Canada Votes

Out to pasture!!!!  The grass has got to be greener...

My Rant Today --- Remastered Songs

Who does I-Tunes think they're fooling with their crappy "remastered" versions?  I'm not talking about remixes.  Those are different takes on the same song.  No...these are the same songs, redone, many years later.  However, as years have gone by, the same studio musicians are no longer available.  People write songs, as they do poetry, because they feel it at the time.  With those remastered versions, the same emotion just isn't there.  A person isn't the same ten years down the line.  They may have written it because they were going through the pangs of a break-up or suffering through the difficulties of staying clean.  Trying to relive it, years later, just isn't going to happen.
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I know somebody who was a huge Pearl Jam fan and decided to get a tattoo that was symbolic of the band.  This was before every grandmother was getting them and the work site would still look in askance at people who had them.  Just like "Jeremy" doesn't hold the same significance for her now, the band wouldn't be able to belt it out in the studio with the same passion.
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I've heard auto tune used on remastered songs when that garbage didn't exist the first time it was used.  I guess everything has to sound the same and safe to sell to today's market.  They are used to a certain sound, but please.  Don't insult the original audience.  I have yet to listen to one of those remastered songs that is comparable to the original.  Just pay the damn royalties to the artists.
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In any other artistic domain, can you imagine this happening?  Would they go bak and rework Van Gogh?  If they touched up the deep blues a bit, would "Starry Nights" be available for resale as a new product and new profits?  It ruins the integrity of the original work.

How a Cheap Camera Made All the Difference

As the saying goes, a person never knows when it can happen.    It's with horror that I read of the attacks on innocent people by fanatics as they were  trying to enjoy a brief reprieve from their working lives.  Likewise, the school shootings that have become almost a once a year fixture for some kid who fell through the cracks.  Of course, last week  the horror struck  a church.  Yet again, that was done by a person who needed to blame his short-comings on others.
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Years ago, it was blind luck that prevented me from being on site when we had one of our first mass shootings.  I've written several times of my love of Quebec and how I've visited often.    I stood on deck as we reentered the country and I took a French immersion course at another time.  I've visited for pleasure and never tire of it. 
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As I was a student, my preferred lodging of choice was the YWCA, which was a bit out of  the actual Old Town itself.  The usual attractions were targeted, one of them being the Legislative Assembly.  The tour was conducted by a very affable man, who wasn't all that tall, but was very jovial and seemed nice.  The day was then spent watching the elected officials debate the matters at hand.  There was a restaurant, but I wasn't suitably dressed for it and decided I would come back another day.   I also wanted to take some photos of the exterior of the building, as it has a number of statutes.
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On the day I had meant to take said pictures and to go to the restaurant  I woke up to discover that it was cloudy and very wet.  I owned a cheap kiddy camera and it would be a pointless endeavour.  Instead, it was decided to fill the day with the Place Laurier http://www.laurierquebec.com/, an immense shopping complex that was indoors.  It was May and this day was particularly nasty, so being inside  was a better option.  As I walked around I suddenly noted that there were large groups of people standing at   the televsion stores and some of them were weeping.  This was before electronics stores had all gone out of business and when such shootings still caused general concern.
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What transpired was a man who had been in the military had gone on a shooting spree. .  One of the places he shot was the cafeteria.  In total, he killed three people and injured thirteen.    I kept hoping that the man who had given the tour was safe, as he was real to me.  I saw the heavy pall cast on the city and the profound sense of grief the citizen's felt.
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I realized at that moment how something insignificant, like a cheap camera and bad weather can change your fate.  I've since gone on to realize how quickly things can escalate.  We hide behind reassuring platitudes to get us through the day, such as "it can't happen here."  But, as we are unfortunately coming to learn, of course it can, especially when you get a group of those kids who need somebody to blame in one place.   Then it's a Lord of the Flies free -for - all.

It's Always HER Fault

I'm sure that by now everybody is familiar with the websites that out "the other woman."  These purport to give the scorned wives a platform in which to vent their spleens over the injustices they have suffered.  In doing so, they can offer a fair amount of entertainment.
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In reading the stories,  I've come to a few conclusions:  many of the men work in the military or as truck drivers.  An awful lot of the stories mention having "the usual problems marriages have and then we had another kid."  In fact, they seem to have more than the national average which makes me ask a question.  Do some people have children hoping it will be the glue that holds a marriage together or does having them cause an already unstable situation to become worse?    Several of the stories mention one of the parties becoming "deathly ill" at one point.
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As the stories go on, the truth will out.  At the start, it's the fairy tale, with the "perfect man" in wonderland.   However, a few lines in will reveal that he's sometimes not had secure income or has put his hands on the writer.  Oh, oh, Prince Charming drank too much and did some time for a DUI.  I missed that part when I read Cinderella.
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Despite all of these foibles, he's still a keeper, since the other woman gets branded a whore, he remains anonymous,  and the poster stays with him.  She won the war and kept the prize.
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Not all waters are clear.   There are stories posted on these sites that have had follow up comments claiming knowledge of the case.    Some people cannot let go.  A divorce has taken place or a relationship has broken up.  The other party has gone on with their lives and met somebody.  They never wrecked a home because it didn't exist at the time of the meeting.
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I think we also know couples who break up and get back together as often as I check the oven door when I'm cooking something.  People who have "broken up" are eligible for dating, especially in the eyes of the new party.  God only knows what they tell the person they meet on a dating site or through mutual friends or at work.  If they are living in their own place, by all appearances, they are single.  There are people who thrive on drama and love  living in their own "Lifetime Movie of the Week."  Don't blame the other woman for the chaos.
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Some men right out lie.  They tell the woman they meet that they are single.  By the time she becomes aware that the story wasn't true,  she's emotionally invested.  If she pulls away now, she's  still going to be called the home-wrecker and she's devastated on top of it all.    People want to believe the people they love, so there's more filler---the wife is crazy and he can't leave because she'll kill herself or won't let him see the kids.....fill in the blanks.
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It's all in how the post gets written up and once it's out there, a reputation gets ruined.  What if that person were up for a job interview?  There's always the possibility that it could be done on purpose---to give somebody else the edge.
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By the way, either sex can do this.  However, since these are websites that tend to expose females, I'm using the male gender.
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There are women who are obsessively jealous and accuse their partner of being involved with any woman they come into contact with.  They won't allow them to have any female friends, which is difficult when they have to interact with women on a professional level.  I'm sure we've all met a few of these in our lives.  I recall one  posting in which the woman wrote that her partner "disappeared for four hours," all because she had been texting and could not reach him.  Again, we've met the type; a person who is attached electronically to somebody and they must answer, as though they are on probation.
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Which gets me to another issue---the snooping and spying.  I am appalled at how acceptable it has become.  There is constant mention of tracking devices and the reading of the other party's personal e-mails and texts.  It's interesting that the police are mandated to get a court order to do this with a murder suspect, but these women  have no qualms over a gross invasion.  If anybody did that to me, it would be the end.  Trust is essential and paranoia is sad.  If the relationship has  descended to the point where a person feels a need to snoop, there are already issues.  Finally, I feel that when people do such things, it speaks of their own character.  They reflect onto others something that they themselves would do.
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The double standard persists that women still get branded with the home-wrecker label.  It's her fault that the man strayed---like Eve she tempted some poor innocent and led him astray.  If anybody mentions this on these sites, they too will get called a "whore."  I believe this was a tactic well used during the Red Scare.  I detest it.  It's bullying at its worst.    I certainly don't condone a specific behaviour, but I know nothing of these people's lives or what actually went on.  I wasn't there.   It is one thing to e-mail nude photos to my neighbour's husband whom I know is married.  It is another for a person to meet somebody at a function and be told that they are single.
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So?  It's sad that people who are wrongly defamed cannot come after the other party.  What does it say about us as people if we get on there and call out Scarlet Woman?  There are news stories that deserve comment and scorn much, much more than this, such as animal abuse, child neglect and horrific assault on human rights currently happening in much of the world.  It's one thing if you were there and you know the truth, but then blame the guy too.
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Really, any one of us could be falsely accused by a crazy bunny boiler.  And that's the truth.
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Size Matters

Sometimes size matters, as in the case of those stupid, small sized pick up trucks.  There's certain things that inevitably mean bad events  are about to befall you.    Having a Westphalia van get in front of you is one of them.  If it's an old guy wearing a baseball cap, you might as well drag out the razor blades.  Small pick up trucks mean impending doom also.  For some reason, the ones in the colour red are the worst.  Guys (and it always is), if an old cat lady is passing you in the "slow lane", it's a sign that you're in the wrong place.  Seriously, there was a guy in the "fast" lane doing half the speed limit the other day in one of those half sized trucks.  I've come to the conclusion that these are people with size issues.  It's the truck version of short man's syndrome and they have something to prove---and yes---they are damn well going to prove it too.  

And by the way, have a look at the photo above.  What in the hell did this kid run over?  Is that some innocent rubber duck that met his demise?  Or is that some I.T. guy having fun with us?
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I live in a town with an over preponderance of guys who drive these trucks.  I think they feel the need to keep their foot in the door, so to speak.  They still feel manly and like one of the big boys; they haven't been sent off to the retirement farm yet.  Those trucks don't really serve any function when you think about it.  They are like a play house in the back yard.  Perhaps they can carry around a few bales of hay---maybe.  All I know is, I've yet met one that does the speed limit.  They are usually parked in front of the place that sells lotto tickets..  An unusual amount of them can be seen at the Tim Horton's, a Canadian coffee joint that elderly guys get cranky about.  Take one of their parking spots at your own peril.  I'm a Diet Pepsi girl and I don't enter the place.  

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(Thanks to Amazon.Com for the photo of the children's truck)

Ditch the Ditz

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There's a station I listen to because the music's good and the closest thing I can get to alternative.  However, one of the women on there grates.  I wish D.J.'s would just get on with it and play music and tell us the name of the bands when they have to.   However, she feels the need to tell us her life story.  It's how she does it that drives me to distraction.  Like far too many women today, she uses what has come to be termed "up-speak."  When she talks, every single phrase comes out with the inflection rising  at the end, so that it sounds like it's a question.  It makes her sound stupid and as though she doesn't know what she's talking about.  This gained momentum a few years ago.  Only females do this and perhaps guys who surf. Farrah Abraham, or whatever she's called, would be the poster child for this.  The woman is incapable of forming a complete idea or sentence.  I suppose that's because somebody usually inserts "something" in her mouth to silence her, but I digress and I'm being mean, albeit truthful.
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I bless James Deen for being the master of decorum in his response to the reporters when asked about her.
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Up-speak, like the dreaded pods in the Invasion of the Body Snatchers, has taken over.  Whereas female reporters were once careful to keep their voices modulated, they now sound like bimbos.  When I listen to some of them, I would swear that Victoria Jackson was doing an SNL spoof.
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Imagine a world where males spoke that way.  You can't, can you?  You'd laugh your ass off and you'd never take the guy seriously.  Guess what?  Nobody takes a woman who speaks that way seriously either.  Get it together, ladies.
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I'm all in favour of people doing the porn voice in the privacy of their own bedroom.  Up speak means that you want to ask a question.  Other than that, listen to the old movies and hear how Katherine Hepburn sounded.  Listen to  one of the sassy and fun sirens of the past. Lauren knew how it was done when she talked to Bogey.   They could dish it out and they could finish a sentence.  Take that Farrah.
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Frizzy Hair

All of this talk in the news about the white woman pretending to be black got me thinking.  Rather, her hair brought back some memories about cuts of the past, and being the OCD person I am who never sleeps, I had to do some research.  Here it is:  This is the look that spawned a lot of people to do perfectly satanic things to really good hair.  The problem was, a lot of people did it at bad hair "salons" in small towns.  Barbra Streisand's film, a rmake of "A Star is Born" had the same effect.  The frying of the hair in that film did not just touch the female of the species.  Males did it too.  Imagine if you will, guys walking around with  ash blond  "fros.    It was not a good look.  Ash blond out of the box didn't work with your Mom, so it certainly didn't go with the sixteen year old guy in a school jacket.   Thank God that look has gone the way of  Cheryl Tiegs'  Sears clothing line.  Mom jeans are bad enough, but  her "look" was grandma stretch jeans.
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Check Out Linda Blair's 70's Hair
(this is a great site called Satanic Pandemonium.
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 They've got information on those films you thought you had forgot)
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.As an aside, when I was a kid and watched movies about growing up in California, especially if they featured Linda Blair, it seemed that every single kid had a horse.    Go back and review them and you will see what I mean.  Why would "Sarah T" be a drunk with that huge house and access to that good  friend with a horse and a great beach nearby and all that nice weather?
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Many many thanks to the site:  Satanic Pandemonium.  Have a look.  Click on the link about Linda Blair's hair.  They have information about the movie"Summer of Fear."  It was made for television and was based on a book that I read when I was in Junior High School.  Yes, the Seventies were big on making movies about the devil.  They took hold of cars, people and even land movers.  Funny how the guy who operated it never took off his hard hat.

When You're Looking For Just That Special Word....

For that neighbour who chainsaws all the time, wouldn't it be wonderful to put this on and then leave the house.  Not that I'd do it, but this is what exists in the revenge fantasy in the bubble above my head.  I thought Debby Boone was bad enough.

It's 12:35 and I'm still awake after my shift.

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I'm not a tech person and beyond video taping my neighbour endlessly chainsawing, this was my second attempt at Youtube.  What's with the neighbour, you ask?  He cut down the nice maples in his yard even though there was nothing wrong with them in June and kept on with them until fall.  I know people thought I was exaggerating when I reported seeing him on the ground, saw running and his face up to it.  He couldn't figure out how to work it.  I managed to get a wonderful shot of his old father in law shaking his head at him when he didn't notice.  You see, he did this all day...all day...until about  0900 at night. It was impossible to sit outside and enjoy the evening.  Or for me to sleep in the day.   I think the only reason he cut down the trees was to sell the firewood.  But, I digress.
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I managed to make the entire walk down the path without anybody showing up when I shot the video.  By the way, this town being what it is, this place is closed and is  now for sale as it's zoned commercial.  My guess is that  there will be ugly ass houses on it.  What's that song by John Courgar Mellencamp about aluminum and plastic siding?  Yeah...that's it.
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My neighbour cut down his trees, they've got rid of the park and nobody looks after their strays.  There's a theme.  You don't need to buy a vowel to figure out the word is R-E-D-N-E-C-K.

It's Now Been A Week

It burned all last night.  It's going to be gorgeous today and I pity anybody directly beside this place.

Still Smoking....

When I wrote my blog two days ago  in regards to the smoke, it had already been an ongoing nuisance.  Because the wind shifted the other night, the stench was very cloying in my area.   I could even smell it in my garage as I set off for work.  It was burning when I drove in for my shift and spewing smoke when I went home in the morning.  It was the same thing today.  Here's some photos, set in H.D. so you can see just how pervasive it is.  I've also included the air quality reading from the Government of Canada.  Glad to see they're on top of it and reporting that all is well in the world.  Again, ask me  why I considered Air Care a huge farce and tax grab.   As I said, the air quality readings  are taken about a hundred yards up the street.  Today is supposed to be a very warm day, yet thanks to this nonsense, it's not possible to sit outside and enjoy it.  A good day to hang the washing outside?  Think again.  If you go out for a jog  you'll probably end up wheezing.

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This Stinks (Literally)

One of the local farms has been burning piles of wood for days.   Yesterday, the conditions were beyond the pale.  Anybody who knows me can back me up that I am not a scent-free fanatic. I enjoyed the movie "Safe" with Julianne Moore, but my read of her character was that her symptoms were psychosomatic.   I have a vast array of perfumes sitting on the counter.  I have no problem scooping up cat litter or dealing with people who have thrown up.  I lived on a farm when I was a kid, so cow poop fails to impress me.  This, however, is something else:

It's wafting over the town and can be seen from some distance.

It's actually worse at night, because it is allowed to smoulder and the air is heavier.  The smoke doesn't rise, but settles a few feet above the ground, like Tinker-Belle's slovenly, drunken alter ego.

I had to stop to refuel and from that brief encounter, my coat and hair reeked.

The sky above is clear and blue.  It's not mist or fog---it's smoke.

There's piles of burning trees that were cut down.  I actually made a complaint to the Ministry of the Environment, which I've never done before.  I have yet to hear a response.  I told them that this has to be hell for the elderly and people with breathing problems, as there are subdivisions in the area and this smoke, as you can see, is wafting all over.   This is a farm that makes claims on its web-site that it is organic.  If so, one would think that they would take better care to seek out more environmentally friendly means.  I guess it's cheaper for them, but what about the increased health care costs?   It's such a farce that the government has made us take our vehicles in for Air-Care, year after year, when there is no control over this sort of nonsense, for I see this taking place far too often in this town.  However, don't let them catch you having more then two pets.  I've discussed that by-law before.  That law they will report with a heavy hand.

Environment Canada measures weather conditions a few hundred yards up the street and as part of that, they list air quality.  Even though this burning has been going on for days, and the smoke is clearly visible and uncomfortable, here's what they posted:

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Low risk.

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I'll keep you posted if I get a response to my e-mail.

Today's Pet Peeve

.....Okay, maybe this annoyance has been going on for a while.  I love Youtube, but I wish they would fix their advertisement problem.  They claim that they are geared towards ones search history.  Then why is it that I kept getting a commercial for chickens?  I've been a vegetarian for over two decades and I've never looked up a recipe for that item.  Unlike many people who are vegetarian for health reasons, I am one on ethical grounds.  I won't wear leather or use silk either.  But, once again, I digress.   I merely want to stress the fact that I am the last person who should be on the receiving end of these ads. 

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.....The commercial was annoying, so I took it upon myself to go to their website and broadcast the Paul McCartney video on the evils of chicken production.  I never got the video again.  I was also on the receiving end of an infomercial as to the benefits of using a nearby divorce lawyer.  Odd, since I have never been married.  Never lived with anybody.  Never considered putting the cats up for adoption, even.  Where was this coming from?  Likewise the endless repeat of some used kids clothing store.  Perhaps somebody considers the cats children?

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.....The absolute worst, however, is the exercise belt that is on some ninth circle of hell repeat.  It comes on twice as loud as whatever I happen to be watching, and it comes on ALL THE TIME.  It stalls the program I am watching, which will then have to be refreshed and restarted. 
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 .....There's no way the product is believable, considering one of the spokespeople is a woman who has more silicone in her lips then my tires do.  In fact, she regularly makes every single list of stars who have ruined their faces with plastic surgery.  All I want to do when this stupid exercise belt comes on is hang myself with it. Although I went to my profiles and changed how my searches were used in terms of Ads, I still get the belt of torment  every ten minutes.  This in spite of the fact I have never looked up  sports  equipment.    Who knows?  Maybe they target people who've written about eating disorders.  If so, that's pretty twisted.  What I now do is log out when I want to watch videos, so that I am incognito.    The adverts may be in another language, but it's better then hearing that dreadful music again or "this is the button" and having to stare at Lisa's trout pout.

Today's Pet Peeve

When did this become a thing?   In the past two weeks I have encountered  the phrase "the big reveal" several times.  My grammar needs assistance.  That's why I purchased "The Chicago Manual of Style."  However, I learned as early as grade five that  the word "reveal" is a verb.  Don't use it as a noun unless you are describing  a specific part of a window or door.

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I want to reveal a secret.

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There will be a big revelation made on the show.

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See?   My teacher from fifth grade,  Mrs Nixon, thanks you.

THE LIST OF BANNED WORDS FOR 2012

The list of the ten words that should be banned in 2012 is out and I am happy---no thrilled--to see that "baby bump" is on there. I am loathe to type it for fear of it being more than this keyboard being able to take and it exploding into a fireball. I hate that word. No, I am not one to think that we need to return to those days where Ricki and Lucy had a nightstand between them and they couldn't say the word "pregnant" on national television. I just despise that word. It's a ridiculous and manufactured and overly cute word. I would rather that they say somebody is "expecting" or even that "the rabbit died." I suspect, however, that most people would need to be told why the rabbit died (it wasn't for the fondue) and why a cute little pink stick didn't suffice.
So....a toast....to never hearing that word again in 2012.

I AM DOOMED

If you could picture the famous Edvard Munch painting of the person screaming, as they cross the bridge (the one where they clasp their head), that would be me. For you see,

I am doomed. Capital D, that rhymes with P, that stands for Pool . Yes, we've got trouble... Anybody who is a fan of old musicals will get the reference.

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I work seven shifts in a row When I last signed off, I was originally going to work my usual night shift. However, I had been switched over at the last minute for the much dreaded training. There are references made in my blog to training, of which I am not a fan. Since my school days, I have not done well when I have had to speak before people. I am shy by nature. As a child, my family moved from North America to Europe and back again. I had to relearn the English language in a few months and I was bullied horribly for my accent. I have recently been placed on Topamax for my migraines and a side-effect of that medication is that the word may be in my brain but won't make it to my mouth. It's not P.C. to say it, but I feel slow. I prefer to sit in a corner and hide.

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Which brings me to training day. I had planned on doing my Christmas shopping after I got off my graveyard shift each day. I was already behind on everything, given the death of my father. Oops---no longer an option given I was now on Day Shift. Once upon a time, scheduling involved somebody with a pencil and an eraser. It's now several computers that don't speak to each other. I thus got phoned at midnight to enquire why I wasn't at work. After that, there was zero chance of my sleeping, even with all the Gravol I'd taken. I was cursing technology and my lot in life and that this could only be a harbinger of things to come. The rest of the week was the same. More Gravol and no sleep---none---nada. I just became more jittery and unable to function. So, as I went through the motions of "how to fall" while doing self-defence, I just wanted to keep laying on the mat. When I went into the dark, smoke filled environment looking for the dummy on fire training, I just wanted to crawl under the bed with her/it/him. There's a test on the parts of this contraption? I remember 2216 PSI. My brain isn't working. It's dark in here....I just need to sleep and I can only sleep in the day.
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Which brings me to now. I hit my two days off and of course I ended up getting a roaring headache. On the only two days when I could go shopping. As I said, it finally went away a few hours ago, just in time to do laundry, so that I could go back to work tomorrow night for another seven. I get to work Christmas yet again.
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The piece-de-resistance is that to get energy for that nasty week I ate and I ate and I ate. Oh, the horror!
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People will get their gifts when I get off my shift. I will be extra generous. I plan on buying my niece a lap-top (pink) as I will combine Christmas with her birthday in January. I will be Auntie Mame.
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And as to the training? Bah humbug to the stuff that I still have to do (the CPR and AED).

ISSUES.....

I am having issues posting comments, but it doesn't mean that I am not reading blogs when I can get on line. I think it's because of the continuous scans that get run. I keep getting bumped off line, as I have a comment about the disabling of cookies. My friend has lent me an old Mac as a back-up, but the browser is so old, that it won't let me post any comments at all. I have a few days left on my Norton account, then a friend has graciously volunteered to help me wipe all traces of it from my computer and find a new virus protection. I have to clean my house first, however. In the meantime, I am house sitting somebody else's cat, and my Dad finally gets in to see the specialist on Thursday. In the meantime, he is now so ill and in so so much pain, that he cannot even drive. So, should anybody see this....I do very much still enjoy reading your views. Thanks. It's a great distraction and source of enjoyment.

BATH TIME IN A RARE SPRING MOMENT

It snowed at the start of the week.




When it cleared up the next day, I saw these two guys at the pond.

This robin decided to hop in and take a bath.

He is giving me the side-eye; as though I've disturbed his quiet time.

I was nice to see the frogs out. There used to be alot more here,

but since many of the wetlands are disappearing, they are too.

There was actually snow mixed with rain when I got off my graveyard shift this morning. Yesterday, we'd also had a thunderstorm which was strong enough to cause what I call a

"group run." Like a herd of scared cattle, my cats will sometimes bolt as though they were one creature. . If one starts to run, it will trigger a chain reaction. So much for the 'pitter patter" of

little feet. When Sandburg wrote that "the fog comes on little cat feet," he had obviously not met

my tribe. That would have been one noisy fog, indeed.

MORE THAN WORDS

`````A couple of months ago, I was singled out for thanks by somebody in management. They had put together a memorial wall to honour staff members who had passed away, and one of them thanked me for my recall. I thought that it was a nice gesture; both the concept of the wall and the offering me recognition for helping with it What saddened me was how many had died in a short period of time.

`````Sometimes, we do not realize until too late the value of certain lessons. One of my coworkers came across as very brusque---very "old school" as one would say. It took me a while to realize that the fact he was imparting his wisdom upon me meant alot. It indicated that he believed I had potential. If he hadn't thought so, he wouldn't have botherered telling me anything at all. I learned so much from him over the years. In fact, I refer to the skills he taught me as the basic "golden rules" and I find myself imparting them to new staff.

`````Looking back, I realize that it must have been difficult for some of these men to accept the changes that were being forced upon them. They weren't used to having women enter a traditionally male field, especially very young ones with a college education. I have to acknowledge that my university, at the time, had departments that were even more radical then Berkley had been back in its hey-day. The Women's Studies Department would issue manifestos that it was now the "Womyn's Centre" and that "all men were potential rapists." I had somebody in a couple of my political science tutorials who went off and became so embroiled in the political struggle in South America that she was charged with the kidnapping of a supermarket owner. So, of course, we left with a certain chip on our shoulder. Is there anything more ignorant than a newly minted student, bent on showing others what "they" are doing wrong and intent on changing the world?

`````Many of the men with whom I'd worked were very intelligent, yet hadn't had the option of going to school. One such man became a close friend, despite several decades in age span. He confessed to me that he'd always been interested in psychology and had always wished that he could take courses in it. He loved talking about the topic with the new hires. He also had a great interest in classical music. None of these interests were shared by his wife, who laughed at it. He learned to keep quiet about it, except with us. Sometimes, we'd get together for coffee. When he went on vacations, he'd bring back little mugs or trinkets with the names of the places he'd visited as gifts for me. We kept in touch after he retired, and I was saddened greatly when an accident killed him. In truth, the line of a poem came to me: What happens to a dream deferred?

`````It was a great lesson for me; that a person may know alot about a topic even though they've never studied it. Imagine that.

`````There were people who told me of the "men who'd gone before." These were the guys who I had never met, but had worked in the job earlier. I wish that I had written the stories down, for when these tale tellers died, the history went with them. I recall one of them---the story of a huge man who would bring old dolls to work on the night shift to fix for children. Nobody dared laugh, given his size and reputation. It was described to me; this giant, bent over the dolls, as he took pained detail in fixing them, so that somebody could love them again.

`````That was another important lesson for the College Kid; don't make assumptions about what's going on a person's insides based on their surface. Men keep a lot of things hidden. I couldn't be a hypocrite. If I got angry when people judged on appearances (such as weight), it was unfair of me to assume that because somebody had been in the military, as so many of these men had been, that they must be a certain way. Many times, for them, it was simply an economic choice.

`````There's hardly a topic that didn't come up over the years. When a person opens their mind to look beyond age and appearance, it's possible to discover a vast array of mutual interests. It is possible to have friends with people of the opposite sex or with people who first seem to be completely different. They also taught me so much. To me, they are much, much more than just names on a wall.

NO EXIT AND THE BLEAK HOUSE

`````On graveyards, I sat and stared at the exit sign in the otherwise dark building. It was lunch break at the Bleak House, and it was dead quiet. I pulled out my attempt at morose poetry from the previous night, and changed a few lines. It was too dark to notice the cellulite of the stars, which somebody had left on the counter. Since my lunch was nothing but Diet Pepsi, I had time to kill. `````It was the exit sign that gave me the idea. I was reminded of one of my favourite plays; Sartre's "No Exit." For those who haven't seen it, or haven't read it, the play features three characters who meet in hell. Hell isn't a place with pitchforks and fire; rather, it's one room with slightly out of date furniture. What makes it worthy of eternal suffering is that the three people are perfectly suited to drive each other insane---and they can never leave. They cannot sleep, or die or leave that dreaded room. `````I asked myself, what three authors or intellectuals, would drive each other insane if placed in "hell" together? `````My perfect combination was as follows: Norman Mailer, Sylvia Plath and Catherine Mackinnon. I won't go into the details, and most people know who they are. Norman Mailer could easily be defined as a "man's man." Those who weren't so fond of him called him a misogynist. He could be fairly blunt in his opinions and was made no secret of his love of beautiful women. Catherine Mackinnon was fiercely bright and outspoken against pornography. Sylvia Plath, of course, needs no introduction. In her journals, she made her dislike of unmarried women such as Catherine Mackinnon well known. Ahh yes, I believe this would prove to be the perfect "No Exit" axis of egos. `````My choice having been made, and the Diet Pepsi drained, lunch was over. It was back to business.
(Photo from Manual selling office equipment).