like a heavy black raincloud rolling closer onto the horizon. So, we're not exactly left on a high note.

"Self-Portrait" is a bit of a disappointment. It's "good" but falls flat for me. I can see this maybe being one of those albums that "grows on me" over time but right now I just don't feel connected to it. Perhaps Jay-Jay felt these songs were an accurate depicition of his life, though not necessarily a flattering one. (Like a passport photo may be a more honest representation than a soft-focus glamour shot?) I find the title of the album puzzling and a bit of a misnomer, since the songs seem to focus on the women more than on Jay-Jay himself. Honestly, I felt "The Long Term Physical Effects..." was more honest, more psychologically revealing, and overall stronger album but then who am I to say?

I've never been older

"Anything may be betrayed, any one may be forgiven. But not those who lack the courage of their own greatness."
(Gail Wynand in "The Fountainhead" - Ayn Rand)

Another year is coming to a close for me. I can't say I'm thrilled about getting older... although it beats the alternative! I suppose it's just "old fartism" taking hold, but I find myself re-evaluating; questioning things that I previously took as "given". My ability to "suffer fools" is steadily diminishing.

This coming year will mark a "milestone" high school reunion for me... that is, if I were to go to it (which I'm not). It will be 20 years, which is older than I was when I graduated! Back then I never gave much thought to ever being this old. The "year twenty-ten" sounded like science fiction. It still kind of does. The thing that really makes me bitter is that most of my youth was wasted on things I "had to do", rarely things I wanted to do. Some people spend their 20s travelling, partying, forming meaningful relationships (and some not so meaningful ones). Most of my time was spent going to school (to someday get a job), working pathetically low-paying jobs (with the hope of someday advancing to a better job), and spending time with people who meant nothing to me (usually met through meaningless jobs). So now I have a job. So what? Am I supposed to wait for retirement to start living?

You've been warned: a serious mid-life crisis is brewing.

Obviously it's not all bad. Mostly, I'm very happy with my life these days. I'm married to my best friend. I have money in the bank. I own a house and a car. I've met some interesting and kind people & made great friends (although I wish I could overcome my social awkwardness around them). I'm grateful there have been no major calamities (knock on wood). Still, I regret all the wasted time & energy. If only I'd known those people back then. If only I cared less then, or thought plans through more. If only I'd drank more. I wish I'd discovered Objectivism earlier in life!

As a footnote to the season: "Simplification" has become a key word lately. I would love to "downsize" the holidays. I find myself less sympathetic to certain charities or causes. I really believe North Americans have to drop some of their "needs".

"I'll brown his hash!"