The Republicans, the oil industry, and SUV owners everywhere scored a major victory the other day when the Senate voted to open the Alaska wildlife refuge to oil drilling. Mind you, congress still needs to approve the budget, but this is a major step. I know this is a case of a short-term solution, and people being blind to the long-term implications, but do these people not see that we need to come up with real alternatives to oil, not mine the last reserves in ecologically sensitive areas out of some desperation to keep gas prices down so we can continue to drive our monster SUVs that measure mileage in terms of gallons to the mile, and not vice versa.
Sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who thinks that we're headed for a major collapse very quickly. I know I'm not the only one, but I feel like I'm the only one who is not a tree-hugging, Birkenstock-wearing, non-hair washing, granola-eating, environmental, save-the-spotted-oil person. Recently, I have heard a few different reports saying that the world can conceivably run out of oil in my lifetime. One report says that've we've peaked now and if we keep up the current pace, we can expect to run out in 40 years. Others predict that we'll run out of oil by 2070. Either way, we're not talking about keeping the planet in good condition for our grandchildren, as the African proverb dictates, but keeping the planet in good condition for ourselves.
On the other side of the fence, these reports are pooh-poohed as doomsday scenarios - it will never happen. Alternative sources will be developed, and then they point out that we already have a hybrid car. What they don't consider is the following: it would take several years to develop alternative sources so that they're truly viable and affordable. If we don't bother doing so until there are severe oil shortages, it would create huge global instability. The time for developing these alternatives is now - not when the price of gas is $7 a gallon and the price of food and home heating is out of reach of most middle-class families. Another thing that isn't considered is that the economies of India and China are rapidly growing. Most people in both countries do not own cars....but what happens when they want to own cars?
Click on link to see image that illustrates my point. After that, click on "Park This" on the right hand side.
http://www.howies.co.uk/think.php?id=15&category=cars
I think people believe that oil won't run out in their lifetime so it's not their problem, which is entirely selfish in itself - what about their children, neices, nephews, grandchildren? However, I also think that people believe that if and when the world runs out of oil, it will be a hard stop. They'll keep living the way they're accustomed to with cheap gas, cheap flights, efficient home heating, plentiful food, and then one day there will be no more oil, but they won't be around for that, because it won't happen in their lifetime. In reality though, there will first be an increase in gas prices, then an increase in prices for food, heating, public transportation. We'll complain, we'll demand that our government DO something, we'll go on news segments of CITY-TV and say that if this keeps up, we'll have to trade in our SUV for something more economical. We'll support the US government when they invade Iraq for sitting on top of our oil. Oh wait....
But after that, we'll have severe shortages. I don't think people realise just how dependent we are, and I'm not talking about our right to take Hayley and Cody to soccer practice in a four-tonne bohemouth instead of insisting they ride their bikes there. Many communities in North America don't even have sidewalks anymore. Public transportation has been hit by cutbacks in my municipal governments. Some communities don't even have public transportation at all. We're dependent on oil (or natural gas) for home heating, food production - how else do you think those farmers drive the tractors, and manufacturing. Most plastics are made with oil. Its safe to say that our entire way of living as we know it revolves around the black stuff. Still, it floors me when someone says to me with a straight face: "I don't feel guilty about driving my SUV. I pay more in gas so I'm therefore paying higher taxes." Uhhh, what about the term non-renewable resource. Grade 4 geography class? Ring any bells? Or "I'm a Republican, but a good one - I'm just fiscally Republican, I don't approve of the far right agenda in terms of social issues. Yes I voted for Bush, but not because of the social issues." If you voted for Bush, you voted for the senator in South Carolina who thinks gay teachers should be banned from teaching, and the senator in Oklahoma who believes in the death penalty for abortion doctors, and yes if you voted for Bush, you voted for big oil and the destruction of the environment. You knew it was on the agenda, and you knew that he would pay his cronies back in his second term of office. Often in politics, voting is more about choosing the lesser of two evils than anything else, and I'm not saying that the world would be a much more different place if Kerry was president, but at least there would be a chance of it with him.
Just so you don't think that I've pulled my "doomsday scenario" out of thin air, I've included some links below. You'll notice that three of the four are from mainstream news sources. Like with fashion trends, once it hits the mainstream, it's history.
http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/europe/10/02/global.warming/
http://www.energybulletin.net/4835.html
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/3623549.stm
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A17039-2004Jun4.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/03/25/opinion/25deffeyes.html?th&emc=th
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Thursday, March 24, 2005
I'll get to it....mañana
If there's one thing about Irish people, is that they'll get to something.....mañana. Sometimes that's endearing. There's something nice about not taking time to relax, be social and not rushing to a deadline. However, I'm from Canada, and being so close to the US, mañana is often a bad word. While I like the easy-going nature of the Irish, it really gets on my nerves sometimes....especially when part of my kitchen ceiling is all over the floor due to a leak in the shower upstairs.
We have a few plumbing problems in the apartment. First off, the taps in the kitchen need to be fixed. I called about it two months ago, and someone was supposed to come out. Now, we're not talking about a little drip here. We're talking about the Irish Sea emptying out into the sink. As of last month, the hot water tap in the kitchen is broken completely.
Now the tricky thing about the Irish is that if they sense that you're annoyed and impatient when they're giving you the song and dance about why they can't/won't do something, they're less likely to do it. I have to admit that managing to not get annoyed and appear completely sympathetic to their Joycean yarns is an art form I haven't mastered yet. When they're reciting a Finnegan's Wake-length story as to why they can't come until.....mañana, all I hear is no, I'm not doing it. I'm not interested in the reason, I'm interested in the action, but that might be the Canadian in me. In fact, what I've written above might be a telling clue. They're telling me that they can't do something. I'm hearing that they WON'T do something. Big difference. When I was little, when I asked my parents for something, and they would start to give me an indirect answer, I would say, "yes or no. Say yes." As a grown-up, the only thing that's changed is that I've learned to say that with my internal voice only.
Like I was saying, in my effort to embrace mañana, I haven't pressed too hard about the taps. Annoying? Yes, but I'm never home. Well, once the ceiling of our kitchen started to fall onto the floor, I had a falling out with mañana. I called my landlord and he gave me the number of the person who is supposed to come out and said that he would be here this week for sure.
I called this man because what I didn't want to happen is to hear the age-old Irish excuse, "I came round but no one was there to let me in so I'll have to come round again some other time." I wanted to know exactly when he was coming so that I could make sure someone was home. I wasn't encouraged by my conversation with "yer man there". When I told him about the leak in the shower, he said "yeah there is a leak there. It's been there awhile." I said, "yes and it's all over the kitchen floor now so it really should be fixed sooner rather than later." He said he "had it in his schedule." When I asked for the details of his schedule, asking "so what night this week will you be out so I can be sure to be home? I'll give you my mobile so you can call ahead so I can make sure to be there", but meaning "so what date in your Palm do you have us under because I think you're dicking me around", he got a bit beligerent with me. I crossed the mañana line. I went from asking really nicely and effectively that the work be done, to annoying, obnoxious American. To be fair, I'm probably at a disadvantage to begin with because I have the American accent so I don't do the "awww bless" stuff very well.
I've been told by a friend here that I'm probably too honest and frank for this country. I have a tendency to edit Finnegan's Wake down to one sentence, and I don't play along with their stories. It's like I was told that if you want someone to give you directions, in Canada you pull over and get to the point so no one thinks that you're actually going to rob them or waste their time. In Ireland, you pull over, start a conversation about the weather and 10 minutes later work in the fact that you're lost. I hear my colleague talking to people on the phone, and she's really good with the "Now pet, I know you're really busy, and you know yourself how it can be this time of year, but please appreciate..." I just don't have the patience. I've tried, but I can't do it. I get to the point where I get annoyed that they're wasting my time. They're telling me no and to add to the rejection, they're further wasting my time with the long-winded crapola story and it's cutting into my "how to I get around them" plotting that I have to do. At work, I've stopped asking the Irish brand managers for anything and have instead developed relationships with their bosses in the UK or the US. I've gotten some flak from them for it, but who cares? They don't get back to me so I see them as an obstacle that I've since removed. As far as I'm concerned, they can save the stories for the pub, I've got a job to do.
But I digress. The conversation with the man who is apparently the busiest handyman in Dublin ended with him telling me that IF he comes by, he'll call ahead. You would think he was very brilliant at his work to have such a packed schedule but in reality he is probably the landlord's brother-in-law or friend who has been asked to do this, and he can't be bothered because the rugby is on. That's how it works (or doesn't work) in Ireland. How the Celtic Tiger ever came to be in this land, I'll never figure out.
Well, now I've reached the end of my tether. As of last night we have no hot water at all. Now, if I wanted to live in a cold water flat, I would find myself a hovel that's far cheaper than the one I'm in now. Also, I'm sure you all know how I feel about cold showers in the morning. I went to the gym this morning for my shower. Luckily I have joined the posh gym near my house and the showers there are great! Not-so-luckily, it's rained solidly for the past week and the morning that I am walking to the gym in the lashing rain just to wash my hair is the day that I truly lose the rag. I called the landlord today, as well as the world's most popular handyman, and explained the situation. Now, the landlord has said he would come round tonight. We'll see.
I've approached my flatmates about setting a deadline of April 1st, coincidentally also April Fool's Day, and at that point, if nothing is done, then we call our own plumber and deduct it from our rent. I also want to withhold my rent payment on April 1st until the repairs are done. I've sent a letter to the housing tribunal today to find out my rights and to register my complaint. My flatmates are a little reluctant. They're afraid of being evicted. I don't care. If there is no hot water, I'm not staying there anyway, and I'm not going to find anyone to replace me. I would feel really dishonest about selling the benefits of the place to someone while neglecting to mention a tiny issue regarding no hot water. That can be my landlord's problem. That's another reason not to pay my rent on April 1st. I can tell him that if he's not going to get a plumber, then consider my deposit my last month's rent and find another sucker. I am marginally worried about coming home one night to find all my stuff on the street, but there are principles and hot showers at stake!
So here's the bigger dilemma. If I need to move, why would I move somewhere else in Dublin? Why don't I take this break now to move to the UK? This lack of hot water is really messing up my timing. I have a huge event at work coming up in June - in the South of France, and I want that under my belt before I move, but I won't be able to tolerate no hot water until then (and that's entirely foreseeable in Ireland, the magical land of leprauchans, plumbers, and other mythical creatures). Also, my friend just found a charter flight to Toronto for €240 return. That's an awesome deal! My flight to Rome next month was the same price! It's only for the month of May. I could go home and see the baby.....but not if I have to count on paying for a plumber in the hope of being reimbursed, or if I have to save up a deposit for a new apartment in April. The offer ends this weekend, but will my hot water be turned back on by then? Will I be able to cleanse myself of this water-borne dilemma?
Damn mañana. What's Irish for today?
We have a few plumbing problems in the apartment. First off, the taps in the kitchen need to be fixed. I called about it two months ago, and someone was supposed to come out. Now, we're not talking about a little drip here. We're talking about the Irish Sea emptying out into the sink. As of last month, the hot water tap in the kitchen is broken completely.
Now the tricky thing about the Irish is that if they sense that you're annoyed and impatient when they're giving you the song and dance about why they can't/won't do something, they're less likely to do it. I have to admit that managing to not get annoyed and appear completely sympathetic to their Joycean yarns is an art form I haven't mastered yet. When they're reciting a Finnegan's Wake-length story as to why they can't come until.....mañana, all I hear is no, I'm not doing it. I'm not interested in the reason, I'm interested in the action, but that might be the Canadian in me. In fact, what I've written above might be a telling clue. They're telling me that they can't do something. I'm hearing that they WON'T do something. Big difference. When I was little, when I asked my parents for something, and they would start to give me an indirect answer, I would say, "yes or no. Say yes." As a grown-up, the only thing that's changed is that I've learned to say that with my internal voice only.
Like I was saying, in my effort to embrace mañana, I haven't pressed too hard about the taps. Annoying? Yes, but I'm never home. Well, once the ceiling of our kitchen started to fall onto the floor, I had a falling out with mañana. I called my landlord and he gave me the number of the person who is supposed to come out and said that he would be here this week for sure.
I called this man because what I didn't want to happen is to hear the age-old Irish excuse, "I came round but no one was there to let me in so I'll have to come round again some other time." I wanted to know exactly when he was coming so that I could make sure someone was home. I wasn't encouraged by my conversation with "yer man there". When I told him about the leak in the shower, he said "yeah there is a leak there. It's been there awhile." I said, "yes and it's all over the kitchen floor now so it really should be fixed sooner rather than later." He said he "had it in his schedule." When I asked for the details of his schedule, asking "so what night this week will you be out so I can be sure to be home? I'll give you my mobile so you can call ahead so I can make sure to be there", but meaning "so what date in your Palm do you have us under because I think you're dicking me around", he got a bit beligerent with me. I crossed the mañana line. I went from asking really nicely and effectively that the work be done, to annoying, obnoxious American. To be fair, I'm probably at a disadvantage to begin with because I have the American accent so I don't do the "awww bless" stuff very well.
I've been told by a friend here that I'm probably too honest and frank for this country. I have a tendency to edit Finnegan's Wake down to one sentence, and I don't play along with their stories. It's like I was told that if you want someone to give you directions, in Canada you pull over and get to the point so no one thinks that you're actually going to rob them or waste their time. In Ireland, you pull over, start a conversation about the weather and 10 minutes later work in the fact that you're lost. I hear my colleague talking to people on the phone, and she's really good with the "Now pet, I know you're really busy, and you know yourself how it can be this time of year, but please appreciate..." I just don't have the patience. I've tried, but I can't do it. I get to the point where I get annoyed that they're wasting my time. They're telling me no and to add to the rejection, they're further wasting my time with the long-winded crapola story and it's cutting into my "how to I get around them" plotting that I have to do. At work, I've stopped asking the Irish brand managers for anything and have instead developed relationships with their bosses in the UK or the US. I've gotten some flak from them for it, but who cares? They don't get back to me so I see them as an obstacle that I've since removed. As far as I'm concerned, they can save the stories for the pub, I've got a job to do.
But I digress. The conversation with the man who is apparently the busiest handyman in Dublin ended with him telling me that IF he comes by, he'll call ahead. You would think he was very brilliant at his work to have such a packed schedule but in reality he is probably the landlord's brother-in-law or friend who has been asked to do this, and he can't be bothered because the rugby is on. That's how it works (or doesn't work) in Ireland. How the Celtic Tiger ever came to be in this land, I'll never figure out.
Well, now I've reached the end of my tether. As of last night we have no hot water at all. Now, if I wanted to live in a cold water flat, I would find myself a hovel that's far cheaper than the one I'm in now. Also, I'm sure you all know how I feel about cold showers in the morning. I went to the gym this morning for my shower. Luckily I have joined the posh gym near my house and the showers there are great! Not-so-luckily, it's rained solidly for the past week and the morning that I am walking to the gym in the lashing rain just to wash my hair is the day that I truly lose the rag. I called the landlord today, as well as the world's most popular handyman, and explained the situation. Now, the landlord has said he would come round tonight. We'll see.
I've approached my flatmates about setting a deadline of April 1st, coincidentally also April Fool's Day, and at that point, if nothing is done, then we call our own plumber and deduct it from our rent. I also want to withhold my rent payment on April 1st until the repairs are done. I've sent a letter to the housing tribunal today to find out my rights and to register my complaint. My flatmates are a little reluctant. They're afraid of being evicted. I don't care. If there is no hot water, I'm not staying there anyway, and I'm not going to find anyone to replace me. I would feel really dishonest about selling the benefits of the place to someone while neglecting to mention a tiny issue regarding no hot water. That can be my landlord's problem. That's another reason not to pay my rent on April 1st. I can tell him that if he's not going to get a plumber, then consider my deposit my last month's rent and find another sucker. I am marginally worried about coming home one night to find all my stuff on the street, but there are principles and hot showers at stake!
So here's the bigger dilemma. If I need to move, why would I move somewhere else in Dublin? Why don't I take this break now to move to the UK? This lack of hot water is really messing up my timing. I have a huge event at work coming up in June - in the South of France, and I want that under my belt before I move, but I won't be able to tolerate no hot water until then (and that's entirely foreseeable in Ireland, the magical land of leprauchans, plumbers, and other mythical creatures). Also, my friend just found a charter flight to Toronto for €240 return. That's an awesome deal! My flight to Rome next month was the same price! It's only for the month of May. I could go home and see the baby.....but not if I have to count on paying for a plumber in the hope of being reimbursed, or if I have to save up a deposit for a new apartment in April. The offer ends this weekend, but will my hot water be turned back on by then? Will I be able to cleanse myself of this water-borne dilemma?
Damn mañana. What's Irish for today?
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Dreaming pt. 1
Does anyone have childhood or adolescent experiences have really affected their adult life? I'm not talking about real scarring experiences like molestation, but everyday kid stuff that somehow hangs with you forever.
Two experiences have made me think about this lately. The first of which is something that a friend of mine wrote in her blog: http://mellowtrauma.blogspot.com
In her second entry, she writes about how she was gently told in school that maybe she shouldn't be in the choir, and how it has affected her to this day. I had a similar experience. When I was little, I loved to sing and sing at the top of my lungs. I sang in the car, I sang while riding my bike, I sang to my dolls, I sang while lying in bed before falling asleep. I was so out of tune, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, our class was entering the Kiwanis festival, which was a local music competition/festival. Our music teacher really wanted to win this competition and to do so we had to beat St. Mary's, the school for musically inclined children. Even though this competition was compulsory for the entire class, five of us were asked to mouth the words to the songs so that we had a chance of winning. I was one of those five, and the other four were boys whose voices had already started to change. I was so upset and humiliated. My dreams of being the next Debbie Harry were dashed forever. I also felt a raging sense of injustice. They were cheating. And I went to a Catholic school. Surely Jesus would not approve. I wanted my parents to tell Kiwanis about the scam. I wanted justice. I wanted to sing about the snake with the reticulated skin like the rest of the class! When I reacted by not participating in any of the rehearsals and rolling my eyes whenever the teacher looked my way, and when my mom wrote a letter of complaint, I was pulled aside and given the "importance of teamwork and maintaining a good attitude" speech. I was told that they understood that I was hurt, but 'for the good of the team' I was asked to 'not the rock the boat', and if I could not display my displeasure in class, that would be appreciated as it was not necessary for the rest of the class to know that we were asked to mouth the words. They also asked that it would be best if we didn't take it further because if we did, the rest of the class would suffer and it would be my fault that they were denied a chance at Kiwanis glory. I was 10. The fact that they would be seriously reprimanded for conspiring to cheat at a music festival and setting a poor example for their students was of course not mentioned as a reason why I should comply, and being 10, I didn't think they had any other motive besides my schoolyard well-being. Looking back on it, I wish I insisted to my parents that we take it further. They were poor excuses for teachers so I would have been doing future grade five students a favour, and two years after that, other events would occur that would cause me to hate pretty much everyone in my class anyways. I wouldn't have lost anything in the long run. I didn't show up the day of the festival, and two of the others who were asked to mouth the words didn't show up either. We did, however, show up for cake when the class won.
Ever since that time, I have been self-conscious of my singing. I stopped singing in public - at Church, at parties, in the car with other passengers. I don’t even sing "Happy Birthday" if I can help it. I like to sing. When I'm by myself, I can sing myself hoarse in the car, especially to the soundtrack from "Swingers." As for my dreams of being the next Debbie Harry, my rendition of "Call Me" is fantastic, if I may say so myself. I think it's sad that both my friend and I have been discouraged from singing by music teachers - and mine only because she felt inferior to her St. Mary's counterpart for chrissakes. I think it's great that she was willing to get up for karaoke - especially a song like "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." I would have chosen something like "Wooly Wooly" or "Wild Thing" because you don't have to be a good singer for those songs. In fact, I think "Wooly Wooly" is better when you're a crap singer, and I'm pretty sure you can speak the lyrics to "Wild Thing." I also would have needed much more than three pints and a shot of courage to get up there.
I was at a bar a couple of nights ago, and they had karaoke. A couple people were asking if I would go up, to which I replied, uh no. I took a look at the songbook, and "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" was in there. One of my friends got up twice. He sang "Daydream Believer" and "Mack the Knife." He was pretty good, but not an outstanding singer. What he lacks in formal training, he makes up for in chutzpah. What was most impressive was his lack of inhibition when it came to singing in public. When we heard it was karaoke night and he got right up and brought a songbook over to our table and started to pick out what he wanted to do. I envy that.
One day, I would like to put on some eyeliner and a miniskirt and belt out a Blondie tune - with Mrs. DelPellaro in the audience.
Two experiences have made me think about this lately. The first of which is something that a friend of mine wrote in her blog: http://mellowtrauma.blogspot.com
In her second entry, she writes about how she was gently told in school that maybe she shouldn't be in the choir, and how it has affected her to this day. I had a similar experience. When I was little, I loved to sing and sing at the top of my lungs. I sang in the car, I sang while riding my bike, I sang to my dolls, I sang while lying in bed before falling asleep. I was so out of tune, but I didn't know it, and I didn't care.
In the fifth grade, our class was entering the Kiwanis festival, which was a local music competition/festival. Our music teacher really wanted to win this competition and to do so we had to beat St. Mary's, the school for musically inclined children. Even though this competition was compulsory for the entire class, five of us were asked to mouth the words to the songs so that we had a chance of winning. I was one of those five, and the other four were boys whose voices had already started to change. I was so upset and humiliated. My dreams of being the next Debbie Harry were dashed forever. I also felt a raging sense of injustice. They were cheating. And I went to a Catholic school. Surely Jesus would not approve. I wanted my parents to tell Kiwanis about the scam. I wanted justice. I wanted to sing about the snake with the reticulated skin like the rest of the class! When I reacted by not participating in any of the rehearsals and rolling my eyes whenever the teacher looked my way, and when my mom wrote a letter of complaint, I was pulled aside and given the "importance of teamwork and maintaining a good attitude" speech. I was told that they understood that I was hurt, but 'for the good of the team' I was asked to 'not the rock the boat', and if I could not display my displeasure in class, that would be appreciated as it was not necessary for the rest of the class to know that we were asked to mouth the words. They also asked that it would be best if we didn't take it further because if we did, the rest of the class would suffer and it would be my fault that they were denied a chance at Kiwanis glory. I was 10. The fact that they would be seriously reprimanded for conspiring to cheat at a music festival and setting a poor example for their students was of course not mentioned as a reason why I should comply, and being 10, I didn't think they had any other motive besides my schoolyard well-being. Looking back on it, I wish I insisted to my parents that we take it further. They were poor excuses for teachers so I would have been doing future grade five students a favour, and two years after that, other events would occur that would cause me to hate pretty much everyone in my class anyways. I wouldn't have lost anything in the long run. I didn't show up the day of the festival, and two of the others who were asked to mouth the words didn't show up either. We did, however, show up for cake when the class won.
Ever since that time, I have been self-conscious of my singing. I stopped singing in public - at Church, at parties, in the car with other passengers. I don’t even sing "Happy Birthday" if I can help it. I like to sing. When I'm by myself, I can sing myself hoarse in the car, especially to the soundtrack from "Swingers." As for my dreams of being the next Debbie Harry, my rendition of "Call Me" is fantastic, if I may say so myself. I think it's sad that both my friend and I have been discouraged from singing by music teachers - and mine only because she felt inferior to her St. Mary's counterpart for chrissakes. I think it's great that she was willing to get up for karaoke - especially a song like "Don't Go Breaking My Heart." I would have chosen something like "Wooly Wooly" or "Wild Thing" because you don't have to be a good singer for those songs. In fact, I think "Wooly Wooly" is better when you're a crap singer, and I'm pretty sure you can speak the lyrics to "Wild Thing." I also would have needed much more than three pints and a shot of courage to get up there.
I was at a bar a couple of nights ago, and they had karaoke. A couple people were asking if I would go up, to which I replied, uh no. I took a look at the songbook, and "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" was in there. One of my friends got up twice. He sang "Daydream Believer" and "Mack the Knife." He was pretty good, but not an outstanding singer. What he lacks in formal training, he makes up for in chutzpah. What was most impressive was his lack of inhibition when it came to singing in public. When we heard it was karaoke night and he got right up and brought a songbook over to our table and started to pick out what he wanted to do. I envy that.
One day, I would like to put on some eyeliner and a miniskirt and belt out a Blondie tune - with Mrs. DelPellaro in the audience.
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