What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Sunday, February 22, 2004

OUROBOROS

Whenever I start up one of my once-considered-moderate-now-considered-Communist rants against...oh, let's say Wal-Mart for one, people tell me that they shop at these big chains because the prices are better. God knows anyone taking care of children or paying a mortgage or coming up with downtown rent or just plain living these days needs to save whatever pennies they can, wherever they can. I can see this. My heart is not cold.

What gets me, however, is that these companies we're supporting are the exact ones who lay off hundreds at a time to keep the stock prices up and the wages down. They're creating the market that pays everyone so little in the first place. It's the snake eating its own tail.

I'm as guilty as anyone else -- I've got a flat full of IKEA -- but I try to buy from small chains or indie stores whenever possible. The cost isn't that much more and, nine times out of ten, you get a much better product. When everything we buy is coming from Indonesia, can we really get that upset when all the manufacturing jobs start appearing over there?

I look around these days and see a lot of people who've just given up believing they have any say in how things are run, reserving all their opinions for sports and movies. I love those things too, obviously, but this month's Janet Jackson silliness really showed me how messy our collective priorities are right now.

And that's today's once-considered-moderate-now-considered-Communist rant. Let's hear yours.

RUT

Virtually everyone I encounter these days complains of how cold the last six weeks have been -- and they're not wrong -- but I've always felt there's a bigger problem with winter: the dullness.

I have got to take up skiing or hockey or something because once the Monumental Distraction of Christmas is over, I realize just how stupefyingly boring winter can be. Business at both the store and the pub is slower, I'm working less, I'm staying in more -- so, aside from this unexpected and delightful arrival of Keith, I'm forced to admit that my life is terribly uninteresting at the moment.

I'm blessed with a wide circle of fascinating friends and acquaintances but, when I ask them lately "what's new and exciting," they simply shrug. There's just nothing going on.

It's always seemed strange to me that most movie studios reserve their big crowd-pleasers for the summer months. Even on the hottest day, I'd rather be outside and, right now, a February night with "Spider-Man 2" sounds perfect. Too bad TV is such crap, too -- I seem to watching "The Daily Show with Jon Stewart" and little else.

Time to throw a party, I think, or -- better yet -- get myself invited to one (the new apartment is still too cluttered with boxes and junk for my comfort or that of my guests). Consider that a hint!

Labels: oh l'amour

FEBRUARY 14th AIN'T NUTHIN' BUT A CALENDAR DATE

I really hate Valentine's Day since it makes everyone miserable. If you're single, all that hearts-and-flowers crap makes you feel lonelier than ever; if you're in a couple, the pressure to find some fancy way to "celebrate your love" (as one poster in the mall read) can be a major irritant.

Nevertheless, this Valentine's Day found me coupled -- with someone new, no less; someone I was trying to impress anyway. The trick is to keep your goals simple. I made reservations at a very nice but moderately priced little restaurant in my neighbourhood -- nothing too extravagant but still nicer than, say, the Keg.

Keith and I bantered over whether or not to order the sea bass. "It's on the endangered species list," he said, "so you may not get another chance a few years from now." "But eating sea bass put it on the endangered species list," I laughed. "You won't save the ones already in the freezer back there," he said. And so on.

My friend Tara cut my story short when I told her yesterday: "You had the chicken," she announced. "Why do you assume I had the chicken?" I said. "You agonize over the menu but you always order the chicken," she said. I frowned at her presumption, especially since I'd had the chicken.

I also welcomed a very positive sign: while preparing to hand Keith a very small, not-serious, not-really-some-sort-of-Valentine's-Day gift, he handed me a gift bag and a long speech about how he doesn't believe in Valentine's Day and how this was "a generic February 14th gift". After opening our gift bags, he found my "romantic jazz" CD an appropriately cheesy gift and I found his DVD copy of "The Manchurian Candidate" an appropriately cynical one. Nice to be sympatico -- especially on that most dreaded of holidays.

Labels: friends, oh l'amour

MY FRIEND, THE GENIUS

Well, here I was, trying to get people to check out my little Ramblings here every once in a while, when along comes my friend Darrell, who debuted his own blog last month.

Sodden Revelations is where you'll find his wry takes on the culture around us, written with obviously more care and wit than my own.

Bastard.

JUST SO I'M CLEAR...

The American people are truly content to wait until well after November's presidential elections for a full inquiry into the flawed information that led to the invasion of Iraq?

That War that led to the deaths of thousands, Iraqi and American alike?

But meanwhile, the government's media watchdog has promised a "swift and thorough" inquiry into the exposure of Janet Jackson's breast at the Super Bowl?

Is that really what I'm hearing?
Because that would be such a perfect example of everything I complain about, wouldn't it?

RIDING IT OUT

The Sunrise Records Operations Manager popped by yesterday. I know it's a cliché to go on about the oily evil of corporate head office people but, really, talking to this guy is like standing in front of a KFC fat fryer. His level of helpful advice for our flagship Yonge Street store was to tell our beloved Ruby to alphabetize the wall of sale DVDs because, and she quotes, "the customers and staff aren't smart enough" to find individual titles. "Well, I would alphabetize everything," she replied to him, "but I'm not smart enough." Ah, a big wet kiss for Ruby!

I can't stand this kind of garbage but it seems to be everywhere. My friend James told me last night that he wishes I'd quit because working for these people is making me bitter. "Fuck you," I said.

No, James is exactly right. Our poor little record shop gets nothing but grief from the brothers who own it because the sales are lower than they'd like. Anyone with a brain, however, can see that this is an industry-wide problem (thanks, Napster!) and that this particular chain is so badly run that its demise seems all but inevitable.

Right now, DVD counts for nearly 70% of the store's sales but, when our store buyer pleads for more support and flexibility in ordering, he's told that "we're a music chain." Not for long you're not. Every memo we get screams for better customer service but everything we try to get for our customers takes weeks if not months to arrive -- and that's all the customer service they're concerned with, ultimately.

Yes, I'm indeed bitter. I can say without ego that I'm very good at my job and I love being there but I'm sick of working for morons who make a decent living while giving their workers little respect and less pay. Nevertheless, I'm possessed of some sick determination to keep their leaking ship afloat. I've invested too much effort and caring to just walk away. Plus, I think I get some perverse kick out of catching their mistakes.

I talked to our guy at Universal Home Video today about an order gone wrong. The owner's son -- oh sorry, "Sunrise DVD buyer" -- apparently only faxed him page two of our order. How do you manage that? Especially when it's almost all he does? "He seems to have trouble with that fax machine," said Stan, "Maybe you guys should send him over a manual." The owner's son is the ultimate example of the crime of nepotism -- a scarecrow with a head full of money not straw. Watching him in action is a recipe for bitterness, it's true, but I'll ride it out.

I guess I'm just too curious to see how much water this ship can take in.

Labels: friends, insanity, working girl

FEELS LIKE SPRING

You know it's been a vicious January when you start feeling giddy with Spring-ness because the temperature's climbed all the way up to minus two degrees.

Or maybe it's just having Keith over for dinner last night.

Oh dear, it's happening again -- that glow of luuuuurrrrrve. I really can't stand it. I mean, there I am, in the middle of doing something necessary, when I suddenly picture his smiling face and I stop and feel all warm inside, utterly distracted. I'm a grown-man of 32, for God's sake, not some 17-year-old girl.

He's very cute, though. Aargh.

Labels: oh l'amour