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.

When the gods are changing

It’s hard to live in a time when the gods are changing, but it’s loads of fun, too.  This transitional world we live in is so full of cool it’s difficult to sort things out.  So many neat things are going on right now that I’m totally pissed I’m never going to see where they end up in 50 or 100 years.  Honestly, I haven’t completely comprehended our world since back in the 20th century.  Sometime around the Y2K scam, I started to lose track, and even though I faked it for a couple more years, the gaps in my understanding just got too big.  Now, like old underwear, there are far too many holes in my knowledge to ever claim decency again.  Fortunately, the world has gotten so large that I can just narrow my focus, avoid the stuff I don’t recognize, and keep on moving.  There are certain things that I miss from the old world, though; things that were quaint and homey and comfortable.

For example, I miss quiet contemplation on the bus.  In the olden days, people on buses used to sit there, stunned, staring straight ahead.  They read books and newspapers.  They decided what to have for dinner.  They mulled over their problems.  They carried open bags with their new possessions in them.  Sometimes, they talked to each other in that secret mono-voice reserved for private words in public places.  They looked out the windows and thought about their lovers.  Buses were romantic places.  These days, buses are full of people who stand when there are seats available and boldly declare to their invisible friends that they are indeed on the bus.

I miss babysitters, too.  I think it’s too bad that a whole generation of young people are probably going to have to resort to prostitution to pay for their music and hairstyles.  Babysitters should have been made an essential service — years ago.  They allow us to have time.  Sometimes, adults need adults only.  There’s something relaxing about having a second cup of coffee after dinner when somebody else is going to do the dishes.

Restaurants are made for love affairs because they capture time for the person you’re with.  A few years ago, the one requirement for a quiet evening like this was that the chairs in the restaurant weren’t made of plastic.  These days, however, most restaurants offer complimentary crying babies or young families eager to share their experience.  It’s difficult to have a trivial conversation when 4-year-old Kay-lee (with a K) at the next table is pffting her potatoes and going for distance.  In the olden days, a good babysitter would have saved both those marriages.

And I miss newspapers: those big Sunday thumpers that killed half a forest to make and half a morning to read.  They had complete sections that you could trade across the breakfast table.  They were big enough to fold, so you could drink your morning coffee.  They were lazy with long stories.  They had movies you wanted to see and places you wanted to go.  They had columnists from faraway Chicago and Frisco, who caused discussions and arguments, and the loser made breakfast.  And they had crossword puzzles that might take all day — even with help.  Today, news and opinion are a solitary business backlit and scrolling, rushed through on our way to somewhere else, over a breakfast we can eat with our hands.

And I don’t like “relationships.”  They’re artificial affairs.  They’re built on the premise that the squiggy feeling in the bottom of your belly has a beginning, a middle and an end.  They take too much thought and are almost corporate in their planning.  Following their path is like playing a video game where each success leads you to the next level — more difficult with bigger dangers – until, finally, it’s too familiar to play anymore.  I prefer the olden days when people had love affairs that began by accident — at places like bus stops.  They took time to unfold, over longer and longer, long evenings.  And even though they always began as separate adventures, unlike relationships, love affairs got passed back and forth so many times that they became a jungle of intertwisted experience that can never be understood separately again.

This isn’t a brave new world we live in; it’s a brilliant place, with new and exciting things going on, all the time.   And even though, most days, I can’t wait for tomorrow, I still like the feel of yesterday.

Stupid is as Stupid does

I’m probably singing to the choir, but I’m going to say — flat out — Canada is extraordinary.  It’s unique.  It’s exceptional.  Our country sits on the pinnacle of what nations have been trying to achieve ever since Hammurabi went to Law School.  We’ve got so much stuff we don’t even know what to do with half of it.  We’ve got stuff we just look at.  We throw away more stuff than a lot of other countries have to begin with.  And we’re stinkin’ rich, too — not just Bill Gates rich, either.  We could buy Gates and make him tapdance at birthday parties if we wanted to.  When you’re born in Canada, you’re already worth $40,000 — and that’s just for showing up.  Several years ago, Jean Chretien’s government lost (LOST!) a billion dollars, and nobody cared.  Jean just told Parliament he’d look around for it.  He never did find it, but still — nobody cared.   Canadians are so outrageously wealthy we don’t even take our money seriously.  We call it “the Loonie,” for Christ sake.

So, you’re probably wondering, why, if we have all this stuff and we’re so rich, how come we have poor people and homeless people and bad roads and huge taxes and all the other crap we have to put up with every day?  Simple answer?  We’re stupid.  And we’re not just “I lost my keys on the bus” stupid, either; we’re “Other countries are laughing at us” stupid.  If Dumb-Ass were an Olympic event, Canada would literally own the podium.  We’ve had so much money for so long that we don’t even bother keeping track of it, anymore.  For example, we just gave over $9,000.00 to a convicted cop-killer because the prison guards violated his civil rights by making him stand during roll call.  And do you know that Canada owns a huge apartment in Paris?  If you’re an artist who knows the right people, you can go live there — for nothing — and the Canadian taxpayer will pick up the tab.  These are just two teeny examples.  There are tons more because — believe it or not — we actually pay people hundreds of thousands of dollars every year to go to work and figure out ways to give our money away.  And here’s the knee to the groin: they are probably the most efficient government department we have because we give away (GIVE AWAY!) hundreds of millions of dollars every year.  Pretty stupid, huh?  Maybe, but merely giving our money away is not the stupidest thing Canadians do – not by a long shot. 

In all of human history, since the very first person walked on two legs, Canada is the only country ever, which actually gives money to people who want to destroy it.  Every year, all of us proud Canadians, who wave the flag, sing the song and kinda like the country we live in, give a couple of million dollars in political subsidies to the Bloc Quebecois, whose avowed purpose on earth is to destroy Canada.  Think about it.  Now imagine the conversation between two Afghanis in Kandahar when a Canadian soldier walks by.

“Who’s that guy?”
“He’s a Canadian.”
“What he like?”
“He’s a nice guy, but he’s stupid.”
“I thought the Americans were stupid?”
“Not as stupid as this guy.  He’s so stupid, while he’s away, he’s paying people to wreck his country.”
“What?  Doesn’t he like his country?”
“No, he loves it.  You should hear him talk about it.  He wishes he was there, right now.”
“Is there something wrong with his country?”
“Nope, not a thing.  It’s a great place.  In fact, people from all over the world are clamoring to get in.”
“Wow!  That is stupid.”
“Told ya.”

Variations on this conversation are going on all over the world.  The major difference is the Afghanis are at least polite enough not to pee their pants laughing.  Just imagine what guys like Berlusconi are saying about us.  It’s no wonder nobody takes Canada seriously anymore.  Quite frankly, how could they?  Giving tax money to the Bloc Quebecois is like Louis XVI of France saying to Robespierre, “Look, Maximilien! I know you’re broke but I’m going to give you a couple of million francs every year so, some day, you can start the French Revolution and eventually cut off my head.”  What Cloud Cuckcooland have we fallen into?

And to put some icing on the Stupid Cake, there has never been a major protest against this lunacy — anywhere — from sea to shining sea.  In fact, there are people in this country who defend political subsidies because they say they’re “Good for democracy.”  I have no idea how that works.  From my point of view, people who want to destroy the close to 200 years of hard work it took to get us all this cool stuff aren’t good for very much, and paying them to do it is just – well – stupid. 

But — politics aside — let’s just look at the money.  Taxpayers pay $27 million in political subsidies every year.  That’s chump change to the Canadian government.  However, if we were to take all that money and buy chicken, we could give a 10-piece bucket to over 10,000 homeless people every day, forever – for all eternity.  And I imagine with an order that big, KFC would throw in the Pepsi.  So, who needs the money more: Gilles Duceppe or that kid digging in your dumpster?  Think about it.

Tiger Mom and the World’s Greatest Dad

Before you read another word, you must understand one fact: I am the World’s Greatest Dad.  I got to be the World’s Greatest Dad because I have a huge advantage over all the other dads in the world – I don’t have any kids.  Remember this.  It’s extremely important.  Anyway, because I don’t have any kids, I don’t read a lot of books on parenting.  It would be like a guy with no arms reading books about finger painting (get over the imagery; it’s true.)  However, I was intrigued by the firestorm generated by Amy Chua’s Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother and decided to give it a lash.  Wow!  All kinds of things are going on here: first of all, for a best seller, it isn’t a very good read.  Secondly, it’s been wildly misinterpreted.  Thirdly, Chua is dead wrong, and finally, I agree with most of what she says.

In the book, Chua basically comes out of the closet and says, before God and everybody, Western (read “North American”) ideas about child raising are stupid, and Chinese (read “immigrant”) methods are far superior.  The majority of the book is actually about Chua, and most of the rest of it is about music lessons.  Those parts are boring.  However, when she talks about raising her daughters, it’s absolutely fascinating.  Chua says that kids need direction, they need structure and they need clearly-defined goals.  She goes on to say that, in order for children to become well-adjusted, successful adults, they need to be taught to pursue excellence.  She uses music and academic achievement as the models.  Then, (here’s the best part) she says parents are not doing their job unless they demand absolute excellence from their children and (it just gets better and better) that by rigidly imposing discipline on them, parents naturally give their kids the gift of self-discipline, which is essential to personal success.  Heady stuff!

Legions of Blogging Moms read the reviews of Chua’s book and went into apoplectic shock.  When they got up off the floor, they ran to their own children, did a group hug, recited six I-love-yous, and assured them, in a comforting, nurturing way, that the bad lady was merely challenged and could not hurt them because mommy was there.  Then, they went back to their computers to put a stop to this blasphemy.  Momma Bear was pissed, but Amy Chua was unrepentant and pointed to her own daughters to prove her argument.  Blogging Moms would have pointed to theirs but they were busy playing video games at the time.  (You can kinda see where I’m going on this can’t you?)  I don’t agree with Ms. Chua’s methods and for the most part I think somebody should have ratted her out to Child Services years ago.  But I can’t argue with her assessment.

Children are ignorant savages.  If you don’t believe me, take a Google on Lord of the Flies.  They are conceited little monsters who think the world runs on cute.  In order for them to survive outside the family home, they need parents to protect them, guide them and teach them all the junk they’re going to need to know when they hit 18 and nobody loves them unconditionally anymore.  Like it or don’t, there are some pretty serious predators out there who feast on young adults.  Unfortunately, most parents see themselves as mere cheerleaders, dedicated to ego-building in their sons and daughters.  They believe that self-esteem is the single most important thing they can give their kids; it’s sort of like The Force in Star Wars.  Yoda tells Skywalker that if he just believes, he can levitate rocks and such.  I don’t know how many times I’ve heard parents say, “If you believe in yourself, you can do anything.”  That’s crap!  You can believe in yourself all you want, but without the basic tools of life, you are doomed to failure.  Faith does not move mountains; hard work and self-discipline do.

The problem is that most people don’t see the simple connection between material success and this self-actualization hocus pocus everybody talks about.  Again, I don’t know how many times I’ve heard parents say, “I don’t care what my kids do, as long as they’re happy.”  Once again, this is crap!  I’ve been poor and happy, and I’ve been rich and happy; take a wild guess which one I prefer.  The simple fact is that young adults without marketable skills (or the ability to acquire them) don’t have the option of realizing their true potential and pursuing happiness.   They’re stuck with doing whatever they can — just to survive.  And self esteem is not an asset in this situation; it’s a liability.  In the real world, there’s a huge slap waiting for every kid who doesn’t understand that praise and rewards are not automatic — even when they’re deserved.  If that isn’t a nuclear kick in the ego for young people just starting out, I don’t know what is.  

Parents are not doing their children any favours by shielding them from our nasty little world.  They need to prepare them for it and give them the skills they need to survive.  They should demand their kids strive for excellence and force them into the habits that increase their chances of success.  Amy Chua may not be mother of the year, and there may be madness in her methods, but as the World’s Greatest Dad, I can see her point.