So, You Had a Bad Day.

Last week I had a day that did not go so well.  I woke up and there was piss in my cornflakes.  Well, metaphorically speaking. Here’s how it all went down: Slipped on the ice and smashed my elbow. Caught in traffic jam.  Late for meeting.  Lost big sale. Horrible gas. Ate emergency can of office tuna after leaving lunch at home.  Turned away from yoga class after rushing down freeway at harrowing, breakneck speeds.  Parking ticket.  Backed into concrete barrier causing $6,000 damage to three-week-old new car.  Internet down.  No Netflix so forced to watch Tiny Houses on HGTV. Still gassy. Cat hid under sofa for fresh air.  What was remarkable was how calm and unaffected I was by it all. No “whoa” is me.  No crying in my milk.  No hissy fits. No pity party.  I simply shrugged my shoulders and at one point even laughed to myself.  What else could I do? 

After a lifetime of having good days and bad days, you start to see a pattern.  You realize the bad days won’t kill you.  You’ll probably even forget about them – unless it’s one where you are mowed down by a bus or catch a STD.  You realize you don’t have control over bad days and so why bother getting worked up.  You come to understand how the universe works and appreciate that the bad days are a way of it balancing out your karma and keeping you humble.  The bad days also become proof that the cliché “what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger” is true.  Imagine going through life with nothing but complete bliss and hedonism? I suppose it might be nice until you realize you have no perspective and live in complete delusion with no visible sign of depth of character.

Tolstoy said, “If you look for perfection, you’ll never be content.”  And my mother always told me “Nobody ever promised your life would be perfect so snap the hell out of it”. My grandmother used to say, “get out of my garden you fat little bastard”.  And my grade six teacher threw me up against a locker and told me “You’ll never amount to anything in life”.  I’m not sure how my angry granny and asshole teacher’s comments are pertinent, but I am on a roll.  My point being, there is a lesson in every struggle that comes your way. So, when a big pile of shit falls on your head and people are laughing at you because there is a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom if your shoe, think of it as a teaching moment. What I learned on my ill-fated day was to lay off the broccoli and pay attention when I’m driving the car, instead of rushing around like a lunatic.  That and tiny houses are for little people, as I need a plenty of space to twirl around and swing a cat (figurately of course).

The other thing I’ve realized is that ‘whatever happens will happen’.  This is along the same lines as ‘it is what it is’ which is one of those sweeping generalizations that makes me want to throat punch the person saying it.  Still the sentiment is there.  When you get long in the tooth like me hopefully your lifetime of experiences has prepared you for whatever the universe throws at you, good and bad.  If you find yourself wallowing in misery, laying on the ground in a fetal position, or expressing anger and curb stomping passersby when you have a bad day, then you haven’t fully absorbed life’s lessons. 

That’s okay, you just need someone to show you the way.  First of all, if you are waiting around for good things to come, you’re only going to be disappointed and frustrated, and this frustration will lead you into having a bad day. If you’re feeling impatient about something, take a deep breath. Use a few minutes for meditation or to go for a walk outdoors. I find that laying down on the ground in a still motion will help slow your mind down and root you in the present, helping to remind you of where you are and where you’re going.  You might want to refrain from doing this in the shopping mall, at a parking lot, or at work.  Maybe find somewhere secluded. That way nobody will think you’re a lunatic.

 “And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive…But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” -Haruki Murakami. 

The other wisdom I’d like to impart is to remember that your goals are not going to be met overnight. It’s good to be ambitious, but you’ll never be perfect. If you expect otherwise, your life will be rife with disappointments. Trust me, I know.  I wanted to be a dancer and had high expectations of joining the cast of Solid Gold and later Dancing with the Stars, but when that didn’t happen, I fell into a depression. I thought that I deserved it because I was a good person and had rhythm.  The truth is I didn’t really work that hard to master the craft, only practicing on weekends. Instead, I just tried to will my goal to happen. I eventually realized that in life when you stumble on a goal you’re trying to achieve, learn the lesson it offers and move forward.  When you have a bad day use the moments before you sleep to review your goals. You can write them down or even journal about each of them. This will help you refocus your mind for the next day.  Don’t kid yourself into thinking success will come quickly. It isn’t easy to be patient, but anything worth doing requires time (often, lots of it!). If you get frustrated, remind yourself why your goal is important.  At times like this I like to remember the quote “Trees that are slow to grow bear the best fruit.”

Keep in mind that if you had a bad day, try not to focus on how terrible your life is. It’s tempting to do so but stressing out won’t make you feel any better. If you search for the lesson in your present struggle, you’ll be able to make positive changes that would prevent similar situations in the future. To do this, try specifying exactly what is causing you to have a bad day. For example, you may find that your controlling boss said something that put you in a bad mood. You can then analyze this.  Are you happy at your job? Would you be happier elsewhere? Are you ready to move on to something new? Maybe your partner is gaslighting you and making you question your self-worth and abilities at home.  This is the time you ask yourself are you happy in your relationship? Would you be happier living alone in a van down by the river doing Sudokus by candlelight and eating Ichiban noodles for the rest of your life?  Whatever the case, use these questions to guide you to life lessons after a bad day.

I’ve also come to realize that failure and hard times help you appreciate the good ones.  It’s hard to find much to smile about when you fail, but how else would you improve yourself? If you look at failure as a part of your evolutionary process, you’ll stay positive and pursue your goals for as long as it takes.  Like I said, imagine having a life that is completely smooth, free of challenges, and without the joys or excitement of overcoming difficulties. Do you really think it would be all that interesting? Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength.  When I screw up or fail, it motivates me to want to do better next time. Case in point: I’ve had five speeding tickets in three years, on the same freeway coming home from work late at night and had to take auto insurance from the facility / black market for $8000 a year.  Now when I’m driving home from work, I put the cruise control on and watch the world go by a little slower.  However, last week I was pulled over for going through a red light.  I learned that I’m an asshole behind the wheel and should have my license taken away and be forced to ride a scooter on the roadways for all eternity.

When you have a bad day, you may find yourself worried about what happened.  This worry only feeds on itself and it’ll only make you feel worse. It is human nature to obsess with all the things that could go wrong, but this will result in a self-inflicted mental nightmare. I realize that worrying means you suffer twice.  You suffer when you worry about the thing that’s coming. You suffer once again when the thing actually happens. Worrying will change nothing and will only seep joy from the present moment in which nothing bad is actually happening. If you forget about the things you can’t control, you’ll be empowered to concentrate on the things you can. This can be difficult if you’re having a bad day but try to identify which things to let go and which things you can really change in the moment.

Okay, I’ve said too much and most of it is has been psycho babble, but like I said, I’m on a roll.  And if I’m being honest, I don’t always take my own advice.  I need to be reminded of life lessons every once in a while when I’m having a bad day.  You should do the same.  If you’ve read this far and haven’t lost consciousness, then you deserve to be rewarded with a conclusion.  My gift to you will be a list of ways to make a bad day better. 

19 Ways to a Bad Day Better

1. Crank up the music. Show tunes work best.
2. Exercise.  Jazzercize.  Jazz Hands. Yoga. Kama Sutra
3. Eat chocolate
4. Perform a random act of kindness
5. Call a friend or family member who always cheer you up
6. Take a nap
7. Take a bubble bath
8. Don’t be so hard on yourself
9. Do a Brain Dump – journal or write a blog
10. Lay on the floor – destress
11. Reflect on a good day
12. Cry
13. Eat a healthy meal
14. Watch cat videos
15. Look in the mirror and smile
16. Watch your favorite movie
17. Scream
18. Pat yourself on the back
19. Snap the hell out of it – Thanks Mom

If you’re having a hard time, it can be difficult to focus on learning how to feel better. So, look at the list and start with something small to get some good energy flowing. From there, you can move on to bigger things that can bring more positivity into your life.  And remember there’s always something to be grateful for.  It could be the cup of coffee you had this morning, the sweet adoring cat you’ll be going home to tonight, or the reduced insurance rates from having kept your nose clean driving your car like a sane person for a few years.  It’s so easy to lose sight of these little things when we’re upset. The next time you get upset or have a bad day, think about something that makes you happy. Repeat this behavior until it becomes second nature. Your negative thoughts will have no power over you if you learn to stop lingering on them.  Bad day or good day, remember that tomorrow is a new day and a new opportunity to improve your life.  

This week on Survivor Matt was having a very bad day.  First, he was separated from gal-pal Fanny and then lost the reward and immunity challenge and had to go to tribal.  While pleading his case on national television, he wept like a schoolgirl and drained what little testosterone was left from his body.  But he chose to overcome it by giving a heart-felt farewell speech acknowledging the growth he experienced. He also wished his island sweetheart good luck to take top prize and encouraged her to annihilate the mothers who took him out.  He got the lesson about his bad day but needs to work on his anger management.  Yam Yam was having a little less of a bad day which almost got worse when Latin grumpy pants Heidi decided to throw her extra vote his way.  Girlfriend, what the hell were you thinking? I thought it was going to be Lauren getting the vote, who needs to cut her damn hair.  Carolyn’s facial expressions continue to amaze and amuse, but more interesting, is that she is becoming a strength not to be reckoned with.  A few more people are about to have bad days but let’s see if they can weather the storm and go home with their heads held high. 

See you next week, SYNW

Kurt

No Laughing Matter

Laugh and the whole world laughs with you.  Well, not so much today in the highly sensitive, politically correct, cancel-culture, woke landscape we are wandering through.  Seems humankinds’ funny bone isn’t so ticklish anymore as the traditional topics we liked to poke fun of are off limits or restricted.  Forget about Polish jokes. Forget Newfie jokes.  Forget blonde jokes.  And don’t even bother to make a joke about gays, blacks, minorities, or religions.  

I recently discovered a 14-year-old incredibly funny skit by the brilliant British comedian Catherine Tate and thought there is no way it could be broadcast as new material today because it pokes fun at different races. But you be the judge, have a watch:

So, what do you think? Honestly?  Offensive? Funny? Inappropriate? Funny but inappropriate? Were you hesitant to laugh?   Or did you nearly wet yourself?  Maybe all the above.  

I attend a lot of comedy shows, from the big headliners to the small amateur performances. I’ve have seen it all, from atrocious and raunchy to poignant and hysterical. Personally, I’m fond of tasteful, storytelling humor from the likes of Eddy Izzard, Trevor Noah, Billy Connolly, Stephen Colbert, David Sedaris, Jerry Seinfeld, and George Carlin to name a few.  It’s the slice of life, observational humor about human beings’ day to day that tickles me.  The one liners and insult-type humor can become very tiring after a few minutes.  Having attended in person and viewed on TV so many types of comedians, the observation I’ve made is that the material used today in comedy is becoming limited but is also evolving.  It’s a good thing. 

Mark Twain said that “Humor is the great thing, the saving thing after all. The minute it crops up, all our hardness’s yield, all our irritations, and resentments flit away, and a sunny spirit takes their place.”  He’s right about that – even though I have no idea what the hell ‘flit away’ is.  In our modern world humor touches upon nearly every facet of life—90% of men and 80% of women report that a sense of humor is the most important quality in a partner, that it’s a crucial quality for leaders to have, and it’s even been shown to improve the health of people who are sick, such as cancer patients.  There’s no doubt that humor is a life skill that everybody needs. But how do we define humor, and can it be taught?

They say the best way to kill a joke is to explain it, but experts have tried to do that anyway.   There are theories on what humor is and where it comes from. Sigmund Freud’s Relief theory argues that laughter and humor are ways of blowing off psychological steam, a way to release psychic energy.  He believed that some buildup of tension is inherent to all humorous scenarios and the perception of humor is directly related to the release of that tension.  That’s why jokes told at funerals are often met with uproarious laughter and not with the silence that a somber occasion like that would merit.  I remember a friends mothers funeral was so funny I was laughing while crying.  It felt inappropriate at first to laugh but by the end of the funeral there were tears of joy and celebration. Freud also used this idea to explain our fascination with taboo topics and why we might find it humorous to acknowledge them (like religion, sexism, race). Maybe this is why the Catherine Tate translator video is so funny.  Or why Dave Chappelle’s piercing rants about black lives and living in America are so amusing. Or Russel Peters hilarious cliché observations about his Indian family.

Another theory, Superiority Theory was put forward by Plato and Aristotle to explain a specific kind of humor: why we laugh at other’s misfortunes. In this theory, humor is a means of declaring one’s superiority over others.  This must be why we have all those crazy EPIC FAILS videos on YouTube and America’s Funniest Videos where dad gets a baseball in the crotch or mom is knocked over by a tree.  Every single time I see someone wipe out or get walloped I laugh out loud – even when it’s not supposed to be funny.  That’s my own derangement we will deal with another day.

Even science and medicine has recognized that there are health benefits to having a sense of humor. For example, people at risk for depression can benefit from humor that reframes a negative event in their lives – maybe tell a joke about suicide to a suicidal person. Sure, it seems a bit unorthodox, but if it can work then do it.  Or maybe tell a depressed person “I used to suffer from depression but through hard work, persistence, and never giving up I now suffer from anxiety and depression”.   There are actually studies that show humor improves people’s overall quality of life. Researchers have found that people who score highly in certain types of humor have better self-esteem, more positive affect, greater self-competency, more control over anxiety, and perform better in social interactions. Hell, they can even be better in bed – believe you me, I’ve been laughed at in the sack on many occasions. Even people in pain can feel better – cancer patients have been studied and experienced noticeable reductions in physical pain and an improved immune system from having a good laugh. I guess that’s where the expression “laugher is the best medicine” comes from.

Aside from improving your health, laughter can also be a productivity tool. One study found that volunteers who watched a comedy were measurably better at solving word association puzzles that relied on creative thinking as compared to control groups that watched horror films or quantum physics lectures. This is because laughter lights up the anterior cingulate cortex, an area of the brain associated with attention and decision-making. Another study measured people’s performance on a brainstorming task and found that participants who were asked to come up with a New Yorker-style caption generated 20% more ideas than those who did not. Being funny can make you rich too, which is where the expression ‘laughing all the way to the bank” came from.  Well, that’s my own personal theory and I’m sticking with it.

Not all kinds of humor are equal. There is the common aggressive type of humor, such as mocking others, as well as self-defeating humor, in which an individual encourages jokes that have themselves as the target or they insult others. This type of humor is often associated with a person having poorer an overall well-being and higher anxiety and depression.  This is the type of humor you see on those roasts where famous people hurl insults, mostly shocking and cruel, to some other poor celebrity being roasted. Remember the popular ‘Dean Martin Roasts’ on television in the 1970s?  There were also the immensely popular insult masters Don Rickles and Andrew Dice Clay who whose brand of humor was to take no prisoners by flinging degrading offences at people. They were exhausting and seem out of fashion today. Over time these types of comedians became fewer, but we occasionally get a Jeff Ross roast. Don’t get me wrong, they can be funny, especially when its Justin Bieber, Donald Trump, or some other uppity, affected celeb being roasted.  However, in general it’s a crummy thing to make fun of other people. If you are going to do it, then you need to make sure it’s tasteful and not cruel.  So then why even bother.  Find something else funny to say.  What ever happened to ‘Yo momma’ jokes?

Unfortunately, humor can’t be taught which is too bad because everyone should be able to laugh and enjoy its many benefits. I’ve known people who never crack a smile and just grimace when they hear a joke.  Sometimes its cultural. Take the Swiss for example. They are rigid, driven by rules, tend to keep to themselves, and avoid outward expressions of emotion – including laugher. As a result, they have a reputation for being humourless.  For the love of God, they won’t let you vacuum on Sundays or flush the toilet after 10pm in Switzerland – it’s actually against the law.  WTF! The Latin culture on the other hand, tend to express themselves through laughter in their everyday living.  They love to tell jokes and often poke fun at each other.  Despite that, I believe humor is a universal language and regardless of our native tongue, there will always be opportunities to laugh with other human beings.  

People and times change.  So, we must adapt.  All those comedians who are finding it hard to make jokes today should sit down and write new material.  There is funny shit to be found absolutely everywhere.  Instead of writing dirty jokes about feminism, gays, and minorities, write jokes about leaving the top off the toothpaste or standing behind a gassy old lady in the supermarket checkout – fart jokes are timeless and will never go away. Sorry.  Let’s face it, homophobia and racism just aren’t funny topics.  Letting out blood curdling, rip snorting anal acoustics in public by accident is pure gold.

I’d like to think we are evolving as a species.  Sometimes it seems like we’re not but ultimately what we say, our words, have an effect, even in comedy.  What’s funny told through the eyes of a comedian should be ever evolving to reflect the times.  I would think that with our more divergent and marginalized voices coming into the mix (not just a bunch of white guys), we are starting to see progressive viewpoints reflecting the world we live in and making certain types of humour seem distasteful.  Hurtful comedy that punches down to marginalized people or shakes their fists against feminism and equality is always going to have an audience, which is unfortunate for society. Making fun of somebody that potentially can’t defend themselves is not overly hysterical.  So maybe it’s time for that kind of funny to die.

I believe that comedy these days is moving more in the way of being more progressive and not holding society hostage with its ignorant point of views.  Comedy is also allowing the opportunity to let us be critical thinkers and let us move beyond things that are hateful or small-minded.  The shock-comic brand of humour that used to draw uncomfortable laughs doesn’t seem to work as much.  If you watch television, movies, or attend comedy shows you will see a new trend emerging.  Going by the wayside is the is the workplace-based cringe comedy from the likes of NewsRadio, 30 Rock, Taxi, and the Office – the latter being one of my favourites which has recently gained even more popularity from being viewed on streaming networks. However, I literally cringe in my seat when Michael Scott hosts Diversity Day and manages to offend every race on the planet.  Or when he outs one of his gay employees and kisses him on the mouth in a show of solidarity.  Ouch.  This type of comedies depictions can help us open our eyes to our own biases and maybe help us learn.  Remember ‘All in The Family’ and Archie Bunkers shocking ignorant comments which mostly served to educate the masses on previously unsuitable topics (racism, women’s lib, religion, abortion, impotence, war) and hold up a mirror to help them question their own prejudices.   It worked for the times and the format was brilliant. But that was then.  This is now.  Still, if we can embrace touchy subjects with humour as a way of working through our feelings and educating, then this type of comedy has a place.  It’s a fine line to be tread.

Face it, you’re never going to make everyone happy. Someone will find a joke or story unfunny or offensive no matter what. I think when a comedian makes the conscious intent of making a satiric point or truth through a joke, they should be willing to accept the consequences if people feel offended.  I’ve noticed that there is a new crop of comedians who have already come of age with social media and are more clever at handling the current climate in their material. They’ve grown up being scrutinized with the messages that it’s not okay to put people down and crack jokes about marginalized groups, which ultimately is a form of bullying.  And if something is offensive, like I said, then maybe that’s okay because it might open up an opportunity to talk about where the boundaries of humour lie.  Again, it’s a fine line we will always tread with comedy.  

There are endless topics of interest for comedians to find subject matter for humour.  It’s never ending and there is something for everyone. Millennials. GenX. GenY. GenZ. Yes, even Boomers.  Comedians just have to be mindful and look for it.  Chances are it’s right under their noses. The world is more chaotic these days and is constantly shifting and spinning, much like the frenetic information we receive on the internet. This is probably why a lot of comedies these days are strange and feel chaotic and absurd (think Rick & Morty, American Vandal, Community, It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, Broad City, Barry).  Strange is funnier now. Comedy is also cultural and there lies another source of abundant material.  There is no doubt humour is evolving, which is brilliantly summed up with this quote:

“My first thought when I think about humour is it’s a great way for us to have evolved so we don’t have to hit each other with sticks.”

In the end, I’ve come to learn that life is total shit sometimes and without humor you will probably die lonely and sad.  So, embrace the funny. Just make sure it doesn’t offend, is not hurtful, and that it might make you think about life. Then again, it could be as simple as a fart joke that puts a smile on your face.  That’s where the expression “fart and the whole world will laugh with you” comes from.  

This week on Survivor it was no laughing matter as the teams merged. FINALLY! Well, it took a while and the gang stayed in purgatory until master Jeff snuffed out Josh’s torch and threw the new buffs at them.  The merger brought a great deal of relief for most but even more uncertainty.  Everyone scrambled around looking to find footing with new strangers.  Josh tried to play everyone and worked hard to throw Jam Jam and Carolyn under the bus.  Ultra-nerd Carson pulled a Rain Man move and solved a puzzle in record time – turns out he got a copy of the puzzle – used in previous seasons – and made a 3D model and practiced solving it for months.  The kid is clearly a critical thinker but also a social killer, charming the pants off everyone in an innocent manner.  The real hero of this week proved to be whackadoodle Carolyn, who I’m realizing is smarter than she appears.  Her secret weapon to staying in the game is that nobody takes her seriously, even when she’s making perfect sense.  They have all but dismissed her because of her social awkwardness and as a result, she is not deemed a threat.  She will be out of site and out of mind until the very end and suddenly the others will wise up and realize that she was a genius all along.  Maybe she’ll be laughing all the way to the bank come finale.  

See you next week, SYNW

Kurt

Family Matters

My mother and sister arrived yesterday for a visit after a four-year hiatus.  For the next six days when I ask what the time is, mom will only announce Saskatoon time and make me do the math to figure out my own time zone.  Sister will leave half empty bottles of diet Pepsi around the house and let out blood curdling burps in the middle of perfectly good conversations.  They say, “you can’t choose your family”.  They also say, “the apple doesn’t fall far”. 

Sometimes the notion of family can seem foreign to me, only because I moved away from them over thirty years ago and am living on a quiet island with a sassy partner and plump ginger cat.  Don’t get me wrong, Tom and Hunter very much are my family, but I’m referring to family as one where all the descendants are from a common ancestor.  Anyway, once a year when I gather with my ‘ancestors’ I am reminded of the beautiful chaos it can bring.  For me, it often feels like I’ve landed on another planet, and I need to go through several decompression chambers to allow my body to adjust to a new atmosphere.  It’s either that or I suffocate, or I implode.

I stay in touch with family throughout the year, mostly by written correspondence like texts or Facebook as well as weekly phone calls to mom and sister.  When I first left home, long-distance calls were exorbitant so I would spend hours writing letters or postcards instead.  I would also fly home once a year to hang out with the ever-growing family or mother and sister, and sometimes father would descend upon the big smoke to visit me.  Only on rare occasions the extended family of brother, nephews, nieces, cousins, aunts, and uncles would venture out east for a holiday.  While that was happening, I was forging my very own extended family here in Toronto, with partner Tom, his family, and a motley group of friends.

Each year I would travel back to Saskatoon I was instantly returned of my childhood, one where brothers and sisters bickered and talked over each other, and where rooms were filled with people eating, talking, and laughing.  Having come from a large family – father had fifteen brothers and sisters and mother had four – there was always someone dropping by, mostly unannounced, and the house was always buzzing. Our lifestyle was all about family and being together and for many years I would sleep on the floor while a relative or family friend slept in my bed.  Holidays consisted of animated households bursting with family and friends.  There was never any quiet time. When I look back on it from my controlled, peaceful life of today I am reminded of the pure madness of it all. It was also a time when people simply dropped by.  No phone call. No letter.  In those days we didn’t lock our doors either which made it even more user-friendly for anyone and everyone to come in.  Today if someone rings the doorbell, we hide behind the sofa thinking it is either a Jehovah’s Witness or a serial killer.  A visit today involves weeks of planning and text messages and a booked time slot with said visitor.  Call it a busy life or a just a different way of living.

In addition to mother’s time zone games, this week she will call me by my name only after announcing “Terry, Perry, Jessy”, the other males in her life.  It’s good to know I’m fourth in line for the throne.  Sister will interrupt me mid-sentence to start her own conversation, something that only family can do to each other. Sometimes we’ll have four different conversations going at once, most of which will never be finished.  Before the week is up, I will be burping, farting, and talking over everyone.  I will be opening and closing the fridge twenty times a day to stare lovingly at mom’s homemade butter tarts and banana muffins. Sister and I will get into countless arguments about absolutely nothing.  Mother will burp incessantly – it’s a gastro thing she can’t control – and shout ‘huh’ or ‘who’ a hundred times a day – it’s a hearing thing.  By the end of the week, I will be behaving just like my delinquent fourteen-year-old self and fighting off the urge to egg the neighbour’s house, make crank phone calls, and stuff rotting vegetables in a someones tailpipe.  I won’t be recognizable to Tom or Hunter who will be scratching their heads wondering “who is this person?” and why is he acting like a lunatic.  It can’t be helped.  This is what happens when you leave family and reunite with them after a prolonged absence.  You don’t have control what happens.  It’s like all your deep-rooted childhood unruly behaviour only rears its head in their presence – sometimes within hours of their arrival.  I imagine this is where that expression “in one’s blood” comes from. 

I made the decision to leave home when I was in my early twenties.  Opportunity came knocking in the form of a job offer in either Vancouver, Calgary, or Toronto. I’m not sure what my decision criterion was for choosing, but somehow, I chose the one furthest away.  A subconscious decision or not, I left my family, friends, and way of living and flew 2,867 km for a new life the big smoke.  It was hard not having all the comforts of family and friends around. Instead, I would come home to a quiet, small apartment.  No friends to hang out with. Only a job in a strange, cold, and unfriendly city. The first few months were spent desperately homesick and writing letters every day just to keep that feeling of home alive.  It would be many months before I finally made the effort to get out and experience the city. I joined the gym.  I went to movies. I met people at work. Slowly but surely, I harnessed a new way of living. 

One thing I have come to appreciate is that living alone for a period in your life can truly be a great and necessary thing. Sure, it comes with its share of personal struggles, mostly separation anxiety, but it also does so much good for you. Not only does it allow you to find your feet and grow personally, but it also gives you the time and freedom to do your own thing without the influence of friends, parents, or relatives.   Being on my own for the first time, I quickly realized it would be sink or swim, so I started taking risks and ventured out to try new things and meet new people. I started volunteering at the YMCA and became a fitness instructor. I started going to movies religiously and joining film festivals. I went to discotheques and boogied on the dance floor and earned praise for my flexibility and musicality.  I explored my sexytime abilities and discovered that I was attractive and desirable for the first time in my life.  Then I met the love of my life and experienced the most fulfilling relationship yet.  If I never left home, then I likely would not have experienced any of this. Well, the sexytime part was always going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.  It’s my curse.

The fact is, when you leave your family behind, you may lose some of that emotional and spiritual support that you need to get through the day, but you also start seeing things from an independent perspective and begin tending to your affairs by yourself. You start adapting and making yourself comfortable in new environments. You see yourself as citizen of the world and feel you can survive anywhere without your family. That’s what happened to Mary Tyler-Moore when she moved to Minneapolis alone. She was so excited she tossed her hat in the air and twirled while “She’s gonna make it after all” played in the background. Simply put, you learn to become independent, bold, and strong wherever you are. That’s a good thing.

One not so great thing is you become left out of family affairs, like the birth of new babies, anniversaries, birthdays, and other important events – which you only hear about on Facebook or by text or a phone call. I am always shocked when I return home and see completely new beings; nephews, nieces, and now great nieces.  They are the ones carrying on the family legacy and they mostly feel like strangers.  It’s a weird feeling.  

I suppose one benefit of leaving home is that I use my vacation time to go visit family and old friends.  However, the holiday always feels a little incomplete, mostly because there never seems to be enough time to see everyone.  Still, after all these years, I’ve come to realize that family is about the people, not the place. I try to stay in touch and communicate with them as much as I can. But the truth is that the place will never matter as much as being with my family or reaching out to them every now and then.  When you leave your family behind to start a new life, you will simply have an evolving relationship with them. If I stayed in Saskatoon and was with my family all of the time, my relationship with them would never have grown.  Separating myself allowed our relationship to take on a new shape. I’d like to think my parents and siblings treat me more like a close friend than the child I once was. Or that they look at me different for having ventured out and made a name for myself.  That is until I return to that demonic child in their presence and then they will wish I had left sooner.  

They say human beings are social creatures and naturally crave familial interaction which is evidenced by the release of the hormone oxytocin when babies interact with their mother after childbirth. But if we surround ourselves with quality relationships, which in my case is Tom, Hunter, and many amazing friends, we should be able to survive and be happy in the long run.  Leaving home allowed me a chance to take control of my future and move onto bigger and better things.  Sure, I experienced some loneliness and there were times I had to re-examine the true meaning of the term “family”. Yet wherever I go, I will always take comfort in the knowledge that a part of my family’s spirit is always inside of me, even the burping, farting, and interrupting parts.  Now I understand the expressions “to take after someone”, and “blood is thicker than water” just a little better.

Years ago, when Survivor was big on themed shows, they introduced a family show where members of the same family would have to compete against each other.  It was a brilliant experiment that I’m sure either brought people closer together or tore them apart. I recall a daughter trying to get her mother booted and a brother turning on his other brother. Jerry Springer can’t write that shit.  Still, I’d like to think that the Survivor formula brings people close together and they form a life-long Survivor “family-like” bond having gone through an intense shared experience of eating bugs and pooping in the bush.   This week poor Michael G didn’t get to stay long enough to make his mark and departed to take care of his injured shoulder.  As a result, nutbar Carolyn and team were spared and will live another day.  Like life, Survivor is full of twist and turns and you don’t know where you will end up.  So cherish what you have, like family, because before you know it they can be gone.

See you next week, SYNW

Kurt

Just What the Doctor Ordered

I recently went for a long overdue ‘seniors’ checkup at the doctor. “Senior” was what my partner Tom referred to it as on account of me being “old as fuck”.  His words, not mine. Maybe a little harsh but I realized later it was a scare tactic to get me to go for a medical examination since it had been a few years since the last one. As Tom put it “you’re not getting any younger and one day you will wake up and you’ll be dead”. I’m still not quite sure what he meant by that but again it scared the bajezus out of me.

Booking the appointment was another story.  These days, thanks to the pandemic, you must call and plead your case over the phone first.  It’s not even your real doctor, instead it’s some prescreening Nurse Ratchet-type giving you the third degree.  She asked harshly; “Do you smoke?  Are you overweight? Do you have trouble sleeping?  Do you do drugs?” She interrogated me like I was coming back across the border with a brick of cocaine up my arse and she could smell it on me like one of those trained dogs.  I was tempted to ask her back if she was “too ugly and bitchy to live”, but quickly realized I might never get in to see the doctor. I just answered ‘yes’ and ‘no’ until she was satisfied and granted me an appointment.

As the appointment approached, I was apprehensive knowing that I had packed on a few pounds over the pandemic and would likely be hen pecked. Plus, I’ve had a lifetime of misfortunes at the doctor’s office including one time when my drawers were down around my ankles and the doctor in one sweeping motion, grabbed my testicles to check for lumps with one hand and opened the door with the other while announcing “I hope you don’t mind but I invited some interns to observe your exam”.  And if that wasn’t bad enough, I knew one of the interns with whom I shared a mutual friend.   Oh, the humanity. 

Growing up I had an infinity towards doctors on account of having spent the first ten years of my life seeing one almost weekly due to chronic ear infections. You see, I was born with a hole in my head, well ear drum, and was riddled with dreadful infections.  For years I was hauled in to see Doctor Silver, our small town G.P., and was warmly patted on the head and given a lollipop and handled with care.  The nurse greeted me in the lobby with smiles and hugs and gave me coloring books and toys to amuse myself while I waited to see the good doctor.  Despite being in pain, I was always made to feel special. Fast forward four decades, when I drop off a stool sample the receptionist snickers and points across the room to a wood box and says “ewwww”. 

By the time I was ten I had surgery to install a plastic ear drum, or as I referred to it, a bionic ear, so that I would stop having infections.  To this day I can pick up cable TV in certain geographic zones. I’m not entirely sure what they put in my head but it’s kind of nice to listen in on soap operas in the middle the day.  As the years passed, doctors came and went.  They were all shapes, sizes, and demeanors.  Doctor Fitzgerald spent all his time cracking jokes and less time examining me. I loved him but one day I got a letter in the mail saying he died.  Next up was Doctor Mingo, who was always exasperated and out of breath while she rushed through my exam like it was the one-hundred-yard dash.  For the longest time I thought she was on Amphetamines, or I was on candid camera.  I would blink and no sooner would she have her finger in and out of my crack, and I would be out the door making an appointment for a year later.  I kept running into her at the gym and would blush knowing she’d seen my bits and bobs and had her hand in places nobody should ever go.   One day I called her and got a recording “this number is no longer in service, please hang up and dial the operator for assistance”.  It was so bizarre to not even get a written notice of her sudden departure. I figure they hauled her away in a straight-jacket or she imploded from nervous energy. 

In my early forties, when going through a mid-life crisis, I decided to try out a fancy private doctor at one of those executive clinics where you pay through the nose.  The lobby looked like a five-star hotel and there were beautiful fruit arrangements and sparkling jugs of water with cucumbers scattered about.  Luxurious wing back chairs and mood lighting filled the rooms, but that was all a disguise for what was a torture chamber.  I was hooked up to wires and machines and made to run shirtless on a treadmill while some young snot nosed pre-med student yelled “run faster fatso”.  The doctor turned out to be a crotchety old man who took on a tough love bedside manner and poked and prodded me and for thirty minutes and then beraded me on how I was destroying my health.  At one point, while shirtless with my pants around my ankles, he had me raise my hands while he cupped my man boobs and announced, “tsk tsk, this isn’t good”.  After four hours of humiliation, I was sent away with my tail between my legs.  A few weeks later a beautiful leather-bound book, looking like it was out of Harry Potter, complete with my name engraved on the cover, arrived in the mail with the medical results.  The inside pages were full of serious looking charts and graphs but on the last page it concluded in bold “needs to lose weight in order to pre-empt health issues”.  WTF!  

I was thrilled when after a few more practitioner deaths and abrupt departures, discovered Doctor Christina Pop, a delightful progressive, young thirty-something modern woman who flat out told me her philosophy was “preventative medicine” and her goal was to teach me how to maintain good health, drug-free.  She interviewed me and wanted to get to know me, the person, not just my medical condition that she could fill a file folder with.  She always made me feel like she had time for me which was a nice change.  Sadly six months later she was recruited to do research and I was abandoned – again!  Thankfully, the Gods smiled upon me and along came Dr. Liana Kaufman, also a young woman in her mid-thirties with a progressive attitude about healthcare.  My only complaint is that she has me see her assistant first who types a mini novela while listening to me describe my particular condition. She taps on the computer like the Tasmanian devil while the doctor is in the next room reading the notes in real time. Then she leaves the room, and the good doctor finally enters to do her part.  It’s a small price to pay to have a doctor with a progressive approach.

Nobody will deny that the state of healthcare today is in a tizzy.  Social media and news sites are filled with headlines expressing discontent about the health care system, particularly that doctors don’t listen and don’t care. Never mind that the pandemic has put tremendous stress on doctors, nurses, and a myriad of support staff.   Many doctors claim that they do actually care deeply but the health care system has turned them into assembly-line providers and data-entry clerks without time to show empathy that patients so desperately need.   A lot of this has come about because physicians are required to use electronic health records to be paid for medical services where if they don’t address certain criterion or data points with every patients visit then they get paid less or penalized – hence the reason an entire novel is written every time I come in. 

Some people call what’s happening the ‘corporatization’ of health care, where in the interests of efficiency and lower costs, the quality of care has been diminishing.  Patients are more often treated like widgets, and doctors and nurses are treated like assembly-line employees. Many doctors are not given the discretion or the time to treat each patient as an individual, with kindness and respect.  And that they are hardly able to think through complicated, life-altering decisions. We keep hearing that medical care is very expensive, and costs have to be reduced. However, there are ways to do that without killing the doctor-patient relationship and exploiting medical professionals. The doctor burnout rate is high, and doctors are retiring at younger ages and I don’t blame them.  I’m sure we can have a high-quality, efficient, humane system if we stop treating health care like any other for-profit industry. The fact is it is different and requires a more nuanced approach. It can’t say it enough, we are dealing with human beings and life and death, not widgets.

There is no doubt that healthcare providers have a tough job.  People tend to think practitioners are infallible when in fact they often are not.  My philosophy is that we all need to take some of the responsibility for our own health and not rely on doctors and nurses to do all the heavy lifting. All too often we think they should know what’s wrong with us and be able to fix the problem by prescribing a pill or referring us to another specialist. The truth is they need to rely on science to try to get treatment right, but the human body is a mysterious thing and people are like snowflakes who must ultimately be treated differently.

Recently on a visit the good doctor put on a rubber glove and lubricated her finger and smacked her lips as though she was preparing for battle.  I had to stop her and tell her that I just had a colonoscopy and did not need her to examine that nether region so soon. She humbly corrected me to say that she was doing a prostate check which is a completely different ball of wax.  Not wanting to be treated like I was a Muppet I insisted that we take the avenue of doing bloodwork and have results done in a lab which she agreed was a better idea. Whew, dodged that bullet.  My point being, the doctor is not always right and some of the onus is on me, us individuals, to take ownership of our health.

So, what are the solutions to help doctors give better care?  For starters, insist that all electronic systems require only essential information to reduce the time that doctors spend entering copious amount of data.  Then, download any responsibilities that can be handled by a nurse, a technician, a staff person, or a less experienced doctor – hell, even a monkey can do data entry or gather the poop in a bottle. Since Canada has far fewer doctors per capita than many other advanced countries, we need to open more seats in medical schools, make it easier for foreign-trained doctors to practice in Canada, and empower nurses and physician assistants. In addition, we should have medical boards define safe treatment standards to help protect doctors against liability and also provide guidelines for excessive treatment. And let’s not forget, promote education on healthy living to the population so individuals can take on some of the burden and responsibility for their own well-being and healthcare.

My only caveat about people taking healthcare into their own hands is for them to spend all their time googling cures and remedies for their ailments instead of relying on trained professionals. The internet is a dangerous thing and the last thing we need are social influencers on social media pedaling miraculous cures and detox teas and all that jazz.  For the love of God, that jackass Donald Jessica Trump went on TV and told people to drink bleach to protect themselves from the Covid.  Then you have the likes of Dr. Phil spouting off advice to people suffering from mental illness all the while interviewing cross dressing siblings born of incest. I’m sorry but a Jerry Springer wannabe is not who we should be taking mental health guidance from.  And let’s not forget about Dr. Oz, television personality, author, professor, and doctor of cardiothoracic surgery, who is now pushing a right-wing agenda and shooting guns to harness votes for public office. Clearly, the man is out for fame and fortune and could not care less about quality of individual patient care. There must be a balance when it comes to self-care and with the right amount of education, we can all be making informed decisions.

I believe there is hope for healthcare.  We just need to make a few adjustments.  Will we ever get back to the good old days of handing out lollipops and hugs to patients. Probably not, but we can sure as hell try.

Thankfully this week on Survivor nobody needed to see the good doctor. In fact, the only medical attention received would have been Botox injections in Jeff’s forehead during one of his spa treatments behind the scenes.  Team Tika is on life support and may need medical attention.  Carolyn continues to amaze with her bugged out eyes and unintelligible rants.  Carson continues to nerd his way into our hearts.  Yam Yam continues to make us want to giggle every time he speaks.  And poor sweet Sarah got the boot after new Tika member Josh swooped in with his immunity idol to save his own arse.  I love that the game was flipped on its side yet again.  Who knows what next week will bring?  Maybe Jeff will have to roll around in the sand and jump over obstacles to compete for a stupid tarp and one of the players takes on his prissy role and gets to yell at people while wearing a Tilly Endurables jungle uniform and collecting a five million dollar paycheck.

See you next week, SYNW

Kurt

The Kids Are Alright

Whitney Houston sang “I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way”. She also overdosed on drugs and died.  Nancy Reagan told the kids “Just say NO to drugs”.  Psalms 127:3 in the Holy Bible tells us “Children are a gift from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward”.  And Ralph Waldo Emerson proclaimed, “A child is a curly dimpled lunatic”. If I was a kid, I would be annoyed as hell that everyone has an opinion on my generation.

Seems today everyone is concerned about the children. The pandemic has thrown their development and learning into a tizzy as they only had themselves to amuse during two years of lockdown with no opportunity to develop social skills.  Tic Toc has corrupted their minds as they spend all their time choreographing music videos instead of reading books and doing fractions.  Climate change has resulted in the wee ones being swept up in tornados and tsunamis and forced to live on a planet with an uncertain future.  And now they must refer to their classmate Cindy-Sue as ‘them’ because she (ahem, I mean them) wants to be gender fluid.  

When I was a kid the only thing the I had to be concerned with was which one of my sister’s Barbie dolls I would light on fire behind the barn.  Or what neighborhood house we would egg after dark. Or what flavour of Pop Rocks would create the biggest fizzing explosions in our stomach.  Sure, we also had our own trials to deal with such as the easter bunny bringing expired chocolate or the tooth fairy only leaving a nickel for our extracted buck teeth.  Oh, the humanity!

I suppose it’s hard to compare the life of kids today to one back in my day as there is no doubt that it’s a very different world we live in now.  The ME Generation of kids today have been coddled and spoiled by their over-protective parents who repeatedly told them that they are special.  They question authority, expect rapid promotions, and think they deserve a lot for doing very little.  They want to take a year off and travel through Europe and figure out things later.  They want to tattoo their entire bodies with Chinese and Arabic symbolism. They feel they don’t need to save money to buy property because they can just inherit their parents.  And the biggest tragedy is that they don’t want to learn cursive writing – which I predict is the catalyst to the imminent doom of humanity. Everybody knows cursive writing is how humans improve their fine motor skills which allows them to develop critical survival skills such as hunting, fixing a toilet, braiding hair, conducting an orchestra, hot wiring a car, and finding Waldo in those stupid comics.  Take heed people, it’s not gonna end well if the youth of today only ever push around a computer mouse.  What the hell are they going to do when the power goes out? 

So how different are the youth of today than my generation of old folks from the 70s?  I suppose I would do well to remember that our parents were just as exasperated as todays.  Afterall, we came of age in the 1970s (early 80s) when the styles of the times, long hair, short skirts, Soul Train, and refusing to shave (both sexes – ie Nadia Comaneci), scandalized our elders. The music and dance styles made mom and dad roll their eyes and wonder what the hell the world was coming to (think Punk Rock, Mosh Pits, the Macarena).  There were some of us who burned bras, embraced free love, chained ourselves to trees, took acid, and dropped out in a constant quest for self-actualization.  I realize now I would have been all the wiser to keep that bra for the imminent man boobs in my fifties.

But let’s not forget there were also those who gave years of their lives to the Peace Corps, volunteering, and helping non-profits to aid the poor and disenfranchised.  There were those who protested for equality among the races and between the sexes. Some fought as honorably as they knew how in the Viet Nam war. Others fought equally honorably against it. I guess if I think about it, many youth of today are following a similar path – think of all protesting these past few years for #METOO, Black Lives Matters, 2SLGBTQI+, George Floyd.  How about those who went off to Iraq, Afghanistan and even the Ukraine to fight another man’s war. There are young adults who volunteered to help clean up and rebuild cities and towns hit by Katrina and Rita. There are young people who work at two and three jobs to put themselves through college, who are willing to accept and learn from their teachers’ critiques, and who expect to work hard for whatever they get. I suppose it would be a sweeping generalization to say today’s youth are very different from my generations. 

I still can’t dispel that there are still enormous differences too.  Today there are those who spend more time in the virtual than the actual world, making relationships with people they will never meet on Instagram or Facebook. They listen to Rap and Hip Hop which makes the music of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones seem like lullabies. Now it’s all piercings, tattoos, Tik Toking, smoking copious amount of pot, eating Tide Pods, and demanding a top job despite minimal efforts to win it.  And don’t get me started on the 20-somethings who are living with their parents because they would rather buy a better car than pay their own rent and whose parents can’t seem to find a way to tell them to grow up and get on with life.  When I was twenty-three my mother told me to pack an overnight bag for a family excursion and then drove by the airport at 10km/h and opened the door and told me to “tuck and roll and have a nice life”.  Thanks Mom.

Still there are challenges for modern kids that can’t be ignored.  Bullying, depression, drug and alcohol addiction, peer pressure, social media, sexual ambiguity, academic problems and yes, lack of cursive writing skills.  Bullying can be cracked by kicking someone in the nuts.  Depression can be resolved by going for a walk in the sun and eating some vegetables.  Academic problems can be resolved by learning fractions and reading a book.  Social media can be resolved by shutting off the computer and writing a nice handwritten letter to your grandmother.   Don’t get me wrong, the previous generation also had their share of problems. 

Whatever the conventional wisdom about the youth of today, and the fact that they may all know how to simultaneously text, Twitter, and Facebook while plugged into iPods, they ultimately share similarities with the kids of my generation (1970’s).  It’s just true that every adolescent group pushes on adult values as a way to establish their own identity. Although the times have changed in several ways and the youth along with it, our fear of young people ruining our previously pristine world, is simply nothing new. 

People used to blame dancehalls, rock music, TV, and the ‘reefer’. Now we blame cell phones, Instagram feeds, and still the ‘reefer’. Sure, there are definitely ways the world and kids are different simply due to access and a world made smaller by technology. One major shift though seems to be that the fear (or call it anger/disgust) of this generation actually seems to be more intense than when our parents and grandparents criticized us.  I think it has something to do with our generation being crabbier than the last.  Human history is chock full of cane-waving grumps yelling, “get off my lawn.” Or “get a job”.  And yet, we’ve survived as a species. The world hasn’t ended yet. Civilization continues.  There will be another generation of young people to criticize soon enough. 

For my part, I have spent time with kids and found them to be very respectful for the most part. I’m often put off by their noses constantly being rammed in their phones and their stand-off nature when talking to them.  And there is that rare behavior that raises an eyebrow – like those eight teenage girls in Toronto who swarmed a homeless man and stabbed him. Or all those high school students who have been waving guns around at school and phoning in bomb scares (both which the media are touting as the end of civilization).  The experts say this is all from pent up frustration of missing out on socialization during the pandemic.  But I remember some of the sociopaths who attended school with me. Once, for example, somebody put razor blades inside another kid’s jacket sleeves – sending him to the hospital. As for myself, for years I put thumb tacs on my teachers chairs and laughed while they jumped out of their seats screaming. Oh, and once in the second grade I threw a broom handle and pierced a girl’s eye sending her to the hospital.  My point is, there are little psycho’s in every generation who give a bad name to the rest.  The ironic part about myself is that back then I had scored very high marks for cursive writing in Mrs. Beatty’s class which eventually helped me find the error of my ways.

If every generation’s children were more terrible than the last, we would expect things involving humans to be getting worse. But they aren’t, really.  Like most attempts to characterize a generation, the idea of entitlement and lazy may be trendy, and even accurate for some, but the truth is far more complicated. Why can’t kids today be more like we were? The answer is simply that they are. We just have to give them a hug and a piece of chalk and let them write “I WILL BE ALRIGHT” five hundred times on the blackboard.

Survivor this season has two generations of kids, the oldest is Matthew G and the youngest is Carson. Both seem to be very well adjusted despite both having been or currently are still a young person. Matthew is a card-carrying modern gay man with a child and husband. He works hard, is honest, polite, engaged, and very considerate of others.  He turned out just great.  And Carson is an honest-to-goodness bonafied nerd of epic proportions who is working hard to become a Nasa scientist. For fun he makes 3D models of Survivor puzzle challenges and tries to solve them. He was shrewd enough to pack on a whopping thirty pounds of muscle on his frail 125lb frame to survive the harsh elements on the island. He is polite, thoughtful, smart as a whip, and sweet as pie when he’s not plotting to get someone voted out. We need more kids like him who aren’t afraid to work hard. See it’s not all misfits in the world. For every whackadoodle train wreck like Carolyn there are dozens of good ones like Matthew and Carson.  Poor Claire didn’t see the value in hard work and as a result got the boot. She would have been smart to take a page out of Carson and Matthew’s book.

Let the games begin.

See you next week, SYNW

Kurt

Music to My Ears

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.  Somehow, year after year, I get sucked into the holiday cheer and surrender to its festive charms despite being slightly annoyed.  Come December 1^st, or earlier, you cannot escape the lights, decorations, and music. You can be shopping for personal hygiene or adult incontinence products and suddenly you’re calling attention to yourself in the isle as you sing along to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas is You”.  Or tapping your toes humming to “Frosty the Snow Man” while holding twenty-four rolls of 4-ply toilet paper in the fifteen items or less express line at No-Frills (is that considered one item or twenty-four?).   

Christmas music is such an integral part of crafting a joyous, festive holiday season but not all Christmas songs have good intentions.  Take “Baby It’s Cold Outside”, a song penned in the 1940’s which details a back-and-forth banter, where a man tries to convince a woman to stay the night all the while pressuring her to drink up by quite possibly slipping a roofie into her drink.  She keeps saying ‘NO’ but he doesn’t listen.  Despite sounding kinda ‘rapey’ and providing a blow to the #METOO movement, it now remains the most divisive song of the holidays.  And let’s not forget “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” which is a song about offing granny probably because she handed out lumps of coal for Christmas.  John Denver went dark when he released “Please, Daddy (Don’t Get Drunk on Christmas)“, reminding us that Christmas can be an unhappy time for little chillens whose parents lay into the sauce a little too much.  Why Bon Jovi wrote “Back Door Santa” is beyond me? Nobody needs to know that Santa is into anal, especially the wee ones. And what about “This Christmas (I’ll Burn It To The Ground)” by the punk band Set It Off, who are clearly angry about baby Jesus’s birthday.   

Some songs are just downright weird, like Cindy Lauper’s “Christmas Conga” which encourages old people to host key parties in their swinging retirement homes and get everyone together to spike the eggnog, break their resolutions, and grab each other’s hips, broken or otherwise, and form a conga line into the bedroom for a lemon party.  Or “Christmas With Satan” by James White and the Blacks which chronicles a guys pursuit to off himself during the depressing holiday season. And my personal favorite sung by Tiny Tim while playing a ukulele to boot, called “Santa Claus Has Got the AIDS”, which is about a sexually promiscuous mall Santa who finally got caught with his pants down.  What the hell is wrong with people?  Why tarnish such a precious and sanctimonious holiday with such dribble?

Thankfully for this small handful of musical repugnance we have boat loads of beautiful, festive songs to warm our hearts.  There’s the classics like Bing Cosby’s “White Christmas”, or Elvis’s “Blue Christmas”, or Wham’s “Last Christmas” whose sounds seem like they have always existed independent of space and time. That’s because Christmas is never about the present—or the presents, for that matter—but about the past. It’s not this year’s holiday we’re looking forward to, it’s the ones that have gone by. We’re hoping to feel the way we used to feel when we were younger, when things were simpler. We’re hoping to ignore the other 364 days of the year when we’re consumed with the insanity of life.   That’s what Christmas music is really all about.

Case in point, for over a decade now, every single Christmas I haul out the same staple of CD’s and put them on random shuffling and play them for hours, days, on end, trying to relive the comforts of Christmas’s past. There are a few jazz tunes by Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and Diana Krall to get me started.  Then a little Michael Buble to get my toes tapping. Then along comes Sarah McLachlan’s ‘Wintersong’ stopping me in my tracks as she sings ten haunting songs that leave me weak at the knees and laying in a fetal position crying for my mommy. Songs such as “River”, “What Child is This”, “The First Noel”, “Silent Night”, “I’ll Be Home for Christmas”, “O Little Town of Bethleham”, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”, and “Song for a Winter’s Night”, which are all sung with such a deep aching and melancholy.  Tom threatens to slit his wrists if I play it again, but I tell him he’s on his own and I can’t be responsible for his demise.  Besides he watches Hallmark movies which are a similar catalyst to jumping in front of a bus, so we are even.  Regardless, Wintersong will always be my favourite album to listen to at Christmas.  

Back to the music.  I figure if those halfwits can write bad Christmas songs, then I can write a good one.  So here goes nothing.

Oh boy, oh joy, oy vey
Santa’s on his sleigh
Soon it’s Christmas day
The kids scream ‘hooray’

Mommy maxed out the credit cards
Daddy had a hissy fit in the backyard
They swore so loud it woke me up
Then they threatened to break up

I told them I didn’t want nuttin’ for Christmas
Just for them to be happy and have forgiveness
They told me to shut up and go to my room
Now I’m making a bomb, soon it’ll go boom

Nobody puts baby in the corner
Soon I will have to call the coroner
I can live with Uncle and Auntie
Down by the river in a shanty
They is poe, but they got lots of loving
Nobody is angry, pushing and shoving

This Christmas I’m starting anew
No more hollering or feeling blue
Just laughter, singing, and being together
Trying to stay warm in the freezing weather

Uncle lost his position at the factory
Auntie finds every job unsatisfactory
Now they watch TV and drink moonshine
Pass out on the floor and sleep all the time
This Christmas there are not even lumps of coal
Life is a bottomless pit, a dark depressing black hole

Next Christmas I’m gonna run away
Live on the streets, just like a stray
Buy a Lotto 649 and win big money
Move somewhere hot and sunny
Give cash to charity and little kids
Whose lives are also on the skids
When you ain’t got nuttin’ to lose
You don’t sit around singing the blues

When you give back to others
Treat them like sister and brothers
Karma takes over and restores the universe
Then bit by bit, love and kindness will immerse
The true spirit of Christmas will be restored
Hop on the Christmas train, all aboard

You know you have a hit song when you can work moonshine into the story along with words like “nuttin” (twice) and “poe”.  My hope is my song is one that will live on in people’s hearts and become a staple for millions around the planet to listen to every year. Well at least the halfwits. 

Back to real Christmas music. Researchers say the nostalgia you feel listening to your favourite Christmas tunes have a neurological effect in which the brain’s pleasure circuit is stimulated, releasing dopamine and serotonin, which are responsible for those happy feelings.  Christmas music itself is basically engineered to be pleasing and uplifting at its core, except for those rapey, boozy, hillbilly, and suicidal songs I mentioned earlier.  Still, they are the perfect way to evoke feelings of nostalgia, which can make you feel joyful and a sense of longing, like the warmth of Christmas Eve experienced during childhood, one of the few where your horny uncle never got drunk and groped all your aunts and older cousins with big boobs.  There is no doubt hearing Christmas music can make us feel happy, especially when they remind us of a happier time.  

So, this year when you’re walking the malls about to go postal on the angry crowds or throat punch the door greeters macing you with floral perfumes, don’t fight it, let Christmas music in and enjoy the nostalgia, and even the melancholy.  Go ahead, choose your favourites, whether they be classics from Bing Cosby or the newer songs sung by the half-naked hootchie momma’s like Lady Caca and Mariah Scarey, and let yourself be swept up in the mystery of Christmas – the sights, the smells, and especially the sounds – it’s all music to your ears if you let it.

Back in the land of Survivor there were all sorts of sounds coming from our final four.   Owen kept slapping himself and pounding his fists like a kid throwing a tantrum. Sounds like he might be nuts. Jesse made a lot of wah wah wah sounds realizing that the whole time he’s been on the island he was building his confidence and social skills unknowingly.  Cassidy understood that having made it to the end proved that she had the ability to inspire herself despite constantly hearing the sound of doubt.  And lastly, out of nowhere, comes a hero, one who usually sounds like the village idiot when he has something to say.  Gabler, not only wins all but one vote, beating all the front runners, but shows us his true colors by making Survivor history and donating his entire million dollar win to support Veterans in need. And he does so on behalf of the rest of his teammates. And to boot, wins the title of second person over fifty in forty-three seasons to take top spot.  This is where the rubber hits the road, and humanity rears its beautiful head and you realize that there is still good in people, even in the game of Survivor.  It’s music to my ears.

Congratulations to our winners.

Primary Pool:

1^st Emily Hinman           $612.50
2^nd Leigh Matassa & Larisa Golonowski    $87.50 each
3^rdJudy-Lynn McGrath      $87.50

Secondary Pool:
1^st Simon & Phoebe Gregson      $262.50
2^nd Mike Wilson                          $112.50

Biggest Point Gain from Merger to Finale:
Emily Hinman    $25

Biggest Loser at Finale:
Michelle Doyle      $25

Person (s) Who Guesses Sole Survivor from Start:
NOBODY           $100

Wishing you all the very best over the holidays.  Looking forward to spending more quality time with you in 2023. Until then, remember you have the music in you.

Kurt

Can You Spare a Little Change

I’ve been feeling off for nearly a week now, like I’m on the verge of melancholy on top of sluggish, despondent, and listless.  No, no it has nothing to do with the unclean underwear incident, or maybe it does.  Maybe it’s the change in the weather.  It could be the realization that Hershel Walker is becoming a representation of the general populace.  Or that Kayne West is being given airtime for his hateful rants. Might even be Canada’s loss in the World Cup?  Or that I’ve almost run out of things to watch on Netflix.  Could be the trucker’s convoy is rumored to be making a repeat performance in Ottawa.  It quite possibly could be that sad, brooding piano music playing in the background of every Hallmark movie.  Or just maybe that for the past twelve months I’ve been running a marathon of repetition, work, home, sleep, yoga, work, home, sleep, yoga, and repeat. I’m in a rut!

Time for a change.  And not just my underwear.

Have you ever woken up and lay in bed, stare up at the ceiling and say to yourself, “what the hell am I doing”?   Or “how the hell did I get here”?  Or ‘what is the meaning of it all?”.  Or “I wonder what Harry Styles is doing today”, and “why can’t I have that cute little flip in my hair and be adorned by millions for my good looks and charm like he is?”.  “Why did God give me a barrel chest, bad teeth, and relegate me to a life of hard labor behind a computer keyboard that has left me with bad posture, carpel tunnel, poor vision, and a broken man?”.

After you stop feeling sorry for yourself, you must get out of bed, and decide to make a change in order to feel better. And not just your underwear, although that is generally a good idea for hygiene and social reasons.

A change doesn’t have to be a life altering one, like joining the Hare Krishnas or scaling Mount Everest or quitting your day job to apply for job as a fluffer in porn movies; though I’ve always wondered what sort of a person would apply for that job and what would they say to their partner when they ask, “how was your day”.  Would they put their credentials on a resume for future employment opportunities?  Imagine interviewing that person and asking, “So tell me about a typical day as a Fluffer and what did you do to overcome workplace stress”.  Or “tell me how your skills as a fluffer will help you as a paramedic”.  Oh, to be a fly on the wall in that room.

Like I said, the change doesn’t have to be big.  It can be a series of small ones to break up the monotony of your routine to help get you out of that rut.  Remember what Tom told us all a few weeks ago, that we human beings think we were put on this planet to achieve greatness, that we complicate life with big expectations, when instead life is simple and we need to accept the fact we are here merely to subsist, by eating, crapping, and sleeping.  I said it then, and I’ll say it again, Tom is right despite his oversimplification.  Still, Harry Styles gets to do all those things plus sing songs while wearing androgynous outfits.  If he can, then so can we.

Back to change.  Maybe I should write shorter blogs?  How about those apples? Don’t be cheeky and besides where else can you find such an easy sedative and put you to sleep?  Still, I need to think about what constructive changes I can make, small ones, so that I can get past this feeling of despair and futility and back to my jovial self.   Let’s make a list.

1. Go to bed one hour earlier
2. Stop watching Harry Styles music videos.
3. Drive a different route to work
4. Eat more fiber
5. Read more books
6. Take up ballroom dancing
7. Learn to cook something other than wieners in the microwave
8. Investigate how much a Fluffer makes a year
9. Take a few days off work
10. Donate to a charity
11. Go on more walks
12. Hug Tom more often
13. Pet Hunter more often
14. Get a massage
15. Go to the gym
16. Go to the museum
17. Visit a friend
18. Change underwear (more often, but not too often)
19. Keep moving forward – “if you’re going through hell, keep going”

I’m already feeling better just thinking about all my new activities that don’t involve a laptop, clients, or a spreadsheet. I now see how such intense monotony over time can cause being emotionally stuck which leads to a lack of motivation and feeling ‘blah’.  I guess the first step to getting out of a rut is to recognize you’re in one and then think about administering some self-care and simple changes in behavior to reignite your sense of purpose, albeit fluffing or otherwise.

For now, I’m going to start small and to put down my pen, take the 10:30am yoga class, shower, shit, and shave, then venture out to the world to shop for a new jacket.  You see, I absolutely despise shopping and crowds and I’ve put off buying a jacket for three years, but I’m going to allow myself to be open, get outside my comfort zone, and have a change of scenery. I will report back later….

Later…

A little change can go a long way.  We stopped at a neighborhood diner and had the most delicious sandwich. Then onto Winners which I didn’t know has all sorts of end of the line fashions at a bargain.  I tried on jackets, and none fit because during the Pandemic I ate a lot of potato chips. Next stop was Bell where Tom proceeded to tell three different staff the issues we are having with our WIFI reception, none of who seemed to care.  Still, he spoke with enthusiasm and pointed to the various gadgets that were not functioning in our home and said, “okay thanks for all your help” and we left.  I never realized how polite and invested Tom is in public.  Then onto Marshalls which I had never heard of despite it being a giant department store on the corner of a major street.  Tom seemed to know exactly where to go and pointed out all the shite that people buy for their homes, but not him, nope, he’s got his purchasing under control.  He held up coat after coat and said, ‘how about this one’ and would answer himself by saying ‘no, not good’ and move onto the next jacket.  I didn’t have to do a thing.  Just stand there. Then I put on a jacket completely not my style and Tom’s face lit up with delight.  I had no choice but to buy it just because he seemed so pleased.  Now I’m the proud owner of one of those George Costanza’s puffy jackets and I will wear it with pride.  Lastly, Tom dragged me to a little hidden square with a skating rink that I had never seen before, and we sat there and watched people having a gay old-time skating in circles.  The sun came out and cast a glow of warmth and I sat there on a bench with Tom with a smile on my face.  I walked home and felt like I was on top of the world.

The moral of the story is when you’re feeling at sorts, down, or a little blue, make a small change to your routine, get outside your comfort zone, and explore new places. And while you’re at it, maybe do it with a loved one.  Then at the end of the day, look back with gratitude.  A little change can go a long way.  

This week on Survivor, nobody had time to be in a rut as they all had to scramble for their life.  The final six are out for blood and money.  Who, who, who will take home the million-dollar prize. What are you, an owl? Cody was cocky and played hard with a strategy to get out Karla but in true Survivor fashion, he was blind-sided by almost everyone, including his bestie, Jesee.  Cody walked off flabbergasted and went so far as to exclaim “F%$@K YOU JESEE” in his closing remarks.  And then there were five. 

SYNW

Kurt

The Sound of Silence

I have been attending Abdou’s yoga class for four years and there is one part in the routine when I cannot understand what he’s saying.  Every single class I anticipate the segment when he’s going to utter the phrase again and I hold my breath, trying to silence the moment, and sure enough I cannot understand what the hell he says. I constantly mumble it to myself, trying to sound it out, and have yet to crack the code.  At first, I would spend the entire week before class running it through my mind, sounding it out, trying to add logic to what it could be, but still nothing. But all these years later, it’s no longer important because I already know what I’m supposed to be doing when he utters that ‘thing’ that I cannot understand.  It’s far too late to ask someone in the class because it would just seem weird.  Besides, whoever I ask would probably think I’m not right in the head since I show up week after week and seem to follow along just fine.  

Listening has become a lost art.  I have always admired people who listen, who don’t try to talk over others, but instead sit back and quietly listen – my Tom is like that.  They always seem to remember details later and can offer valuable insights on topics – because they truly listened.  Tom is always spouting off factoids, news, information, and data about one topic or another and it blows my mind. I often wonder how the hell did he learn that? Is he rain man or some kind of idiot savant? No, he merely listened.  In the case of Abdou, he’s from west Africa and has an accent thicker than mud, but still, a person must prick up their ears when he is speaking. 

For myself, having a nearly forty percent hearing loss in one ear, and a plastic ear drum in the other, I have had a lifetime of struggling to listen. In many ways it’s a disability because I end up not hearing and at many times, not listening – and there’s a difference – to what is being said.  When you are hard of hearing you learn to live with it.  Sure, I’m often shouting ‘what’ or ‘huh’ like an old deaf man, but for the most part I can deduce in my own head what was said.  Many times, I don’t bother asking people to repeat something, mostly out of embarrassment.  After being in my body for over fifty years, I pretty much have heard it all (or not) and can just run with it.  There are probably times when people tell me off or say something disparaging which I did not hear and I probably smile back and give a nod of approval, which I suppose is rather apropos.

Back to listening.  A good conversation should be like a game of tennis. You take turns. The pace might speed up or slow down, but you still take turns.  You don’t serve seven tennis balls one by one, while the person on the other side of the net returns the balls one by one. It’s one ball, one at a time, back and forth. Just like a good conversation. But it doesn’t always turn out that way.  Like that horrible TV show THE VIEW where the women talk over each other. Or the Presidential debates with Donald Trump.  It’s chaos.   I refuse to watch because it angers and baffles me as to how it can be an acceptable form of communication.  Is anyone listening? Anyone? Bueller?

I truly hate fighting for airtime in conversations.  It’s exhausting when people insist on cutting you off mid-sentence, talking over you, and generally dominating the conversation. It’s gotten so bad, especially over the pandemic with Zoom calls – mind you it’s an awkward medium and it’s hard to judge when to speak – that I will often pipe up and say, “let me finish” or “I’m speaking, and you can have your turn”. In person, I will often raise my hand right in front of the yapping persons face and exclaim “let me finish”.  I know it’s rude but with some people you must shock them into behaving like a human being.

So why is this happening so often today?  Well, my guess is it’s how people are raised as children.  It’s also a cultural thing learned from family and relationships. Some cultures, especially overcrowded ones, must compete for airtime so will talk over each other. It’s also a narcissistic thing where they believe what they have to say is more important than others. It probably often is an insecurity thing or a power play.  But for the most part it is a lack of awareness which is why I believe we owe it to other people to raise our hand, gesture them to stop talking, and quite possibly tell them to shut the fuck up so you can get a word in.

I have sat in an office dominated by women for years and I can honestly conclude that women spend more time talking things out than men do. I know, I know, I am bordering on sounding sexist but I’m just calling it as I see it.  I often spend hours at my desk without talking and the whole time I hear a muttering sound from female colleagues in the next office talking, and talking, and talking, piercing through the thin walls.  Sometimes I put my hands over my ears and pray for an asteroid to hit the earth. I know, I know, I sound dramatic and almost mentally unbalanced, but I simply cannot stand incessant nattering and more so, noise. The whole time I’m thinking to myself, who the hell are they talking to and are they even letting them get a word in. Are they even listening?

Back to my observation about the better sex (yes despite their yapping, the ladies are superior to men), I have noticed that women, particularly when they congregate in groups, will talk over each other. I watch in awe and wonder how the hell are any of them even getting a point across.  One will speak, and another will chime in, and yet another will talk over them, and before you know it, it’s a symphony of jibber jabber that you can barely make out.  But for some reason, they all seem to be able to follow along and appear to be quite satisfied with their discussion.  I just sit there with my jaw dropped wondering WTF!  I suppose God will punish me and in my next life and I will come back as a mute woman.

So, let’s get back to the art of listening.  I believe that when we listen, we can learn from one another and what a glorious world this would be when we listen, learn, and always put ourselves in the shoes of others. So how can we get people to truly listen?  Perhaps tasering a person would be acceptable if the voltage is not too high?  Maybe digging your nails into their arm, gently of course.  What about clutching their throat which would serve a dual purpose of preventing them from talking and also remind them to listen? 

Seriously, I recently read an article that offered four golden principles to develop good listening skills which included:

• Seek to understand before you seek to be understood.
• Be non-judgmental.
• Give your undivided attention to the speaker.
• Use silence effectively.

Despite sounding like something Mahatma Ghandi would say to you while perched on a rock, they are pretty simple rules, especially the last one. 

I think most people might say they listen, but they are more likely pretend listening or have selective listening, or they are just plain ignoring while nodding their head to make you think they are listening. Those are the worst offenders.  Anyway, take a look at this Chinese symbol that nicely sums up what listening is. 

This symbol tells us that to listen we must use both ears, watch, and maintain eye contact, give undivided attention, and finally be empathetic.  In other words, we must engage in active listening.  There are some exceptions like when you are blind or only have vision in one eye, like Sammy Davis Jr, in which case you must prick up your ears to listen.  In my case with my hearing loss and far sightedness, I’m going to have to pull a Helen Keller and just sit there and fondle the arm the other person to make out what they are saying, which is giving my undivided attention and not at all creepy.  But this is only an extreme example, as not everyone is dumb, deaf, and blind except for Tommy who also happens to play a mean game of pinball.   What I’m saying is, regardless of your disabilities, you can still listen.

Back to active listening.  One of the great things I’ve noticed is that with age, maturity, and experience comes the appreciation of silence. It is most often a wise person who says little or nothing at the beginning of a conversation – like my Tom, not the pinball wizard. We need to remember to collect information before we disseminate it. We need to know it before we say it. This is how you understand before you seek to be understood.  Namaste.

If you truly want to hear what the other person is saying, then you need to be non-judgmental.  If we speak to another person about issues important to them, then we need to avoid sharing our judgment until we have learned their judgment. This empathetic behavior is an indicator of emotional intelligence something that most humans lack.  Our modern-day society is full of judgement, no thanks to social media, and partisan politics, and we should all stop trying to push our own agenda for a moment and just listen.  Shhhhh, listen!

The next golden rule is to give your undivided attention to another person who is talking, which I know might be hard for some, especially those yappy ladies talking over each other.  Just sit still, smile, look the other person in the eye and soak it all up. Be present. Don’t think about all the things you have to do, or the discomfort in your colon from having had Indian food for lunch, or even the piece of spinach caught in the teeth of the person you are listening to.  Shut all that noise out and simply focus on what they are saying. Give them your attention and shut the fuck up.

The final rule for active listening is to effectively use silence. There is so much noise in the world and living in a big city you are inundated with it.  One of the things I immensely enjoyed about the Pandemic was the stillness and quiet that was in the air.  It was as if God took a deep breath and the world paused to listen.  With the hustle and bustle dissipated and the stillness and silence I was able to truly listen.  By maintaining being quiet or silent, you can learn a lot more when the other person is speaking. Don’t interrupt someone mostly because it’s plain rude but also because you can listen better by being silent. When someone is talking for example, you don’t need to respond with “oh yah, that happened to me once when I was in my twenties and getting laid every weekend” or “oh yah, that’s right” or even “hmmm uh huh sister you tell it like it is, don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise”.  If someone is speaking, and you want them to continue talking, you do not interrupt. Rather, why not just acknowledge what they are saying and provide positive feedback by using body language or eye contact. And none of that Sharon Stone uncrossing your legs without underwear on or making googly eyes, because that’s just distracting to the conversation entirely.  My point being silence is indeed golden especially when used to gather information as a listener.

So where do we go from here? Have I said too much? Have you been listening? Or were you off cleaning your sock drawer or Tik Toking the minute I opened my mouth three pages ago?  Well suit yourself but believe me when I say always remember that the art of listening is about finding out what the speaker thinks about something. Be present. Be quiet.  Listen. Wait your turn before speaking.  Why, because when we all listen to one another, we learn from one another. A free flow of ideas that are truly listened to can lead to a world where we appreciate each other a whole lot more.  Enough said. 

This week on Survivor there was no silence.  There was a lot of talking but there was also a lot said in what wasn’t being said.  Carla and Owen however rose to the occasion and kept silent for three hours under water resulting in the very first Survivor cancellation of a challenge. Cody scored an advantage and that left only four people to fight over votes which in the end went to teenage Sammi who didn’t seem to mind being voted out because as a 19-year-old he would likely not spend the million dollars responsibly.  Thankfully he had a breakthrough and realized that he owed a great deal of gratitude to his mother who he vowed to listen to going forward. Smart kid. Always listen to your momma.

Until next week, enjoy the silence.

Kurt

Get ‘er Done! The Art of Procrastination.

I’ve been putting off booking my flu shot and my fourth booster.  I’ve also been delaying changing my underwear.  You’d think I would have my priorities sorted but for some reason I put personal hygiene on par with life itself.  I don’t know why I am procrastinating such important matters. Maybe it’s an age thing? Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I’m busier than a cheap hooker on nickel day and I don’t have time.  Maybe it’s all those things. Whatever the case, I seem to be forgetting – or procrastinating – to do things that can add enrichment to my life.

The other day I ran into an old friend, and it really brightened my day. We immediately hugged it out and chatted about how things were going and decided we would meet up for breakfast in a few weeks.  Later that day I realized how many other people I have been meaning to contact and catch up with.  The pandemic contributed to the extended gap in communicating with many good friends and family, but there are many others from even decades ago that I have been wanting to contact but always seem to put it off and then forget. 

Life is busy but we should make an effort to stay in touch with people who have special meaning.  I often think about friends and family but always seem to get wrapped up in my own day to day and before I know it, months, years, or longer go by and I never reach out.  It really doesn’t have to be a big event or reason to say ‘hello’, so what am I waiting for?  Christmas?  Which is yet another occasion that I master the art of procrastination on.  It starts out with me buying boxes of Christmas cards and planning to spend a Saturday afternoon in November writing them, but it always ends with me either sending them out December 24^th at 5pm or posting a mass ‘Merry Christmas’ message on Facebook and Instagram at midnight.  And don’t get me started on buying Christmas gifts, which also involves a master plan to purchase in November and ship a few weeks before Christmas so that people can enjoy the shiny wrapping paper under the tree before the big day.  Instead, I’m at Shoppers Drug Mart at 4:45pm on December 24^th buying 50% off boxes of Turtles and Cineplex Gift cards.  Bloody hell!

Well, maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on myself since procrastination is, for most of us mere mortals, an unfortunate yet inevitable part of our existence. We can’t help ourselves.  Psychologists have been exploring what’s behind procrastination to better understand it further and help people overcome it. In the end all research pointed to people are lazy and would rather watch cat videos on YouTube than clean the toilets or study for a final exam.  Seems logical to me.  However, many studies have found that while there are short-term benefits to procrastination, they tend to lead to long-term undue stress and added illness. In truth, procrastination is a self-defeating act that leads to more problems than it initially solves. Damn!

The first step in solving any problem is to recognize that you have one. It’s true, I recognize that wearing the same underwear for days on end might lead to an unhealthy infection.  When you recognize that you tend to procrastinate you then must examine the HOW and WHY of the practice. Only then can you overcome your obstacles and get shit done on time again and feel good about it.

Okay, so how does one recognize HOW we procrastinate? Seems obvious to me but apparently procrastination takes many forms, and you may not even realize that you are doing it. The most common way people procrastinate is by changing focus to another task because they simply don’t want to do the task. They may also be procrastinating if they spend a lot of time on Tik Tok, PornHub, or social media, filling time with unimportant tasks, or waiting for the right mood or conditions to tackle an important task.  Makes sense.

So, now we must recognize WHY we procrastinate so that we can change our mindset. The WHY of our procrastination could be as important or more important than the HOW.   Some of the common reasons for procrastination are that people just don’t enjoy the task at hand, they’re disorganized, they are lazy, they feel overwhelmed by the size of a task, or they fear success. Being a perfectionist is another reason for procrastination, as is poor decision making.  All in all, people are a hot mess and need a good slap upside the head occasionally to get shit done.  

So how do we solve a problem like procrastination? Here are a few golden rules:

Forgive yourself for being a lazy ass and prepare to move forward.

Commit to getting the task completed. You must accept that you will have to complete the task eventually, and simply buckle down to get it finished. For example, if I don’t change my underwear, I may have to face amputation of certain limbs. I don’t think I would like that so chances are I will put on a clean pair of gotchies.

Reward yourself for a job well done.  Perhaps a trip to Hawaii or maybe a bag of chips. Or an erotic massage. These things will motivate you to get the tough jobs done. Whatever reward you choose to take, just make sure it doesn’t end up causing you to put off doing something important like organizing your closets or getting a kidney transplant.

Peer Pressure can help.  Tell a friend or co-worker or even your cat what your goals are for the day and then have them check in on you to see how you are doing. Ask them to kick your lazy ass or berate you with obscenities to help keep you focused and on track when you start procrastinating again. Hunter my cat often licks his own butt in hopes that I will be disgusted and refocus my attention again. It seems to work.

Rethink your inner dialogue. If you are thinking “I have to do this” you are essentially telling yourself that you have no choice in the matter. However, by changing that to “I choose to do this,” you are empowering yourself to get the task done. I talk to myself all the time and it really works. Usually, the voices in my head utter death threats or insults which can help me overcome procrastination too.  

Avoid perfectionism and realize that things are never perfect.  You can’t sit around waiting for the right moment for everything to be perfect to write your book, make your bed, or hell even change your underwear.  To get the task done, you need to make some concessions. So what if it won’t’ stop raining, power up your electric lawn mower and get er done. What’s the worst that can happen?

Cut Out Distractions like watching shirtless men on Tik Tok sing songs and gyrate their muscular hips while singing ‘When the Sun Goes Down’.   Thanks to social media, television, and Podcasts we have oodles of enablers of procrastination. Who wouldn’t want to watch a Hallmark movie or play Wordle instead of cleaning the toilets?  It’s best to just make an effort to turn off all notifications so that you can avoid these easy distractions.

Make some to-do lists, which have beenproven to stop procrastination in its tracks. You can cross off each task as you do it. Hell, you can even change the order of things and do the easy stuff first like trimming your nose hairs and leave the more daunting tasks like re-shingling the roof to last. Admittedly this might just be another form of procrastination but at least you have a plan and motivation to complete your list. 

Take advantage of peak times during the day. I know I feel most productive early in the mornings or very late at night which is when I should be doing the more challenging tasks.  Which means I have 20 hours when I can twiddle my thumbs or watch reruns of Dancing with the Stars. But at least I’m getting shit done in the wee hours. Maybe I can write 5 Christmas cards a day for six months and they will be ready to mail in December

Break up the large tasks and projects which can be overwhelming. Smaller tasks are less daunting and easier to accomplish. So what if it takes you four years to paint the house or six months to plant your garden, or forty five minutes to change your underwear, you are getting it done.  So pat on the back.

If all else fails, get help to overcome procrastination. You could have deeper issues like ADHD or even be missing a few chromosomes.   There could be oodles of underlying reasons why you can’t get anything done.  It’s okay to admit defeat and ask for help. See a shrink. Talk to your mother. Talk to your pet hamster.  Maybe you can’t handle stress and need some meds (Provigil and Adderall) or electro-shock therapy to simmer down. Maybe engage in assertiveness training and watch a few Tony Robbins or Tommy Vu inspirational videos. Maybe one day you might the proud owner of a speed boat with hot bitches on board after a few sessions with these motivational gurus.  Hey, anything is possible.

Lastly, I learned that people with high IQs tend to procrastinate more than us dimwits. But it’s only because their smarty pants brains afford them the luxury of waiting longer to begin a task. And studies also showed when a brainiac is doing everything they can to avoid doing work, they are actually improving an integral part of their brain, and that procrastinating may actually help their brain to carry out the majority of its cognitive work.  Consequently, the same study went on to assert that smart people tend to dress badly, are rude, and have limited social skills, often making them the ones to avoid at dinner parties or having sexual intercourse with.  And further to that, intelligent people tend to be messier, go to bed late, and curse a lot. Holy fuck, I had no fucking idea!

In the end, putting off doing things is human nature. But if it is holding you back from achieving success and making you sick and stressed, then you need to pull yourself together and get ‘er done.

This week on Survivor nobody wasted time, and all were focused on getting ‘er done.  There is money to be won and time is running out.  Unfortunately, time ran out for Noel who provided this week’s emotional and inspirational moment when she literally dragged her body across the obstacle course and win immunity after being miles behind her opponents.  The lesson learned is that don’t put off doing something because you doubt your abilities, just ger in, get er done and get out.  With only seven left, who will make it to the end?  Who? Who? Who?

SYNW

Kurt

Death is for the Living

According to the famous Benjamin Franklin quote, there are two things in life that are unavoidable – death and taxes.  One involves handing over your hard-earned money and the other is handing over your life.  Now that I mention it, I think I would rather open up my wallet.  Though admittedly, not to sound morbid, death may not be as bad as we think.  Unless you are hit by a bus or fall off a cliff in which case you might not enjoy the experience much. 

As humans our instinct is to want to survive, to take pleasure in living a life: Watching sunsets, raising a family, overcoming obstacles, achieving success, making love, laughing, and eating pizza with pineapple. Whatever tickles your fancy.  There are oodles of amazing things worth living for, big and small. But it seems in our pursuit of happiness, we spend our entire lives trying to avoid death, which if you think about it, is kind of a like walking around with a rock in your shoe, trying to kick it off so you can walk more freely.  Or maybe when there’s a poppyseed caught in your tooth and you swirl your tongue around all day trying to dislodge it so you can smile more freely at passersby.  Or when you sit up perfectly straight because someone at work said you have a hump on your back from leaning forward into your laptop all day.  Why not let the rock just be.  Or just smile anyway with the poppyseed caught between your teeth.  Or lean forward and accept the fact you are a modern day Quasi Modo.

My point being, death is part of life and accepting it might just set you free, and let you get on with living.  Don’t get me wrong, death is still a profoundly sad experience that is life altering, but if you can somehow acknowledge it is inevitable you might just find some inner peace.  I realize it’s not such an easy pill to swallow, especially when you are young.  Young people don’t often think about death, they are too busy getting laid, stoned, and watching YouTube and enjoying a life of hedonism.  They think they will live forever.  Not us folks who are longer in the tooth, we see the people we love passing away one by one.  We see our iconic movie stars and personalities leaving the planet in waves.  We see our pets going up to the heavens.  We start to realize that life is not forever, that one day we too will be leaving on that midnight train to cloud nine, handing in our hall pass, and cancelling our subscription to Pornhub.  It’s enough to depress the hell out of a person. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

Tom and I were both profoundly affected by the TV series Six Feet Under, a program from the early 2000s, which chronicled a family who own a funeral home in Los Angles and the experiences they have dealing with the business of death.   Each episode opens showing how a random person, who eventually ends up at the Fisher family’s funeral home, comes to meet their maker.  One week it’s a worker falling into a giant machine at work and being cut into pieces, next it’s a woman who is decapitated while joy riding in a limo, then it’s a man sitting on a park bench being struck by a golf ball.  No, no it’s not all blunt trauma to the body, there are episodes where people pass away peacefully in their sleep, or succumb to an illness, or drown in their own vomit at a party.  By the end of the series, we both commented that our view of death had changed, that we finally realized that death is part of life and that accepting that gave us some sort of inner peace. Weird, I know, all that from a TV show. When I watch the Mask Singer all I get is hostile and want to murder. 

I recently learned of Death Cafes, a phenomenon taking storm globally, where people, usually strangers, congregate to drink coffee – or beer, eat pastries, and discuss death.  I know, sounds strange, doesn’t it? I imagine the conversations as “Hi, can you pass me the sugar, and hey how about those assisted suicides?”.  Can you imagine going there on a first date with someone you met on-line and asking “What’s your favorite color?  Ever wonder what it will be like to die in a fiery car crash?”  That might turn some heads and kill the chances of a second date. As I investigated, it became apparent that the Death Café is the most brilliant way to open the conversation about death and the fear of dying and ultimately help people make the most of their lives.  There have been over 10,000 Death Cafes in 82 countries, including one right here in Toronto.  Sounds like a brilliant idea if you ask me.

Ever notice there are very few television shows or movies about older people? For every Golden Girls, Frankie and Grace, or Cocoon there are hundreds of shows about hard young, smooth bodies pawing at each other and fighting over who gets control of the gaming console or who will take Bethany to the prom. Even our magazines and digital content are full of the younger generation having a gay old time buying cars, travelling, snowboarding, and chilling with their friends drinking tequila shots. Nobody wants to show the older generation who supposedly only deal with osteoporosis, bladder control issues, broken hips, false teeth, or buying funeral plots for their imminent deaths.  This is obviously because we idolize youth and mostly associate aging with death.  Well screw that, regardless of age, everyone should come to know that death is part of life, and it will eventually find you. You can run but you can’t hide from the Grim Reaper. But if you talk to him and say ‘how you doin’, you might feel a lot more comfortable if you ever find yourself face to face with each other.

I think the pandemic forced everyone in the world to confront the possibility of death in a more realistic way and that having gone through it, many people realized that they need to make the most of life.  Don’t get me wrong, I think this is a great thing however, now that everything is returning to normal, death and grief should not be swept under the carpet.  We should continue to talk about death, share our experiences and feelings about it, and ultimately accept that life and death are interdependent.  The creator of the Death Café, Jon Underwood, is quoted as saying “when people talk about death and dying, it tends to illustrate their humanity and that the best preparation for death is to have a great life”.  Those words really resonate with me.

In the end, death will always be a profound and personal experience that is sad, heartbreaking, and life affecting but if you stop trying to hide from it, and just accept it, then you can get on with living.   So instead of saying life is for the living, just say death is for the living.

This week on Survivor nobody experienced end of life.  Though being exposed to the elements, starving, pooping in the woods, and playing a cutthroat game for a million bucks should have players feeling like they are about to meet their maker.  This week both manly man Ryan and crybaby Jay met their demise.  Maybe going through the Survivor ringer will help them appreciate their lives a little more back on the mainland.   For all we know Jeff Probst is the Grim Reaper and when you make it to the top spot, he pulls back his hood and says “surprise”.  Well in my fantasy he is. 

SYNW

Kurt