We’ll welcome you in our city. We’ll even be seen with you in public (although we may throw in a dig that you’re wearing lifts, but I’m sure that’s some male bonding thing). But then? Then we’ll need to give you a trouncing. That felt good. Now, ready for a nice cappuccino at any one of 12 locations within a stone’s throw? I want to talk about my feelings.
I hear your freakish screams of agony, friends.
But I won’t have it.
Recently I watched a new show on A&E called Hoarders, and I can’t begin to tell you how disappointed I was to see that nothing being pulled out of the homes of these folks was going to a yard sale. Much of it was being turfed into the back of a 1-800-Got-Junk truck (pure marketing brilliance right there, air-five) and it made the garage-saler and sustain-inista in me itchy to think of what could be reused by someone else while bringing in a little bit of extra cash to the (soon-to-be-ex) hoarder.
(shh, hey, come here… I’m not going to lie, there are moments when I know the only reason I’m writing this is because of the delight that comes from emphasizing the word hoarder in all the wrong places. Did I mention that I come from a woefully conservative family? Pity me.)
All I ask for is a little yard sale love. Why? Because you’re not consuming! You’re reducing! And others are reusing! And you get a little cha-ching to take a day trip with the kids! (unless you’re childless and living in an exorbitantly over-priced city, in which case you’ll have a little cha-ching to get a puppy-cut for Muffy and an organic non-fat no-foam half-caf latte for me. What? You totally owe me for this one you big whiner.)
This is Louie. He has hoarding issues.
Dear Car,
It has been less than a year since we’ve been together. I looked at you today, your first ding showing on the dust-covered door, bird poop mapping its way across your roof like a rorschach test, remnants of dog biscuits mashed into the stitching of your seats – and I realized that the honeymoon is over. You are now a member of the family, lovely and comfortable, providing the incredible gift of freedom like nothing else can.
We courted for awhile online before finally meeting in person. When you pulled around, it was love at first great-gas-mileage-compact-with-heated-seats-and-moonroof sight. Those funny dealership guys took a bet that if they offered me a white version of you I’d take it. They lost.
I asked for tinted windows so you would help keep the girls cool and safe. It meant I had to wait for 3 days until we’d be able to take to the open road together Thelma & Louise style. Only, you know, without Louise. When the day came I was sick with excitement. It could’ve been that I was now officially ScotiaBank’s bitch lendee or maybe it was the day-old mushu, but I’d like to think it was because I couldn’t stop thinking of all the adventures we were about to embark upon.
We got you insured, they took our picture, and I almost drove you into the bushes as we left the showroom. It was a good day.
I took you to the mall, because that’s what girls do, and because you needed some serious femming up. A fuzzy black wheel cover with little pink hearts did the trick. Remember when I parked so far away from other cars so you wouldn’t get scratched, that I lost you? It was the perfect opportunity to hear the obnoxious, yet glorious ”BLART BLART” of the panic alarm calling to me from the far corner, causing much jealousy from all the other “cars” (and I use that term losely) in the parkade that night. It was the voice I never had, and I knew then that we were a true match.
We headed home, you purring like a very purry thing, and me bragging to mom on the Fido about how fab we are. That’s right. One hand on wheel. I’m crazy like that. We did the inaugural crawl drive across Lion’s Gate, and our life has never been the same.
Car, you took me and the girls the 1400 kilometers to be with family when we needed them most. You’ve allowed me the freedom and independence that can only come from a zippy little hatchback with attitude. You made sure we got to the vet in time after work to take care of little Sophie and her tummy.
I’m not going to lie. There are days, little car, although not many, when I wonder why we’re together, if it’s really even working out for us. But then Saturday roles around and Kijiji beckons me like an e-siren advertising garage sale treasures that must be seen and what if I miss the perfect garage sale like an estate sale in West Van that sells an Emily Carr because it looks like a charcoal sketch by a 12 year old and hey, they’re just grandkids anyway, what do they know from art, and clearly my very existence depends upon my getting over there to save a national treasure from being tacked onto someone else’s wall or chucked into the garbage all together the horror …and there you are. Sitting in the alley waiting to transport me to coffee, to blow off some of that dust, and let you do what you do best. Drive baby, drive.
Thank you, Car. I know I don’t show you the love often enough. I don’t drive you as much as you’d like, and I don’t keep you as clean as I should. But you’re a ballsy chick with a rocking wheel cover, and you’ve made me cooler and faster. And that, my friend, is no small feat.
Love,
me
Call me judgmental, I don’t mind. But my friends, it has taken me three and a half days to process the affront to my senses that was the presentation by James Arthur Ray at the Westin Bayshore Tuesday night.
I wrote the other day about experimenting with Meetup.com, which in itself was a bit of a bust as I couldn’t find my group (granted, I need a gps to travel 6 blocks in a community I’ve lived in for 3 years, so I may need to take responsibility for that one), but the meetup itself was set to the tune of a poorly veneered, self-aggrandizing promoter of personal abundance (or, as I’ve taken to calling him: the SOS. - I’ll let you sort through that acronym).
I did mention in my previous post about Malcolm Gladwell in relation to connectors. Now let’s talk about thin-slicing. When the SOS walked on stage my reaction was immediate – my skin crawled so hard that if I hadn’t been wearing my size 6 wishful-thinking pants it would’ve wound up in a pile on the floor. Fine for Body World exhibits, but not so classy in a ballroom at the Westin.
Here are just a few of the tasty highlights:
1. Three hyphentated words: Cock-a-hoop. My new favourite phrase. You know, you could tell me that you’ve been on Oprah, and I’m all good. But I’ve never heard someone so profoundly in need of respect and reverence while at once being a totally obnoxious blowhard.
2. Condescension and one-upmanship thrown at those brave enough to speak in front of 500 people (Ian, Iqbal, and “rhymes with yummy” in the yellow dress – I remember all of you because it was the first time in my life that I physically radiated empathy)
3. Power and intimidation tactics used to get people to fill out an order form, credit card info and all, lest you be called out in front of everyone else as ‘fearful’, ‘untrustworthy’, and ‘not committed to improving your life’. Note to self: Insidiousness is not your friend.
Soon after a woman was accused of not being ready to improve her life because she didn’t have a credit card, I stood up in front of a room full of people (front & center – I’m a keener like that) and walked out. I decided that I needed to take my fearful, untrustworthy self home for pudding and a lovely sunset walk on the seawall with my dogs. Oh, and then committed to washing off the veritable stank from my hour with the SOS.
The Legal Fine Print
Proclomation of Questionable Humour: As a Canadian I am culturally obligated to apologise if I offend with this post. I hold no ill will against anyone who thinks this guy is all that and a bag of untrustworthy chips (oh, that’s me again). He used to meditate for three hours a day. He was on Larry King Live. He is the son of a protestant minister. He was a contributor to The Secret. Surely there are some good things about him, and I only wish you, him, and his teeth all things karmically well deserved.
Update:
And by “karmically well deserved”, I did not think this. My heart goes out to the families left behind by this terrible tragedy:
James Arthur Ray’s Spiritual Warrior Event Kills 2, Injures 19 in Sweat Lodge Fiasco
Sweat Lodge Death Turns To Self-Help Guru James Arthur Ray
Update 2:
But I did think this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4FUVwDcpLwY
You may not agree with the name of this website, but as Tim says “dignity went out the window a long time ago.”
He is the same age as me. The insight into his life, how he wound up on the streets, and his subsequent rehabilitation have all been documented, and he continues to host nightly webchats to follow his recovery.
“I’m back into the fight. I’m tired of laying down. I’m tired of giving up. This life is worth fighting for.”
-Tim Edwards
Define Canada
You might say the home of the Rocket or the Great One
Who inspired little number 9’s and little number 99’s
But we’re more than just hockey and fishing lines
Off the rocky coast of the Maritimes
And some say what defines us
Is something as simple as “please” and “thank you”
And as for “you’re welcome”? Well, we say that too
But we are more than gentile or civilised
We are an idea in the process of being realised
We are young
We are culture strung together and then woven into a tapestry
And the design is what makes us
More than the sum totals of our history
We are an experiment going right for a change
With influences that range from A to Zed
And yes, we say Zed instead of Zee
We are the colours of Chinatown, the coffee of Little Italy
We dream so big
That there are those who would call our ambition an industry
Because we are vineyards of good year after good year
We reforest what we clear
Because we believe in generations beyond our own
Knowing now that so many of us have grown past what we used to be
We can stand here today
Filled with all the hope people have when they say things like “some day”
Because we are more than a laundry list of things to do and places to see
More than hills to ski and country-side ponds to skate
We are the abandoned hesitation of all those who can’t wait
We are first rate greasy-spoon diners and healthy-living cafes
A country that is all the ways you choose to live
A nation that can give you variety
Because we are choices
We are millions upon millions of voices
Shouting “keep exploring, we are more”
“We are the surprise the world has in store for you”
It’s true
Canada is the “what” in “what’s new”
So don’t let your luggage define your travels
Each life unravels differently
And experience is what makes the colours of our tapestry
We are the True North, strong and free
And what’s more is that we didn’t just say it
We made it be
