Going Broke Sending the Very Best

 

Greetings Friends,

The Great Electronic Void (how I cheekily like to refer to the Internet) has put a lot of things on the endangered species list. I didn't realize, until yesterday, that greeting cards are one of those things. I wandered into my local Shoppers Drug Mart to pick up a few essentials, and proactively visited to greeting card aisle to grab a few for some February birthdays and Valentines Day. Now, let's be honest: how many of you actually look at the prices of greeting cards? I never have, but I always make a point of turning the card around so the price is visible to the cashier. Yesterday, I almost succumbed to fit of apoplexy when I realized, too late, that I had paid $8.99 for a relatively spartan Valentine's Day card. Since when do greeting cards cost 9 bucks? I can buy a pound of lean ground sirloin for less than that!

For over a decade now, the preferred mode of communication has been e-mail; nobody I know writes letters to anyone, and I personally have three types of instant messaging capabilities loaded into my laptop. Not to mention the 20 or so text messages I get each day. Written communication has become a quaint notion, and now that I've been rudely awakened to the price of greeting cards, I realize these are turning out to be just as quaint as letters. Hell, I just wished a Facebook friend "Happy Birthday" earlier today, but it never dawned on me that greeting cards were almost extinct. Message received; if I have to choose between a greeting card and dinner, the choice is now obvious. And before you start with all the half-price cards and dollar stores out there, I used to be a staunchly loyal Hallmark card sender. Well, read it here first: no more. That goes for all of them. It's come down to principle and my principles are screaming: no more greeting cards no matter what they cost!

There was a lot of online chatter last week about the US Postal Service's decision to shutter about 2,000 post offices to cut costs. Most of them will be in rural American "one stop light" towns where they've been in existence for well over 100 years. It's sad, because not everyone is tech savvy, nor will they endeavor to become so. What blows my mind is that the post office is losing money, despite the advent of e-commerce, Ebay, QVC and all the rest of the cyber-shopping options we're inundated with. There just aren't enough greeting cards being mailed anymore to make up for the fact that we no longer correspond via letters. I've used some of those online "greeting card" sites a few times, but I felt lazy doing so; I mean, how hard is it to go buy a birthday card? Apparently, too hard for a lot of people. 

I used to poke fun at all of these so-called "greeting card holidays" like Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, National Bosses Day...and countless other extraneous days designated in honour of something that is supposed to prompt us to go out and buy greeting cards. I drew the line at Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and Father's Day. And as a writer, I think the only thing worse that greeting card poetry is mass-produced hotel room art. I know there are many people making an honest living at both, but, again, this is my blog. If the chips were down and I had to take a job writing greeting cards, I would do it; chances are those writers are as endangered as the cards they write for. Sad, but true.

Valentine's Day is two weeks from today; I would start investigating alternatives to that card, box of chocolates and bouquet of roses. The card will get discarded, the chocolates will get eaten, and the flowers will die. Don't say you haven't been warned.

Nava

The Great One Turns 50

Greetings Friends,

There was a time when looking at a picture of Wayne Gretzky with the Stanley Cup hoisted over his head felt painful. Now, it doesn't bother me. What bothers me is when hockey pundits call the Gretzky-era Edmonton Oilers the greatest hockey dynasty ever. The Mike Bossy-Bryan Trottier-era New York Islanders would have something to say about that. Now that both teams are staring into the abyss, no one really cares anymore. The reason I'm even bringing it up is because Wayne "The Great One" Gretzky turned 50 on Wednesday, and all of Canada is celebrating. 

I don't think I've ever fully comprehended just how important Gretzky is to Canadians. He's sort of like Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio and Jackie Robinson all rolled into one. No matter what he does, Canadians will always sit up and take notice. His age is no exception. All I've been hearing for the past couple of days is how it was only yesterday that he laced up the skates for the first time with the Edmonton Oilers; how all his records still stand, even though he's been retired almost 12 years; how all of Canada watched him marry Janet Jones; how hard it was for him to leave Edmonton for the bright lights of LA; how devastating his failure as part owner and head coach of the Phoenix Coyotes has been; how despite all the successes and failures, he'll always be "The Great One".

When I was a kid, there were athletes I considered to be heroes. One of them was Mike Bossy, along with the entire New York Islanders team from 1979, until 1985. I lived, breathed, ate, slept, drank, spoke everything Islanders. Naturally, it was devastating for me to watch Gretzky's Oilers de-throne the reigning 4-time Stanley Cup Champion Islanders. I vowed I would hate him forever. Forever is a long time, and none of us will be around that long. As I am a scant 6 years younger than The Great One, I can say with total honesty that I've mellowed with age. I don't hate him anymore. Yeah, he was a superstar athlete, but during a time when superstar athletes weren't really assholes. Today, it's hard to really like a lot of these guys because most of them have that dominant "asshole" personality trait. Also, I am too old to be worshiping athletes. I still admire them, but I wouldn't fall into a dead faint in front of one. Not even in front of The Great One. 

The older I get, the more conscious I seem to be of how old those around me are. If I'm about to turn 44, this person is "x" number of years older or younger than me, is the thought I find floating through my head; even if that person is a total stranger to me. I feel the need to connect my own mortality to that of others around me - like I'm keeping score. I don't think that's a bad thing to do; it serves as a reminder that life is short and we need to make the most of it. I've always assumed that athletes have a particularly difficult time with aging. Look at Brett Favre as an example: the guy refuses to retire. He's not the only star athlete who had trouble leaving the party; many of them can't deal with retirement, even when they know they'll never have to work another day in their lives. I can't imagine what that feels like. When you earn your living literally by the skin of your teeth, and one day, that skin can't perform the way it used to, that realization is more like devastation to a pro athlete. 

Gretzky seems to have handled retirement well, with the exception of his disastrous stint as a coach in Phoenix. He'll always be around hockey, whether he likes it or not. Hockey, and Canadians have claimed ownership of him in a way I've never before witnessed. He belongs to us, and a lot of us belong to him. Even though I lived in the US for all of his career, I was always conscious of how he was Canada's property on loan to fickle American hockey fans who will never revere the game as much as Canadians. They gave him up reluctantly, but when he retired (as a New York Ranger), they embraced him once again as one of their own. It's hard for Americans to grasp the kind of "pride of ownership" Canadians take in their successful citizens. 

No matter how successful we are, Canadians are always going to live in the shadow of America. Never was that truer than when Gretzky spent the better part of his career playing for teams south of the 49th parallel. Now that we have him back, we're never letting him go. Every one of his milestones and accomplishments will always be celebrated. He will forever be The Great One. I used to rail against the love and admiration people had for him. Now, I embrace it. I understand it. 50 is not that far off for me, and I still have to keep score.

Have a wonderful weekend.

Nava

Holy Chromosome, Batman! I Have a Sister!

 

Greetings Friends,

I want all my readers who find Oprah Winfrey annoying to raise their hands. If you do, and don't want to make yourselves known, I understand. Admitting that you can't stand Oprah is tantamount to admitting you hate puppies, kittens and babies. I happen to love all three, but I can't stand Oprah. There; I said it. 

For 25 years this woman has made a career (and several boat-loads of money) out of inflicting herself on millions of television viewers five days a week. Now, she's finally decided to move on, but she can't until she showers the world with every last drop of her narcissism. Then it's on to her OWN network of original programming, which includes her protegees, Gayle King, Suze Orman, Dr. Phil and Dr. Oz. It's gonna be a 24 hour a day Oprah extravaganza. Well, it already is, but Canadians are going to have to wait until March 1. This is one Canadian who won't be tuning in.

The problem I've always had with Oprah is that too many people pay attention to her. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against zoning out in front of the television, but the intensity with which millions of her viewers hang on her every word and action really bugs me. It's like, whatever she talked about never existed until she discovered it. Everything from liquid diets, to personal chefs and trainers, books, concepts, illnesses...you name it; if I had a dime for every time someone I know started a sentence with, "I saw on Oprah...", I would OWN my own publishing company. 

One of Oprah's latest revelations is her discovery of a half-sister who was given up for adoption when she was a baby. Again, a scenario that never existed until Miss O herself experienced it. I find it hard to believe that "Patricia" is the first person to crawl out of the woodwork and claim sibling status to a particular celebrity. But, it happened to Oprah, so we are all paying attention. Considering the misery of her childhood, I can't say I'm shocked this happened, but it really doesn't make a difference to me. Maybe if I was the one with the "surprise" sibling, I could relate, but I'm not. I'm one of those people who often wonders whether or not my parents brought the right infant home from the hospital; that would certainly explain a lot. Not that I'm losing any sleep over it; plus, I bear too strong of a resemblance to the rest of my family.

I'm a sucker for good reality TV; shows about hoarding, addiction, behavioural disorders - things like that really grab and hold my attention. I'm really not into playing the role of voyeur in the life of someone like Miss O. I don't want a fleet of cars, a stack of cashmere sweaters and a lifetime supply of her favourite moisturizer. I want to be true to myself. Watching Oprah made me feel weak-minded; if I had to listen to her, I had no business listening to myself. If you're a stickler for detail the way I am, credibility is negligible from someone whom the world perceives to have it all. That point was driven home a couple of weeks ago when I happened to tune in to see Suze Orman berating Nadya "Octomom" Suleman while Oprah held her hand. None of us has the capacity to save everyone. Exploiting someone who obviously requires more care than that from a shrill financial advisor and a billionaire talk show host, accomplishes nothing other than to make those with power feel more powerful. Not only is that wrong, it's downright cruel. 

I look forward to the day when Oprah signs off the air. Maybe the apocalypse will occur soon after. Maybe this is the one event the Mayans weren't counting on. The loss of Oprah might indeed cause the earth to shift its axis or change its rotational direction. If that happens, so be it. I'll stick my head between my legs, kiss my ass good-bye and feel grateful that I never fell under the spell of Miss O. 

Nava

Midnight Blogger

 

Greetings Friends,

As the clock struck midnight, I remembered that I never got around to my usual Monday post. I think I'm sort of OCD when it comes to the Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule, but not enough to care that much. What I've been obsessing over, rather, since I posed about American Idol last Friday, is how old some of my favourite performers are. I remember honing in on the classic rockers in the early 80s who were all turning 40, and I remembered that John Lennon, had he lived, would have turned 70 in 2010. I'm not trying to be morbid about the ages of our favourite musicians, but in light of Steven Tyler's perceived inappropriateness, I started wondering just how old some of these "alter cocker" (that's Yiddish for OLD!) rockers actually are. 

So, here's another one of my lists:

Gregg Allman (pictured above): 63

Sir Elton John: 63

Eric Clapton: 65

Roger Daltrey: 66

Pete Townshend: 65

Mick Jagger: 67

Keith Richards: 67

Sir Paul McCartney: 68

Robert Plant: 62

Jimmy Page: 67

Steven Tyler: 62

Joe Perry: 60

Don Henley: 63

Glenn Frey: 62

Stevie Nicks: 62

OK, I'm stopping. As old as I feel, I can just imagine how old the people on my list feel. They're all, on average, 20 years older than I am. Most of them don't look like your typical 60-somethings, and for that, I applaud them. I also think heroin might be some sort of magic youth elixir, but I would never try it, or advocate its use. Whatever it is, I think feeling young must have a lot to do with it. Maybe that's something I should try. One thing I really do hate obsessing over is age.

Nava

Idol Worshiper? Not Here.

 

Greetings Friends,

I'd successfully avoided watching more than a few snippets of American Idol up until the 10th season premier the other night. Part of me was morbidly curious about the deluded minions who actually think they can be the next American Idol. My curiosity was stanched after only one episode, despite the fact that Aerosmith has been one of my favourite bands throughout my life, and Steven Tyler as a judge could have been worth his weight in snickers and guffaws. You know who I think would have been a good candidate for a judge? Gene Simmons. Had it been him, I would have been stuck like a pig in the mud. Much as I've always loved Aerosmith, Gene Simmons and KISS have been my obsession since the 5th grade. Think what you will...

I'm not disputing that American Idol has been phenomenally successful, and that it has produced some legitimately talented individuals. It's just not my cup of tea. I'm usually not one to avert my eyes from a train wreck, but for some reason, watching this show makes me feel as if I have thousands of black flies continuously ripping chunks of my flesh off my body. Seriously; it makes my skin crawl. It hearkens back to an earlier era, and a game show called The Gong Show, a few of you may recall: Three celebrities judged talent, and in the event a contestant sucked huge, they were gonged off the stage. Now that was much more my speed. There was no mistake about it - you sucked, and you left. None of this, well, OK, we'll schlep you out to L.A. and feed your delusions for a bit longer, then tear you down and send the pieces home for you to pick up for the rest of your life. There's a reason why so many of us will only sing in the shower.

Had I been watching all these years, I'd probably would have learned to appreciate the curmudgeonly ways of Simon Cowell. Initial reaction to the latest incarnation of the judging panel has been "kinder" and "gentler", along with outrage at Steven Tyler's mild flirtation with some of the younger contestants. Aerosmith could have opened a lingerie warehouse will all the bras and panties that have been tossed on stage during their concerts. I witnessed said tossing a couple of times over the years. For Tyler, this is just another type of stage. Simon Cowell made a fortune by bitch-slapping whoever would let him, so I really don't get why everyone is so shocked. Then again, I don't get American Idol, period. I believe it is too late for me to join the party. Eventually, all good things must come to an end, and it looks like we need to have to defibrillators on standby. 

To all of you who will hang on every minute of every episode, I applaud you. I will keep my spot on the periphery and stick with the snippets. May the best crooner win.

Enjoy your weekend.

Nava

Majority? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Majority!

 

Greetings Friends,

We're coming up on the 5 year anniversary of Prime Minister Stephen Harper's minority rule here in Canada, and for some reason, it's been deemed worthy of recognition. Historically, minority rule does not last long in a parliamentary system, but somehow, our "buddy Steve" (how former President George W. Bush was known to refer to him) has made it work.

It's taken me a long time to understand the parliamentary system. It is a form of democracy, but with not as many checks and balances as we find in the United States. For example, the Prime Minister, with the Governor General's (that's the fancy title the Monarch's representative gets to tote around) permission, can pull the plug on Parliament whenever he wants to. Harper did so last year, right before the Winter Olympics in Vancouver, and in late 2009, to avoid a vote of "no confidence" that would have triggered a Federal election. Believe it or not, the Canadian Prime Minister has more power than the US President; it takes a mountain to move Congress, but Parliament can bite the dust with disturbing ease. That's just the way it is.

Canada has many more advantages now than it ever has. For one, the country is in much better shape economically, despite a record deficit and things like universal healthcare and GST. Those are two things that would make the heads of many Americans explode, but here they're just part of life. There are more financial regulations in place that prevented a sub-prime mortgage meltdown, because they weren't offered here to begin with.

Don't get me wrong, Canada has its share of problems, but they pale in comparison to the insurmountable woes south of the border. Sometimes I think the Canadian media needs to conjure up some good old fashioned drama in order to compete on the world stage; life here can be somewhat boring, but at this stage, I'll take boring over drama any day. There is no way Canadian politicos could ever ratchet up the drama to the same level as our southern neighbours. They can scream all they want on the floor of the House of Commons, but it can never match the vitriol and rancor of a divided congress. Yes, a minority parliamentary government has its limitations, but Stephen Harper has proven that you can get things done, despite not having a party majority. 

I've never been a huge fan of Stephen Harper, and I wouldn't be so bold as to say he's growing on me, but having endured 8 years of George W. Bush, Canadians should consider themselves lucky that he's nowhere near as volatile, not to mention as dumb, as the 43rd American president. He does have a tendency to be somewhat stiff and milquetoasty, and he'll never win any personality contests. He is an economist by trade, and if anything, he's got the smarts to be where he is. He might not be the guy you would want to shoot the breeze with over a beer, but he probably has a better understanding of finance than most people. The right person for the job might not be the most personable, but especially in a position of power - knowledge counts.

As I bring this somewhat verbose political rambling to a close, I just got an e-mail alert from The Washington Post telling me that the House of Representatives voted to repeal President Obama's healthcare bill. That won't go over well in the Senate, and if ever there was an example of partisan nonsense, especially with one of their own lying in a hospital bed, miraculously recovering from a gunshot wound to the head, I don't know what is. As bad as a minority government can be, it's nothing compared to a divided congress.

As Canada contemplates 5 years of minority Conservative government, I hope they're taking a good, long look at what's going on in the US right now. Surprising as it is for a minority government to have lasted this long, they should be grateful they're not emulating Americans. One civil war was more than enough.

Nava

Blue Monday

 

Greetings Friends,

Are you depressed? According to a story on last night's installment of CBC's The National, today is "Blue Monday", so designated by a Welsh psychologist to call attention to the mid-winter blues. Winter is by far the toughest season to endure, and here in the Great White North, it can be especially brutal. The days are snowy and gloomy, it's cold, and generally miserable. I'm not disputing any of that, but I'm not pleased by the inclusion of many "manufactured" depressive elements, such as failure to adhere to New Year's resolutions, overwhelming debt, and distance from the holiday season. That, I'm not buying.

During the holiday season, we do our share of complaining about how stressful it all can be. We breathe a collective sigh of relief when it's all over, but we barely give ourselves a break before we find something new to complain about. It's January 17th, and winter has a good 2-1/2 months left to batter us. Personally, I find the month of March the most difficult to endure, partly because it is such a nondescript month, even though it begins still entrenched in winter, and ends with the arrival of spring. Spring is generally delayed in these parts, until sometime in early May. Blame global warming, or whatever you'd like, but until June, the weather can be as easy to predict as when the "big one" will make Denver waterfront property. You seem to wake up one day and start fiddling with the air conditioner, and, poof! summer has arrived.

There's nothing that peeves me more than the segment of the population that looks to complain for the sake of complaining. I'm not saying depression isn't a legitimate ailment; I know for a fact it is. I can understand how difficult life can be in northern locales where, this time of year, there is maybe an hour or two of daylight at most. That would bother me. I could fill the house with those "Seasonal Affected Disorder" light devices, but I seriously doubt they would help raise my mood. I give people who live in those places credit for persevering during this time of year, because the flip-side is near-24 hours of daylight. That would probably drive me nuts as well, but it beats the alternative. As I said last week, life is a trade-off, and we must decide which unpleasant elements we are willing to endure in order to reap the benefits. Why can't someone embark on that type of study? What are humans willing to put up with in order to enjoy the inherent advantages of their surroundings? That, I'd love to know.

I don't think I'd be happy living in a warm, or tropical locale year round. I've made no secret of how much I can't stand Florida, but having spent time in the Nevada desert in summer time, it wasn't quite so terrible. It all boils down to what you're willing to put up with; for me, humidity is a deal-breaker. Dry heat isn't so bad. I'd be willing to take my chances that I might spontaneously combust.

As January drags on, there is much to look forward to, despite the gloom, cold and snow. It won't be long before we're complaining about how hot it is. Our lot is life is to complain; grousing about the weather knows no particular season. In that, we should find comfort. 

Nava