Author: wdfyfe

Before WD called himself a writer, he worked at a number of different jobs from stacking lumber to interior design. He studied English at UBC and creative writing at ASU where one of his teachers, Rita Dove, taught him the importance of the tale. He has written for radio, magazines and newspapers, but never television. He’s published both fiction and nonfiction in Great Britain and the US. He reads French passably and speaks enough Spanish to get from A to B and find the toilet. He has interviewed John Cleese, Peter Ustinov, Margaret Drabble, Kenneth Branagh and enough other famous people to make him a hopeless name dropper. His not-so-secret passions are history and trivia, and he has never lost a game of Trivial Pursuit — although he did come 4th one drunken Quiz Night at the Uxbridge in Notting Hill. He lives on the Pacific Ocean, although, not close enough to see, so he spends his days looking at a computer screen. It’s a wonderful life and he has only one regret: he can’t type faster.

In Praise of Higher Education

A couple of weeks ago, I got into a hopeless discussion (argument, for the uninitiated) with some young people (under 30) about education.  I haven’t taken a beating like that since Betty Jones (not her real name) and her 2nd grade boyfriend decided my lunch was more interesting than hers.  The problem was, in both cases, no amount of reason was going to be sufficient to change anybody’s mind.  Unreasonable people, with big boyfriends, have a way of winning discussions.  In the early part of the evening, I relied on Aristotlesque logic.  I laid out concise theses, which I supported with facts and observations, which in turn, naturally led to the only possible conclusion: mine.  Q.E.D!  Their response was “Crap!” (or a somewhat stronger version of said same.)  I spent the rest of the night — and at least two more bottles of wine — fighting for my verbal life against wave after wave of anecdotal evidence, non sequitur reminiscences, rhetorical questions and profanity.  The kids were clearly angry about the fuzzy end of the lollipop they had received at the hands of liberal education, but they couldn’t articulate it.  Therefore, even though I knew they were intelligent young people, they looked just about as dumb as they assured me they weren’t.

I’m not going to rework the discussion here.  That wouldn’t be fair.  But my position was “Stay in school you’re going to need it” and theirs was, the oft repeated, “Crap!” (or a somewhat stronger version of said same.)  This really surprised me, because my generation and every generation before mine has worshipped education.  Ever since Gideon outwitted the Midianites, it’s been seen as, not only the magic carpet of social mobility but the keys to the bank vault.  Even in the darkest of the Dark Ages, education was the one thing that gave ordinary peasants a leg up in society.  A millennium later, our contemporary world is so compartmentalized that, without a specialized education, you are almost certainly relegated to tier-two employment – Starbucks, et al.  Either that or you could luck-out and land a union-protected public service job (but you might want to buy lottery tickets on that one just to be on the safe side.)  Of course, there is intrinsic value in learning for its own sake.  Nobody denies that, but practically speaking (which is all I was doing the other night) it’s all about where the money is.

My young friends beg to differ, however.  They see education as a great wormhole that eats time, energy and student loans, then shoots them out the other end, no wiser, several years older and deeper in debt.  While admitting that post-secondary education is indeed a necessity, they also see it, for the most part, as a waste.  Their argument is, why should they spend four years and forty thousand dollars for information they already know or can find on the Internet?  To them, a liberal education is merely a thinly disguised tactic to keep them out of the job market for as long as possible, and a single university or college degree is a ticket to poverty.  The “piece of paper” as they call it, with disdain, is not essential preparation for future employment but an artificial barrier to their own advancement.   With it, the only guarantee is student debt.  There are not that many high-priced jobs going begging these days, and experienced expertise trumps recent graduation, every time.  Remember, these kids are making cappuccinos with a lot of underemployed PhDs.  However, without a diploma (of some sort) there is a serious top end to whatever employment they find.  Whether they’ve landed their perfect career/job or they’re just getting a pay check, without accreditation, they’re going to stay where they are for an awfully long time.  It’s a no-win/no-win situation, and they know it.

To be fair, the kids have a point.  However, they’re missing some essential ingredients.  First of all, the big bad world out there has never heard of them.  Education is the hello handshake that separates them from the herd.  To be brutally honest, to employers, a degree is just shorthand for “at least the guy hung in there for four years.”  Secondly, education, off its own bat, is useless.  It needs thought and practical application.  Getting a degree in Earth Science, Medieval Dance or the infamous Art History is indeed a ticket to poverty.  Our society is awash in people who found that out – the hard way.  The trick is fitting education to employment, even if it isn’t a perfect match.  Sometimes, the difference between doing what you like and making change at Chevron is flexibility and imagination.  Finally, and most importantly, only about half of post secondary education occurs in the classroom.  At this level, gathering information is nothing serious.  The kids are right; it’s all on the Internet.  The important stuff is learning the complex skills of analysis, organization, communication and time management, to name but a few.  The smartest person in the world is just a German Shepherd with a thumb if he can’t find his notes, doesn’t have the discipline for deadlines or can’t express his ideas effectively.  Anybody can Google “the capital of Poland,” but it’s post-secondary education that teaches us how to use that information.

It might have been the wine, but I wasn’t this articulate the other night.  Maybe it’s time for Round Two.  After all, I met Betty Jones years later, and we came to an understanding over a couple of churros and a bottle of Kahlua.

A Modern Drug for Contemporary Life

I love drug commercials on TV — not those idiot Cialis/Viagra jobbers; they’re way too nudge, nudge/wink,wink for my tastes — the real ones.  The ones that put the fear of God into you, then casually mention that they might have a cure, if you happen to be interested.  I see them as a 45 second history on our times.

Just to review.  The drug commercials usually start with an ordinary middle-class/middle-aged scene.  Somebody, sometimes in black and white, isn’t feeling well.  The kindly voice-over explains that this ailment, however small, is nothing to fool with.  It could be a disastrous medical condition.  Unfortunately, only trained professionals can tell the difference.  Therefore, it would be best, just for a little peace of mind, to get your sorry ass to the doctor – NOW – or you’re going to die – horribly, miserably and alone.  They usually don’t gear it up that bad, but the message is clear: there’s a tombstone out there somewhere.  At this point, the drug name is introduced as the only known cure for the disease you don’t have.  It’s repeated a couple of times, with its pedigree or references, as the middle-class/middle-aged scene changes to carefree (in colour) recreation, usually swimming or golf.  (BTW, all prescription drugs are government approved.)  After that, it’s all about, don’t take our word for it “Ask your doctor if Brand X is right for you.”  This naturally assumes that we somehow caught the disease, condition or ailment during the first half of the commercial, and now it’s only a matter of treatment.  Then — and this is the best part — the voice-over goes absolutely monotone and says something like, “Brand X is not right for everyone.  Serious side effects may include excruciating muscle pain, instantaneous diarrhea and incurable eyeball disease.  Talk to your doctor immediately if your tongue falls out.  Do not take Brand X if you’re a woman who’s ever even seen someone who’s pregnant or a man with a healthy liver and kidneys.”  The middle-class/middle-aged scene then changes to sunset or candlelit dining, with the drug name written in bold across the screen.  Fade out and back to reruns of Everybody Loves Friends.  There are a number of variations, but, in general, that’s it.

The reason I love these commercials so much is they really are an unconscious historical record of contemporary life.  For the last two generations (and maybe three) we have been giving ourselves every social, political, spiritual, economic, You-Name-It-We-Got-It disease known to humanity.  We’ve glommed on these malfunctions like an octopus with a fresh clam, giving each one pride of place as we discovered it.  I’m old enough to remember when the War on Poverty slyly slipped its leash to become the War on Drugs.  As the real and imagined maladies piled up, we went looking for a cure — even though nobody had ever realistically diagnosed any of the problems.  Somehow, we just instinctively knew we had them and now it was only a matter of treatment.  Sound familiar?  Suddenly, the world was full of social engineers, who, like drug dealers, (legal and otherwise) eagerly offered us all manner of remedies while conspicuously failing to mention the price.  Their shtick was (and still is) “Don’t take our word for it.  Ask the politicians which government programs are right for you.”  We did, and as a consequence, ever since Lyndon Johnson proclaimed The Great Society we’ve been throwing money around like a crack addict who just won the lottery.

The problem is the scenario has never changed.  We’re stuck on black and white, somebody’s not feeling that well, and we never get to in-colour carefree recreation – forget candlelit dining.  Our social, political, economic etc. problems are not getting better.  We have more homeless people now than ever before, our kids are still stupid and the President of the United States still doesn’t understand economics – to name just a few.  The cure we’ve been prescribed for the disease we may not even have ever had doesn’t work.

However, there are serious side effects to all this social engineering.  No, our tongues didn’t fall out but they might just as well have.  We have become hopelessly dependent on social programs and have abandoned reason in a manic search for them.  In short, we have become junkies.  The drug is government intervention, and we can’t get enough of it.  Like all addicts, our entire focus is now on the dealers to deliver a bigger hit, a larger dose.  Every discordant note sends us back to them, every anxiety, every concern, every doubt.  We excuse our destructive behaviour and gloss over our need.  We lash out in riotous anger and frustration when we don’t get enough.  We beg, borrow or steal the money to support our habit; bankrupting our children in the process.  We don’t care what it costs anymore; we just have to have it.

Unfortunately, if we don’t do something soon we’re going to be permanently chained to our addiction, and no amount of get-well-quick schemes is going to help us.

Pinterest: A New Kid on the Block

As the Age of Ego reaches ever more dizzying heights, you would think there were enough Social Media sites out there to last us through the next millennium – but apparently not.  Besides Facebook, Google +, Tumblr, etc. etc. etc., there’s a new kid on the block.  It’s called Pinterest and he’s a tough guy.  How tough?  Here are some numbers (and you can read the whole story here.)  Nearly 70% of Pinterest users are female, over ⅓ have an income of $100,000.00 or more and the largest demographic is between 25 and 34.  Not only that, but Pinterest received 17.8 million unique hits in the month (month!) of February alone.  These are stats you can conjure with.  In fact, if you’re a 21st century Mad Man, you’ve probably fainted by now.

As of this moment, Pinterest is sweeping the virtual neighbourhood on the back of a very simple idea – a picture’s worth a thousand words.  Forgot all the “bringing people together” blah, blah, blah; the premise of Pinterest is, like that of all social media, there are a pile of people out there who think they’re absolutely fascinating, and they want everybody to know it.   What makes Pinterest different — and this is the telling bit — is nobody has to work at it.   The entire site is made up of pictures that people have posted.  It doesn’t matter whose picture it is nor of what, nor even where they got it.  It just has to be an image.  Other people get to comment (which usually amounts to “Cool”, “Awesome”, “Amazing” or “Great Picture”) and/or re-post it.  That’s it!

Actually, if you’re old enough, it’s quite easy to explain Pinterest’s wild success.  Way back in the dinosaur days, when corporate offices were run by suits and secretaries,  paper copies of grainy grey humorous pictures, sayings, cartoons and mild porno were circulated around the business world through the extracurricular use of copiers and fax machines.  This workplace folk art was everywhere.  It was passed hand to hand, snail-mailed, tacked on bulletin boards or office doors and taped to reception desks.  However, once email became the ubiquitous tool of industry, it physically disappeared.  Not quite!  Actually it was secretly living on in corporate email accounts and hard drives around the world.  Pinterest has just let it go public again.

I’m not bad-mouthing Pinterest; it’s totally cool.  For one thing, unlike YouTube, it’s simple; anybody can do it.  There’s no uber-personal interaction as with Facebook and Google+, nor any elaborate planning as with LinkedIn.  Basically, it’s spontaneous: you think an image is brilliant, post it, and carry on.  And unlike Twitter, which is an avalanche of banality, once you get through the crap, Pinterest is quite interesting — especially the humour section.

The Age of Ego will run its course, just like the Space Age, the Jazz Age and the Nuclear Age, but I have the feeling social media is culturally infinite.  It’s been going on ever since Cro-Magnon man got bored one night in a cave near Lascaux, France.