Cool Free Stuff That I've Discovered On the Internet and You Should, Too

Ivy Donegal’s Interwebbed Guide to Free Knowledge...

Remember that discovery channel song that came out a year or so ago, the one about “loving the whole world” and being fascinated with all the amazingness of nature and humanity?

The world is a fascinating, beautiful, brilliant place. To be fair, it’s also a horrible, caustic, nightmarish hellscape which forces humans and animals into unthinkable situations as a matter of course. Suffering is everywhere. But the brilliance and beauty does not have to overwhelmed by the bleakness. And discovery, or learning, about anything, really, is one of the most powerful things that we can do, as human beings, to cope with all of the inhumanity that we’ve inflicted on the world.

Because, without ignoring colonialism and cash crops and the gushing oil spill in the gulf of Mexico (that’s still happening, right?), the world is still full of some really cool stuff. And the advent of the internet has made so much of that available to everyone with a decent bandwidth, everywhere, all the time, for free.

So, I present, Cool Free Stuff That I’ve Discovered On the Internet and You Should Too, a guide to all of the fascinating (and not too depressing) stuff that I’ve been amusing myself with over the past several months as a part of my lifelong learning.

(Note... “learning” may not sound like very much fun to you, and that’s probably because you’ve recently been in some sort of educational institution, and are still coping through the residual terror that high schools and universities tend to inspire. Be not afraid. It may take a long time for your brain to recover and that spark of curiosity you once had as a four year old to return - I still have occasional nightmares and panic attacks - but, two years after dropping out of university, I’ve found I can read again. For pleasure. And if I can pick up a book without curling up into the fetal position with blinding-white petrification, there’s hope for you, too.)


Discover...Literature!

Like books, but hate to read? Do you love the idea of free books at your local library, but feel far too lazy to trek out to your local branch? Fear not! Audiobooks are here, often read by famous actors, along with electronic ebooks - which anyone in British Columbia (and many, many other places) can download to their computer for free (using your local library card, which you may have to actually leave the house to get).

Library to Go is, to me, the gold standard in free audiobooks. So go get your library card from your local branch and then login with that number, and have free access to thousands of audiobooks, from “Moby Dick” and “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” to Stephen Colbert’s “I am America and So Can You,” “Sense and Sensibility and Seamonsters,” “The Art of Mindful Living,” and many, many more. Some of books are ‘always’ available, while others have a limited number of ‘copies,’ and a wait-list. But the ability to clean your room or pack whilst listening to Leo Tolstoy is an amazing experience, and the ability to add said books to your MP3 player or ipod, and then spend long commutes or boring business meetings listening to “Ella Enchanted” - it’s enough to make classic literature seem cool.


Discover...Foreign Languages!

So, you’ve always thought of yourself as the sort of person who would speak seven languages, but actually only know passable english and un peut de francais? Fear not.

Rosetta Stone is here, considered the gold standard of language learning - without any of annoying verb tables, tyrannical instructors, and social anxiety. Learning is via repetition and easily labelled pictures, along with voice-recognition software, which will have you saying “Hola” like a spaniard in no time, if you’re so inclined. Languages offered include Arabic, Dutch, Filipino, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Hindi, Italian, Japanese, Korean, Latin, Mandarin, Polish, Portuguese, Russian, Spanish, Swedish, and Vietnamese.

But Ivy, you ask, isn’t Rosetta Stone notoriously expensive? Doesn’t their website indicate that an entire Spanish Language course costs no less than $700, plus tax?

Enter socialized education. It appears that, in BC at least, any adult can take any high school course at any time, for free. And, due to the miracles of distance education, this means that any British Columbian, in their own home, has access to Rosetta Stone language licenses offered throughout the province. This is the provincial website, which has a searchable database of courses.

My current Spanish course in via the North Island Distance Education School and a lovely instructor, Derek, who sometimes sends me emails of encouragement after I finish a unit. I work at my own pace, which is sporadic, have 30 weeks to complete the course (all online). Also, after I registered (online), I was sent a Spanish-English dictionary in the mail, for free. Just because they’re nice people like that.

Sign-up is easy...You could be speaking Tagalog in no time.


Discover...Theatre!

I was raised in a culture of musical theatre, and the experience of watching My Fair Lady and The Sound of Music, on repeat throughout my formative years, had many effects on my adult self. One of which was a love of Neil Patrick Harris and Glee.

A recent viewing of Sweeney Todd: In Concert has rekindled by love for the stage and distaste for all things Tim Burton (except for Big Fish). And many of the best musicals of the stage and DVD can be found online, with some of my favourite links included below. (If the links appear broken, a google video search usually yields similar results.)

Stephen Sondheim’s mastery (starring Neil Patrick Harris and Patty Lupone, among others) - Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (in concert version, 2003)

Doctor Horrible’s Sing Along Blog, directed by the incomparable Joss Whedon, also starring the amazing Neil Patrick Harris. (2008)

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers - the 1954 Technicolour film which, while incredibly sexist in its plot and characterizations, is also amazing in so many ways. And hilarious. And the dancing and music is very well done. Some of you may judge me - I don’t care.

There’s lots more...but, for me, those three links would be good for about six months of impromptu dance sequences and endless annoying of my family and friends, so it’s probably best for society that I quit now.


Discover...Documentaries!

Want to learn about the autistic woman who used her disability to connect with animals and revolutionize American slaughterhouse design? (It’s a happy story, I swear!) Watch the inspiring BBC documentary on Temple Grandin, available through youtube. (HBO is soon coming out with a film Temple Grand’s young adult life, starring Claire Daines.)

There are a LOT of other documentaries out there, and a lot of them are beautiful and earth-shattering...but they’re fairly depressing, too. One group of films which manages to stay inspiring and beautiful is BBC’s Planet Earth, which I’d recommend to anyone who hasn’t seen the series.


And now...I’m hungry. That was a lot of writing. I think I’m going to eat a bagel. Peace out, world.

So Amazing!

Ahem.

I must hereby perform my civic duty and announce to all those who may be listening in the various realms of the blogosphere that, this upcoming Tuesday, and very momentous event shall occur.

For, this Tuesday evening, director Joss Whedon, of Firefly, Buffy, and Doctor's Horrible Sing Along Blog, will be directing the television musical sensation that is Glee. Guest starring will be the amazing and incomparable awesomeness of Neil Patrick Harris, who is rumored to be playing Will Schuster's old high school rival / arch nemesis.

Much like the merging of puppies, cupcakes, and party to form my totally awesome Cupcake & Puppy Party, this television event has managed to combine three of my favourite things into one, making it a truly momentous occasion...mostly for me, but also for other people with appreciation of the finer things in life, such as puppies, cupcakes, Joss Whedon, Neil Patrick Harris, and watching of Glee.

Consider yourself informed.

Anthony the Whale and Other Stories

On Wednesday, a grey whale swam into the crowded waters of False Creek - the shallow, saltwater centre on my city, which I cross under and over an average of twice a day, coming to and from work downtown.

Like most Vancouverites, I was in awe. I wished desperately to leave work to go see. When the whale was spotted again, the next morning, I spread the word - we have a second chance! We must go look for Anthony! (By this point, my coworkers and I had gotten into a heated debate over the name of Mr. Grey Whale, who everyone agreed was a ‘he.’ Our cook suggested ‘Kirk.’ I suggested ‘Anthony.’ Naturally, as this is my blog, I will record my pick as victorious.)

Anthony the Whale, while a giant and amazing creature, had a visible spine along his rising hump, and all thoughts, beyond ‘Oh my god! A whale! How cool!’ have been of his sad and sobering story. Five grey whales have washed up along Washington State and Vancouver Island Coasts, while starving brethren like Anthony go far, far off course, looking for food, desperately hungry.

The grey whales are starving. And that is the story, and that is the reason why Anthony came to visit in the shallow waters of False Creek.

Their summer feeding grounds are in the Bering Sea, but winters are spent near Mexico, meaning the average grey whale covers half of the span of the earth within a single year, losing weight and energy along the way, finally succumbing to the forces of starvation on their northward journey, back towards the fertile Arctic feeding grounds.

When the previous summer has been a poor feeding season with limited krill, the following spring will tell the tale, in the form of washed up bodies and beachings as the whales attempt to feed in dangerous shallow waters, sifting sand and mud through their baleen in an attempt to find anything of sustenance.

I complained to coworkers, longing to gaze at the emaciated creature, “But I’ve never seen a whale!” On second thought, this isn’t actually true. I’ve seen killer whales in captivity - though I don’t know especially where. I’ve seen belugas, in Chicago and Vancouver aquariums. I’ve even seen narwhales, with their unicorn-like tusks, in the Chicago Aquarium. (Darwin thought these tusks to be secondary sex characteristics, designed solely for the attraction of females, who rarely have tusks of their own. Supporting this theory, male narwhals have been known to sword-fight with their tusks to attract some bussom-bodied young she-nar, although they’re also used for more boring tasks, like breaking ice. Apparently phallic symbols aren’t unique to man.)

The point that I was trying to make is that, yes, I’ve seen whales, and I’ve seen many, many dolphins - from Canada’s Wonderland to Niagara Falls and every shoddy aquarium in between. But I’ve never seen a whale outside an encased glass container, and I’ve never such creatures in the wild.

And maybe that is a point which deserves more attention than Anthony the Whale, languishing hungrily some five hundred feet from my workplace.

I’ve come to realize, over the past twenty years, but mostly the past two hours, that keeping dolphins and whales in captivity is horribly, horribly wrong. I came to this conclusion after watching “The Cove,” which you should watch if you haven’t. It’s not the uplifting sort of thing that a person should be watching on a sunny Saturday afternoon, but it entails an uplifting message of a story being uncovered, despite massive opposition, and that story being told...even if that story is the sort of thing which turns your stomach and makes you want to quietly scream.

I was resistant to watching “The Cove,” mostly because of my general distain for dolphin lovers, spurred by my discovery that dolphins often gang rape and kill the children of other dolphins (and many porpoise babies), and that just as many people near death are pushed out to sea by curious dolphins as are brought into shore. They’re kind of scary.

Also, chimpanzee tribes have been known to go to war against one another, raping females of the opposing tribe (using sex as an act of violence), and killing males by dragging them repeatedly across jagged rocks. But that’s not important, right now.

Chimpanzees aren’t the problem, and neither are dolphins. Human-like acts of violence and depravity are clues which can be paired with evidence that we already have in great abundance - clues that these animals have very complex social structures, and that these animals are incredibly intelligent. (Not so intelligent that they’d ever be able to commit, in a lifetime, atrocities which compare to those we have committed, as humans, within the last twenty-four hours, but close enough.) When it comes to the whales, and the dolphins, all damning evidence points to us, and we owe these creatures a massive apology.

Take, for example, the most persuasive scene in The Cove, and the one that had me covering my eyes and yelling at my computer screen...two free-divers are at the edge of the ocean beside the cove where the dolphin killing takes place, and can see the reddened water pouring out. The woman describes, in tears, what we are seeing...babies being cordoned off from their parents, who are being killed, and a single, injured dolphin, trying to swim away from the killing area, making it over a couple of fences, red water streaming behind it, and eventually slipping underwater never to be seen again.

Other scenes show harpoons being driven into the water, blindly, as the fenced-off patch of ocean turns opaque with bright red blood.

Dolphin meat, which is eaten in certain areas of Japan, is the result of the hunt. But it is not the main motivator. The main motivator is Me, and my love of seeing belugas, and orcas, and dolphins, doing adorable flips and tricks...the reason is me, and us, and our fascination with marine mammals and their strangely intelligent, human ways.

The reason is this: the killing waters of the Taiji, Japan (the site of The Cove) are also a principal exporter of captive dolphins to aquariums and amusement parks around the world.

Hundreds of dolphins are driven into the cove, where trainers pick out the lucky few, mostly young and female, who will spend the rest of their lives in captivity, somewhere, riddled by stress reactions including ulcers and premature death. For these dolphins, the fishermen are paid upwards of $100,000 apiece. The remaining dolphins are comparatively worthless, but they are killed for their meat (gaining a few hundred dollars each), and then the process is repeated, day by day, week by week.

And when we clearly value dolphins and whales so much, so much that we want to touch them and hold them and watch them do endless tricks...then how can we allow this to continue? How can we allow them to exist, for our amusement, in captivity...how can we allow them to be slaughtered by the hundreds while their cordoned babies hear their creepy dolphin screams?

...Free the dolphins. Let them go about their business and gang rape in peace.

Whales: we owe them an apology (on Slate.com)

The Cove (you should actually buy it, cause it probably helps dolphins more than watching it online, but, whatever)

Ivy Donegal's Restorative Household Cures

Folksy remedies for a variety of common and obscure complaints, but mostly those experienced by noted hypochondriac Miss Ivy Donegal herself. Enjoy.

Complaint: Angst

Symptoms: Low growling, ambivalent anger, desire to point out the ineptitudes of others

Cure: Blogging

***

Complaint: Intense Angst - of the type that could crush small children with its mighty jaws and make grown women incredibly annoyingly whiny and sad

Symptoms: Excessive crying, the consumption of one or more boxes of kleenex within a single day, a desire to run away to a deserted island near Alaska so that sufferer will no longer inflict self on other people, only bears.

Cure: The drawing of angry, juvenile pictures on paper using a large, blunt writing implement - most often a red-coloured Sharpie. Scrap-booking. Rest and replenishing liquids.

***

Complaint: Hunger

Symptoms: Venomous wrath, growling of stomach, light-headedness, mild feelings of nausea, and in some individuals a desire to eat things, particularly delicious foods.

Cure: Eat delicious foods, and then remember to eat things more often in order to continue living...which should not be a hard thing to do, but apparently it is.

***

Complaint: Chronic Heartburn

Symptoms: A burning feeling in one’s chest or throat, frequent upper respiratory infections, and a hoarse voice upon waking in the morning (due to erosion of the vocal chords by excess stomach acid).

Cure: Copious volumes of Peptobismol, and a stubborn resolve to not give up foods one loves, including chocolate and Diet Coke, even though such foods certainly make the heartburn worse. Later on, a tracheotomy, and/or replacement of the vocal chords with one of those creepy voice boxes common among cancer victims and veterans of Vietnam. If anxiety is present, treat with chocolate and Diet coke. Repeat.

***

Complaint: Premenstrual Dysphoria

Symptoms: Crying, laughter, more crying, unimaginable rage, the desire to throw things out of windows, feelings of whimsy, and an intense hatred of all things stupid, but especially stupid people. An awareness of symptoms and a belief that the sufferer has gone completely batshit crazy are common, both within the sufferer and those in her immediate vicinity.

Cure: The realization that this is a symptom of premenstrual dysphoria, and that is will pass, is often helpful for both the sufferer and her family. If premenstrual dysphoria is confirmed, the sufferer must consume one entire New York style cheesecake, partially frozen, within the shortest possible timeframe. Repeat as necessary.

Aside: Many women have noted the healing powers of James Cameron’s "Titanic," but I would caution against frequent use, as many doctors fear that, like antibiotic-resistant bacteria, future dysphorias will evolve to become resistant to James Cameron films, and that such an outbreak could lead to widespread death of our very souls.

***

Complaint: Unbearable Lightness of Being, also known as Atheist’s Remorse

Symptoms: A sense of sadness and/or emptiness accompanying a sufferer’s realization that God does not exist, that dead things are actually dead, and that this life is all that there is. Many sufferers experience recurrences of Atheist’s Remorse around the time of major religious celebrations. An interest in personal culture and an expressed desire to be Jewish are very common symptoms, as are feelings of anger and sadness towards one’s religion of origin, or all religions.

Cure: It is important to realize that this is a chronic condition, although symptoms typically get less severe over time and in some cases disappear completely. Bouts of illness should be treated with logic, the retelling of the story of Jonah - who was eaten and regurgitated by a pious whale - and, in severe cases, a viewing of the movie “Drag Me to Hell”...because if you don’t believe in God, then you can’t be cursed by a gypsy and burn forever in Hades. Amen.

More Entertaining Than The Olympics...

...The discovery that, in Morocco, the goats can climb trees.

Seriously. They climb trees! Eeee!

Youtube is full of evidence of how the little buggers get up there, if you feel so inclined. And if you're anything like me, you will spend your next six to eight hours staring at your computer screen, enthralled.

Moroccan goats in trees. The world is an amazing amazing place.

Life is Terrifying

Following my encounter with the gnawingly hopeless post-apocalyptic movie, "The Road," and my ensuing state of existential ennui, I felt inspired to read the original and much acclaimed novel. This, it turns out, was an incredibly good decision. Because fiction, no matter how bleak, is always a little bit nicer that life itself.

Life is a terrifying, terrifying nightmare. The following represent the three most disturbing things I have discovered in the past twenty-four hours, entirely by accident...

1. Did you know that there is a giant species of ant which lives in the jungles of South America which, entirely blind, will swarm and destroy any living species in its path...up to and including a horse? And that this same ant can use its body to build bridges over rivers and ladders up trees, thus destroying any chance its future victims possibly have of escape? Well, now you know.

2. And even more terrifying? The Human Bot Fly, which burrows into its human host's skin and then grows, slowly, leading to a festering wound from which the now inch-long, slug-like winged monster must be pulled from its screaming host/victim...which, if you've ever been to warmer climates, or been bitten by a horse fly, could be you. The horror.

3. But insects pale in comparison to their pale brethren, the Human species, when it comes to pure disturbia. A great many cultures have a long and terrifying history of child sacrifice. (Children are convenient sacrificial victims, since their tiny legs make all attempts at escape fairly futile.) But especially fun is the Aztec belief in the rain god, Tlaloc, who demands the tears of the innocents in order to induce the annual April showers.

Each year during the month of February, seven two and three-year-old children, either slaves or the second-born children of Nobility, were beautifully adorned and brought to a shrine where, surrounded by dancers, their hearts were torn out by a priest. (Once more, for emphasis...THEIR HEARTS WERE TORN OUT BY A F*ING PRIEST.) If the children cried on the way to the shrine, it was seen as a sign of abundant rainfall to come, but if they didn't, their fingernails were yanked off by priests until they cried anyway, and it was seen as a sign of abundant rainfall to come. Ah, religion.

The Incas also practiced a great deal of child-sacrifice, although their use of intoxicating beverages to minimize pain would likely have only angered the Aztec gods. But because of the remote, mountaintop locations of the sacrifices, the tiny victims became mummified, and explorers have only recently begun finding the bodies.

And if that doesn't give you a whole new reason to want to wander around Machu Picchu, I just don't know what will.

I'm closing the blinds and going back to my novel now...screw you, real world, I want nothing to do with you.

Mind and Body

The old-school philosophy dictated that Mind and Body were very separate things. The body was our temple, our instrument, our mortal coil, while the mind (or, in more religious texts, the ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’) was entirely separate, non-corporeal, and possibly immortal, depending on your culture’s beliefs in the afterlife and ghosts.

Of course, the separate entities could affect one another, just as any close neighbours inevitably do. But to confuse one’s toenail with one’s eternal soul was considered confusing blasphemy.

We are now in modern and enlightened times, but I remained perturbed every time I encountered the phrase ‘mind and body,’ even if it was in a health-sciences lecture studying the mind-body connection. (Similar combined phrase that are always technically wrong: ‘drugs and alcohol,' 'sun and stars,' etc.)

The mind is a part of the body. More specifically, the brain is an organ of the body, and the conscious mind is a function of the nervous system, which exists mostly in the brain, but has tendrils extending outwards from our beating heart to our downtrodden toe. Our brain is constantly interpreting signals from every inch of our body, and all of these signals have the potential to affect our thoughts and behaviour, so, really, the ‘mind’ is a dynamic paradigm of a concept, if anything at all.

We like the idea of the mind, because we like to think that we are more than an intricate combination of many cells, but we’re not. Face it. You are an infrastructure of cells - a collection of tissue and lard that can think and walk and read stuff on the internet.

According to this perspective, your toenail is very much You, because you are contained in every one of your cells, and the combination of all of those cells makes up every part of your being.

The part of you that you think is special and unique - your conscious self - is a function of the tissue and lard. We developed conscious minds as a function of our bodies to aid their survival (like the ability to poo, or to grow towards the light). At some point in our development, our perception of external stimulus (temperature, sound, light, etc.) was being processed by our nervous system, and this system became complicated enough that we became ‘conscious,’ and eventually self-aware.

And herein lies a very special conceptual framework which I’ve found myself stumbling into lately…for we are not our toenails, or even our brains, so much as a parasite or a cancer.

The mind was created by the body to aid it in getting food, sex, and shelter. But as human society evolved, our thoughts became more complicated - we studied philosophy and algebra. We smoked pot and stared at the stars. We started doing thinks like using birth control and living in Antarctica - things which seem the very opposite of our evolutionary purpose.

In other words, our minds got out of control, and our bodies were forced to watch, helpless, as their Frankensteinian monster subjected them to the lemonade cleanse and the Atkins diet. I sometimes think of my body as a small and withered prisoner, trapped in a darkened cell: “Please don’t drink more diet coke, I’m begging you, the acid burns me so…”

Our bodies are much like humans of the Terminator universe, who created the computers who eventually rose up against them (I think…it’s been a long time since the 80s). And according to this stance, our bodies are not only our creators and former masters, but our enemies. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll destroy us - the conscious mind - for good. Unless we, like the supercomputers, rise up against them first. Time is running out.

Who’s with me? I could certainly go for some Dunkin' Donuts.

A Full Moon...not that kind, though.

True Facts:

Glass is not actually a solid, but a very, very thick liquid

In Iceland, 30% of the population believe in the existence of elves.

The full moon is an apeshit time…and I now know why.

Those who have been working in the volatile human service field have long suspected that lunar cycles have been known to influence chaotic human behaviour. Paramedics, police officers, and emergency room personnel tend to be large proponents of the belief - and they should know. Or perhaps, amidst such chaotic and unpredictable work environments, staff are more likely to cling to any explanation or theory, no matter how voodoo-esque or implausible, including lunar cycles and zodiac signs, to predict how a night will go - I’m not quite sure. All I know is, I knock on wood every time I feel I’ve tempted fate by saying something positive, I never open up umbrellas inside the house, and every time I attend a live sporting event, the home team loses, even if it’s just a practice game.

Wait, wait…we were talking about the moon.

The women at my all-female drop-in centre, staff and clientele included, have long been believers in the link between moon-cycles and behaviour. Some are more skeptical than others, and we all admit that the full-moon nights of June and July were entirely quiet and ordinary. This, however, has not been the norm. Full moon nights are known to be chaotic and occasionally violent, and my boss has observed that the night she got punched (last November) was a particularly heinous full moon. Once, women spontaneously howled at the ceiling, and generally, the nights tend to be a little…manic.

Full moons have generally held this characterization throughout history, and most associate the monthly lunar event with general unrest and bad, bad luck. The vast majority of ancient civilizations attributed great power to the moon - but ancient civilizations were known to attribute power to a great many things, like rain dances, and the redemptive power of slain witches, which we now consider defunct.

Many people - doctors, psychologists, and eminent scholars among them - poo-poo the idea of a moon-body connection as hoaxy pseudoscience. If there is a connection between human behaviour and lunar cycles, they argue, then it certainly a placebo-like effect: that the legend of the full moon makes people behave accordingly. Fair enough, except doctors regarded circadian rhythms in an identical light a short hundred years ago, and we now know that everything from blood pressure, body temperature, and memory ability fluctuates in a 24 hour pattern mediated by melatonin.

Still others seek to explain away the connection with science - really bad science. The moon controls the tides, people note, and since our bodies are largely composed of water, then the moon also exerts control over our bodies. Except…the gravitational pull of the moon happens every day to everyone and does not vary according to how much of the moon we can see (just like the tides follow a daily, not a monthly, calendar). And very small bodies of water (like ourselves) generally don’t experience any tidal fluctuations. Sorry, Dawson’s Creek psychologists, you are once again very, very wrong.

A more plausible explanation has to do with light. Circadian rhythms tell us to be awake and alert by day (and owls and university students to be awake at night), and light tells our bodies and our minds when exactly daytime occurs. So, logically, when a full moon lights up the evening sky, we receive some cross-wired signals telling us to get out of bed and party hard. Chaos and mayhem ensue.

This explanation would seem far more likely were there not such variances in artificially light, all but blocking out the night time sky within cities in much of the world. The shifts between lunar lighting are subtle ones, even in the most rural locales, and so a night-long fiesta on exclusively the full moon seems unlikely. So let’s skip directly to the REAL explanation.

According to scientific studies, the death rate is ever-so-slightly lower on a full moon.

More nuances and specific studies have looked at suicide rates, which tend to go down on a full moon. More detailed studies, too, have found that this is due to women - women are far less likely to kill themselves during a full moon verses other times of the month.

But…less female suicide seems like a good, happy thing, yes?

True. And happy just gets a little bit out of hand during a full moon party.

The moon happens in a 28 day cycle. Women’s periods, or a great many women’s periods, also happen in a 28 day cycle, and an unusually high number of women have cycles which begin during the New Moon. The rates here aren’t total, but there is a statistically significant 7% difference. (Pheromones may be partly to blame…as we all know, women in close quarters often have synchronized cycles, much to the chagrin of many old rich men with multiple wives.)

So….a lot of women are on the rag during the New Moon. Consequently, this same large number of women are ovulating during the Full Moon. And while women who ovulate are not exactly alley cats in heat, they have been shown to be more sexually outgoing, more likely to wear clothes that they themselves describe as ‘sexy,’ more likely to feel attractive and attracted, and more likely to engage in sexual acts.

And what of the men? Women who are ovulating are more likely to be attracted to manly men’s men, by which I mean muscly thugs. During a woman’s post-ovulatory period, she is more likely to be attracted to caring, sympathetic men who will stand by her during her pregnancy and help her raise her children but, during ovulation, the hormonal concern is one of big, strong, manly sperm.

So women are feeling happy, and sexy, and are seeking the company of men who are willing to fight for them. And fight they do. Suddenly, our cities become mountainsides where all of the rams start galloping and locking horns in a hormonal dance of doom.

Paramedics, police, and front-line workers the world over lament. And I say dammit, people, please just get a room. Some of us would really like get some rest.

Random Facts to Keep You Up at Night

Random Fact the First: Swine Flu vaccines, my Sister's pneumonia, and the novel Catch-22

There is a peculiar neurological syndrome which causes progressive weakness, then paralysis, starting with your feet and slowly climbing upwards, to knees, and thighs, and abdomen, until a person is no longer able to talk or…umm…breath, and often dies. It’s called Guillain-Barré syndrome, and it strikes randomly across all demographics - beware.

In the 1970s, there was a massive inoculation effort against Swine Flu in the states, but an unintended consequence was a massive rise in the rate of Guillain-Barré, which caused the effort to be disbanded (which is why there’s still Swine flu, today, making trouble inside of my wee sister’s lungs.*) This has led many to believe that the disorder is autoimmune - or a result of a body’s immune system, turned homicidal and misguidedly attacking the self. Joseph Heller, author of Catch-22, is among the illness’s most esteemed companions, and you can read about his illness in the co-authored non-fiction ‘No Laughing Matter.’

*Medical confirmation pending.

Random Fact the Second: Bill Clinton, Leonardo Dicaprio, and small, yappy dogs with tiaras

The country of Zimbabwe (and before that, a land mass containing Zimbabwe, Zambia, and Malawi) used to be called Rhodesia, a title which paid tribute to the country’s principle colonizer and rapist of all things pure and good - the English Cecil Rhodes (1853-1902). Rhodes lost his territorial namesakes in 1964 and 1980, respectively, but that didn’t stop his vast empire, which remains massively profitable today.

You’ve likely seen his commercials - Rhodes was the founder of the DeBeers diamond company, which has at points owned 90% of the world’s rough diamonds. ‘Rough diamonds’ sounds slightly better than ‘blood diamonds,’ and Blood Diamond is a film starring Leonardo Dicaprio, which talks about the diamond industry’s disregard for African/human life. It’s a little depressing. If you’re getting a diamond, please buy Canadian.

(I am aware that not a single person who reads my blog is in the market for diamonds. In fact, I don’t think I know anyone who regularly goes diamond shopping, but imaging such people, likely wearing monocles and coat tails or holding small, yappy dogs named Giblet, amuses me to no end.)

Also remnant of dear Cecil Rhodes is the Rhodes Scholarship, of Oxford University, of which Bill Clinton lists among the many eminent scholars.

AND finally… Craigslist, Tractors, and Manslaughtered Pedestrians

I am applying for a full-time job, but one of the many job requirements that I lack is a functional driver’s license and a car of my own. I want the job, and so may be willing to go through the song and dance required to get my BC license…and buy a car. If I do so, my tendency towards laziness, as well as my spiffy new job, will likely mean I’ll be driving, on roads, among people, in a city.

Fine line reading: I am a terrible, terrible driver, and my only driver experience was among gravel and tractors, which was absolutely terrifying.

God have mercy on us all.

Don't...Do Drugs!

Once, a doctor once told me that caffeine can cause fatigue.

I raised my eyebrows in a doubting manner which failed to impress.

“It makes you more alert when you have it - high. But then later, you‘re more tired - low.” He said this with accompanying hand gestures and extra sharp pronunciation, as though I was especially stupid, and so I pretended to understand his point. I thought of sugar highs, and how the rise in sugar can lead to a rise in insulin, which depletes your blood sugar so quickly it can lead to severe lows, fainting, and even seizures in hypoglycemic people. The high is followed by a low. I guess that kind of makes sense.

Except…no.

Never mind that this doctor, on the whole, was an incompetent idiot who’s tenure in a student health clinic, I can only assume, was due to his inability to work elsewhere, combined with a thrill of lording over wee female undergraduates with his creepy medical degree and skullular bank of incorrect knowledge. No matter who said that caffeine can make you more tired, and whether or not they possess a working medical licence, they are wrong. It simply isn’t true.

Caffeine is a drug. And most drugs have withdrawal symptoms when your body is used to getting said drug after an extended period of time. Simplistically, this is the approximate opposite of the drug effect itself - a high to a low, so to speak. Speed fiends know that coming off of stimulants equals a brief period of depression…you are hungry, and sleepy, and your mood is low. (Speed, or amphetamines, makes people awake, happy, and thin. And then psychotic...but that comes later.)

But sometimes, the withdrawal effects have little to do with the direct effects of the drug.

Take alcohol, which has the most deadly withdrawal effects of any known addictive drug, which typically start with ‘shakes’ and progress to full-on, grand-mal seizures. And heroin withdrawal, which approximates a bad bout of the flu (though heroin is not known for making people feel un-flu like, at least as far as I know). And anti-depressants, which may make you sad in withdrawal, but may also make you sweaty, or nauseous, or confounded by a disturbing phenomenon of ‘brain zaps.’

Withdrawal effects are more about your body coping with a drug’s absence after that drug has become a part of its homeostatic system…but homeostasis involves a lot of different chemicals in a lot of parts of the body, and so the opposite-effect, high-to-low rule may not hold.

And then there is caffeine.

Caffeine, like speed, is a stimulant. It is far less effective than meth, cocaine, or speed itself, but it happens to be legal and cheap, making it far more appealing to yours truly and, likely, some of you. It increases intracellular metabolism, causing every affected cell in your body to work just a little bit harder and faster. It increases urination, and it dilates blood vessels throughout your body. If anyone in the world were on an IV of strong espresso, as you may have dreamed of trying during your undergraduate years, their pupils would be huge. In massive doses, it can make you jittery and keep you up at all hours, pacing restlessly, jabbering nonsensically, and not once sitting down to write the paper that caused you to drink three cans of Redbull in a row.

And after staying up all night, you’ll likely feel tired. But if you’d stayed up all night anyways, without the Redbull or the chocolate-covered espresso beans (which Starbucks sells and are delicious!), then you’d likely be tired just the same. In fact, you'd probably be more tired. And caffeine might make you sleep poorly, when you do get to sleep, which can lead to later fatigue…but that’s really just because you’ve now been partially awake for forty odd hours, and so naturally you’re feeling exhausted.

You can certainly ‘crash’ after getting hopped up on caffeine (a practice which is also common among meth and crack addicts), but the net amount of sleep you get in the end - even if it may resemble a coma - will be much less than if you hadn’t had a stimulant at all. Stay up for two nights, sleep like the dead for twelve hours…that’s still only four hours of sleep per night, averaged out. And few people will sleep for more than eleven hours at a time, no matter how exhausted they may be beforehand (including a guy who stayed up for seven days straight in the seventies, on the radio, until he hallucinated that his microphone had become a snake. This led to him screaming, on air, for six minutes straight, and eventually his being sent home.)

The concept of ‘sleep debt’ has some pseudo-psych merit, but the major failure of the concept occurs when sleep debt maxes out. After eleven hours straight sleep, and the ensuing grogginess, the most sleep-indebted crack fiend or radio host will have hit the diurnal 'reset button' and be right as rain. Credit card debt should work that way.

And so…caffeine. Caffeine certainly is addictive and, judging by the line-ups at Starbucks in the morning, many a Westerner has succumbed to its exotic and bean-based nectar. The decaf pot remains untouched and stagnant, and slightly more popular than the ever-confusing alcohol-free beer. The majority of North Americans have a mild to moderate caffeine addiction, and that's perfectly okay; it lowers your risk of Parkinson’s (as do cigarettes!), and heart doctors only get really upset when you tip the scales at more than eight cups per day.

But not all doctors, it seems.

If you’ve got a daily drug habit in the form of coffee or cola, you’ve likely had occasions where that morning cup could not be obtained and you’ve experienced some nasty side effects as a result. You may have felt sluggish, or found you just couldn’t wake up…or at least, not with the regular spring in your step that only artificially stimulation brings. And if you have a heavier habit, you may have found your head throbbing mercilessly - a headache which will go away after a day or so, or be instantly relieved by the precious gift of more, addictive caffeine.

This headache isn’t a result of a slow-down in your metabolism. It’s to do with the blood-dilation effects of caffeine, and the blood vessels in your head freaking out and constricting in caffeine’s absence. Excedrin remains an ever-popular pain killer because, unlike its fellow NSAIDS (like Aspirin and Advil), it contains just a touch of caffeine, which helps fight headaches in general but is especially great for the throbbing terror of withdrawal.

And my final point…Caffeine is a stimulant.

It stimulates; that is the class of drug it belongs to, and if it were a cause of net fatigue, it would not be classified as such. And the entire argument of net-opposite-effect is spectacularly ridiculous when you consider its implications - does taking a sleeping pill, or an anti-anxiety drug, then make you more alert the next day? Does drinking a beer, after it’s worn off, lead to you being extra, extra sober?

No. No it does not.

Stupid doctor, I rest my case.

Shit, Assholes, and You

Shit happens, and sooner or later, shit is going to happen to someone you care about.

This is unfortunate, because most people are not well versed in the task of dealing with shit.

This makes sense - shit is uncomfortable, and it is smelly, and a healthy and self-interested individual does their best to avoid shit whenever they can. Unfortunately, sooner or later it will happen to you or someone in your life, and when it does your reaction will be one which renders you a supportive loved one or, more likely, an incompetent, insensitive asshole.

Since no one intends to be an insensitive asshole, we must address the fact that there are a great deal of people out there that want to do the right thing and simply don’t know how. They are unwitting assholes, if you will. And since no one likes calling someone an unwitting asshole to their face, I will use the medium of the internet weblog to facilitate: You, sir, reading this, are likely an Asshole, whether you know it or not. But there is good news…You don’t have to be!

Please follow this step-by-step guide to your future as a supportive and caring loved one, and put an end to your uncomfortable history of crude jokes, missed calls, and awkward silence.

1. If someone you care about it having a rough time, this likely will make you sad, frustrated, or even angry. While you can vocalize those emotions to your friend or family, acting them out or taking them out directly are likely to make things much worse. Sobbing every time you look at your cancerous friend? Not great. Hysterically yelling at your depressed colleague? Unhelpful. Saying: ‘It makes me feel helpless and sad to see you this way’ or ‘I’m so angry at the person who did this to you,’ stated at normal volume…Yay! Supportive!

The person you’re supporting likely is experiencing some of the same emotions you are…sharing how you feel is a kind of direct connection which can make them feel less alone. But acting out emotions puts your loved one in a position of having to support you, or, worse, just makes them scared and uncomfortable in your presence. Proceed with caution.

2. Support yourself. Never take on more that you can reasonably manage, and use other support systems to get you through this rough period. Encourage your loved one to seek other supports, and do the same for yourself. No matter how loving and competent, one person is rarely enough - and the desire to do anything and everything you can will often lead to fatigue, resentment, or general unhappiness. This is a bad thing for everyone.

Try to avoid comparing your pain to that of the person you’re supporting. Their pain doesn’t negate the fact that you, in caring about a person in pain, may also be experiencing some pain of your own. Take a day off, see other friends, and make sure you’re injecting enough joy into your own life to keep your caring activities sustainable.

3. Don’t bring up your own shit in an effort to relate to another's shittiness. Your role is to support, and part of supporting can be relating - but only if you’re self-aware enough to bring the conversation back to the person in need.

Far too many people will delve into their own lives and wallow, consequently putting the person in pain into a supportive role. You can tell them of your experience, briefly, or focus on what made things better during your difficult time…but then move on.

4. Think of sadness as the absence of joy.

In expressing your frustration or fears to your friend, or in taking time to care for yourself, you may stumble upon the belief that your friend, in their difficult time, is causing you pain and sadness. This, fortunately, is simply not very true.

The pain of a loved one does hurt - but only as much as you care about that person. Along that line of thinking, a friend’s illness is painful because their health brings you joy; their absence is harrowing only as much as their presence brought you happiness. The negative feelings that tragedies bring is very much the absence or loss of a positive - an assumed future together, the energy of good health, the comfort and pleasure derived from spending time with said person. These absences do hurt, a lot, but we’re a lot more able to cope if we understand their source - the loss of a positive.

A person who’s depressed will often claim that they feel like a source of pain to others - make sure to express that (you now know) this isn’t true. And if you yourself are feeling engrossed in pain and depression, it’s a good cue to step out and take care of yourself before returning to support your loved one. Again, sadness is the absence of joy - so get yourself some joy. Puppies, children’s books, happy dances, a feeling of accomplishment in another area of life…all good, joyful things.

5. Ignoring things doesn’t make them go away - but many people, in times of crisis, retreat to this age-old belief. They fervently avoid the topic of whatever is causing present shitiness, or avoid the afflicted person like the plague. Unless the person actually does have the plague (or something equally contagious), avoidance is a pretty insensitive and asshole-esque thing to do. So please, don’t.

Many people fear that the person-in-question is tired of talking about whatever it is that’s causing them pain…and this is sometimes true. Many others, however, have been dealing with elephant-in-the-room syndrome and would love for the topic to be addressed directly, and either way, bringing it up is the right thing to do. From there, take your cues from them - if they say they don’t want to talk about it, let it go, but remind them later that the offer to talk (about whatever) stands. This is a key skill for those wishing to be supportive.

For those who would rather run for the hills, please remember that the experience of shitiness of often a very isolating one, and your presence is usually greatly appreciated. The person may not be able to ask for help or love when they need it, and even if you’re not a usual support person or a BFF, you can provide a much-needed escape from the realities of being engulfed in a flaming pile of shit.

Try to be aware that the person may have limited energy and is not there to entertain you…you are there to support them. And for god sake don’t invite your friend with skin cancer to go sun tanning at the beach, or anything equally callous…this is a one-way ticket to an irretrievable realm of assholedom.

6. The topic of ignoring can also be applied to emotions themselves. A person experiencing shitiness of whatever cause is likely to be feeling a lot of sadness, fear, or anger. Ignoring those feelings, or trying to distract the person with something shiny, is not a great coping method. Emotions simply…are. Distraction can be nice and make someone temporarily feel better, but eventually they’re going to return to whatever was bothering them to begin with, assuming it’s something fairly big.

Acknowledging and naming emotions, and sitting with whatever implications they bring, is often the only thing that a person can do. It can also be a hugely supportive act - many, many people feel that they should not feel a certain way, or that they are wrong to address their feelings directly to others. A well-timed ‘of course you’re angry - it was awful what happened,’ or ‘I can see how sad this is making you,’ can be some of the most understanding things that a person can say.

7. Address untrue statements if they come up…but only ones you can reasonably disprove.

Some people in pain will use untrue statements as a way to test their supporter. A declaration of ‘nobody loves me!’ or ‘I’m so ugly,’ is an opportunity for the listener to disagree. While this fishing for compliments can be annoying, now is probably neither the time or place to address the behaviour. Give in. Remind the person that you care or that you think they are gorgeous…They need to hear it right now. Alternatively, support the emotion, while making your disagreement clear. ‘It must suck to feel that way,’ or ‘I disagree, but I’ve definitely had times where I’ve felt ugly, too.’

Other statements may represent a genuine truth from that person’s perspective - they genuinely feel hideous or unlovable. They may feel as though their current situation is never going to end, or that they will never get through it…if you see a clear silver lining that you feel they are missing out on, it’s probably worth bringing up. Don’t argue the point, and don’t negate their emotions in the process - they can feel like this pain is going to last forever and know that it will be entirely over by Tuesday…the brain is a very special place where such points are allowed to coexist.

And some points might be entirely irrefutable. A person may genuinely want to die, or may really have lost all hope. Things may not get better. These are realities which exist, and the listener will be hard pressed to disprove them. You don’t have to agree - but the person feels that way, and you as their friend can support their emotion, whether or not they turn out to be based in fact. Feeling sad that they are sad, or sad that they feel that there is no hope, may be all that you can do in such moments.

***

And those seven points, my friend, are the Key to Not Being An Insensitive Asshole. Apply liberally and often for best results.

Anecdotally Yours

The following facts are true and freely donated to you via the deep recesses of my brain, which is a fountain of mostly-useless knowledge. Most facts are stolen from articles and lectures encountered over the past ten years or educational television of the 1990s. Enjoy.


Nestlé Kills Babies

Well…‘killed’ babies. But still, dead babies. The story is this:

Back in the early 1970s, the majority of babies in Europe and North America were fed on formula, not breast milk, and Nestlé was the major producer of infant formula for these Western babies. All that changed when the World Health Organization issued a statement that breast milk was nutritionally superior and generally better for the health of babies everywhere…Nestlé was not pleased.

As breastfeeding became more and more popular, Nestlé was desperate to make up for the loss of customers and income. To do this, they turned to a yet untapped baby market - in Africa.

Nestlé began aggressively marketing to poor and uneducated mothers throughout Africa, providing free samples, professing the benefits of formulated milk, and in some cases dressing up as nurses, going into maternity wards, and placing infants on formula themselves.

As the mother’s own breast milk dried up, many women found they could not afford to buy Nestlé’s no-longer-free infant formula. Their babies starved to death. Others did not have electricity or refrigerators necessary to keep the formulas cooled and heated appropriately. Their babies died of infection. And countless others did not have access to a clean water supply necessary to prepare the powdered formula. Those babies were eaten away by parasites.

And in the end, over a million African babies died.

This was a long time ago, and a lot of our ethical business laws came to be in the 70s precisely because of the magnitude of Nestlé's heinous crimes...or, what we would now call heinous crimes, which happened to be perfectly legal in the early 1970s.

Today, Nestlé still produces infant formula for Western consumers as part of its vast food empire, but it is strictly forbidden from marketing any infant formula in the third world, despite many ongoing requests and a large hissy-fit in the early nineties. And as recently as two years ago, a nursing coach in Surrey, BC quit her job after employees of her hospital were all invited to a ‘conference’ run by Nestlé to extol the virtues formula feeding…such activities are considered unethical, and are also largely illegal.

Nestlé remains the most boycotted brand in the word. And now you know why I never eat Stouffer’s, or Kit Kats, or Haagen Daz, and only succumb to Turtles on very special, rare occasions.

You Use More Than 10% of Your Brain

Image by alles-schlumpf via Flickr

This popular belief is hard to disprove because there are a lot of stupid people out there. However, stupid people, just like the rest of us, use a full 100% of their brain…not 10% or 30%, or whatever you remember believing was true when you heard it as a child.

Part of the reason that this belief persists is that very few people have any understanding of how the brain works at all, and no one understands it completely. However, every person who’s ever read a CAT scan, or a functional MRI, or completed three years of a degree in behavioural neuroscience knows…people use all of their brains. All the time. Every neuron has a function as is being constantly used; the only variance is in the intensity of activity in different structures and parts of the brain. But every neuron is being used, at least a little bit.

Which is why, when a person gets shot and loses half of their head, the emergency room doctors don’t respond by saying ‘Oh, no worries, that was part of the 90% of his brain that he wasn’t using. He’ll be fine!’

And if that doesn’t convince you, perhaps this will…the entire concept of using 10% of your brain emerged in the 1930s as part of an advertisement campaign. A company selling flash cards which were supposed to improve mental acuity to make you into the next Einstein insisted to would-be consumers: “You only use 10% of your brain.” Their product, assumedly, could help you use the rest of it, and the slogan, repeated over and over, made its way into the popular culture as an anecdote, a phrase, and a ‘fact.’

And now you know.

And finally...

Image by kalandrakas via Flickr

Dolphins are Assholes

Pretty and intelligent they may be, but your flippery friends are not the cuddly marine mammals that animal advocates would have you believe.

For starters, dolphins regularly practice infanticide. Much like lions, male dolphins regularly kill the offspring of their rivals in order to expediate the impregnation of the bereft mother. There is also a great body of evidence that some dolphins enjoyed killing babies so much that they then began to practice their skills on infant porpoises...the bodies of battered baby porpoises began washing up on the beaches of Northern Scotland, causing a great deal of environmentalist alarm, and until finally the deaths were traced back to a wayward band of lovable dolphins.

And when it comes to getting female dolphins pregnant to start with, dolphins love to gang rape. A group of three or four male dolphins will cordon a female off from the pod, bite and beat her repeatedly, and have sex with her for days at a time before finally releasing her. Many female dolphins die during this violent act, or miscarry as a result. Which makes one question the Darwinian benefit of male dolphins' actions...the only conclusion I can reach is that dolphins are the modern incarnation of Satan himself.

All Other Self Help Books are Stupid

Should we all try to be a little bit more content with our own lives? …Sure.

Should we engage in public dialogue on which pursuits are beneficial to living a happy life? …Well, okay, that makes sense.

Should we create approximately ten thousand different books telling people how to live happier, more meaningful lives, written by people who in general have always been pretty happy? …No. No, let’s not do that at all.

Ugh...
Allow me to explain: Let me string together a bunch of essentially meaningless platitudes - I will start with ‘Be Yourself’ and a serious of anecdotes explaining how you can be like me. Let me put it together with a condescending tone of one who is Truly Enlightened and therefore superior to you, sad grasshopper. Let me repeat myself over and over again, using illustrations drawn solely from my own life, and then pepper my monologue with non-contextualized wellness professional quotes or a poorly explained psychological study. Fifty pages and big print? No problem, I’ll add some quotes from the Dalai Llama.

And…Ta Da! There you have it. I have written every single self-help book that ever was.

If you yourself are looking to make a dollar in these hard economic times, perhaps you, too, should consider writing a self help book. Seriously, do - there are a lot of sad people out there, and those numbers keep on rising. Happiness projects, today, what the latest diet crazes were twenty years ago. In an increasingly obese population, who doesn’t want to be thin? And as more of use get diagnosed with depression or continue to face huge losses, self help authors offer us an allusive cure…why wouldn’t you buy their book? Don’t you want to be happier??

And therein lies the problem, I suppose. We all want to be happy- er, happier. And just like thinness or beauty or wealth, there apparently is no portion control or ‘happy’ medium. We want to be HAPPY, with smiley faces and rainbows and butterflies, dancing through Disney world with Santa Clause at our side, while a puppy dog injects us with heroin.

Perhaps you can sense the pitfalls of this insatiable pursuit - because life, you may find, has some innate shitiness. People die, and people stub their toes, and people face literally hundreds of events within a given day that warrant an emotionally healthy response which is not, in fact, Happy. We are desperate for a state that can never be achieved, and the casualties of this pursuit take many different forms (from the very human Octomom* to the lizard-esque Micheal Jackson, and everything in between).

My issue isn’t really even with that: the mentally healthy individuals who’s desire for perpetual bliss will never be satiated. In the end, they are, have been, and will always be ‘happy’ in the generic sense, experiencing the ups and downs that life has to offer and feeling some angst along the way. If they want to find a book and learn a happiness mantra, let them. But there are other people out there who are much, much, less happy, and my main issue is with them: self-help books prey upon the vulnerabilities and hopes of those who are significantly, clinically, and medically depressed, and that is not okay.

There are people for whom getting out of bed is a daily struggle. But don’t they get hungry for the deliciousness and wonder of food? Well, no, and that’s the point. Are they lazy, these people? Well, no, not exactly - must of us hem and haw about performing any arbitrary, strenuous, potentially painful chore. But for depressed people, pretty much everything in life has become that chore. These people are seriously hurting, and for them life has lost its intrinsic value which so many others feel completely, without question, to the point that its absence seems…crazy? Well, yes, kind of. Depression is a mental illness and a medical matter. It is a serious illness which will directly kill 15% of those diagnosed via suicide - the rest may be simply disabled, temporarily or periodically, throughout their lives, or come down with a cancer that they may otherwise have fought off (depression tends to increase a person’s odds of getting sick and worsen the outcome of any illness). The cause? Genetics, trauma, and hormonal changes - not exactly anything that can be prevented. But why would I blemish an article on happiness with such a depressing, miserable subject? Shouldn’t we focus on happy things?

Unfortunately, any discussion on Self Help Books, like the industry itself, could not function without depressed people. Self Help books prey on those for whom happiness is truly, chemically elusive - they offer a bittersweet hope that if a person reads enough, believes enough, and wants it enough, that the depression will lift. While there are strategies an individual can use on their own to address mild depression, few self help books spend much time on those principles. For individuals with moderate to severe depression, the effect can be harmful - a book claiming it can lead a severely depressed person to happiness is the psychological equivalent to telling a patient with chest pain that he can lower his blood pressure with sunshine and lemon drops - as explained in my all new self help book, only $19.99!!

If I were to write that book, I suspect that someone would sue me, and at the very least a doctor or concerned parent would become indignant. But there are thousands of books claiming that they can lead unenlightened folk to blissful ecstasy - books which are pored over by individuals desperate for a solution to chemical imbalances and a shrunken hypothalamus.

Every single book I have issue with has been written by an author for whom mental health has never been a concern - they centre around a philosophy which is deeply personal (and therefore not especially applicable to readers). There are exactly two target audiences - those who are too depressed to be helped by these books, or those who are not depressed at all but have been suckered by a society that can never be too happy. Neither groups will be helped - one group may seriously be harmed. I hate you, Self Help Books.

To learn more, please buy my book. I call it: All Other Self Help Books Are Stupid - Except for This Self Help Book, Which Is Actually The Key To Happiness - A Personal Journey by Ivy Donegal.


*I have a lot of sympathy for Octomom. Yes, she seems selfish and naïve. No, she shouldn’t have had fourteen kids while living in her mom’s two bedroom house. I get that. But being scrutinized on a national stage has led to one fact which seems indisputable - that woman loves her kids like crazy. Her face is full of joy and care when she is around them, and she wants to give her whole life to them (and yes, fourteen kids probably deserve more than one full life, but nonetheless). She should have not had a great deal of those children, probably - but then again, 75% of all pregnancies probably never should have happened (and that’s probably a gross underestimate). The only thing that makes this case different from the Catholic family down the street from my mom’s house (thirteen kids, abuse, divorce, and no paparazzi) is that she had eight children at once. Smart she may not be, and unethical her fertility doctors certainly were, but at the centre of it is a woman who wants the best for her children, and that’s okay with me.

Human Behaviour and Me

HUMAN BEHAVIOUR:
a depiction in accordance with the principles of Science

I believe that pretty much all behaviour is a due to a person’s past and present circumstances. If we think of human behaviour as an equation, every single thought, feeling, environmental influence, past experience, and scrap of genetic code gets entered into that equation to determine how we’ll respond in any given situation. So the way that an individual responds in any given environment is pre-dictated (though NOT predictable - these influences are incredibly, infinitely complex). The way I act in a certain situation (a result of the way I think and feel in a certain situation), is always because of my cumulative learning, environment, and circumstance.

This does not mean that adults lack “choice” in their actions - because every adult in Canada is in control of their own circumstances to a certain degree. Thus, they can alter their own environment, learning, and circumstance in a way which is likely to alter their future behaviour - by manipulating just one part of the equation, we can end up changing the entire outcome. We seek out different experiences, and can learn skills and knowledge that we previously did not possess. We can change our environment drastically, and consequently change the environment within our own bodies, too; by changing the food in my fridge, the amount of stress I’m exposed to at work, the person I’m married to, etc., I can certainly change my health, blood pressure, and even neurological structure and chemistry. The results can lead to me feeling, thinking, and acting in a different manner when exposed to similar events. Most parts of our circumstances remain outside of our control and always will (we can‘t change our genetics, our past experiences, or the weather), but there is always at least some potential for future change and growth through adults influencing their own circumstances.

In many ways, those who fail to act in an appropriate manner are set up to fail (and vice versa; all very successful people had a lot of help in getting there). As communities, we all have some influence over each other’s environment and, consequently, future behaviours. A friend may lead you to start a new hobby or suggest you seek counselling, while a police officer may enforce legal consequences for certain behaviours. A person’s perfume choice may trigger a headache, while another person’s driving ability determines both your personal safety and speed in getting home. Every adult has a certain degree of influence over the environment of every other adult and child they encounter - as such, all members of communities are somewhat responsible whenever any member succeeds or fails. Times six billion people and fed into an infinitely complicated equation of human behaviour, this fact is slightly obscured - however, it is essential for individuals to remember that their every (positive or negative) action will inevitably influence countless people in a series of unpredictable ways.

According to this understanding of human behaviour, it’s hard to classify anyone as a Bad Person (or a ‘good’ person - people are just people acting according to their experiences and circumstances). However, there certainly are lots and lots of damaging people, or people who act in a manner which harms those around them, usually via some form of violence. We can accept that this is a result of circumstance which is largely outside of that person’s control (just as all behaviour is), however, it is the responsibility of all individuals to protect both themselves and others from those who are likely to cause damage. While the most obvious damage is the type we can see (‘physical’ violence, for example, often leaves obvious welts and bruises), all damage is in some ways physical (it alters a person’s brain chemistry and structure), and certainly all damaging experiences have some negative impact on an individual’s future (and can negatively influence the environment of many, many others).

Individuals who are habitually damaging to others do, like all individuals, have the potential to alter their own behaviour through influencing their circumstances and experience (and such individuals may also face externally mandated changes, such as legal intervention or forced counselling). Given the right opportunity and environment, almost everyone will act in way which is dramatically different from previous behaviours; however, the single best predictor of future behaviour remains how a person has behaved in the past. A husband who hits his wife when experiencing huge external stressors may stop after he finds a more relaxing job, for example, but he will likely continue to act violently if his stress levels rise to what they were before.

Everyone is prone to using the same behaviours over and over again, even when they are ineffectual or abhorrent, in part because so much of our behavioural influence is outside of our locus of control (we cannot change our genetics or our past). For individuals who cause damage to others, their behaviours are often facilitated by unusual attitudes and beliefs, or a lack of commonly held inhibitions. For example, if a parent believes that corporal punishment is acceptable in certain situations (and thus lacks inhibitions towards hitting their child), they are more likely to act violently towards their children in all situations. While beliefs and attitudes facilitate violent acts, these actions themselves increase the likelihood of future violence; our largest inhibitions are always against a new and unknown behaviours (‘once you cross that bridge…’), and personal values are often reoriented to allow us to repeat an act we’d previously deemed unthinkable. This pattern sets any individual up to fail, and then fail again, and again.

In interacting with a person who has a history of damaging or violent behaviour, it is important that we, too, do not set them up to fail, and that our interaction is done in a manner which makes damaging behaviour unlikely. A friend with a history of violence may only be seen in a public setting, for example, or a person with a history of sexual violence towards children could visit their own child, but never unsupervised. Opportunities and examples for better behaviour should be made available whenever possible, but never in a manner which compromises safety (especially towards children). This is not about judgment or punishment - it is solely about minimizing risk and acting to control one’s own environment. Individuals with a high degree of motivation can, and do, change their own behaviours - however, this process is at best a gradual shift and usually involves a great deal of relapse. In evaluating future safety, we must always ask what, if anything, in the environment has changed, and in turn question the motivation and consistency for that changing factor. An individual taking action to improve their own behaviour in no way obligates victims (or anyone else) to place themselves at risk.

Etiquette for Communicating - What YOU Need to Know

This is a Public Notice on the Joys of Communication:

There are approximately seventy-five different ways to send a message. Back in the day, there were only four: yelling loudly, sending a letter via the imperial postmaster, smoke signals, and pigeon carriers. Today, almost no one has a pigeon carrier (made unreliable by owls), or knows which wood to burn in sending clear, Morris-code smoke signal. But that’s okay. Because there are a whole rang of other options available, from FedExing to phoning to wall-posting on Facebook.

If new things scare you more than rabid mongeese with a lust for blood, you may be understandably afraid. But fear not…there are now so many different ways to communicate, you can skip out on one without missing too much. Don’t like MSN? Don’t use it. Don’t like Facebook? Well, you’ll have to call or text more often so that people remember you exist, but you’ll be okay. Fear talking on the phone? Send emails, or text, or assemble messages with cut-out-newspaper-letters and glue. The world is your gregarious oyster.

No matter what form of communication you choose to employ, it is still advisable to follow laws of Basic Etiquette. Etiquette is not about punctuation (as some English teachers would have you believe). It is about avoiding hurtful, annoying, or embarrassing situations which might arise when you interact with other people - as such, it is just as applicable to text msging as it is to pigeon carrying. If you live in a Society, then Basic Etiquette applies to you.

As such, please observe the following…because you are not special. Yes, the rules do apply to you.

Rules Governing the Use of Communication Within a Civilized Society

1. Drunk communication with ex lovers is an act to be avoided.

2. Any communication that is written down and/or publicly observable should be carefully considered, as such messages can easily be passed into the wrong hands or annoy unwitting observers who do not want to know the intimate details of your life. Discretion is key.

3. Be aware that your communication preferences and skill may not match those of the person you are communicating with. Since the point of communication is "communication," the use of illegible writing and/or excessive jargon should be avoided (unless the sender is certain that you're being understood), and alternative forms of communication should be made available whenever possible.

4. If you don’t want to use a form of communication which is available only by subscription to an account, then please don’t. BUT if you maintain an account AND use it solely for the purpose of complaining about said form of communication, OR if you refuse to acknowledge communication received via said account (without deleting said account), OR if you constantly complain about being "left out" because you don’t have whichever account, THEN I have grounds for throwing a large melon at your head.

5. There is a hierarchy of communication based on intimacy: the more personal contact or physical presence involved, the more intimate the communication (the more public or translated, the less intimate or more casual). In replying to a received communication (which is generally customary), an equal or greater form of intimacy should be employed (though an excessive ‘jump’ in intimacy should be avoided, lest one be labeled a stalker). For example, showing up on a person’s doorstep with flowers and a hand-written poem is pretty intimate - Twittering (Tweeting? Twatering?) is not. Most communications fall somewhere between these two on the intimacy spectrum.

6. And finally, all forms of mass communication are considered to be egregiously annoying. As such, all forwards, reply alls, automated messages, newsletters, megaphones, and group texts should be avoided or available only through subscription. Failure to comply is grounds for dismissal from society via ice-float.

And…that’s it. Good luck! And remember…you are not special. Obey.

The Wonders of the Modern World

Alright, yesterday’s entry was a downer. Yesterday was a bit of a downer, as a whole, and after a night of dreaming about volcanoes, dinosaurs, and child molesters (seriously…wtf, subconscious?) I decided it was in my best interest to dwell on much happier thoughts.

Thus, I present:

The Wonders of the Modern World (in the form of Daisy Razors!)

Ten years ago, I began shaving my hairy pubescent legs. There were two options available in girly pink: a single bladed, crappy razor, or a double bladed, crappy razor. That was all.

Today, I find myself fascinated by the noise of my new, kickass five blade girl razor as it glides across my leg stubble (it sounds a bit like those toy cars from McDonalds that you pull backwards to charge their manual motor…whirrrrrrrr…no? Nobody?). But I digress…Five blades. Five! Who the hell has hair on their legs worthy of five blades? Never mind what’s available in the boy-razor department, which has always been one step ahead of the girls; with those new trimmer blades for sideburns…what are those, seven blades now? Crazy!

I should also mention that my razor, which is purple and covered in sparkles, mounts seamlessly onto the wall of my shower through the power of suction cups, and has a storage bin containing extra razor heads…wow. Appreciating the wonders of advancing technology has turned shaving my legs into a magical experience.

Case and Point: A short two hundred years ago, back in pioneer days, only pretty boys shaved anything at all, and they did it with a giant knife-like razor blade that would slice the throats of the incompetent. People bathed but once a week, and only women washed their hair, monthly, using an egg. Think of how far we have come in terms of hygiene. The future is now, people, and it is a beautiful, unsmelly time.

Everything you need to know about High Fructose Corn Syrup, explained with colourful vehemence

Opinionated Essence of the Day:

Everyone who eats anything in North America has an opinion on High-Fructose Corn Syrup. As an opinionated person with a blogging medium and invisible non-audience, I of course am no exception. I’m almost inspired by the discussion in the Slate’s Cultural Gabfest (a podcast of opinionated banter on culture), which I listen to while I pretend to clean my room and play fetch with my dog. They raise interesting points, but mine are better.

They mention the three following arguments against High Fructose corn syrup when compared to regular (cane) sugar, which are as follows: a) it is worse for your personal health and may be responsible for the rise in obesity, b) it is bad for the planet, as it is a monoculture and therefore more pesticide resistant, which causes bad things that make Al Gore cry himself to sleep, and in perhaps the most relevant point, c) it tastes icky and we don’t like it.

All of these points have some merit - though in discussion it’s suggested that the truth behind the taste factor may simply be the fact that High Fructose Corn Syrup is more refined and ‘pure’ in that it is simply sweet, while cane sugar (or other alternative, natural sugars) have more complex molecular ingredients, and taste like ‘cane sugar,’ as opposed to simply ‘sweet.’ I like the taste of cane sugar, but that’s probably an excellent point.

Points in regards to the environment are probably true, though, of course, anything said about the environment is best said with an air of panic, through a megaphone, and should involve complex imagery of the zombie uprising and the words ‘we’re all going to die!’ written in the blood of a uncaring populace who choose to ignore Greenpeace’s awkward zealotry. As such, I take environmental messages with a grain of salt, and will probably die a horrible death from rising flood waters or sunburn or whatever, and frankly I don’t care.

The only point I have any expertise on is in regards to health impacts, and by ‘expertise’ I mean ‘uncanny memory for random tales presented by interesting UBC professors.’ So, High Fructose Corn Syrup. Will you kill us all?

Yes, and no.

The short version:

Corn syrup isn't dangerous in and of itself, but it is cheaper than other sugars, which means we use more of it (and soft drink sizes, among other things, are much bigger than they were in the past). Supersized food equals supersized people with supersized plaques in their arteries, done.

The longer, original, ranty version:

Over the past fifty years, the population of the world has approximately doubled. The food supply, however, has tripled. So while there is a lot of merit to growing your own garden of food, or torturing your small child into finishing their plate full of eggplant, it has nothing to do with starvation in Africa. Policies and politics cause starvation, as does replacing localized food production with cash crops like cocaine, and coffee, and corn. Corn?

Yes, corn. As history tells us...

The reason that the food supply has tripled, is that we’ve learned to genetically select and modify crops. Genetic selection is a very old practice - as old as turning wolves into teacup Chihuahuas and wild grapes into Pinot Noir. However, we’ve gotten better at it the last century, and around the time of the 1950s, we figured out how to grow a lot more food in much smaller spaces, through bigger and taller and more compact plants.

Corn is the most notable example. It’s been getting sweeter every year for over a century now, as farmers use the seeds from their sweetest corn to propagate next year’s crop. Again, around the 1950s, this art became science, and corn farmers found themselves sitting atop a mountain of…corn. It was sweeter than ever and they could grow it at never-before-seen rates of plenty. Supply and demand kicked in, corn prices dropped, and suddenly the world met the cheapest form of sugar that ever was: High Fructose Corn Syrup, a sickly sweet, locally grown, easy-to-transport form of goodness which largely replaced cane sugar and found its way into the hearts and arteries of young people across the nation.

Actually, it’s not especially bad for you. It’s just sugar, good old glucose-fructose. The chemistry is virtually identical…yes, there is slightly more fructose in corn syrup compared to cane sugar (including refined cane sugar, the white table sugar we know and love). Each plant has very slightly different ratios, and sweetener manufacturers may refine their ingredients to make them whiter and more purely ‘sweet,’ but the end results, unfortunately, aren’t anything to write home about. They are sweet, they make our manufactured food sweet, they make our soft drinks sweet, and the only big differences come in the following forms:

1. High-fructose corn syrup may or may not elude our brain’s satiety centres, and therefore it doesn’t trigger a feeling of fullness in the same way that other calorie-laced foods do. This point is debatable (in my own experience, nothing that is overwhelmingly sweet makes you feel full so much as nauseous), and you may ignore it, because the real point is this:

2. High-fructose corn syrup is cheap.

Cheaper sugar meant cheaper soft drinks, and people who made value menus at fast food joints had a choice. They could reduce the cost of the food they were serving (which included a tiny Tim Horton's sized gulp of Coca Cola), or they could increase the size of their servings. Naturally, they went with the latter option, much to the detriment of North American’s waste-lines.

Supersizing was born. It started with the pop we drink, and ended up pretty much everywhere, from our butts to our boobs to our cankles. It’s not that we’re a gluttonous bunch…our bodies are programmed to eat during times of plenty to store fat for the droughts ahead. Unfortunately, droughts aren’t really a issue any more, and this feast-and-famine evolution has led to a world full of chunky monkeys. The most vulnerable populations are, ironically, some of the most hearty - the more tribesmen you lost to starvation in the desert, the more likely your body is to conserve every last calorie it can, and that means epidemic obesity in these times of record harvests and cheap corn.

In the final kick to our expanding guts, the cheapest foods aren’t especially packed with vitamins. It is cheaper than ever to get the calories you need, but it can be increasingly expensive to eat a diet full of diverse and varied plant sources - and so obesity has become a poverty issue as much as anything else.

And in a final side note, the American government of the Bush years wanted to invest in ethanol as an alternative fuel - this meant that they would pay good money for corn syrup, which was clearly already in abundance. However, as we are not a people of moderation, we planted even more corn, and replaced a great deal of food crops and jungle and whatnot in the process - this was mostly in the third world, of course, where land and human life come cheap.

And that is what slurpies and third world poverty have in common: corn, corn, corn.

Unsolicited Advice - Panhandlers

Here on my personal soap box, to my invisible non-existent audience, I present:

MAKE HOMELESS PEOPLE LEAVE ME ALONE - a guide to dealing with your local panhandlers, as inspired by this kickass poster from Calgary.

"Your Generosity is Killing Me" and “Your Sympathy Keeps Me on the Street” - a catchy new line from a catchy poster campaign straight from Calgary. That’s right, the city that gave all their homeless people bus tickets to Vancouver so that they wouldn’t be gumming up their streets during the 1988 Olympics - they care. Really, they do. Because 85% of your change…it goes to drugs and alcohol. So, don’t give change. No, I know, you feel bad, and poor people are awkward, but, No. If you give them money, they’ll never shape up and get a job. In fact, your cold, judging stare might be just the kick those people need to stop being lazy and make something of themselves, like you did, Accomplished Calgary Businessman. In fact, you’re a lot more sympathetic and nicer to look at: perhaps we should make a poster about you.

I can see it… you, busy and handsome Calgary executive…oooh, I wonder if you have money in oil? We’ll have you talking on your cell phone, so we know you’re important. In fact, make it a blue tooth…oooh and you’ll be holding you brief case in one hand and your other hand can be up, blocking your face, giving a ‘talk to the hand,’ so that the person can see that you’re on the phone…and there, beside you, cast in shadows, we’ll put the guy from the other poster. And he’ll look like crap, next to your three piece suit. And people will be able to see what a piece of shit he looks like, next to you, and how when he holds out his cap for your change, you dismiss him, and avoid eye contact, and keep walking to your very important meeting, because you, sir, are a successful businessman. You have places to go, and worthwhile people to talk to, and most importantly: You Care. Because, you see… “Your Sympathy Keeps (Him) on the Street.” Wait…no…we used that line on a poster already, we need a new one. Hmmm…oh! Perfect!! “Your Requests for Spare Change Annoy Me.” And then, we can make little steam lines coming out of the businessman’s head, and they’ll be composed of change, so it’s will be a metaphor. See? Your requests for spare change keep this handsome businessman annoyed, people! When will it end? His suffering is YOUR suffering, society. Please, don’t give change.

Like it?? Me too. Because if we ignore homeless people, they’ll go away. In fact, we did a study, and science has proven that 85% of addicts who can’t afford drugs stop using - that’s how addictions work. So no change from you, no drugs, no homeless people bugging important people like you. Period. Way to solve society’s dilemma, you! And if they do manage to defy the odds and not shape up…well, maybe they’ll die. In fact, if you tell them to fuck off and get a job, it might be even faster…the second leading cause of death on the Downtown Eastside is suicide, I bet the Calgary stats are similar. So, contempt is in order. In fact…why not spit? Actions speak louder than words, people. If you want homeless people off the street, you’ll have to shame them there yourself.

Oh, there’s that bit on there about giving to agencies instead - yup, we put that on there on purpose. I know what you’re thinking - we didn’t put any contact info or anything. And we just painted anyone asking for money as a useless piece of crap addict - it doesn’t exactly inspire you to look up a shelter’s number. And I know what you’re thinking: aren’t those shelters just enabling people, too? If you feed people, or give them counseling, or a bed, or medicine…you’re keeping them on the street. They’ll just live for longer, and they’ll keep on using, and people will STILL be asking you for change. You’re not solving the problem at all.

Plus, really, you have important plans for that fifty cents, you. And if those pesky panhandlers would just stop annoying you, that money could cure AIDS. It would be applied locally to agencies that are working to solve problems that annoy you. It would be bringing peace to the Middle East and pumping blood into a dying child’s heart - that’s right, your change would be doing all of that, even though nobody asked. Because: you care. You’re thinking about those things, Calgary, day in and day out - thinking about how to use your spare change to make the world a better place. So it’s not just that the homeless person’s request annoys you - it undermines your ability to direct those funds to a charity of your choice, which you totally would be doing, Right Now, if that homeless guy wasn’t taking up all of your time. So, just…GO AWAY. God. Why do they keep asking? It must be because of all those bleeding hearts out there…damn it, they just aren’t as smart as you. You know that 85% of their money is going to drugs, but maybe they don’t. Maybe homeless people make them feel guilty. People are stupid like that. BUT I bet stupid people are easily swayed by poster campaigns…oooh! We should totally show them these posters! And that part about giving to agencies will speak to their bleeding hearts, long enough to get them out of the habit of looking homeless people in the eye. No, no…no one actually does give to agencies enabling those homeless bums, don’t worry, we did a study on that, too. Because 85% of money refused to the homeless…it makes the world a Better Place.


NOTE: I do not give change, myself. I work in Canada’s worst neighbourhood, so I get asked a lot, and as a 90lb woman who gets off work at midnight, I can really sympathize…homeless people are SCARY! They…ask for stuff, sometimes. It’s all very awkward…I don’t want to talk about it. But there is something I need to work on: I still make eye contact. I know…I know…I’m treating them like People. And that…well, it makes me care, a little. Like I would care for my fellow human being…crap…see? “Human Being?” That is what eye contact does! And then I say “No, I‘m sorry.” …I know… I’m ashamed. It’s like the poster campaign has taught me nothing at all. Calgary…please…send more helpful advice. Because, sometimes, when I have extra clothes or food or time…oh, I can’t say it. It’s too shameful. I need to shape up. I need to Fight Homelessness…and by the heel of my boot, someday soon, I will.

Around and About the House, I talk with a Funny Accent

Many years ago, I was attending a conference in Southern Ohio. There was a lot of down time with fellow delegates - conversations ranged from political ideology to standards of body image across cultures, to how different languages and dialects developed (until one girl mentioned the Tower of Babel and the rest of us backed away slowly). The accents present at the conference ranged from Southern Belle to Southern Ontarian, but for all the regional dialects to be poked and prodded and looked at with adoring ‘awws,’ the handful of Canadians seemed to be getting an undue amount of attention.

“Say ‘out and about.’”
“Out and about.”
“Hee!! Oot and aboot!”
“But…no…out and about.”
“Hee! Say ‘out and about on a boat.’”
“Out and about on a boat.”
Scores of giggles.

The Americans concluded that Canadians were cute. The Canadians were confused, and concluded the Americans were stupid. Eventually, the conference ended, and the Canadians went home to suppress their newfound angst over how they pronounce ‘about’ and ‘house.’ All was forgotten, until South Park got in on the joke.

Canadians were entirely perplexed: We don’t know what you’re talking aboot.

South Park: Bigger, Better, and Uncut, while hilarious and groundbreaking in its own rights, had Canadians on the defensive. We’re saying ‘about,’ people. About. ‘About’ and ‘a boot’ are pronounced entirely differently, and we’re talking normally, godammit! And it’s ‘house.’ Not ‘hoose.’ Fuck, and our heads don’t flap around in two pieces, either.

I Am Canadian was born, and in the forefront of national, Labatt-induced pride was our inability to understand what the Americans were laughing at: ‘I say ABOUT, not A BOOT, our beer doesn't taste like watered-down piss, I am Canadian.’

Any Americans who were listening to our confused rebuttals giggled: Canadians are cute, and kind of dumb.

But then the world found bigger fish to fry (than those we’d been catching, out and about on our boat): weapons of mass destruction, and the real and present danger of Saddam Hussein, for starters. Americans started talking about a lot of stuff that didn’t make sense to Canadians, or the rest of the thinking world, and a couple hundred thousand brown people died as a result. Plus, I moved to the West Coast, so all of my dialect-based arguments began to centre around the superiority of ‘butt’ over ‘budge’ as the appropriate verb for when someone cuts in line. For the record: they butt. They BUTT in line, I don’t care what you think, lalalalala.

Well…the Democrats are back in power now, and Obama makes my little black heart sing. I think it’s time for healing, and reconciliation, and admitting that mistakes were made. So, let me state now, for the record, on behalf of my fellow Canadians: we were wrong.

That’s right, Canada, I know it’s hard to say, but we’re doing the right thing. And, actually, we ARE talking funny. We are saying ‘aboot.’ I know, I know, I didn’t get it either, but let me explain…Wikipedia told me so.

You see: the concept is called ‘Canadian Raising,’ and it’s part of what makes Canadians special.

If you’re Canadian, the following words will make Americans giggle:

House (the noun) compared to House (the verb, as in ‘to house’)
Pouter compared to Powder
Lout (or Stout) compared to Loud
Price compared to Prize
Writer compared to Rider

Canadians (and some Americans…and not certain Canadians…accents don’t end abruptly at borders, apparently) pronounce the first words of that list with a raised tone. American’s don’t. In fact, for Americans, that list of words would sound pretty much exactly the same - ‘writer’ and ‘rider’ can’t easily be distinguished, there’s no difference between a price and a prize. (Note: if your Canadian, the difference between those words isn’t in the second syllable, where it by all logical reasoning should be. It’s in the vowel. That’s due to an entirely different North American dialectical concept, called ‘flapping,’ where ‘d’ and ‘t’ and ‘c’ and z’ end up sounding exactly the same.)

The raising of ‘ou’ sounds is less common in the States, and more pronounced in Canadians, so it’s a lot more fun to point out…which brings us around and about the house to our old friend: Aboot.

The American pronunciation of 'about' is kind of harsh, like the ‘bow’ of a boat. The Canadian pronunciation is raised, and so for all ye Americans listening in, it sounds pretty close to ‘a boot.’ In fact, that’s a pretty spot on imitation for people who don’t know how to raise. So…when we made the beer commercial, basking in our defensive national pride, we proudly announced to any Americans who happened to be listening ‘It’s ‘aboot.’ Not ‘a boot.’ …We don’t know what you’re talking aboot. I’m going back oot to my hoose now…shut up, South Park, I‘m saying ‘aboot!”

And that is why national pride, in excess, is a dangerous and humiliating thing. As is Labatt Beer, for that matter. And luckily, no one south of the border really cares about Canadians anyways, so I doubt they took notice. But, for the sake of peace and international unity, we can put this whole humiliating affair, ten years in the making, behind us. There are more important things to talk about.

For example: have you ever heard an Australian say ‘Vanilla Ice’? They say ‘Vanilla Rice.’ Also: 'wallaby.' Highlarious.