"Because that's what parents do"

I moved home from University today. In honour of the occasion, my parents took me out for dinner at the local pub. I chose to honour the occasion by ordering a deliciously boozy (yet classy) Manhattan from the high school aged waitress.

Waitress: "Sure, I just need to see some ID, hun"
Me: "I did not bring it, 'cause I'm twenty-one."

With zero acknowledgment of our heroic couplet, the waitress declined me service. Then, apparently not satisfied with my humiliation level, she asked me to repeat my new order (as if any other drink ever sounds anything like the word "Coke").

My Mother: "And I would like to change my order. Let's see, ummm, can I get a, uh, Manhattan?"

When my mom was also denied, my father got mad. And when a round of pints was delivered to a table of near-by youngsters with nary a mention of identification, he launched into action. Springing from his chair, my dad marched across the bar, demanded to speak to the manager, and politely reminded him that all customers should be treated equally.

Progress

During a chat with my landlord today, he mentioned that he may rent out the unit below us to our current next door neighbours. I then came dangerously close to responding, "Great choice! They're really clean," a fact I gleaned from leering through their kitchen window while smoking cigarettes on my porch.

Flora and Fauna

In February I will embark on what is being dubbed by the university as a “service learning experience.” Along with twenty-four of my fellow students, I will travel to Peru and volunteer with NGOs for one week. At a recent orientation session for this trip, our team leader, Rich, an incorrigibly exuberant fellow, arranged for some native Peruvians to speak to the group.

At the front of the room stands Carlos, a recent immigrant, swaddled in a bulky hoodie over what had to be at least two more layers. Though his English skills are limited, Carlos politely listens to the questions and tries his best to answer. For finer points and clarifications, he seeks the assistance of Santiago, the much younger man seated in the front row. From Rich’s muddled, but positive, introduction of Santiago we learn that he is a Spanish teacher, though his track pants, stained white tee shirt, and obvious hang over, make me question whether he is employed by the university.

After some standard questions about the weather (it’s hot) and the GDP (it’s low), one young woman inquires about the flora and fauna.

“You know the way we have squirrels in Canada? What do they have in Peru?”

Carlos, politely assuming he had missed something in the translation and not in the girl’s syntax, turns to Santiago for help.

Santiago rubs his eyes.

“I mean, is there, like, an animal that we’ll see a lot of?”

Suddenly Santiago springs to life: “Dogs! There’s dogs everywhere.”

A collective aww rings out from the warm-hearted service learners.

Until Santiago goes on, “You know the way we treat dogs like they’re human here? Well in Peru we treat them like they’re dogs.”

The group seems baffled by this comparison. Apparently they don’t know the way we do that. Many students turn to Carlos hoping for clarification.

“Don’t be afraid of them,” he assures. “If you just raise your fist they’ll run away, since they’re used to getting kicked around.”

After a stunned silence, a boy in the back row earnestly exclaims, “maybe we should be helping the dogs!”

You may have heard about the the trouble brewing at a Lethbridge Tim Hortons last week. What you haven't heard (because I didn't tell you) is, in an attempt to smooth things over Tim Hortons CEO, Paul House, traveled to Lethbridge today with a few complimentary gift baskets in tow. As a wrapper of those baskets, I am at liberty to inform you that they contained a lovely assortment of Tim Hortons teas and tea-related merchandise. Lovely as they were, I seemed to be the only one in the office who saw the humour in presenting disenfranchised native Canadians who have suffered endless hate and ignorance on the part of British colonizers and their descendants with a peace offering of English Breakfast Tea.

charleston

Overhearing my neighbour call to her dog made me realize that I associate strangers’ voices with summer. Listening to inane chatter and intimate moments that I am not normally privy to is a seasonal comfort, an expectation, even.

Then there's the incoherent booming of Army Reserve echoes and clomp-fump of standard issue boots and dump-shh of standard issue backpacks trying desperately to stay in place during the celerity of formation jogs.

That and the smell of grass, but that's a given.

"What's the difference?" "The letter 'u.'"

MuchMusic has recently aired PSAs for a new campaign aimed at reducing emissions in Canada. The spots are filmed in a hand-held, guerrilla fashion and feature two or three young people "covertly" smacking "Flick Off" bumper stickers onto idling cars and unattended laptops.

Now, a car is one thing; people can easily access each other's cars while they're on the road. But the laptop bit takes place inside a home. How can I be compelled to Flick Off when the seams of your campaign are so glaring? I don't know about you, but I need my commercials free of improbable scenarios before I can begin to consider the merits of the ad.

This reminds me of the equally frustrating Stop Smoking campaign, stupid.ca, which is sponsored by the Government of Ontario. That campaign will have us believe that a group of kids with government cash didn't have the sway to stick up a few signs in the mall without fear of being kicked out. It also tries to convince me that smoking is not cool, so this one's got all sorts of lies happening.

Both campaigns use various techniques like handheld cameras and frantic acting to give the spots an air of danger and counter-cultural, anti-establishment cred. The Flick Off campaign goes a step further by substituting the word "flick" for the oh-so-versatile and caustic "fuck." Their website takes bad puns to a Michael Scott level with sections titled "Are We Flicked?" and "Go Flick Yourself."

Key Gordon, the advertising agency behind the campaign, offers this explanation for their techniques: "It's kind of provocative, but after reading George Monbiot's book Heat and seeing An Inconvenient Truth, well, the situation kind of calls for provocative, don't you think?"

Sure, I think climate change is provocative, but not the word "flick."

Young people should not be pandered to the way these campaigns do. Actually, let's make that: no people should be pandered to by public service announcements. Public service! Let the issue speak for itself.

Rather than intrigued and motivated by the message of the Flick Off campaign, I'm insulted by those motherfuckers.

It's called swearing, Key Gordon. And it's fun.

Maybe the glasses serve as disguise

"[The collection] is not aggressive. It's not to show other people that you have more money than them; it's to show your friends that you're more beautiful than them."

Come now. How could a man who utters such endearingly pretentious bon mots be an enemy of the Red Army?
Well, according to The Guardian, perma-be(sun)spectacled fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld was just that. Apparently Lagerfeld was selected from "an array" of prominent Germans as a prime target for kidnapping due to his personal wealth and personification of capitalism.
Good thing The Reds backed off, or else the proletariat wouldn't know who to turn to feel bad about themselves.