Category Archives: Rants

Lest We Forget

Ceri and I took in the Remembrance Day ceremonies this morning at Place du Canada, and I saw a schoolgirl pass out in front of us. I am quite ashamed to say that the first thing that ran through my head was, “Would my NaNo protagonist pass out at a Remembrance Day ceremony?” The second thing, of course, was, “Is she okay?” Looked like her teacher had it all under control, and I know the last thing I would have wanted if I were fourteen was to have a bunch of strangers crowding around me. It was well-handled.

I was stunned by the reports of anti-war graffiti on the cenotaph, though. It had been cleaned off by the time we arrived, but I saw some on the park benches nearby. Defacing public property on the day the country commemorates the senseless deaths of our citizens in unwanted battle – great way make a point, whoever you were, and to encourage us to admire your skulking ways and your whiny protest. No, war isn’t the solution. I agree with you there. But attacking the spirits of hundreds of veterans who risked ther lives in confrontations beyond what most of us can envision – that’s low. Your ways do not justify your means.

Sorry. Rant over. Stuff like this just sets my teeth on edge. You honour your forebears for the courage to stick to their beliefs, whether you agree with them or not.

On White Lies To Preserve Sanity

I hate it when I’m caught between two choices and both make me feel awful.

It’s orchestra night, and I’m still having so much trouble with the Handel and those fricking legato sixteenth note passages in the Mendelssohn. I’d have slunk in and played air cello for those particular bits, except that last week our second cellist made note of the fact that he wanted a cello sectional rehearsal sometime tonight. That means the five of us sit in a room alone and battle out passages.

Sure, sounds like a terrific idea if you’re having trouble. Except that I’ve been having trouble for weeks, and I’m no better. And I’m so upset about it that playing it badly all by myself over and over, with two or three people telling me how to do it and getting impatient because I can’t, is the very last thing I need tonight.

So I called the secretary and told him I was working late on a project and couldn’t get away. He was completely understanding, and I feel dreadful. A different kind of dreadful than I’d feel if I went to orchestra, though. There I’d be fighting back tears, and the urge to throw my bow across the room.

I’m so upset about this music that I absolutely cannot get, no matter what I try, that I’m tempted to back out of the December concert. Yes, it’s that bad. I don’t enjoy this music in the least; I get no thrill out of it; I can’t settle into it musically, let alone technically. If I can’t offer even a passable product, why am I wasting everyone’s time for this concert? Oh, I’d go back afterwards when new music is introduced; I don’t want to drop orchestra completely. And by not going to rehearsal I’m not scuttling away from challenge. There’s big difference. If I was scuttling away from challenge, I’d have quit last September after three rehearsals. The phrase “It will be all right on the night; how? It’s a mystery”, while it appears to apply to most theatre, doesn’t apply in the same way to orchestral performance, I have discovered after three concerts. I haven’t decided yet, anyway; it’s a possibility I’m turning over and over in my mind. For now I’ll just grit my teeth and practice those gods-damned passages till I hate them even more – I’ll be able to play them, but I’ll hate them.

When my husband walked in I asked him not to talk to me for a while, and he hovered for a bit before asking what was wrong. I blew up at him – with reason, I think, since I had already indicated politely that I was not in the mood to talk and when I was, I would. We’ve always been straightforward about this sort of thing, and have respected such requests, so why he broke the rule this time completely escapes me: it just made it worse. Terrific; now we’re both scowly and anti-social. Evidently we’re in for a wonderful night.

Losing Literacy

My poor book club witnessed a wide range of my emotions last night, from despair through righteous fury in our discussion of Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 last night. We talked for quite a while about a society that is losing its ability to read (one theory that arose was connected to scientific tests being done which are suggesting that the physical act of reading text is an increasing effort for the evolving human brain, as opposed to pictograms or other forms of communication, which was quite interesting). Naturally, that led to talking about the educational system repeatedly dropping its standards. Education is expensive; failing a student means you have to pay for a year of that student’s education twice; and heaven forbid we discourage their efforts by negative reinforcement. No, no, we must empower them instead by passing them despite their lack of skills necessary to acquiring the next set of skills, which in turn undermines the next level, and so forth. Why is it a crime to do this with faulty screws on an assembly line of, say, airplane engines, but not with the human mind in an educational system?

Today I discovered an article in the Times Online (that’s the UK times, not the NY Times) that addresses the same problem. The author of the piece had agreed to teach a journalism course, and began by asking the students which news programmes they watched. They couldn’t answer. Nor could they name newspapers that they read regularly. These were journalism students, who should be studying the medium to which they aspire. Or, if not studying, then at least aware of, exposed to. One assumes that they must have heard about journalism somewhere!

Was it not reasonable to expect undergraduates who had signed up for a three-year media degree (encompassing subjects ranging from print journalism and website design to video production and broadcast news) to have more than a passing interest in the news agenda?

Apparently, yes.

�Many of the students I teach have basic language and writing problems which have not been addressed at school or by the university,� says a lecturer in broadcast journalism at another university.

Foreign students paying to attend media courses are being misled by universities, says the departmental head, who is obliged to take a significant percentage of them each year. �In my view, universities that take students who don�t speak English to a good standard are taking money under false pretences,� he says.

Foreign students? At least they have the excuse of a language barrier. How about the local students who can’t write an essay, because they’ve never been taught how, in all their years of schooling?

An interesting point came up in the discussion last night. Once education became compulsory, it began communicating ideas and analytical methods to more people than ever before. Suddenly there were more educated people, bending class boundaries, flooding professional career positions. In the last quarter of the twentieth century, educational standards have been lowered alarmingly, perhaps in response to that flood of educated persons. Is society top-heavy with thinkers, who can so easily become agitators? The paranoid side of me which reads too much science fiction and dystopic novels wonders if the lowest common denominator has become the measuring stick for us all in order to keep better control over society. The point was made last night that time and again in various societies, the intelligensia has become the ruling class, and anyone of promise is usually plucked out of the masses to either be locked away, terminated, or to become part of the system of government. Which means, as soon as a government educates its citizens, they are in immediate danger. (And you may choose who I mean by �they� � the government, or the people it has educated. Or both.)

Bleak.

It returns to the question which crops up every once in a while: what purpose do artists serve? The philosophers, the writers, the painters – what function do they serve in society? Granted, yes, entertainment is one of their functions, but by no means their primary one. Artists are the conscience of a culture; they question, they compare, they cast issues in a different light, they challenge and they overturn… so long as they are free to do so.

Creative writers enjoyed great prestige in both the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union because of literature’s unique role as a sounding board for deeper political and social issues. Vladimir Lenin believed that literature and art could be exploited for ideological and political as well as educational purposes. As a result, the party rapidly established control over print and electronic media, book publishing and distribution, bookstores and libraries, and it created or abolished newspapers and periodicals at will. – from the Library of Congress’ Russian Archives: Attacks on Intelligensia: Censorship

With the intelligensia on your side, your regime will be quickly accepted. Having artists on staff (or the patrons who fund that art on your side) to uphold the current status quo is a clever move. It leaves the artist open to accusations of not producing “real” art, however – art produced freely and without allegiance. Defining that state is problematic, as artists throughout the ages are usually at the mercy of some sort of patron, or at least those clients for whom s/he produces work. Ideally, however, freed of the capitalist imperative (ha ha ha), an artist has the right � perhaps even the duty � to respond to the ideas of the day, to discuss, to question, and to push the envelope ever further. Building a better mousetrap may have gotten us to where we are today technologically, but it has been the philosophers who have made us, morally and ethically, the thinking and feeling human beings we are presently. (Interestingly enough, they used to be one and the same. Leonardo da Vinci, anyone?)

So where are today’s artists? The one who are to serve as our moral compasses? Probably at the bottom of a slush pile in a publisher’s office. Turned away from a film production company because their idea “just wouldn’t sell”. Check out this rant on the current state of art prostituting for the state entitled No Baudelaires in Babylon: Tom Bradley’s Comments at the Paris Sorbonne International Conference on Electronic Literature. Wicked and grating and not for the faint of heart.

Perhaps my frustration stems from the apparent devaluing of the intellectual aspect of our culture in favour of speed and efficiency. There must be some way the two can co-exist instead of one triumphing at the expense of the other. Maybe I�m too idealistic (as I was accused of being by one of my thesis examiners), but I believe that the solution lies in an equal attention to mind, body and soul. Capitalism doesn�t have to exist in an intellectual and aesthetic vacuum. I freely admit that new methods of communication and entertainment can have value; I just don�t think they should be replacing the older methods. Such a replacement limits access to the valuable older works (be they film, text, or musical), thereby cutting off generations from their heritage. Everyone should have access to the works of the world, modern and ancient, whether they want it or not. The option should exist.

See what happens? Give me free time and I get restless and start rabble-rousing, exhorting people to think. Next thing you know, I�ll vanish � for my own good, of course, and to keep the rest of you nice and safe�

Pet Peeves

If Kate asked me again what my three biggest pet peeves were, I’d have to rewrite my answer. Among those three peeves would be being taken for granted.

I detest being taken for granted. It’s rude, it’s not taking someone else’s feelings into account, and it’s using someone else.

I was put into a position this weekend where someone asked me to do something at the last minute. It wasn’t a big thing, and I know perfectly well I was expected to say yes; I don’t think it even crossed the questioner’s mind that I’d refuse. I also know perfectly well that we always have a choice, etcetera etcetera; one can always say no. However, I was asked in front of other people, and to say no would have looked petty.

I hate being in a position like that. To me, that’s taking someone for granted.

Every once in a while I work on radio dramas, and I love it. One of my contacts has a habit of calling me and asking if I’m available a couple of days before a potential performance. Same thing: simple courtesy goes a long way. Asking me to rearrange my schedule so I can fit rehearsals and a performance into it without a couple of days’ notice is not only presumptuous, it’s downright discourteous. The kicker here is that I love to do radio dramas, especially with this contact, and it puts my whole week off if I have to turn him down due to other scheduled events that can’t be shifted or cancelled. He’s always disappointed too. There’s a simple solution: call me earlier. Let me know ahead of time. Assuming I’m free does both of us a disservice.

To me, being taken for granted means I’m not being considered as a real person. One of the things that frustrates me about society today is that no one seems aware that other individuals exist outside their own personal sphere. People who cut you off on the road, who stop suddenly on a crowded sidewalk, who blast their music in cars, who smoke in bus shelters – not a single one of them understands that their actions affect others around them. They’re unable to understand that everyone is an individual, that we all work together. One of my husband’s frequent comments while driving is, “Wow, it must be nice to be so important” when another driver drifts into our lane, or cuts across three lanes of traffic to get to an exit, or pulls out of a parking space without looking to see if anyone’s coming down the lane. That saying encapsulates exactly how I feel about being taken for granted.

The Grand Poobah posted an entry a couple of weeks ago about something very similar to what I’m frustrated about. I put a lot of effort into being certain that I’m not inconveniencing anyone, to be polite, to think of others, which is probably why I snap every once in a while when I feel I haven’t been offered the same consideration. Sure, I’m only human, which means that I mess up every once in a while, trip over myself, crash and burn in a particular situation; I’m not perfect. So often, though, I get fed up. Why do I bother? So few others do.

I know why I do, though. It’s the same reason that Hobbes does. Because we’re decent people. Because we have that queer ability to place ourselves in someone else’s shoes and see how our actions will be interpreted. It’s a disability at times, but overall, however, I think it gives us a really good look at the human condition. I treat others – strangers and friends – the way I would like to be treated. So when people don’t extend me the same courtesy, well, after enough of being walked over, I snap. Unfortunately, sometimes I snap in the presence of someone who has no clue why, because the irritation and unfairness of it all tends to pile up until that proverbial straw on the camel’s spine enters the picture.

Yes, I do often wish I weren’t so damned principled. It would make life a lot easier if I were one of those people who didn’t care.

I don’t post song lyrics because journals should be about your own words, but this sums things up nicely:

Wouldn’t it be great if no one ever got offended
Wouldn’t it be great to say what’s really on your mind
I’ve always said all the rules are made for bending
And if I let my hair down would that be such a crime?

I wanna be consequence free
I wanna be where nothing needs to matter
I wanna be consequence free
Just say – na na na, na na na na na na

I could really use to lose my Catholic conscience
‘Cause I’m getting sick of feeling guilty all the time
I won’t abuse it, yeah I’ve got the best intentions
For a little bit of anarchy, but not the hurting kind

I couldn’t sleep at all last night ’cause I had so much on my mind –
I’d like to leave it all behind, but you know it’s not that easy
Oh for just one night

Wouldn’t it be great if the band just never ended
We could stay out late, and we would never hear last call
We wouldn’t need to worry ’bout approval or permission
We could slip off the edge, never worry about the fall

-Great Big Sea, Consequence Free

From now on, I say no when I feel like it.

Missing The Point

Just when you thought it was safe:

Michael Williams, a Republican candidate for the 5th Congressional District seat, has a novel plan to fully fund NASA: Tax science fiction.

Williams proposes a 1 percent “NASA tax” on science fiction books, science fiction comic books, space sciences books and any other space-related literature.

The tax would also apply to “space, space-related, and science fiction toys, puzzles and games,” Williams said in a listing of his platform.

Where does it end? Do we pay a science fiction tax on our Doritos because they have Episode Two likenesses emblazoned on the bags? Will they stalk the streets at Hallowe’en and slap a tax on kids wearing a collection of boxes and foil pie plates? Kids who want a telescope? Movie soundtracks? Innocent book clubs in need of refined germanium who gather to discuss zone purifiers!?

Ugh. Read the whole article and learn more about Williams’ brilliant campaign ideas, if you dare.

I don’t know whether to thank Scott or not for bringing this to my attention.

Olympic Pride

The Olympics are done and over, and we�re coming home with a record seventeen medals, coming in fourth overall. That�s quite the haul! Of course, the sweetest medals were our two hockey golds, and the gold awarded belatedly to Sale and Pelletier; but every medal is sweet.

What�s not so sweet is the destruction visited on public and private property in the wake of the men�s hockey victory. As we were driving home last night we passed several cars with Canadian flags waving madly through the windows, bearers thrilled that our car sports a Canadian flag license plate in front. We passed people on foot with painted faces and flags as well. In our own living room window, my husband had already hung our huge Canadian flag in celebration. There�s nothing like citizens deliriously happy that their country has won a major victory on the field of honour.

That was in NDG, however. In downtown Montreal, the fans poured from sports bars and clubs, rioted, hijacked a city bus, stopped traffic in the centre of town, and generally made nuisances of themselves. I have never been able to understand why a significant hockey victory is the siren call of idiocy and destruction. Particularly in this case where every Canadian was proud to have stuck it to the Americans, who we�ve always considered slightly less cultured (come on, deep inside you think it too). A pity that the next act was to display boorishness, lack of respect, and vulgarity.

And what�s with the high of 4 degrees C today? It’s still February!