Freebies that aren't

'Tis the season for unsolicited gifts in the mail. In my neck of the woods, it starts after Halloween runs straight through Christmas.

I'm sure I'm not the only household that gets unsolicited freebies from charitable organizations. You know, stuff like Christmas cards, note cards, calendars, notepads, and enough address labels to plaster my entire house. Given that I hardly ever send anything by post anymore, the address labels are practically useless. Yet, over the last number of years, they keep coming and coming and coming. Sometimes they're from organizations that I already support and sometimes they're from organizations that I've never heard of.

Usually, there is a nice covering letter either thanking me for past contributions or encouraging me to support their much needed work or new project; they go on to say they've enclosed a "gift" for my invaluable support; and they all have one purpose - to prey on feelings of guilt (because my generation has been conditioned to believe we shouldn't get something for nothing). They are even thoughtful enough to include self-addressed envelopes and return cards with helpful boxes to tick off "suggested" support amounts.

Frankly, I don't respond well to this kind of coercion.

Years ago, when I first received these solicitations (and solicitations they are), I would feel guilty and write a cheque to pay for something I didn't want or need. Then I'd get even more letters and pleas for more donations. One day, I finally got fed up. Attempts to guilt me into making donations just made me angry.

For the charities I already support, I will continue to support with or without the freebies. I'd rather they save the money spent on postage and merchandise and put it to better use. As for organizations that I've never supported before, they will not gain my support by using these types of tactics.

This year, there seems to be a new gift idea - shopping bags. Maybe they figured out that people can only use so many address labels. This week, I've received two nylon tote-style shopping bags. I wonder how many more will come before Christmas.

Oprah and Other Randomness

It has occurred to me that I've been doing a lot of blogs involving writing prompts, games and wordplay lately and not too many about the personal goings-on in my life. Not sure why.

I've also noticed I get great ideas –- at least they seem like great ideas at the time -- when I'm in front of the mirror, brushing my teeth. Unfortunately, by the time I get to the rinse and spit stage, my mind has caromed off into another sphere and it's hard getting back to the original idea.

With that in mind, here are some random thoughts before they disappear into the black hole that constitutes my brain:

Race-relations haven't come as far as we think
My son's friend still gets asked, "and where are you from?' while working in a local pub. And they don't not mean "what city are you from", but what "foreign country" strictly because of her skin colour.

I was asked this same question on a regular basis thirty years ago! If I answered with a nearby city, the response would be, "No, really. Where are you originally from?" as if I were somehow lying and trying to fool them. The "where" question was frequently followed by the, "but you don't have an accent" comment. My answer, if I had been witty enough, should have been, "I would have one if I lived in China".


Oprah Book Club Stickers – a rant
I received a book order from an online bookseller today. One of the books was Ken Follett's, The Pillars of the Earth.

I knew it was a title from Oprah's Book Club; knew it would have her sticker on the cover; also expected it to be removable (a result of the furor caused by her permanently imprinted logos of a few years back). I don't have a problem with Oprah endorsing books or even her stickers, if that's what is needed to get people to read good books.

However, when I buy a brand new book chosen on the basis of the author and the book's own merit – independent of her endorsement, I do not wish to have her logo emblazoned on it. Years from now, I want to be able to pick up the book or give it to a friend on its own merits and not have her logo shouting at me from the cover. I'm funny that way.

The removable stickers were a good compromise between Oprah, the publishers, and readers. I've bought other books with her stickers and they were easily removed. Not today. What I failed to realize is that those other books had glossy covers, thus making the stickers easily peelable. The Pillars of the Earth trade paperback I got has a non-glossy matte finish that would not let go. It took me the better part of twenty minutes trying to peel the sticker and remove the adhesive.

Note to self: next time you buy an Oprah pick, make sure the sticker is on a glossy cover. End of rant.

Home
I never felt I had a home until I got married and moved into our first apartment. Prior to that, I always felt I was a guest in someone's home. I found it disconcerting to hear about people who "ran home" to parents and family when things got tough. I never felt I had a place to run home to. No easy outs - not necessarily a bad thing.


Goldfish
Irene, from a forum I visit, said it best:

Never invest in goldfish. Their ambivalence to life is notorious.

If only I'd known.

Everyone thinks (at least I did) that you get a goldfish, put it in a tank of water, feed it daily and everyone lives happily ever after.

Not so.

What I've learned from my son's goldfish:
You need to check water parameters (those being pH, ammonia, nitrates, nitrites, hardness), you need to filter the water, you need to aerate the water, you need to clean the algae out, you need to vacuum the crap out, you need to feed the goldie with a balanced diet, you need to keep the temperature stable, you need to provide a large enough tank for the size of the fish, you need to change the water and not stress them out ("stress" being everything from water temperature, to food, to handling, to new tankmates, to you name it). If you don't look after these things, they die. Even if you do all the preceding, they still have a propensity for dying. If you go online looking for information, you will be bombarded with contradicting "expert" advice which you follow - and still, they'll die.

If only I'd known.

Hans didn't make it, but thankfully, Jurgen is still with us (knock wood).

Blogger problems - a rant

Aaaargh! I still cannot get my header image to look the way I want it to look.

I like to use the Minima Stretch template because it allows both posts and photos to "stretch" larger or smaller to fit whatever width of the window (i.e you don't get the right side of the page cut-off and have to use a scroll bar along the bottom of the page to view the rest of it). Just a personal preference of mine. Since the problem with the header images, I thought I'd make it easier by just changing to a template that was easier to fix. The header looked fine, but then I found that with a different (fixed width) template the wider photos I have on individual posts got cropped off. So,I've gone back to the original template and come up with a work-around that I'm not entirely happy with, but will have to suffice for now.

I know I complained about this the other day, but it really bugs me.

After reading the help discussion forums, it seems Blogger made a change in the way images load to custom headers. It has caused a lot of folks to have problems with their previously functioning header banners. It's another case of Blogger messing around with stuff that isn't broken and not caring about what the actual users of the service think. Just take a look at one of the many recent threads about the header issue and you'll see the frustration of other Blogger users.

This all just pushes me a little further along the road to switching platforms.

Blog and Template changes

I have spent the better part of this evening trying to add an image to my blog header. It should have been easy. But it wasn't.

I wanted to use the same picture that I used on Word Press. On WP it was very easy and it even had a built-in crop feature, so I didn't have to re-size the image before uploading it.

I followed Blogger's edit feature, which seemed simple enough, but it wouldn't center the image properly. After I tried everything I could think of, I looked at Blogger's "Help" section. Well, it appears that I'm not the only person with this problem. They've been trying to fix the situation for a few days now and while their so-called fix helped some, it made the situation worse for others. Take a look at the help group discussion titled My Headers are messed up!

I took the advice of one of the people in the discussion thread and changed the html on my template so it looks better, but it still isn't quite right. I'll take another look at it tomorrow and see if it's worth keeping.

I've been away again.

Not long ago, I had a conversation with an acquaintance about vacations and travel. She's about my age and was a prominent neonatologist until she had to retire because of health and mobility problems. Over the years, she made a good income and some very good investments. She's trying to do some traveling now, but it's not easy. To quote her, "When I was younger, I was healthy and able to travel, but too busy working and making money. Now, I have the time and the money, but don't have the health." This is a recurring theme that I hear from others. It's motivation to keep active and going as long as I can. I'm determined to travel as often and as to as many places as this ole body and my bank account can take. You just never know what's around the corner.

As usual I spent a lot of time observing the passing parade and striking up conversations with almost anyone and everyone with the time and inclination.

From my notes of Odds 'n Ends:

· I hate hearing the term "cranky old people" used -- not as a description of certain people who happen to be old (which is such a relative term anyway) and cranky, but as an all-one-word, "crankyoldpeople" –- as if all old people are cranky. It's just another stereotype of elders; along with senile, slow, and useless.

Not all old people are cranky, nor are all cranky people old. The elders who are truly cranky were more than likely also cranky young adults, cranky teens and cranky children. It's not as if they woke up one day at the age of fifty and decided to be a crankyoldperson.

· Some people like to complain. Not only do they like to complain, they relish in it. Their mission in life is to find every negative thing in life and share it with everyone and anyone within earshot. They complain about the weather (okay, everyone complains about the weather), then they move onto the neighbours, their kids, their parents, the restaurant, the décor, the food, the service, taxes, Hilary Clinton, . . . ad nauseam.

Whenever I hear such overall negativity, my eyes glaze over and the credibility of their complaints drops to nil.

· Parents of well-behaved children are not given enough credit for doing a good job because they're overshadowed by those with out of control brats.

Brats may be an exaggeration, but you know the ones: They run roughshod over public and private property, spill, drop and leave food bits and garbage in their wake; scream and yell as if no one else is around; take things without permission; run into people without apology; and treat others and the environment around them with total disrespect. All the while, their parents are sipping a latte and reading a magazine, totally oblivious (or ignoring) the mayhem. It's the lack of parenting that's the problem more than the kids themselves.

So, kudos to the good parents out there who've done the hard and loving job of active parenting and whose children are a pleasure to be around.

· Pet peeve: People who use their cell phones in the middle of busy public places and carry on LOUD conversations so that everyone knows they are Very Important People. VIPs are so important that they can't walk ten feet to find a quiet corner or phone kiosk with sound baffling.

· Why - are the number of pieces of luggage people insist on traveling with inversely proportionate to their ability to carry it.

A couple traveling with two toddlers by the hand will have a stroller, diaper bag, backpack, shoulder tote, purse, and four full-sized suitcases; whereas an able-bodied twenty year old will have one over-the-shoulder duffle.

Sunday musings in July

Well, it's been a mighty interesting couple of weeks. I've vacillated between anger and depression so many times that I feared a self-inflicted case of whiplash.

Not long after I posted my blogs about idealism and the World Peace Forum, the relative calm in the Middle East literally exploded. The irony wasn't lost on me.

I started a number of posts to address the current middle east situation, all of which ended up in my discard/reconsider folder because they made me sound like a ranting lunatic. In effect, they were the equivalent of a hair-ripping, teeth-gnashing, primal scream.

Something along the lines of, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!!"

Just an excerpt from one of the non-published posts:

"I'm sick of the political rhetoric. I'm sick of the ineffective UN. I'm sick of apologists for all sides. I'm sick of any ideology, political system, country, or religion that uses violence and killing of innocent civilians as a means to achieve their goals. I'm mad as hell!"

You get my drift.

As far as the depression; I was ready to retreat to a cabin on a mountaintop somewhere – anywhere – to live out my life in peaceful solitude while the powers-that-be blow up the world. Obviously, I decided against this tactic -– though it is tempting. The optimistic part of me won out and I'm going to 'stay the course' (she says sarcastically). Surely, saner minds will prevail and end this mess.

I won't go into detail about my political leanings, but anyone who knows me, even moderately well, knows that I'm a peace-loving, anti-war, small "l" liberal going back to the '60s. Back in those days, I'd have been what some people called a pinko, left-wing, hippie, peacenik. I didn't care then and I don't care now if that's how I'm perceived because my attitude towards war and violence is as strong, if not stronger, now, than in my youth.

When I'm older, I'll probably be one of those "grannies against war" that you see demonstrating on the news every so often – usually as a "cute" addendum to regular news coverage. It's time people took them seriously. Who else has seen more in terms of the devastation and human suffering caused by wars?

I believe in the saying, "Violence begets more violence". It becomes a never-ending cycle of getting the other guy before he strikes first; paying back the other guy for striking first; teaching the other side a lesson; the other side responding with another "lesson"; and on and on it goes. There must be another way.

I think I'll just end this blog with some Bob Dylan song lyrics:

How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky
How many years must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
How many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died
The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind
The answer is blowing in the wind.

(For you, StillILearn)

The "R" Word

This blog has been percolating in my brain for awhile now. It finally bubbled over when I read this post on Fat Red Ant's 44x365.

I wasn't sure I'd ever address the issue of racism on my blog. Some of you who've known me from other places on the net may (or may not) know I'm not white.

One of the reasons I like the internet is that I'm perceived by my words and ideas first and foremost – not by the colour of my skin. My writing and recollections sometimes have clear allusions to my ancestry and sometimes, they don't. I don't make a big deal about it, nor do I avoid it. It all depends on what I'm trying to convey.

Anyways, back to FRA's post. It clearly illustrates to me how far we (I'm speaking of the global we) need to go before racism is eradicated. It's hard for people, no matter how caring, liberal-minded and accepting to understand the deep pain and frustration felt by those of colour. I've come to hate that term, "people of colour" – but I guess there's no other term that fits.

I know there are lots of people like FRA who look beyond colour, but there are just as many like her boyfriend. The thing is, if you were to speak to someone like her boyfriend, chances are they'd be the first to say they aren't racist. I've heard all the denials and arguments: I'm not racist, but . . . . My co-worker is (black, yellow, green, purple) – we get along fine, but . . . .

See, you seldom hear racial epithets in polite conversation anymore, unless it's within the confines of a monochromatic gathering. And here, I'm not talking about whites only. Non-whites are just as guilty of racism. The problem with racism these days is that, more often than not – other than at skinhead rallies or drunken brawls - it's hidden, discreet, but nonetheless insidious.

For those of you who think, like FRA did, that it's all in our heads – that we're imagining slights that don't exist – may I offer just a smattering of some personal experiences:

• Standing at a crosswalk with my two young children, waiting for the light to change, a man walks up to me; looks me up and down; and says, "Why don't you people leave. Go home where you belong." - I'm quite certain he didn't mean home to our house, two blocks away.


• I'm in a hurry, rushing to an appointment and bump into a woman. I apologise. She just glares at me and says, "Watch out! You're not back home, you know." - because she's never bumped into anyone by accident.


• I'm standing at a counter, waiting patiently for service. The counter person has seen me, nods acknowledgement – he's with another customer at the moment. A couple comes into the store. The counter guy finishes with the first customer, then turns to serve the newly arrived people first. – What? Have I become invisible? Isn't my money as good as theirs?


• At a sporting event: I'm beaming with pride because the guy in front of me is admiring the play of my son. His friend asks him who he's talking about and the guy answers, "The Chink. Over there . . . "


• And the one memory literally seared on my brain and psyche when I was seven years old: - having rocks thrown at me and being chased home by a bunch of Chink-calling ten, eleven year-old boys; the feeling of humiliation; the feeling there was something wrong with me that they'd hate me so much without even knowing me.
  
  Yes, it was a long time ago, but I often wonder where these boys and their parents are now. Are they still the bigots they were then? Have they changed? Or have they just gone underground?

You know what? I think, overall, we've come a long way from rock-throwing and outright segregation – but there's a lot further to go.

I just had to get that off my chest.