Category: Social Media

CRTC and The Four Shysters

There’s a fine line between brave and stupid.  Brave is charging hell with a bow and arrow; stupid is thinking you’re going capture Satan.  If you’ve ever tried to upgrade either your television or your telephone, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  You have to be very brave indeed to even attempt it and pretty stupid if you think you’re going to succeed.

A popular misconception in Canada is that the telecommunication industry is run by the Canadian Radio-television Telecommunications Commission.  This is not true.  The CRTC is a bloated, out-of-touch agency, left over from the 30s.  It was put in place originally to regulate (read “limit”) independent radio stations in Canada — to guarantee that everybody listened to the CBC.  Within hours of its inception, however, it was discovered that most Canadians live within shouting distance of the US border.  Back in the day, this meant that anybody with an antenna could listen to whatever they wanted to – and they did — CBC be damned!  Over the next several decades — useless though it was — the CRTC remained, and since nobody cared (they were too busy watching Bonanza and Father Knows Best out of Detroit) it continued to make useless rules and consolidate its power.  Soon, the CRTC was in charge of everything from television call letters to satellite communications.  However, just because the CRTC makes the rules doesn’t mean it runs the show.

In Canada, the telecommunications industry is actually run by four pseudo criminal organizations I like to call The Four Shysters.  The Four Shysters control 95% of all television and telephone services in this country.  Under the guise of healthy competition, they operate a virtual monopoly.  They own the equipment — which they sell or lease to consumers at prices that rival Tiffany’s and Faberge.  They dictate the rates — which are comparable to Tony Soprano’s New Jersey Savings and Loan.  And they pretty much do as they please.  Not since the evil days of Prince John and the wicked Sheriff of Nottingham has a country been so firmly under the dark boot of tyranny.  Canadians pay some of the highest rates in the world for cellular phone service, and there’s nothing we can do about it.  Our 500 channel universe is so expensive that most people have turned to Netflix in desperation.

You can’t even shop around because it’s impossible.  Here’s how the sordid world of telecommunication in Canada works.  Shyster A advertises a free phone with – in teeny-tiny print — a three year contract.  You get 200 free minutes a week (between noon and 3 pm) 6 minutes at five cents, 12 minutes at 7 cents, free texting to one friend in Newfoundland, free Web browsing on days with an ‘h’ in them, incoming text messaging at 3 cents a minute, long distance calling at 20 cents a minute to anywhere in North America (except Ontario, Mexico and the United States) no roaming charges unless you walk across a bridge and a free carrying case — for $45.00 a month.  Or you can choose to upgrade to one of their 52 other convenient plans.  Shyster B advertises a completely different free phone with — in teeny-tiny print — a three year contract.  You get 300 free minutes a week (between 11 am and 2pm EST) 20 minutes free texting to two friends on Facebook, one free incoming call a month from your mother, free long distance calling from religious buildings, 10 minutes of free Web browsing (if you’re looking for a restaurant) 13.5 cents a minute overseas calling to sub-Saharan Africa (except Zimbabwe) and a puppy — for $50.00 a month.  Or you can choose to upgrade to one of their 47 other convenient plans.  Shysters C and D also offer plans equally idiotic.  The only standard in the industry is the three year contract (which is etched in the stones of the Pyramids) and the unwritten rule that, if you step one nanosecond outside the prescribed plan, you’re going to get a free prostate exam and a bill for $800.00.  How — under any circumstances — can we compare the value of these?   We can’t, and that’s what the industry is
banking on.  Finally, confusion, the mother of frustration, takes over, and we say, “Give me the one without the puppy.”  And we end up paying tons of money for crap we’re never going to use, want or need.

Similarly, our 500 channel universe is so convoluted that Bohr’s Second Law of Atomic Structure is easier to understand.  However, there are certain rules that all Four Shysters adhere to.  First of all, you have to buy basic cable; it’s like Health Care.  You’re never going to watch any of those channels, but you have to pay for them first because you can’t watch any other TV without them.  Secondly, everybody gets the Golf Channel.  Thirdly, the one channel you really want to watch is lumped in with The Puppet Channel, Aardvarks and Anvils and Minus One (the arts of Khatphoodistan) and you have to buy the whole package.  Finally, sports and news are spread out so randomly that, if you’re not careful, you could end up with The Welsh Lawn Bowling Channel and 24 Timer Nyheder (news from Denmark.)  After that, it just gets complicated.  Trying to figure out what your particular Shyster is going to saddle you with is like trying to unravel the Da Vinci Code — and don’t even worry about High Definition: it’s a money pit.  If you somehow manage to chart a path through this mind field, don’t get used to it: in six months, the Shysters will shuffle the deck and change everything, again.  Channel 64 will become 31; 31 will be 107; 107 will disappear altogether and the original 64 will suddenly be in French.  Inevitably, our minds rebel, and we just grab anything that looks good.  Once again, we’re paying tons of money for crap we’re never going to use, want or need.

And where is the CRTC in all of this?  They’re sitting down in Ottawa, trying to figure out the difference between upload and download.   They’re making regulations for Facebook and Google like they were the Testaments of the Prophets and wasting time and money keeping the world safe from Sun News.  Meanwhile, The Four Shysters are playing Guy of Gisborne all over the country and pillaging the Canadian people like they were the peasants of Sherwood.  This
country needs a Robin Hood to put a stop to this villainy.

Eventually, we all have to upgrade our telephone and television services, but I’m going to hold out as long as I can ‘cause I’m not that brave — and I’m sure as hell smart enough to know, that without any rules, I can’t win.

This Blog has Seven Days

In a hundred years, nobody’s going to remember the third week of May, 2011.  It won’t appear in history books alongside June 15th, 1215 or December 7th, 1941.  Actually, it’ll probably be overlooked entirely because historians will be beating their keyboards promiscuously over the death of a terrorist named Osama bin Laden who got double tapped by some Navy boys, two weeks earlier.  Such is the fickle nature of the human experience that a classic week, like this one, will be relegated to the dustbin of history.  Luckily, however, the democratization of the 21st century has given anybody with a laptop the opportunity to chronicle our time, which is exactly what I’m going to do.

The week started off — without a bang — when our planet avoided the Apocalypse.  This is a better trick than you might imagine, given that the world has been coming to an end ever since humans discovered it had a beginning.   Fortunately, Harold Egbert Camping at Family Radio (the guy who started the fuss) admitted he made a mistake and did some quick recalibrations.  He’s now saying, without a doubt, October 21, 2011 is the new dawn for the end of time – so at least we’ve got that to look forward to.  Just a bit of an aside though, for all those people who donated money to Family Radio — FYI – Harry’s not about to give refunds on a technical error.

Meanwhile, over in Hawaii, a boatload of the world’s prominent psychiatrists are meeting to rewrite the textbook on crazy – literally.  Apparently, there’s something called the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders or affectionately, the DSM-5.  This little number is the official GPS for the Valley of the Loons and it hasn’t been significantly revised for over twenty years.  It’s serious stuff.  The plan is to cut the number of personality disorders in half — from 10 to only 5.  Euphemistically, this means last week’s patient is next week’s eccentric or more succinctly, yesterday you suffered from narcissistic disorder; today, you’re a conceited jerk.  On the brighter side, depression may become sad again, and anxiety might lighten up a little and just be worry.   The problem these folks are facing is what is nuts and what is just odd?  And there are heavy-duty ramifications.  For example, although there’s something definitely wrong with Lindsay Lohan, Tiger Woods might not be a sex addict at all; he might just be horny.  Regardless, the real live Fraser Cranes of the world are going to have to figure it out because the new DSM-5 goes to print in 2013, and they better have their disorders in order by then.

Speaking of nutbars, in a blatant attempt to grab some headlines, Kathy Witterick and David Stocker revealed to the Toronto Star that they would not reveal the gender of their four-month-old child, Storm.  My first question is why did the Toronto Star want to know in the first place?  Is the gender of nondescript babies hot news in Tee-oh, these days?  Storm’s parents are calling it a “tribute to freedom and choice.”  I’m calling it grandstanding — at the expense of an innocent kid.  After all, if you want to keep your child’s gender a secret, the best thing to do is shut up.  In point of fact, the last place you want to go with the news is the Toronto Star — circulation over two million.  And that’s without all the other news outlets worldwide that picked up the story.  With all this avoidable media attention, I’ve a real hard time believing Kathy and Dave are doing this for the good of the child.  Personally, I think teaching kids that gender neutral is a good idea, is a good idea, but you can’t fool Mother Nature no matter how bright the media spotlight is.

Which brings us to the biggest media spotlight of them all – The Oprah Show.  Young girls all over the world are breathing easier now that the long, cold night of Oprah Winfrey is finally over.  They aren’t going to be told, day after day, that there’s something wrong with them: that they’re emotionally fragile, they’re stressed, they need to relax, they’re fat, ugly or abnormal.  Under the thin guise of empowering women, Oprah has held a dark tyranny over her audience for decades.  Day after day, she’s hammered home the idea that women have to change their lives.  But now she’s gone, and younger girls everywhere will escape the omnipresent Oprah.  They can quit reorganizing their lives and get on with living them.  They can go to the spa because they like it, not because they need to relax.  They can swim twice a week ‘cause it’s fun, not because they need to trim the tummy muscles and tighten the bum.  In short, they don’t have the wicked Queen looking over their shoulder anymore.  My only hope is that she doesn’t pull a Bret Favre and try to get back in the game.  The ego explosion that was the last week of Oprah was enough to may you give some serious thought to that Apocalypse.

This was just one soon-to-be-forgotten week in the history of our world.  Ain’t it fun?  I guess I’m glad we did miss the Apocalypse – again!

Fashion: A history of the 20th Century

Believe it or not, it’s finally Spring, and to prove it, people all over the country are taking off their clothes.  Suddenly necklines and hemlines are jockeying each other for position, waistbands are so low as to violate the natural laws of decency anywhere north of the equator, and, to coin an old joke, the girls are just as bad.  Personally, I’m no follower of fashion; I have my time and I’m never going to leave it.  Nor am I old enough to berate young people for wearing the same things I wore at their age.  I really don’t care much about fashions, where they came from, where they’ve been or how they got here.  Besides, I know enough about history to understand this too shall pass, and if you keep your clothes long enough, eventually they won’t fit.

However, I’ve noticed a distinct pattern in women’s clothing over the last 100 years.  I’m not sure whether history follows fashion or vice versa, but in general, turbulent, troubled times favour the neckline, whereas affluent, settled times favour the hemline.  I’m not going to speculate on the pop psychology of all this, but here’s a brief history.  You can make up your own mind.

In the days just before World War I, most of Europe simply couldn’t wait to start shooting at each other.  The world was in a mess.  From Morocco to the Balkans, every second Tuesday brought another world crisis. There were petty wars everywhere and everyone with a trigger finger was itching to use it.  Female fashions were dictated by the Gibson Girl, an hourglass figure with a bust size big enough to topple over on an incline.  From the French salon to the Russian Imperial court, bare shoulders and décolletage were de rigueur for aristocratic women.  And as the world trudged irrevocably towards all-consuming war, the plunging necklines got so extreme various churches spoke out against the style.  Luckily, World War I broke out in 1914 or modesty would have been lost forever.

The minute the war was over and Johnny came marching home again, he discovered that the world was his oyster.  The Roaring 20s were one big drunken bash.  People everywhere were partying on the imaginary cash they were making on the stock market.  Even Prohibition couldn’t slow down the dance.  Meanwhile women’s fashion now favoured the flapper.  She was a straight up and down girl with bobbed (short) hair, a receding bustline and no hips.  She wore the shortest skirts since Ramses the Half Naked built the Sphinx and the only cleavage available was the one visible from her backless gown.  This fashion disappeared almost instantaneously on October 24th, 1929 when the New York Stock Market crashed and everybody had to get serious again.

In the 30s, women buttoned up and the hemlines dropped to the ankles.  As the Depression deepened and the bad guys, Hitler and Mussolini, started marching, females took on a distinctly military look.  They wore jackets that covered their hips and artificially squared their shoulders.  Unlike the last time the world tried to kill itself, this time fashion was going to war.  Throughout the 40s, women remained broad shouldered; the hourglass was out, and the linebacker was in.  Just take a look at the Andrews Sisters to get a feel for it.

As the 40s slowly gave way to the 50s, and nuclear weapons brought a clear and present danger that humans could extinguish all life on the planet, women stacked on the petticoats again.  They wore a starched apparatus called the crinoline which flared at the hips so abruptly it completely disguised the female figure.  They also wore pullover sweaters, lightweight and tight, which combined with the sturdy bras of the time made the protruding parts look like they’d been put in a pencil sharpener.  This was the Sweater Girl Look that lasted well into the 60s.  It was the time of Jayne Mansfield, Marilyn Monroe and ever threatening nuclear holocaust.

But there was also a fashion schizophrenia going on in the 50s.  Employment was high, money was plentiful and the suburbs were solid and sturdy.  Everybody and her boyfriend had a car.  These conditions gave us a few fashion anomalies.  There were the B-grade science fiction movies for example, where the sweaters were tight and the skirts were flared and short.  Most notably, the bikini was a half naked salute to the sun and the Pacific islands of the Bikini Atoll, where, in 1946, the United States military detonated nuclear hell and wiped out paradise in six and a half seconds.

The 60s going on 70s was the last time female fashions were a single mass market.  Despite what historians tell us about protest and discord, the 60s were a drug-induced fiesta.  Young people might have protested during the day, but at night, pot and peyote ruled, music and dance were primitive, birth control was quick and easy and so was sex.  The party didn’t stop until Nixon’s National Guard took matters into their own hands at Kent State in 1970.   In 1965, Mary Quant introduced the miniskirt; $6.95 worth of fabric that covered the bare necessities.  Later she would go even further with the micro-mini and hemlines disappeared entirely.  The first supermodel, appropriately named Twiggy, drove the female form to the very edge of annihilation.  Thin was in so completely that the old-fashioned flapper looked positively voluptuous.  The little black dress became essential day, evening and professional wear, and women everywhere learned to bend at the knees.  The fashion 60s culminated when Ms. Quant premiered hot pants, an ill-conceived gesture to modesty that was snatched up by strippers and prostitutes around the world and has since been in continuous use.

The last days of dictated fashion came with disco.  In reaction to the Women’s Movement and the rise of feminism, fashion designers took to adorning men: the polyester leisure suit is the symbol of the age.  When disco died, prominent male fashion died with it.

For the last two decades of the 20th century, fashion was not so much about style as trend.  There were no overwhelmingly accepted forms of dress; however, both men and women did follow a number of trends religiously.  Hemlines and necklines made minor seasonal adjustments up and down, in quick reaction to the state of the world, but most fashion remained in flux.  There was, however, one female feature that did distinguish itself – the bum.

Introduced in Australia, in 1977, by Abba singer Agnetha Faltskog, the bum has dominated fashion ever since.  It shows up everywhere and has become the single fashion constant in a world that gyrates wildly between feast and famine.  Clothes have tightened up proportionately to display the bum prominently, and in some cases, silicon has been added to enhance its features.  Even today, in the 21st century, the bum remains front and centre on the fashion scene; Jennifer Lopez and the Kardashian sister are perfect examples.

Personally, I think the bum is a passing fancy and the fashion world is just catching its breath and waiting for another party or crisis to right itself.  In my mind, history will win out, but you can make up your own mind.