Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather

Actually, the only thing I remember about chickens on the farm is that they were a form of entertainment for our dog. Mother would go out daily, putting out chicken feed for the birds in a long line and they would come greedily to peck away at their breakfast or dinner. That of course was the signal for our dog Max to go into action. His job as he saw it was to march along the line of feed picking at feathers here and there, causing mayhem among the chickens, sending them flying in all directions. Each must have derived some degree of pleasure from it because it was a twice daily ritual, always the same, with mother yelling at the fool dog to get outa there.

Well a kid on the farm wouldn’t think of the birds as anything but a roast on the Sunday dinner table when you watched them hanging in the barn getting their throats cut and being plucked and cleaned for the table or given away to city folks who might come out for a visit.

Who’da thought chickens might have personalities but my Tante Liese who was known as the egg lady in around her area all the way to Winnipeg Beach. Old Ab Marley, the paint salesman in my office and a real character would stop by her place weekly to pick up eggs asked her one day if he could go see the chickens. No, she said, they’d get all upset and stop laying their eggs. I remember him coming into the office with this tale that we were all laughing about.  

Well it turns out Tante Liese knew her birds better than most. One of her daughters confirmed that in a later conversation. It still didn’t register until one day recently I was watching something on TV. There was a lady there who, among other animals, kept a number of exotic chickens. Well, she would pick them up, rub their necks and ruffle their feathers, all to the birds’ enjoyment. Well, I never . . . even the visitors got to do it.

Chickens have never been good fliers, maybe good enough to get up into a tree, but little else. These days they are bred to be wider and heavier to provide huge breasts for the market. So for the birds it’s a lost cause. The millions of birds that are abused and force fed to provide more savory food for drooly mouthed buyers. No matter what they do, they’re still nothing more than a commodity.

A sad situation.

Canadian Military

Canadian Military

I’m just a little confused about our Canadian military personnel these days. We don’t seem to have a large military base compared to other countries but still we have troops deployed all over the world. We seem to be serving everywhere in almost every capacity and largely training foreign armies how to fight etc. Of course there are rescue missions right here in Canada too, but the only ones a person really hears of is the army filling sandbags.

Well, they’re burley young buggers, full of brawn and energy who can fling them things around like they were paper napkins. What a boon to have them around at flooded out places to help out. Of course they’ve got them big vehicles too to get in and out of places nobody else can, an’ boats an’ helicopters an’ all that sort’a stuff. An’ a few years ago they even had to shovel out a severe snow storm in Toronto, remember that?

What I wondered at was, were they hiring?  I went on the internet to find out and sure enough they are! Of course I immediately got curious as to whether I could hire on. But I suppose at eighty-three, the only job I could get is as a decoy of an old man in trouble that they would have to rescue. Of course that would be an automatic failed project ‘cause I’d never survive such a rescue attempt anyway. No, I thought, I’d better not apply.

Of course I’m now thinking in an entirely different direction. I’m thinking in the direction of our Indigenous communities with their water and sewage problems (and housing of course), not to mention education.

Well here we have an opportunity to hire a bunch of young Indigenous people, giving them an opportunity to become disciplined soldiers ( or naval or airmen), giving them good paying jobs, free training, free education and a purpose in life on behalf of their communities and themselves beyond their military service.

It sounds pretty fantastic doesn’t it? Imagine our nation being defended by a bunch of native warriors. The only thing is that a warrior in native languages does not necessarily mean the same thing as it does in the English or French languages. Of course it means the same thing, but also many other things to defend against.

We tend to think of native warriors as people like the code speakers or like Tommy Prince in our own country who made tremendous contributions to the military and without whom the wars may well have had a different outcome. But that’s only part of the story. There are wars and warriors to defend against other things in the community such as alcoholism, diabetes, shortcomings in the community etc. These are things that must be defended against, requiring warrior-like dedication. So a group of warriors dedicated to safe water systems and sewage systems could well be imagined.

It really is not all that complicated for the Indigenous communities who, in spite of the white man’s efforts to annihilate them, still retain the basis for the culture. In my mind it is a very wise culture.

So to get back to the point, it occurs to me that all these communities need tending to. And what better way than to enlist in the military, getting a good paycheck, free education in a field of choice and contributing back to the community. There is something very appealing about that whole scenario. But it ain’t quite that easy, especially among us white guys who are only interested in our own view of things. Not only that, but there’s enough corruption among chiefs and counsels to warrant investigations.

I would say it’s a well worth while effort for the Indigenous communities to make in order to bring such a system about. Certainly each community is different, with different issues, but the basis is the same. What is needed is a consensus and commitment by the Indigenous community and pressure brought to bear on the white community. Not a simple task, but it must be done.

They say the Elders have gone silent because they don’t know what to say. But the young people, if they grab hold of the opportunity can move mountains, and so they should.

Imagine our nation being defended by the Indigenous community. Now THAT’S a twist. Worth thinking about.

The Evil Admen

The Evil Admen

It’s all about the money. It’s always about the money. It’s all about figuring out ways and means of getting us to offer it up to their clients.  Is it any wonder that these salesmen for people from non-profit organizations to mining companies to shoe stores to sanitary products to toothpaste and foods spend so much time in research and testing of what makes us buy what we buy and contribute what we do.

Well it’s quite an operation to figure out what makes people want something badly enough to fork over the required amount of money. They work on the premise that buyers are liars - with some justification. For example, they might put up a display in a store of – say – shoes, and watch as the ladies walk by. Slowly they stop at the flashy display and then walk on. What the H-E double hockey sticks is that about? Not one bite.

The display is deliberately set up to attract women to buy the product but for some reason it’s not working. So they upped the ante. They put little cameras in the display aimed at people’s eyes. It was amazing what they discovered. The eyes are a window to the heart, so the evil admen milked that to the max to the delight of their clients.

Then there’s the non-profit organizations begging for donations to help feed, clothe and educate the underprivileged around the world. I don’t think they quite have that figured out yet. There are too many inconsistencies in their ads, but the main thrust is a guilt trip heaped upon the recipients of the ads. It’s a sorry story to be sure, but largely misguided and misdirected.

These evil admen are everywhere. They have their tentacles out like giant spider webs in order to not miss any potential opportunity to pick our pockets. For example, the other day I was looking up an organization called Red Bubble which is geared to independent artists selling their work. I think it was within an hour that I suddenly was bombarded with information (ads) about Red Bubble on face book. It hasn’t quite stopped yet. Well it was just an inquiry for cryin’ out loud folks. I guess I can’t really get any information unless I sign up. Well, forget it! I ain’t THAT interested.

The latest thing I noticed was that Credit Karma business. That doesn’t affect an old geyser like me, but I was curious to find what it was all about. It is after all, FREE. Oh yeah, let’s find out, I thought. It turns out that you have to sign up and then give a lot of personal information (in order for them to check your credit). What they do then is to sell that information to various people who can use it to try to sell you something or other. Hm – free huh? NOT!

I suppose it’s all legal, more or less, but it borders on false promises, errors and omissions and a whole lot of fine print designed to make a reader give up and sign in without studying the whole concept first.

Immoral, that’s what it is. And when you feel the wind blowing up your bum because your pants are down around your ankles, it’s often too late to do anything about it. Welcome to the world of the evil admen!

Oh, and another thing that makes my blood boil. Clothing and shoe manufacturers have convinced young people that it’s a status symbol to wear things with a particular brand name sewn on or into the particular piece of apparel, or stamped on a style of shoe. And then they’re charging an arm and a leg for it. If I want a name stamped on my shoe it certainly isn’t Nike. THAT’S NOT MY NAME YOU GUYS! And it isn’t Gucchi either. And the whole idea of Levis is an absolute insult. They’re bloody barn pants (in case anybody’s noticed) for crimeny sakes.

Well, don’t get me started.

And Another Thing

And Another Thing

Well I seem to be continually harping on the activities of the world’s white population. But let’s face it, there’s a lot to harp about. A little while ago I was on about the extinction of the white race by way of intermarriage. I had alluded to the world as becoming a population of taupe colored people, much to the chagrin of some white people.

But I discovered that white people themselves have found new ways to make themselves brown, at least partly in the parts of their bodies exposed to view. They used to do it by way of stripping down as far as was considered decent and exposing the naked skin to the sun. Of course it was a dangerous and precarious thing to do. If you overdid it the first day, you ended up with ruby red skin that would blister and peel off in a matter of days. Then you’d have to take your time on the next outing, getting just the right amount of sun so you didn’t do further damage. It would take half the summer to get to a decent tan and from there it was a matter of some intense tanning to darken the color. Of course those areas covered by clothing of any sort of clothing seemed to become more white and anemic. By September, you were as dark as you could possibly be. But at least you weren’t white anymore (at least not where anyone could see).

Well, that was then. The German scientist Friedrich Wolff first introduced the ultra violet light to tanning beds in order to provide healthy tans to people year round. What a boon to die hard tanners. Tanning beds were becoming popular by as early as 1908. Over time there was a literal explosion of tanning beds that people would use to avoid the dangerous sun’s rays and affording a year round tanning ability – until it became unsafe.

Well, whatever. The point is that white guys just don’t like the color or non color they are naturally endowed with. What they’re trying to do (whether they know it or not) is to look more like people of color. Those parts that don’t look like that are covered up with clothes. Somewhere there’s a disconnect between the body and the brain in differentiating perception from reality.

Being white isn’t as much about being a certain color but rather being a certain culture (the white culture), no matter what color you are. So interracial sex for want of a better word, is what will turn us all into taupe colored people and before long we won’t be able to claim the superiority of the white man because there’ll be no white man. That’s a reasonable assumption which may or may not have some wrinkles in it while the race is dying out.  But what the heck, the experiment is well worth it. Firstly it involves sex and who ever complained about that? The only other thing that might help is a good universal power outage. That works every time.

Judas and the Sheep

Judas and the Sheep

Metaphors are kind of a mixed bag. While they make a lot of sense to us old geysers who have been there and done that, they make a lot of sense in painting a more accurate picture of what’s happening, to younger people they might be nothing more than confusing. Chances are though that the younger crowd will have picked up something from their upbringing and the picture that is painted will come into focus.

With that in mind, picture a flock of sheep having been herded around by what is called a Judas goat for a whole season. He (the goat) has led them around the pasture, showing them where the best grasses are, defending them against dogs and coyotes, and generally becoming accepted as the boss of the herd. He’s been their guide and protector, and they’d follow him anywhere. So when shipping time arrives, they have no problem following him up the ramp of the big semi trailer and into its van. By the time they all get packed in, they can no longer see him, but they hear his bleating so that’s good enough. All jammed into the giant trailer they take off for their destiny, quite content.

When they get to the abattoir, the goat leads them off the truck into a large enclosure where there’s space, and hay and all sorts of good adventure. Well, they’re shorn to start with. Imagine how good that feels. The sunshine on their now exposed skin and the soft breeze wafting over them. They want to thank the goat, but he’s nowhere to be found. They hadn’t noticed him slipping out a side gate and back into the van to get another load of sheep. I could go on and on as they are slowly funneled into a squeeze gate, zapped and hauled off to the butcher’s table, but I think I make my point.

Take this then to the political landscape. Who then among us is Judas? Who then among us are the sheep blindly following along behind him/her, believing his or her promises until they hit the squeeze gate and the butcher’s table?

The same can be said for the financial industry, and particularly for the advertising industry. They all have or are their own Judases.  And we the sheep, all we do is bleat in thoughtless approval of what our particular Judas tells us.

And when we finally reach that terminal squeeze gate, we realize we should have discussed the matter rather than just bleat our mindless approval.  Back when the Quebec situation was so dicey the CBC managed to produce a program where participants from both sides of the argument were invited to participate in a discussion. They were charged with the responsibility of solving the problem of the social divide between the two solitudes that governments hadn’t been able to do. It was a very high profile program and the two sides of the argument sat down to seriously talk to one another for whatever time it took. I think it was a matter of hours they were given.

I have to mention that the two sides were totally opposed to the others opinions, but were bent on solving the problem. They were not allowed to protest the others position but had to focus on bringing a satisfactory and workable solution amenable to both sides. If I remember correctly, there was a facilitator to help them stay focused.

The participants represented a cross section of trades and professions (other than politicians) and with the help of the facilitators stayed on topic. It was a fairly tense negotiating process, but long before the time for the program to end, the participants had come together on each of the large number of topics, not necessarily compromising but adjusting their point of view on them after careful thought and discussion.

Needless to say there was no Judas in the room. There were just people and facilitators (or as I call them: leaders).  Of course, it must be noted that this particular session had no bearing on political outcome of the problem, but hopefully it was instrumental in shaming the Judases into rethinking their positions.

The example is crystal clear. The Judases of the world are super salesmen motivated to get people to follow their promises in order to get what they want for their own benefit. Facilitators on the other hand are the real leaders causing meaningful dialogue with the general populous to arrive at a meaningful solution to most of the community’s problems. It’s kind of like the method Indigenous communities used at one time to solve their issues. Surprisingly our current Liberal Government has made an attempt to do it this way. They only thing is, they don’t have enough qualified facilitators.

Well, life will go on.