I have an intolerance for intolerance. I know that sounds strange, but nothing bothers me more than judgmental people. I have no patience for racists (basically ignorant souls that can’t come up with an original thought), for those that believe themselves to be morally or ethically superior to other people or those that believe that their thoughts or opinions are superior to every one else.
(I may have been accused of that last point in the past, but no one can ever deny that I am a full believer in having one’s own opinions. As I always say, an opinion is an opinion – it’s neither right nor wrong. You can’t argue with an opinion because it’s simply unarguable. If I say I like the colour red, no one can say that I am wrong for that).
The Colour of Hate…
in my view is a by-product of ignorance. I receive emails every day from seemingly intelligent people that forward clap trap like the following:
“The Qur'an states that Muslims are told by Muhammad to kill Christians and Jews”.
After reading this work of fiction, I responded with examples from the ‘actual’ Qur'an (not the Qur'an that states that the Muslim people will exterminate the eagle state [a favourite email for a couple of years after 9/11]). I also informed the sender that before forwarding mail that could be perceived as “hate” mail by the friendly police that ensure law and order in our city, he might want to verify the so-called facts first. Nothing like spreading that down-home redneck ignorance around.
Then there are the Morality police. Take the problems Tiger Woods has had lately. He sleeps around with other women. His wife finds out, she beats him about his face with a golf club (the irony!) and he drives his Escalade off the road in an attempt to make his injuries look like a product of his collision. This makes news all over the world. Even people that aren’t golf fans speak about this like it’s the start of the third world war.
My issue with this is simple. It doesn’t matter if Tiger had one mistress or one hundred. It doesn’t matter that Tiger’s wife clubbed him. It doesn’t matter that Tiger crashed his car. You know why? It’s no one’s business other than Tiger’s and his wife’s. Who are you to judge this person? This is what bothers me about entertainment media and the no minds that follow it. What business is it of anyone’s what is going on in anyone else’s personal life? How would next-door neighbour Joe feel if he was having an affair and the local paper covered it? How would you feel if you did something you may or may not regret, only to have your private life put on display on TV, in the papers, on websites EVERYWHERE.
Despite the fact that Tiger is great at what he does and I assume is bigger than life to golf fans and to people that enjoy playing the game, Tiger is a human being. He’s not perfect. No one is. But he still deserves privacy and respect, just like everyone else. No one has the right to judge him or what he did. You don’t have to agree with it or condone it. People do the things they do for their own reasons. They don’t need to justify it to you or anyone else, other than the people that are important to them. So my advise it to mind your own business. Life is hard enough sometimes without being judge and jury to everyone else.
Lastly…..
Opinions are funny things. I have lots of opinions as I am sure most people do. I think Oasis is/was a very talented band. I believe that the Beatles were also a great band and led the way for Brit Rock in the sixties, but the Rolling Stones as a whole were much more sophisticated musically (in the early years).( I also think it’s time to hang up the guitar and drum sticks and retire gracefully but that’s just me) I think Leonard Cohen is a great songwriter but I prefer his songs sung by someone else. Ditto for Bob Dylan. I think Honda motorcycles are the cats ass (you couldn’t give me a brand new Harley Davidson, I would sell it and by a VTX1300). I think Apple products are the greatest marvels of the modern world. I think American beer is crap, along with their cars. I think pickup trucks are stupid unless you live on a farm or are a construction worker. I think Yamaha acoustic guitars sound nicer than a lot of more expensive guitars. I think Pepsi tastes better than Coke.
All these things are my opinions. I have been friends with people that hate Oasis. I have had discussions with many a classic rock fan that think the Beatles were better than the Stones and vice versa. Most people I know prefer Coke to Pepsi and most die-hard bikers aspire to a Harley one day. It doesn’t mean I am wrong, or they’re wrong. It’s just what we prefer. So why argue about it? I remember arguing once with a friend who said I was WRONG when I opined on the drumming skills of one Zak Starkey, son of Beatle Ringo Starr. My opinion was that Zak had more skill and was a much more interesting drummer than his Dad. Which was saying a lot in my view because Ringo taught his son how to drum. Listen to any Beatle song and then an Oasis song that Zak drummed on, and you’ll see what I mean. This friend of mind said “NO!” Well, hold on, it’s just my OPINION. While I am a huge music fan and a somewhat drummer and guitar player, not to mention that some people think I am a musical savant when it comes to music facts, I am not an expert. I have never professed to be. But I know what I like and I have a pretty good idea of what works in the music I enjoy. I would never give an opinion of opera or country music because I don’t listen to it. Just like this guy never listened to Zak Starkey drum, he wasn’t in a position to tell me that Ringo was a more talented performer.
So kids, remember – every one is entitled to their opinions. Whether or not you agree is neither here nor there. That’s what makes each and every one of us different and unique. It’s okay to enjoy or appreciate different things. And being tolerant of those around you just makes life easier. Not easy. Just more tolerable……
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Oscar Churchill, the OCD dog.
It came to pass that a few days after New Year 2009, my beloved Golden Retriever, Stormymist Timone aka Moeny aka Beautiful Boy passed away. I was heartbroken. This beautiful creature was like my child. An easy going, loveable and gentle boy, even for a Golden was at some points in my life, my only reason for going home. So I cried and cried. I got a clay paw print made and it was framed and his ashes were put into a pretty urn and he sits on my dresser in my bedroom with a picture that I absolutely love.
A few weeks later, I decided that living without a Golden was hard for me. I liked having a dog waiting for me when I got home, snuggling with me, wagging their tail because they are happy to see me. So, I found a breeder of English Goldens and went to see her pups.
She had two males left from her last litter that she held on to as she couldn't decide which to keep, but she had decided recently to sell the one that would be named Manchester. I fell in love with him immediately. I paid her for him but couldn't pick him up for a few weeks.
Eventually he came home. And eventually I shook my head and asked myself if I had been recovering from a week long bender when I decided to bring this gorgeous creature home. There is a big difference between a 13 year old Golden and a 12 week old Golden, least of all size. Mostly it has to do with attitude and energy level.
Eventually, he settled in and became a normal dog. In June that year, I found out that the breeder had one of Manchester's brother's returned. So of course, I had to have him. So home he came and once again, I questioned my sanity.
His name was Oscar, so he's named Oscar Churchill, but he gets called Osky Wee Wee most of the time. Oscar has obsessive compulsive disorder. Now I can't say why he's like that as he didn't come here until he was 7 months old, but this dog exhibits classic signs of a mild mental disorder. He doesn't like getting his feet wet. He paces. He chews his nails. He drools excessively. He will not take a quick drink of water from the dish, he will stand there and drink every drop. He stares out the window and whines and cries whenever he sees a person or dog. Squirrels send him into a frenzy. Rabbits cause a barking fit never before heard from a Golden I am sure. Manchester never barks. I could probably count on my two hands how many times Moeny barked in his life. Hearing this little boy freak out at everything he sees is disturbing and leads me to believe that either:
1. His first owners were freaks that encouraged extreme mental behaviour not normal for a Golden or
2. (You know how THEY say that dogs can often begin to look like their owners or act like their owners?) Well, I am a little teeny wee bit obsessive compulsive myself. I am not as bad as I used to be. The past few months, I have been too tired to be OCD. Being OCD is exhausting. But I wonder, is he getting his cues from me? I don't chew my nails or drool excessively. I don't stand at the window and whine at rabbits. But maybe, just maybe, it's my fault the dog is a candidate for psychiatric assistance.
I don't know really; maybe it's better that I don't know.
All I do know however, is that these dogs are loveable beautiful animals and no matter how much drool I wipe off the hardwood floor, or how many times I have to refill the water dish, I love them both. OCD and all.
A few weeks later, I decided that living without a Golden was hard for me. I liked having a dog waiting for me when I got home, snuggling with me, wagging their tail because they are happy to see me. So, I found a breeder of English Goldens and went to see her pups.
She had two males left from her last litter that she held on to as she couldn't decide which to keep, but she had decided recently to sell the one that would be named Manchester. I fell in love with him immediately. I paid her for him but couldn't pick him up for a few weeks.
Eventually he came home. And eventually I shook my head and asked myself if I had been recovering from a week long bender when I decided to bring this gorgeous creature home. There is a big difference between a 13 year old Golden and a 12 week old Golden, least of all size. Mostly it has to do with attitude and energy level.
Eventually, he settled in and became a normal dog. In June that year, I found out that the breeder had one of Manchester's brother's returned. So of course, I had to have him. So home he came and once again, I questioned my sanity.
His name was Oscar, so he's named Oscar Churchill, but he gets called Osky Wee Wee most of the time. Oscar has obsessive compulsive disorder. Now I can't say why he's like that as he didn't come here until he was 7 months old, but this dog exhibits classic signs of a mild mental disorder. He doesn't like getting his feet wet. He paces. He chews his nails. He drools excessively. He will not take a quick drink of water from the dish, he will stand there and drink every drop. He stares out the window and whines and cries whenever he sees a person or dog. Squirrels send him into a frenzy. Rabbits cause a barking fit never before heard from a Golden I am sure. Manchester never barks. I could probably count on my two hands how many times Moeny barked in his life. Hearing this little boy freak out at everything he sees is disturbing and leads me to believe that either:
1. His first owners were freaks that encouraged extreme mental behaviour not normal for a Golden or
2. (You know how THEY say that dogs can often begin to look like their owners or act like their owners?) Well, I am a little teeny wee bit obsessive compulsive myself. I am not as bad as I used to be. The past few months, I have been too tired to be OCD. Being OCD is exhausting. But I wonder, is he getting his cues from me? I don't chew my nails or drool excessively. I don't stand at the window and whine at rabbits. But maybe, just maybe, it's my fault the dog is a candidate for psychiatric assistance.
I don't know really; maybe it's better that I don't know.
All I do know however, is that these dogs are loveable beautiful animals and no matter how much drool I wipe off the hardwood floor, or how many times I have to refill the water dish, I love them both. OCD and all.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Pet Peeve #1 - Work
My number one pet peeve is work. Not only do I have to spend a third of my day there, it's boring. Throw in a few idiots and incompetents, we're talking about full blown insanity.
Take the head of one such department in the media relations company where I work. An older gentlemen with thirty plus years, he could have retired five years ago. To say that he's clueless is to point out that World War II was a minor inconvenience.
Not only does he lack the basic social skills I taught my kids when they were six, he can't speak properly and thinks he's the only person in the world that can run his department. We often hear things like "If I retired, they'd be calling in six months to hire me as a consultant" or "No one else could do this job, if I am not here, this place would fall apart". Not kidding, this is what he says. To all that will listen. And he truly believes it. The depths of his mans delusions shock even me.
On one such occasion when he was tooting his own horn, a friend of mine sent me an email to express her frustration. She works for this man. I used to, but got out when I could. Unfortunately, I still work in the same office and must deal with his department on a daily basis.
My friend, Victoria, sent me this:
"I am so tired of listening to his crap:
1. It has to be man in this job, no one would listen to a women, yada yada yada
2. I was going to retire 5 years ago but every time I said I was going I would get called to the big house (head office).
My God, can no one make him shut up?"
No Victoria, nothing can make him shut up. I thought of buying a muzzle but I think getting it on him would pose a problem.
So, being the opinionated moron that I am, I of course had to reply to this plea for help:
"He is one of those pompous individuals that think their poop don't stink . He sits there and (my new favourite term for windbags) waxes poetic about sh*t that no one cares about. No one cares how much he paid for his first cruise, especially the lowly employees who make crap money compared to his manager's salary (overpaid if you ask me). No one cares that he is so high on himself, he couldn't smell his own fart in an oxygen deprived 2' x 2' closet if he was locked in.
I hope and pray that one day my dream will come true. This is my dream.
So what usually happens to people that have become too big for their knickers - one day, someone will come in here and they will have no regard for him or his bullsh*t. They will listen to his overbearing bull crap for about 2 minutes before they say "Would you shut up you useless dink of an individual." One day, the CEO or the VPs will be gone, either retired or moved on to a normal company and they will hire a person with brains who won't give a damn that he's been here since Jesus was crucified. He's not a God, he's not the end all and be all of all civilization, and frankly, no one is. We are all just here to do a job and not listen to the pointless ramblings of a delusional, self absorbed old man who should have retired 8 years ago.
So when that day comes, I will be a happy individual and will once again believe in a higher power. My momma always told me when I was young, what goes around comes around and every jerk gets his just desserts in one form or another. I truly believe that.
So, raise your hands in the air and pray with me sister, because one day, the rainbow overhead will shine bright and we shall be free. WE SHALL BE FREE!!!"
Uh huh. I told you it was boring......
Take the head of one such department in the media relations company where I work. An older gentlemen with thirty plus years, he could have retired five years ago. To say that he's clueless is to point out that World War II was a minor inconvenience.
Not only does he lack the basic social skills I taught my kids when they were six, he can't speak properly and thinks he's the only person in the world that can run his department. We often hear things like "If I retired, they'd be calling in six months to hire me as a consultant" or "No one else could do this job, if I am not here, this place would fall apart". Not kidding, this is what he says. To all that will listen. And he truly believes it. The depths of his mans delusions shock even me.
On one such occasion when he was tooting his own horn, a friend of mine sent me an email to express her frustration. She works for this man. I used to, but got out when I could. Unfortunately, I still work in the same office and must deal with his department on a daily basis.
My friend, Victoria, sent me this:
"I am so tired of listening to his crap:
1. It has to be man in this job, no one would listen to a women, yada yada yada
2. I was going to retire 5 years ago but every time I said I was going I would get called to the big house (head office).
My God, can no one make him shut up?"
No Victoria, nothing can make him shut up. I thought of buying a muzzle but I think getting it on him would pose a problem.
So, being the opinionated moron that I am, I of course had to reply to this plea for help:
"He is one of those pompous individuals that think their poop don't stink . He sits there and (my new favourite term for windbags) waxes poetic about sh*t that no one cares about. No one cares how much he paid for his first cruise, especially the lowly employees who make crap money compared to his manager's salary (overpaid if you ask me). No one cares that he is so high on himself, he couldn't smell his own fart in an oxygen deprived 2' x 2' closet if he was locked in.
I hope and pray that one day my dream will come true. This is my dream.
So what usually happens to people that have become too big for their knickers - one day, someone will come in here and they will have no regard for him or his bullsh*t. They will listen to his overbearing bull crap for about 2 minutes before they say "Would you shut up you useless dink of an individual." One day, the CEO or the VPs will be gone, either retired or moved on to a normal company and they will hire a person with brains who won't give a damn that he's been here since Jesus was crucified. He's not a God, he's not the end all and be all of all civilization, and frankly, no one is. We are all just here to do a job and not listen to the pointless ramblings of a delusional, self absorbed old man who should have retired 8 years ago.
So when that day comes, I will be a happy individual and will once again believe in a higher power. My momma always told me when I was young, what goes around comes around and every jerk gets his just desserts in one form or another. I truly believe that.
So, raise your hands in the air and pray with me sister, because one day, the rainbow overhead will shine bright and we shall be free. WE SHALL BE FREE!!!"
Uh huh. I told you it was boring......
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