In Which Sheila Goes On Another Rant

This time about branding. I'm going to spare you my thoughts on Beyonce at last night's Grammy awards, because you already know what I think about singing pole dancers who think they are strong female role models but in actuality enjoy playing into male porn fantasies because they know that's where the money is plus it makes them feel really hot but jeez already let's be honest here about what we're doing because I don't think they have the slightest CLUE how hard they make it for regular girls.

Ahem. Moving on...

Cast your eyes up to the photo. I took this photo a few weeks ago at a store I happened to be in with Eldest Son, who had just had a birthday. For his gift I had promised him access to my credit cards for a limited time frame, and he was taking advantage of this in a local mall. As is usual with these sorts of expeditions, he was in the change room while I hunted for things for him to try on. Why he can't find the stuff himself perplexes me greatly, but he refuses to admit that he actually DOES this, even when I point it out rather, err, pointedly, so we remain at a vaguely pleasant, if somewhat odd, familial impasse.

Then I happened upon this table. It was covered with items of every day clothing that resembled pajamas, and when I looked closely I discovered that they were in fact pajamas, but pajamas that were meant to be worn not in the privacy of one's bedroom, but outside. On the bus. At school. In the coffee bar. They were outside pajamas. My Jane Austen soul quailed a bit but I soldiered on, until, that is, I glanced up and saw that red sweatshirt. In case you can't read it, I'll tell you what it says: BOOBIES MAKE ME SMILE. Yes, that IS what that says. And yes, that item of clothing IS meant for an adult. A grown up person. If the mannequin is anything to go by, this is a man's sweatshirt. I must have stood there gaping for a few minutes, because a clerk sidled up to me and asked if I wanted one of them for my son to try on. "He'd rather die than wear that," I said incredulously, "what grown up uses the word BOOBIES?" The clerk looked uneasy. "Umm, someone must, I guess," he said. We regarded each other for a second or two, me thinking about the vagaries of bad advertising and getting sucked into said bad advertising, and him no doubt wondering how to avoid me while I remained in the store, asking awkward questions.

So I did what I thought most appropriate in the situation. I took a photo of the offending item with my iPad mini and showed it to Eldest Son when he emerged from his cubicle. He too was suitably repulsed, but had the good sense to tell me to google it for further information. "These people are nice," he remarked, "but they're pretty clueless. Look at the t-shirt that guy showed me." He showed me a t-shirt that had SEX AND GUNS AND ROCKNROLL MAKE ME HORNY on it. Granted, it was a charming shade of green, but I didn't feel either of us could do justice to the slogan. I returned it to the rack, while Eldest Son made his purchases.

Then I went home and googled the slogan. To my shock (and dismay), it was not simply a puerile, infantile, stupid, juvenile, cringeworthy OR creepy slogan with little thought and intent behind it. Nope, it referred to a Facebook page in support of cancer. The site was selling rubber bracelets with slogans like F*CK CANCER on them, too. People said things like "these are insanely funny." I'm not going to link to the site. You can do that on your own. I AM going to say that I think this is, while likely done with good intentions, a Really Bad Idea. It's never good to use anger to fuel a movement of this sort. Anger has its place, but it's not here. At least, I don't think it is.

Besides, who in their right mind would wear a sweatshirt that has the word BOOBIES on it? Wait, do I really want to know?

Confessions of a Facebook Failure

I'm gradually coming to the conclusion that I am just no good at Facebook. It brings out the Sarcastic Hag in me, it really does. 

I don't play Candy Crush, I don't have the urge to breed dragons, I have no interest in Slotomania, and I'm terrible at giving rampant, unbridled praise at the slightest provocation. 

What? You just made a really good pot of tea and you're drinking it right now? HIGH FIVE! 

You made a Middle Eastern stew with the new tagine pot you found at Value Village for ten cents and the family all love it? HOW THRILLING! I BET IT TASTES AMAZING! 

You called your miserable sourpuss of a husband to tell him that he's awesome, because you believe in miracles? YOU'RE EVEN MORE AWESOME! 

You made pancakes with bacon and it was so delicious you're making them again tomorrow? I WISH I WERE THERE EATING THEM WITH YOU!

See what I mean? I have to fight the urge to say things like "I'm drinking a glass of Scotch - with no ice! - and it's only 11am. I'm sure I'll be drunk by noon!" Or "I like swearing!" Or "The cat just puked in Max's runners! If I clean them now he'll never know!" Sometimes I even want to post updates on how many times I've said F*CK so far that day: F*ck, the kids pissed me off! F*ck, that driver took my parking spot! F*ck, my library fines are building up!

But I don't. Instead I grit my teeth and hit the LIKE button every now and then, just so they know I'm listening. And reading. 

F*ck. Where is the Facebook for Sarcastic Hags?

Yes on 522

I don't live in Washington State, nor am I an American, but I want to help publicize this upcoming vote.

(and yes, I also happen to love the Dr Bronner people)

If you live in Washington State - vote! If you know someone who lives there - tell them to vote!

Don't let other people be messing with your food.

Dear Target Canada

When I first heard you were coming to Canada, I was probably the only person I knew in a radius of 500 miles who wasn't wildly excited. That's because I knew what "coming to Canada" would mean. It wouldn't mean American Target prices. It wouldn't mean American Target clearance deals at the end of every aisle. It wouldn't mean American Target stock, either.

I wanted to love you, I really did. Your commercials were a hit: the patch-eyed dog riding shotgun on the motorbike was irresistibly cute (being a non-dog person, this was an odd place to find myself), the poppy tune was catchy, and the charm of all those Canadian landmarks had us by the heartstrings. FDPG was agog by the clever juxtapositioning of the Target symbol alongside a solid red heart and a maple leaf. "LOOK! Target loves Canada!" she would shriek delightedly every time we drove by. All the pre-teen and teen girls I know were in a palpable tizzy, plotting their pre-dawn raids at the two store openings. Even more telling, the local retail competitors: London Drugs, Shoppers Drug Mart, Save On Foods, even Walmart, were slashing prices left right and centre as they quaked ever so slightly in their boots. Slashing prices is SO not the Canadian way, which is how I know they were quaking. We do things quietly.

So it was hard to remain both silent AND in a state of anticipatory gloom, but for the most part I managed. I AM Canadian, after all.

When you finally opened, Dominic, FDPG, and I waited until the second day before we went on a tour of inspection. We'd been warned that this particular store had had a "soft opening" (read: wasn't fully stocked), but even I was taken aback. There were entire aisles of empty shelves, plastered with tiny signs saying things like "We're in the process of stocking up. Thanks for being patient!"and distressingly large spaces of...nothing at all. Even worse, the store takes up two giant floors, with the children's section on the lower floor and the change rooms on the top floor. I don't know about you, but I LOVE having to navigate several sets of busy escalators while my kids sit half-naked in a change room, waiting for me to get 6 more pairs of jeans, dresses, or tops for them to try on (there is a 6 item limit in the change room).

FDPG's mission was to wheedle the cost of an ice shaving machine out of my wallet, so we went to inspect them. They were $10 more here. I know this because I was in Bellingham three weeks before that and I'd taken careful note of the prices. I also noticed that there were 5 varieties. Target Canada had 1. I am not one for reading the stock market pages in the newspaper, but even I know that the exchange rate is better than that.

So we trundled over to the cosmetic section. If the aisles had had any stock in them they would have been impressive, but again, the emptiness was a bit disconcerting. The prices were also higher than most places I shopped at. I asked a stock girl if she knew anything about Target bringing in any items in the Boots line, because if there is one line cosmetics that thrills me, it's the Boots line, but she knew nothing of this. "The what line?" she said uncertainly, "don't think so." "Can you check?" I asked. "No, sorry," she responded. And yes, that WAS how we left it: me wondering why she couldn't check and her wondering why I wanted so much effort of her.

FDPG thought we could salvage the situation by checking out the food aisles and doing some cost comparisons, but again, the prices weren't great and the products we loved most in the American Targets just weren't there. In most cases we noticed that Walmart is cheaper, too, by about 10%.

Nice one, Target. I mean, we're glad to have you, but we're not that stupid. We won't willingly pay more just because you're you. It's almost insulting, to be honest. If you're going to do well here you have to do your research on what it is that Canadians like about Target. It's not what you think it is.

And fill those shelves while you're at it.

Cinematic Trivialities

It was a good summer for movie viewing, even by my standards (must have lots of action, no predictable or cringe-worthy female nudity, and preferably a large monster or two). Our library has taken the recent video store closures to heart and stocked up on a variety of films, so we were able to see Cowboys & Aliens, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, Moonrise Kingdom, Life of Pi, and Argo without having to pay through the nose for them. Good movies, all of them, even if Max did find the facial hair in Argo a bit much. "Did guys REALLY wear their moustaches like that?" he asked, incredulously. We saw the original TRON, but all I'll say about about that movie is this: BAD BAD BAD.

We went to the cinema a few times, too, although I am increasingly dismayed by the fact that everything seems to come out first in 3D IMAX, which means that I'm paying $97.50 for the five of us to see one single film. I don't know about you, but I find that excessive. Even my kids, who think I give new meaning to the word cheap, think it's excessive. And none of us even LIKE 3D. Half the time it adds nothing to the film.

That said, Richard and I went to see Pacific Rim in 3D IMAX, because a) the kids were elsewhere for the weekend so we didn't have to pay for them to see it too (or listen to their bitter complaints as to why we never take them), and b) I love Guillermo del Toro. I took the kids later, once it had settled into a Regular Price run, and it was just as a-MAZE-ing second time round. Kaiju vs. Jaeger!  

Michael Bay, take note - you could learn a thing or two about making action movies from Guillermo del Toro (and trust me, you really DO need to learn a thing or two about making action movies).

I had to drag Max to Despicable Me 2, a film the twins and I were desperate to see. "It's a KIDS movie and I am NOT a kid," he said, "I'll feel stupid in there." Fortunately good sense prevailed and we all went. It's got it all: funny script, witty characters, lack of cheese, and wonderful voice actors (which always has me wondering what was up with Christian Bale in Howl's Moving Castle). Afterwards even Max agreed that he'd been a bit too self-conscious, idiotically teenish, and judgemental quick to label it a kid movie. 

I am shocked at how many people walk out before the credits roll. In the case of Pacific Rim they miss one MAJOR plot element, and in the case of Despicable Me 2, well, I won't tell you what they miss. Because no one should walk out before the credits roll. For one thing, they irritate ME, because I have to peer around their shuffling hulks to see who did what, where, and when. Or worse, go stand somewhere while the masses shuffle and trip around in the dark. There is a reason they don't turn the lights on until the credits have rolled. Those people should have learned this from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Sigh.

So, in the spirit of Zealous Movie Devotees everywhere, I'm going to leave you all with a Code of Conduct that I think everyone needs to know about, even though it says nothing about leaving before the credits roll...

For other movie-related posts, click here, here, and here. 

In Which I Am Frustrated By More Than One Organization

Dear Girl Guides of Canada phone help person,

I called you this morning, trying to get help with my daughter's Pathfinder Unit. Perhaps you didn't have a satisfying cup of coffee this morning, or perhaps you're merely constipated, but I feel compelled to point out to you how entirely unhelpful you were with my dilemma. "I guess I'm back to square one," I said to you, after you'd spent one too many minutes patronizing me, pointing out things about the online website that I already knew. "Yes, you are," you agreed. I could hear the OHMYGAWDTHISWOMANISTOTALLYGETTINGONMYNERVES in your voice, so no worries there. I was quite aware how much I irritated you. For someone representing an organization that purports to teach young girls to be confident, resourceful, and courageous, not to mention making a difference to the world, let me just say that you forgot the bit where YOU model those ideals. What a great face you put on the Guiding organization. Poo on you. I hope you stay constipated all month.

I am publicly identifying you because you should be ashamed of yourself for being so unhelpful. What is the point of being on the other end of a 1-800 number if all you do is act like a total twat when you talk to us confused peons?

So I did the only thing I could: I thanked you for being SO unhelpful and I hung up on you.

signed,

Sheila


****************************


Dear Online Sales Person,

(Note: this is most definitely NOT the online LEGO store as they are possibly the nicest people to deal with in the world)

I called you this morning because you sell LEGO parts that my son wishes to purchase. He saw them in the 2013 catalogue but they did not show up on your online site. We were puzzled so I telephoned your help line. When I asked you about this, you sounded, to put it diplomatically, like you needed some very heavy tranquilizers. "If it isn't on the online site then we don't carry it!" you snapped. "Then why is it in the most recent catalogue?" I asked. Stupid of me, I realize, but that's me: I see something in a 2013 catalogue and I assume it's possible to purchase it, mostly because it's STILL 2013. "It can't be in the catalogue because we don't have it!" you again snapped, with perhaps more vigour than before. "So...does that mean that your catalogue printers made a mistake?" I asked, thinking that the situation called for a little levity. "Can I help you with anything else?" you asked pointedly. When I asked if our call was being recorded for customer satisfaction purposes you did not respond. I hope I put a little thrill of fear into you, because if you stop to think about it, that item HAD to be around somewhere. It wouldn't BE in the 2013 catalogue if you didn't sell it now, would it? Silly goose.

So I did the only thing I could: I hung up on you.

signed,

Sheila

Feminism, Beyonce, and the SuperBowl

Did anyone else feel their heart sink while watching Beyonce's half-time show at last week-end's Superbowl? Did you think "ugh, I hope my daughter doesn't think THIS is what constitutes a smart, savvy female in today's world" then start a conversation about how self-worth shouldn't be completely predicated on one's 'hotness' quotient while Beyonce gyrated in the background, in what looked like a posher version of Borat's thong? Or did you do like my hairdresser and pump your fist and say "that chick ROCKS"?

I know, I am taking a very antiquated position on Beyonce. I know everyone thinks she's cool and smart and beautiful. I also know that a number of young women think she is a Good Female Role Model, but I put that down to the fact that they are still in the stage of life where being Really Hot is all there is, because there is no way I can call what Beyonce did at the Superbowl (ie: stripping, preening, posing) something I'd admire seeing my daughter doing at ANY point in her life. I wouldn't tweet about how proud I was to see her do it either (cough - Michelle Obama I'm talking to you - cough). And I won't get into how Beyonce crouched on the stage and whipped her hair at the fans...oh hell, why not: what was THAT all about? Do we really attend concerts so we can gaze at a woman's (practically naked) crotch while she whips her (fake dyed) hair in our faces? Are we supposed to shriek out loud while watching a woman rip off a piece of her costume to reveal, well, even less of her costume? I'm all for nudity and sex and good times, but getting on a podium and gyrating in front of a crowd? Isn't that what strip clubs are for?

Blah.

I'll end this brief rant with a quote I'm particularly fond of. It's from Caitlin Moran's charming How To Be A Woman:

One doesn't want to be as blunt as to say, "Girls, get the fuck off the podium—you're letting us all down," but: Girls, get the fuck off the podium—you're letting us all down.

Get off the podium, Beyonce, if nothing else than for your daughter's sake. Girl Power, and it's older, crankier cousin Feminism, should be about way more than continuing the Sexual Objectification Game.

Dear Mr. LEGO Executive,

At last count we had in the neighbourhood of 7 bazillion pieces of your product in our house. That's probably because I have three kids, and all three of those kids have gone through phases of liking LEGO, adoring LEGO, reading books on LEGO, begging reluctant relatives for yet more of it, building entire LEGO villages in their bedrooms, and wishing they lived in a LEGO house. (I blame James May for the last) Anyhow, their confusion between WANTS and NEEDS have resulted in our house being filled, nay, jammed with your product. So, count me in as an enthusiastic admirer and supporter of the LEGO oeuvre.

But that's not why I am writing to you. Today I am interested in addressing an article I happened across, one that stated that your company's net profits were up 36% this year. That sales of the new "Friends" line have been, to quote chief executive Joergen Vig Knudstorp, "astonishing."

Well, Mr. Knudstorp, I can tell you why your profits are up: most of your best products are TOO EXPENSIVE. Yes, I realize there are smaller, cheaper kits. We've bought a number of them. But they have a paltry piece count, often fall apart when played with, and are exceedingly small when built. The new Star Wars LEGO Advent calendar is a case in point: $10 more than the City Advent calendar yet with half the interest level. This, I dare say, is why sales of the new Friends line have been "astonishing": they contain new colours, new and rare pieces, AND they are generally priced under $30. I'm resisting saying it's only a matter of time... oh what the heck, let's just get it out there: It's only a matter of time before the Friends line goes the way of the Creator/City line and prices most of its best kits over $130.

I have to say, I'm surprised you didn't give any credit to the Minifigure series (and accompanying display cases) when you were waxing eloquent about your new bottom line. It must be raking in the bucks, given that my kids probably account for at least 1% of the sales figures in Canada. It's the one new series I heartily approve of: cheap, interesting, full of rare pieces (pies! green fish! Santa Claus! bats! trophies!).

I don't know about your relatives, Mr. Knudstorp, but mine aren't the sort who can stomach paying $80 or more for a box of coloured plastic. Convincing them of LEGO's amazingness is something we've worked hard on over the years, but in the end we're still faced with the simple and rather distressing fact that a large plastic house, no matter how wonderful or intricate or technical, costs $200. We've had years where I've managed to get a few relatives in on one gift, or bought used LEGO, or had the kids chip in over and above what I'm willing to pay for a gift, but the whole concept of having to go to such lengths to get ONE present for ONE kid without giving ME palpitations is wearing on me. For the purposes of brevity I won't mention how hard it is to buy LEGO for my kids' friends' birthday parties without resembling the titular character from a Dickens story but I dare you to try spending under $15 on LEGO without looking (or feeling) cheap.

So there you have it. I love your products. My kids love your products. We love how geeky your designers' videos are; one of us even wants to be a LEGO designer when he grows up. That same kid has six years of magazines in his memory banks and can quotes huge swathes of price, piece count, and more from them to prove it. We do not love how the Canadian LEGO magazine is always at least 20 pages lighter than its American cousin but on the other hand we love Brickjournal so much that we're willing to pay exorbitant shipping costs to get it into the wilderness that is Canada, something we're unable to do with the LEGO magazine. But you, Mr LEGO Executive, are starting to look like your bottom line is more important than your fan base. And for that I do not love you.

yours very sincerely,

Sheila

Things That Would Make Me Buy The Book

Or contribute to the Radio Fund Drive.

Or feel benevolent about all the mailers I receive from the online lecture company we patronize. 

(you know who you are)


First of all, don't ever describe your product as "squee worthy" or I will be compelled to put it back on the shelf / break our internet relationship / turn you off right then and there. I don't think I need to go into my reasons for disliking a word like "squee" but let's just say that hearing it does for me what hearing fingernails on a chalkboard might do for you. And it's not good.

Next, if you want me to contribute to your Fund Drive, instead of offering me bags and totes and coffee cups or forcing me to listen to endless offerings from A Prairie Home Companion, offer me some underwear or socks with catchy sayings from Wait! Wait! Don't Tell Me! or Says You! on them. Heck, I spent eons (not to mention many dollars) buying my kids underwear with Thomas the Tank Engine, Bob the Builder, My Little Pony, and Hello Kitty on them; a pair of undies with some witty remarks by Peter Sagal or Tony Kahn on them would thrill me completely (not to mention spark more than a few weird conversations at Richard's next department party). I might even wear my Says You! socks with sandals all summer - just to show them off - and let me tell you, I'm one of those people who hates it when people wear socks with their summer sandals. Ask Richard, aka The Man Who Likes To Wear Socks With His Summer Sandals.

Finally, just because I periodically purchase items from your (excellent but pricey) online Teaching Lecture Series catalogue does not mean that I want to find a constant barrage  - and I mean a constant barrage - of glossy pictorial flyers in my mailbox each and every week, not to mention the torrent of email you cheerily send my way. Methinks you might be able to lower your product costs somewhat by lowering the amount of mail you hurl into the universe. Have you run this radical idea by your costs supervisor at any point? Why not try, and get back to me on that. I'd appreciate it. I might even be able to afford more product.

Now, that IS a shocking idea.

Return Of The Ruminant

Yesterday morning, after retrieving yet another badminton birdie from the gutters on the roof (no one in this family seems to have very good aim or perhaps that IS what they're aiming for...) I heard Max exclaiming from the back deck.

"Wow!" he was saying, rather loudly. "Wow!"

Now, this kid is a relatively normal teen at the moment, by which I mean the sort of personality not generally given to exuberant expressions of approval unless they involve i-somethings, music, or food, so I went out to see what he was exclaiming over. Was it my charming garden, I wondered. Or the new Seckel pear, gloriously in bloom? Or maybe those riotous blossoming nectarines? I should have known better.

I got there in time to see a large ruminant mammal in my yard, the kind that are currently menacing our fair city with their non-stop molars. Yes, Gentle Reader, I speak of The Deer. The young female, whom I THOUGHT I'd thwarted in the fall, the one who used to chew her way through my kale and purple sprouting broccoli, seems to have left her mother and was in my back garden, being pursued rather ungently by Calypso, the Schnorkie (was there EVER a more unfortunate moniker for a mix?) from next door. Little Calypso was in fine form, despite being about a twentieth the size; she bounded, she barked, she growled, she raced, and in the end that annoying deer fairly flew over the new deer fence Richard and I installed a few months ago. Yes, that, right: The. New. Deer. Fence.

Sigh.

Stay tuned for the Further Adventures Of...in the very near future. Methinks there will be a Part II. Don't ask me how I know. I'll even go out on a limb and say that it will likely involve wire and posts and other mysterious items of the sort.

Sigh.

In Which Sheila Feels Better For Having Spoken Her Mind

There's something remarkably cathartic about studying Julius Caesar with one's 15 year old in one's family room. It's enough to make one feel less inclined to encouraging one's baser instincts and more prone to honing one's rapier wit.

Dear Neighbour,

Your dog - I do desire that we may be better strangers. He is a tedious fool. More of his conversation would infect my brain. And you, you are strangely troublesome. Away now, before I think the better of my remarks!

love,

Sheila

Yes, Gentle Reader, it is time to get back to better things, in other words, to the garden. In it I escape the troublesome aspects of stupid parents, witless neighbours, and even more witless canines. Woof, I say! Woof!

In Which Sheila Speaks Her Mind...

And wishes she could speak so openly in real life...

Dear Marking Judge,

My kids worked hard this weekend, for the project you judged them on, and in the end the lesson they took away was this: style, however inept, generally trumps over content. There you are, a public school teacher, where scholarly hard work should be valued and nurtured, but what you ended up praising and valuing was cheesy window-dressing. We all watched while the kids who did the best were not recognized, while the ones who made the crowd cringe with their over the top emoting won top honours. You reminded me of the time my daughter brought an S word to kindergarten for S Day and the teacher wouldn't let her use it because it was too hard a word. My daughter was confused, not to mention crushed. Your message would seem to be Don't Aim Too High. Is that really what you want to be remembered for?

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.

Dear 4-H Parent,

When you are ready to volunteer for club events, when you are ready to come to meetings with your child instead of dropping her off, when you are ready to show up at club events and cheer on your child, and finally, when you are ready to teach your child that taking on a position of authority means acting responsibly in that capacity, then and ONLY then will I show any willingness to listen when you criticize me for my supposed inadequacies. To answer your questions, yes, I think I AM good with kids. Yes, I think I AM a pretty good leader. I also don't mind spending countless hours of my free time running a group for which I receive no pay, although in light of recent events I'm beginning to reconsider a bit. Can you say the same? Then put up or shut up.

Dear Neighbour,

I know you love your dogs. But your neighbours - all of them - find them oppressive, aggressive, and intimidating.

They also bark too much.

Love,

Sheila

Growling Along

We went for a walk this morning, Dominic and I. It was cold and there was a slight dusting of snow on the ground. The moon was briefly visible behind the scudding clouds and the ducks were oddly busy in the skies, despite the dark hour. We were both chilled, even with our scarves and hats and mitts and boots, but we both agreed that winter is definitely on the wane, and that made us feel glad.

The mornings are getting lighter, at least, they're lighter once we're on the homeward stretch. We don't need the flashlight across the trestle bridge anymore (to keep cyclists from bumping into us in the dark), although I sometimes shine it into the bushes when one of us hears an alarming rustle in the brush, because we're on a bit of a cougar alert. There have been a number of sightings in our neck of the woods, which is hardly surprising given that we live so close to a wooded area, not to mention the preponderance of deer in the area. As is usual with these things, the general public is divided as to whether there are too many deer or just the perfect amount, and the letters to the editor section of the newspaper is filled with bleeding hearts who never seriously garden comments protesting the proposed cull. You can guess which side I'm on. Having deer chase grown men and dogs down the street, seeing them getting whacked (in grisly ways) by cars on downtown city streets, not to mention hearing awful stories about them smashing through windows during rutting season, is all I need to know that we have an overabundance of this one particular animal. I'm also sick of chasing them out of my garden - and wondering when they'll decide to chase ME. Besides, where there's an overabundance of one animal in town there's very often a predator just itching to follow that big fat juicy trail into town. Ask any wildlife biologist.

I can do without cougar sightings in my neighbourhood. Makes going for solo walks up into the woods nerve-racking. Luckily I have Dominic with me. Even though he's shorter than me, and way more nervous about cougars, his presence has the effect of making me feel brave (oh, what a chicken I am). So it's fun to shine our lights at rustles in the bushes and make growling noises (as opposed to running like hell through the dark bits).

What's In Your Food?

To read more about this, click here.

A Generation Of Cowardly Parents

I don't happen to be one of those 'cowardly parents' (ask my kids, they'll all shriek with laughter at the very idea of it), but I see the evidence of these parents when I'm out and about: young kids with expensive jewelled cell phones or laptops; young kids with wildly inappropriate clothing; young kids hanging out where they shouldn't be; young kids who lack the most basic of social skills, and are generally excused by their parents with either a "She's shy" or some nervous laughter.

Emphasis on young. I'm not talking teens. Move down the age scale a tad.

And so this article really struck a chord with me. Ever since FDPG grew out of the Girls 2 - 6X department of any clothing store, I've been noticing it. The clothing leaps from bright colours and funky designs to grays and blacks and weird slogans, things like PRINCESS IN TRAINING or GIRLS JUST WANNA SHOP or HAND OVER THE CREDIT CARD or my own personal favourite: JUICY. Sure, I want my 9 year old to have a pair of pants with JUICY slapped across her bum. That's not weird at all, is it? So far I've managed to sidestep most of this crap by buying at boutique shops where they eschew the slogans (mostly in favour of overpricing their stock, lol), but I can see the day dawning when FDPG, quirky as she is, is going to want more daring outfits.

But LZ Granderson said it far more eloquently than I ever could, and that's probably how I'm going to answer her if it ever comes to that. Given that her brother is currently going through his own fashion statement period, I'm sure it will. Here are a few excerpts:

I get it, Rihanna's really popular. But that's a pretty weak reason for someone to dress their little girl like her. ...Friends bow to peer pressure. Parents say, "No, and that's the end of it."...A line needs to be drawn, but not by Abercrombie. Not by Britney Spears. And not by these little girls who don't know better and desperately need their parents to be parents and not 40-year-old BFFs.

We don't want to risk the wrath of our kids, he says, so we give in. Here here, I say. Listen to the man. Then get yourself a backbone and remember who you are in your child's life.

We Interrupt Your Regular Programming...

With another form to send to the CRTC. If you are Canadian and you use the internet you really MUST sign this. Click on the first link there, the one that ends with "/crtc." And if your kids have email addresses, have THEM send a form too. Then pass this on to your friends and have THEM sign it as well.

The CRTC just announced they will reexamine metered billing practices. They are seeking public input right now! This is a huge opportunity to stop Internet metering, and to ensure Canadians have access to an unlimited Internet. Please take a moment to send the CRTC a message here: http://openmedia.ca/crtc OpenMedia.ca asked Canadians to send Ottawa a message about Internet metering, and wow did you ever respond – over 420,000 signed the petition! The CRTC's move to review the imposition of billing practices through a public process is in direct response to our petition - they even cited the "public outcry". At the same time, we all know a Big Telecom-friendly compromise is being pushed behind closed doors. To avoid another industry crafted solution we urgently need to send a message to the CRTC HERE. We must sway the CRTC now to make our previous victories stick. If we don't convince the CRTC, all could be lost - all Internet users could face a metered Internet and pay up $4 per gigabyte! We’ve already moved politics in Canada and made it easy for politicians to champion the Internet. Let’s force the CRTC to do the same. http://openmedia.ca/crtc We’ve come this far, let’s not stop now, ~ The OpenMedia.ca team

Mind The Cap

Do you live in Canada? Then this new CRTC ruling will affect you. So get out there and bitch about it, because if you don't, you'll be letting someone else decide how YOU spend YOUR time on the internet. If this form doesn't work for you, click here.

Downton Abbey Takes A Shortcut Across The Pond

I was all set to gripe about the subject of this article in the Daily Mail when I noticed that someone already has.

Still, I feel rather exasperated. To chop two hours off of this really fabulous miniseries on the basis that certain inheritance procedures in Britain might leave viewers "baffled" is almost insulting. What ARE the heads at PBS thinking? Have they succumbed to the Dumbing Us Down mentality?

"For the land of the notoriously short attention span," the article claims, "TV executives have taken a knife to the...series, slashing its running time and simplifying the plotline..."

"American audiences are used to a different speed when it comes to television dram and you need to get into a story very quickly [said Rebecca Eaton, head of PBS programming]."

"Ms Eaton insisted that any changes were minor and did not affect the quality of the programme."

Nice. Thanks for that. Given that I've seen what you're going to cut, well, all I can say is shame on you for expecting so little of your audience.

Want to voice your disapproval? You should. Click here.

Letters To The Editor

To the woman who tried to smuggle a tiger cub in her luggage:

Dear Smuggling Woman,

I don't know why you did this or why you thought this might be a good idea, but allow me to express my complete and utter dismay at hearing what you did. My stomach sank last night when I saw those photographs on the evening news. There is no excuse for putting a live animal in your luggage - much less drugging that animal in the hopes that it would remain silent during the trip. I don't care how much anyone promised you or what kind of life you lead in your home country, you have no right to take a little animal like this and stuff it in your luggage. You have done a cruel thing and I hope that in your afterlife someone makes you aware of this fact. I feel very Old Testamenty about what you've done. Tiger cubs don't deserve such a fate.

signed,

A Person Who Really Likes Wild Creatures

Girl Power

There was an article in this morning's National Post, an article I actually read out to my kids, not because it was particularly gripping, per se, but because it pertained to our favourite animator: Hayao Miyazaki. This article, sandwiched as it was between an article on the heroin poppy cultivation in Afghanistan and an article on Canada's 'near-American in its vulgarity' position on foreign policy, was written by Michael, Taube, a "former speech writer" for the current Prime Minister, which made it all the more startling. Not something I'd expect to see from a former speech writer, not to mention to see in the first few front pages of the newspaper.

The author's main point was that Mr Miyazaki's latest movie effort, Ponyo, had been snubbed by Oscar voters in the animation category. "Politically," Mr Taube writes, "Miyazaki should be a good fit with the Hollywood elite. He's an ex-Marxist, who peppers his work with a distinctly leftist, anti-war tinge...You'd think Miyazaki's passion for environmental issues would have caught Hollywood's eye too." He even cites a comparison to the movie juggernaut Avatar to prove his point.

Now I like environmental issues as much as the next person, although I haven't seen the thing that is Avatar (although my dad has, what's with that). I also happen to love everything Miyazaki, as do my kids (the Teenager might roll his eyes but he doesn't leave the room when the movies are on). I've even written about our adventures into the world of Totoro food, Totoro toys, seeing Haku in the sky, weird things other people do with their Miyazaki love, and Totoro origami and papercraft. So I should be nodding my head with all this Oscar snubbing going on, shouldn't I. Shouldn't I?

No, I'm not. Because I know why Miyazaki has yet to crack the American market. There are two main reasons in my mind:

1. Americans in general don't like weird Japanese cartoons.

2. Sexism. Miyazaki's females are almost to a person all the same: strong, independent, opinionated girls who don't always care if they end up with the guy, or if they do they prefer to call the shots. And if you look at the last 20 years of American cinema you'll notice that those kind of roles for younger women are not a really salient aspect of American cinema. Women might be strong and witty and clever but they always know their place and in the end they always have to buckle down and marry the real hero, even if he is a bumbling, language-challenged, gruff, otherwise-unappealing fellow. Oh, and they have to be beautiful but not know it. Heck, even Pretty Woman had a retrospective in the newspaper the other day: The Honest Prostitute who got her guy. It's insidious, folks.

And that's why I like Miyazaki's movies so much. I have an FDPG in the house and it's good for her to see young girls doing their own thing. Girls who are smart and clever and funny, with no mention of how beautiful they are or aren't. Girls who can think on their own, without needing men to do their thinking for them. Girls who don't need to look or act like young beautiful hookers with a heart.

And that is what Hollywood doesn't like.