Leaders and Followers

Posted on March 9, 2018 by brunhub

“It looks like Old Man Winter has moved on, “ I said to my friend Campbell or Camp for sort, who was already settled in at our usual table, scanning a newspaper. “Anything new?”

“Just the usual chaos and tweets from the throne out of the White House. It’s pathetic really, but look no further than the populist win in Italy. Maybe it’s time for a revolution but this time it looks like the revolution is coming from the right. Protectionism, fear of foreigners, ‘not in my backyard’, bigger missiles out of Moscow, trade wars and military parades from Washington and ‘serious concern’ from Ottawa .”

“Yeah, it’s disconcerting ,” I said, but I put my hope in the youth. Any positive change will come from the millenials with the help of their mothers. The age of the Old White Man will soon come to a timely and biological end.”

“Nationalism is on the rise, from the USA to Britain, from Italy to Austria.. Only New Zealand and Switzerland are social democracies it seems, where the common good and disinterest comes before personal satisfaction and where compassion and altruism are still desirable virtues.”

“It all comes down to leadership,” I said. “It’s the art of motivating people towards a common goal. A good leader is able to inspire others and communicate in a way that engages them to follow and act on his or her behalf..”

“That pretty well includes everybody from Ghengis Khan to Trump, and all the bad guys in between,” Camp retorted, “ a good leader is honest and inspires trust and respect, not fear and loathing and is good for the community and the greater good not just hubris and self-aggrandisation and conquest.”

“A modicum of humility doesn’t hurt either. Sounds to me like you would make a good leader,” I said.

“I may have the ideas and skills but I don’t have the personality and most importantly I don’t like being in the cross-hairs of public opinion. I like to be on the sidelines, watching the parade, not leading it.”

“So you’re not going to run for mayor? That would be a shame Camp. You wouldn’t be on TV or in need of a bodyguard and press secretary. It would double your income and you already spend a lot of time advocating for our little town.”

“Is this an official endorsement or did Muriel talk to Clare ?”

“Clare did say to me that you would be a good and honest mayor and a benefit to our community.”

“I could use the extra money but that would be a bad motivator. There are few good leaders but legions of followers. There is also the head bull or sheep who leads the whole herd over the cliff as Hitler did, or there is the leader who brings his flock from the dark into the light like Mandela.”

“Yes, but there are thousands of community leaders from teachers to nurses, from volunteers to small town mayors who do not shake up the world but make a difference in their community or even family. Not every leader has to be a pope or a king, a conqueror or a billionaire and you don’t have to be Mahatma Ghandi or Mother Theresa. Just be Campbell for Mayor. Integrity, Honesty, Humility.”

“Yeah, you forgot: Broke, Old and likes Beer.”

“Not the worst of attributes. Better than: Rich, Old and likes young girls.”

“You’re right about one thing. This world is in dire need of some visionary leadership and I don’t mean only the political kind, I’m talking about the environment, food politics, resource management and equality for all. There are plenty of eager followers, looking for direction and inspiration. I know what you’re saying. We have many bright minds who know what’s good for us but more often than not they are silenced and even killed. These days the power is in the hands of a few with the most money and people power is suppressed and manipulated at every level, from the voting booth to the class room.”

“Yes, but Camp all the information, good and bad, is out there, on the internet, in the libraries, even in the pubs. I have great faith in our youth. They may not have the best music but they do have the best communication tools. Like Vicky here. I bet you she knows more about the state of the world than both of us with all our books and old ideas.

“You two fellows watched the Oscars last Sunday?”

Both Camp and I looked at each other and shook our heads.

“The ‘Shape of Water’ was filmed in Hamilton and Toronto, and won four awards and Frances McDormand gave the best acceptance speech in years. Two more pints for the road?”

“See what I mean,” I said as Vicky went to fetch our refills.

Choices

Posted on March 2, 2018 by brunhub

I stopped by at ‘Coast Books”, Camp’s bookstore, because I wanted to order a travel book on Finland. The store loomed empty and Camp was leafing through some bills.

“Pretty quiet day?” I asked, instantly feeling stupid.

Camp looked up and said: “Is a grave yard quiet, is it quiet at the north pole? I could point out that the only customer today was myself because I didn’t want to have a zero day. Looks bad on the books but now with you here I have two customers.”

“Come on Camp, I’ll buy you a pint.”

“I’m not complaining, it is after all my choice to run this store. I could just as easily apply for a job on the ferry or at the pulp mill. We make our choices and then try to live with them.”

We bundled up and briskly walked down to the pub, which was just as quiet as the bookstore. Vicky was leaning on the bar and greeted us with a big smile. “I knew I could count on you two,” she said.

“You probably could have stayed home,” I said.

“Yes, but then I made the choice that it’s easier to be bored at work then in my cubicle and it’s a better view and company here,” she said.

Choices. We all have them. Usually it’s between at least two options: left or right, stay or go, buy this or that or not, answer the phone, the door or the mail or not. Choose between red, blue and black or yellow, green or white. We sat down and I chose to pursue the subject. “We have choices. It’s what makes us human,” I said.

“Yes, we choose because we can,” Camp said, “but do the poor of this world really have any choices. Choices seem to be the privilege of the rich and do women in Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan really choose to wear the niqab or the burqa?”

“They have a choice to wear it or not but the consequences could be severe. Ultimatums are not choices. To confess under torture or be shot is not a choice and some choices are forced on people,” I said, like when you’re under assault. You can choose to stay or die or run for your life. I know this sounds extreme but if you’re stuck in a war zone these choices are real and as for the poor they do have limited choices like eat the bowl of rice or share it”

“You’re reaching here,” Camp objected. “When you’re starving in a refugee camp you’re lucky to get a bowl of rice, sharing it is not a choice but a requirement. That’s the beauty of living in the ‘free and rich world’. We can make choices others are denied in repressive and war torn societies, but nobody chooses to be poor except some wacky saints, and nobody chooses to be homeless and sick.”

“And falling in love is not a choice either.” I said.

“True, but you can choose to pursue your infatuation. There are circumstances which limit choices and sometimes we make foolish ones which result in unfortunate or even catastrophic outcomes.”

“And we choose to forgive and forget,” I said.

“We can forgive but we’ll never forget. Memory is not something we can choose. We may not remember an incident but something like a smell, a sound, or a word can bring it back like when Muriel talked about the Olympics and what we remember. Not who won the gold but we both remembered Eddie the Eagle and the Jamaican bobsled team.”

“When I was young the personal choices were many, so many I hardly new which way to turn, but as I got older the field narrowed and today the choices seem simple in comparison to immigrate, marry, have kids, move, buy a house, quit jobs, divorce, remarry, go back to school, buy a restaurant, travel. Today it’s much easier,” I said, “since most of my life-defining choices have already been made. Now I have dilemmas: like to choose between wine or beer for dinner, watch TV or read a book, go on holiday or stay home.”

“You’re a lucky guy but I almost feel sorry for you. Big choices are exciting like I’m thinking of running for mayor next year or pull up stakes and move to a warmer climate, like Costa Rica or the Caribbean. Not: should I put yogurt in my cereal or not, or stay up late and watch a movie or not. I still have a life to live,” Camp said adamantly, downing the remainder of his pint in one long draught.

“Ok, I get it, has this something to do with Muriel?” I asked, did she ask you to run for mayor and now you want to run away to Costa Rica?”

Camp just grumbled something unintelligible and he was saved an explanation by Vicky, who appeared at that very instant with a life-defining query. “Do you boys want another pint or not?”

“Is the pope catholic?” Camp said with a mischievous grin.

National Rifle Addiction

Posted on February 23, 2018 by brunhub

Winter is back here to stay it seems. Our yard looks like a gigantic merengue, the trees are frosted and I’m bundled up with hat and gloves. The gunmetal water of Howe Sound looks cold but when the clouds part to let the sun through, it’s winter wonderland, if you don’t have to drive, that is.

Campbell was already seated at our usual table, scanning the Globe and Mail. As soon as I sat down he pointed with his index finger to an article in the paper,. “Did you hear the speech from that teen Emma Gonzales addressing the gun control rally in Fort Lauderdale? It was just two days after a crazed school mate killed 17 of her fellow students in Parkland, Florida. He pulled a fire alarm and then fired point blank into the exiting students with his AR 15 that he bought at a gunshop. He was too young to buy a beer but no problem to buy a military style assault rifle including the accessories to make it fully automatic as well as all the ammo he wanted.”

“I haven’t heard the speech yet but Clare has. She was all fired up about this young woman and the eloquence and passion of her speech. I guess she really put it to the lawmakers who accepted donations from the NRA.”

“Yes, she really did; pointed out that Trump himself accepted 30 million and then she divided that by the gun victims in 2018 so far. It came to $ 5’800. That’s how much a life is apparently worth but as the year goes on, that figure will go down. And what did the lawmakers do in response to this latest tragedy? They sent thoughts and prayers.”

I could only shake my head at the cowardly and senseless mindset that would make anybody support such a destructive and insane gun policy. “Can money really buy somebody’s reason, common sense and conscience?” I asked, knowing the answer already.

Camp just gave me a look that was louder than words. “They always quote the 2nd amendment , like it was one of the ten commandments. The law was meant to arm the populace, so they could overthrow a despotic government if the need arose. That was long before automatic weapons. I think they still used muskets and long rifles when the amendment was passed in 1791.”

“Sounds like they missed their chance though, instead of the government, they’re killing each other,” I said. “Kids killing kids. What for? An amendment?” “Trump told a group of the survivors from Parkland, that were invited to the White House, that he wants to arm the teachers. Said that attacks would end with more militarized education institutions and by wearing concealed weapons.”

“Does he know that over 75% of all teachers from kindergarten to high school are women and where should they conceal their Berettas and Colts?” And does he think all teachers are gun experts or NRA supporters?”

Vicky arrived with a couple of fresh pints, pointing at the blue sky peaking through the clouds. “Just look at that beautiful blue,” she said, making both of us turn around. “It’s not words that makes the view beautiful, it just is. You two always worry about things out of your control. Like the weather or the price of beer.”

“Vicky has a point Camp. We spend half our life planning the future and worrying about the past and the other half checking the internet for what we’ve missed,” I said. “We’re all so scattered and confused.”

“Speak about yourself. I’m trying to make a living selling books and advocating for changes to improve our little town. Not all of us have the luxury of leisure like you and the time to get bored. By the way did you watch any of the Olympics? I can’t believe it’s already eight years since the Vancouver games.”

“We watched Tessa and Scott ice-dance their way into everyone’s heart and to Olympic gold , and we saw the women’s hockey team lose a heartbreaker to the US in a shootout. They should have both won the gold.”

“I watched some of the highlights but I always liked the cultural vignettes. Imagine, I didn’t even remember that it snowed in Korea. Come to think of it, you used to love to ski, didn’t you.”

“Yeah, I gave it up after a couple of bad falls but you’re right Camp, I should get involved in something useful. I’m thinking about taking a course in brewing and distilling. With all these new craft breweries springing up there must be opportunities.”

“Now you’re thinking with an alert mind.,” Camp said, “and the benefits could be rewarding.”

I’m not sure if he was having me on but I let it go. Better to quit while I was ahead.

“Check out the eagle over there,” Camp said and we both watched the majestic bird circle overhead, his aim unwavering and focused.

Garbage

Posted on February 16, 2018 by brunhub

On my walk along the beach I picked up a couple of washed up plastic containers and put them in the next trash can. It doesn’t happen often that I see garbage or litter in our pristine coastal town, unless a bear or dog upends a garbage can and spreads it around. Unlike Mexico or many other struggling societies where plastic drift and road side garbage are the norm. I walked up the back stairs to our seaside pub to find Campbell already seated at our favourite table, glued into his smart phone, which he quickly pocketed when he saw me.

As soon as I sat down Vicky appeared like a mirage right on cue with two foaming mugs. Twilight hovered over the grey waters of Howe Sound and a pale lemony sun struggled through the gunmetal clouds with promises of longer days.

“You must recycle a lot of paper and cardboard at the book store,” I said to Camp who looked at me with his head tilted to one side.

He replied like a teacher talking to a dense pupil. “Recycling is a common mode of behaviour here on the Coast. We recycle anything from plastic bags to cardboard, household batteries and egg cartons, light bulbs, electronics, Styro-foam, even compost. It’s like a religion where littering is a sin and bad garbage behaviour is best practised in secret. What brings this on?”

“Well, you must have heard that as of this January China banned 24 different types of waste they will no longer accept from other countries, sending shock waves through the global, multibillion-dollar waste disposal and recycling industry. China happened to be the largest importer of foreign trash and up to 60% of plastic waste ended up in China. No more.”

“The world cannot continue with the current wasteful consumption model based on infinite growth in a finite world,” Camp said, “ and our waste problems start at the source. Governments, industry and corporations need to come up with transformative solutions that will stop the current flood of waste.”

“Good luck with that,” I said, “I saw the colossal waste in the film industry where entire stage sets got trashed after a few days of shooting. It’s probably better today as Polystyrene moulds are being recycled.”

“There is money in garbage,” Camp said.

“I believe so. I know that in Zurich the incinerator which imports garbage from Germany provides over 10’000 households with heat and electricity and it claims to be co2 neutral, ” I said.

“I’ve heard of Nine Dragon Paper, which ships massive amounts of recycle paper back to China which has an insatiable appetite for paper products. There is probably more money in recycling garbage than in selling books,” Camp said.

“Just think of all the old TV’s everybody had to dispose of to make room for the new flat screens. Electronic garbage. We’ve all seen pictures of grubby kids scavenging though mountains of toxic, electronic trash. I scoured the internet in the past couple of days and came across some staggering numbers and facts,” I said. “According to a UN report, up to 50 million tons of electronic waste, mainly computers and smart phones (gone stupid), were dumped in 2017. And then there is the plastic floating in the oceans of the world. Henderson Island which is part of the Pitcairn group, is covered by 18 tons of sharp, hard, toxic plastic that washed up on it’s once virgin beaches. Imagine that.”

“Take Vancouver,” Camp said. “Although it aspires to be a Zero Waste city, dumped 650’000 tonnes of waste in landfills last year, which amounts to about one and a half tonnes of garbage per resident, 30% of which is food waste,“ Camp said, after googling his pocket computer, which is actually against our Thursday rules.

“I pick up garbage when I see it because it bothers me and I try to compost, recycle and reduce waste but I do feel a tad stupid when I save a plastic bag and then have to watch the insane amount of throw away cups and containers from fast food outlets. One family can involve 20 different containers for food and drinks of one meal of burgers, chips and pops, including straws, napkins, trays, cups and lids. According to a city staff report from June last year Vancouverites throw away 2.5 million coffee cups and 2 million plastic bags per week,” I said, checking my note book.

“I don’t frequent fast food joints but you should drink up. Stale beer is a waste of a valuable commodity.”

I immediately followed my friend’s advice. Waste not want not.

“

Ignorance and Knowledge

Posted on February 9, 2018 by brunhub

We’re into the January blues. The weather, the stock markets and the local economy can only improve. Those who can, flee south towards the sun and those who have to stay behind can only imagine what it would be like. I have a picture in my mind of a sunny beach, toes in the sand and margarita in hand. Such were my musings as I ambled towards our table on the glassed in and heated veranda for our Thirsty Thursday get together over a pint or two. Campbell, or Camp as we all call him, was unusually late and after checking my watch noticed that I was early. The good news is that the days are getting longer and Clare is still working, leading a productive life and bringing in a few shekels. Tax season will soon be upon us and the beer isn’t getting any cheaper.

“You’re early,” Camp said, while taking off his old woollen tweed coat and his fisherman cap, stepping aside to make room for Vicky who already had two foaming mugs at the ready. I guess we’re easy marks, no surprises there.

‘Hard to believe we have a water problem here on the coast,” Camp said, shaking the water off his hat. “It’s a management, infrastructure and political problem, not really a lack of water.”

“I read that the 5 million dollar water meter project will reduce demand by 20%. Which doesn’t really address the supply issue,” I said.

“Yeah, between new reservoirs, rainwater harvesting, some new wells and lowering the water intake at Chapman lake we should be able to support another couple of thousand multi-bathroom houses on the coast.”

“What do you make of all the howling coming from the White House. Not a day goes by without some new and distorted news flash, always coming from the same source. He who shouts the loudest is the most right,” I said.

“He, who every morning tweets from his throne, without knowledge, is king of the ignorant,” Camp said.

“Did you just make that up?” I asked, taking a sip from my beer.

“Well yeah, you can quote me if you like. It is a serious business, this president who wants to take the institutions and instruments of the state like the FBI, the CIA, the Pentagon and Homeland Security and make then all into instruments of the office, his office in particular.”

“Along with better access to the nuke button and a supreme court that will rule from the top of the mountain for the rich and powerful for years to come, forgetting about that we’re all supposed to be equal,” I said.

“Just last Friday Carl Bernstein warned us that these could be the darkest days since Joe McCarthy. He said something like: We have the unprecedented situation of one of the main political parties backing the president in the belief that he is above the law.”

“It’s ignorance,” I said, the fact that millions of people in the US have no clue of world history, other cultures, languages, geography, never mind philosophy or literature. It’s a lack of general education. You cannot fix or build anything without the proper tools,” I said.

“You’re right of course, public schools in the US are over crowded, under funded and are closing at an alarming rate. And then there is Betsy DeVos, who wants all science vetted against scripture and is a big proponent of school vouchers, which gives parents the right to use them for private and religious schools, basically taking the money right out of the public schools. I read somewhere that over half of black young men who attend urban high schools do not earn a diploma. Of these dropouts, nearly 60 percent will go to prison at some point. That’s a pretty bleak and sad statistic.”

“Education is knowledge and knowledge is power, not power to rule and strike fear but power to understand and tolerate,” I said, “and you can quote me on that, Camp. And while growing up they get their news-bites from Facebook and Twitter.

“Not a lot of laughs in this corner today,” Vicky said, who surveyed our empty mugs with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah, we’re talking about the ignorant and under-educated masses who make up the Trump army,” Camp explained.

“Really,” Vicky said, I believe most of those senators and members of congress are lawyers and have university degrees.

“Well, eh, right you are, I guess it’s more a case of the white old men holding on to visions of aristocracy where the working poor are also the ignorant and docile, like sheep or cattle.”

“You boys need to lighten up. It’s not all that bad. More people are working, and have more choices in America then in most other countries, except of course Europe and Canada. And they have the best contemporary music. Ever heard of Khalid? He’s got a song called ‘Young, dumb and broke’ or how about Bruno Mars?”

Both Camp and I were speechless which doesn’t happen often. Camp cleared his throat and pointed to the two empty glasses. “How about a couple refills Vicky?”

“You bettcha,” she said, turned coyly on her heels and sang: “ Young, dumb and broke…”

Age and Wisdom

Posted on February 2, 2018 by brunhub

“Are you a senior?” the young woman at the cash-out counter asked me. I looked around to see if she was talking to someone else.

“Me, oh, yes, senior. Would you like to see ID.”

“That’s not necessary sir, thank you.”

Well thank you too. I thought, kind of miffed, not at all happy about my senior’s discount. Was it that obvious? Did I really look my age? Maybe I should have shaved, plucked my nose hair, groomed myself a bit better. When I got home I asked Clare if I really looked that old.

“How old is that?”

“Well, eh, like a senior.”

“You look distinguished my dear and if you combed your hair you’d look five years younger.”

When I related the episode to Campbell, he just laughed. “Remember when we were in our twenties? Everybody over forty seemed ancient and everybody with grey hair had one foot in the grave. It’s the invincible age, when the future stretches out endless into the distance and old age included everybody over thirty.”

“And then comes the age of platitudes, like ‘you’re only as old as you feel’ or ‘young at heart, old in wisdom’. Well I feel fit and thirsty, curious and engaged. Who cares about a silly number? Some people are old at fifty,” I said, trying to downplay the whole age thing.

“You know when I feel old? When I sit on the ferry reading a book while all the young people stare into their smart phones.”

“That’s got nothing to do with age,” I said. “Everybody stares into their little screens like all the worlds secrets are buried in there. I feel old when a cashier gives me my senior’s discount without asking to see my ID. “

“Just because you’re of a certain, eh, mature age doesn’t mean you’re any wiser for it. In fact the older I get the more I seem to forget,” Camp said, “Or to quote Socrates: I know that I know nothing.”

“Didn’t he also say: ‘Wisdom begins in wonder’?

“While we’re at it, I like Leonard Cohen’s analysis of aging men with regard to the allure of women: You start off irresistible, then resistible until you become invisible and eventually somewhat repulsive but at the end you transform into cute and that’s something to look forward to.” Camp said.

“Yes, and I also like his line: “I hurt in places where I used to play.”

Camp laughed and took a long sip of his beer. He set it down and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I think it was one of Stephen King’s characters who outlined the three ages of man, wich are youth, middle age, ad how the fuck did I get old so soon.”

We both laughed and nodded. Only a guy who’s there would wholeheartedly agree.

“My dad used to say: getting old is easy, being old is hard.,” I said. “He didn’t like being old but never complained unlike my mom. Both made it into their nineties. He lost his mind and she lost her body. Not sure which is worse.”

“Probably losing your mind is easier on yourself but hard on everybody else while losing your physical abilities is hardest on the person,” Camp said. “Anyway we’re nowhere near the sunset years, we’re still in the fun part of life where we need to enjoy every beer like it’s the last one.”

“Wise counsel my friend. Let’s ask Vicky what she thinks. She is a straight shooter.”

“I dare you,” said Camp.

I waved Vicky over and asked her straight out: “Vicky, do you think I’m old?”

Vicky took a step back and tilted her head and put one hand under her chin, looking at me like I was a curious painting or a strange kind of plant.

“When I look at you I don’t see age, I see someone I like and know. As far as I’m concerned the two of you are ageless.”

“Vicky, you should be in politics,” Camp laughed, “we need somebody like you at the town hall. “

“Can I talk you two into another beer?” she said coyly. How could we refuse?

Rich and Poor

Posted on January 26, 2018 by brunhub

“Gibsons is the most beautiful place on the planet when the grey clouds tear open to reveal the blue sky and the snow capped mountains across Howe Sound and the air is fresh, the grass is green and the roads are clear,” Camp enthused as I sat down at our usual table at ‘Gramma’s Pub’ in our quaint Gibsons village.

“What have you been smoking? It’s been raining for the past month.”

“Well no, we had a beautiful day on Monday. I can still see it.”

“Hey Camp, did you read the latest Oxfam report? It states that the richest 8 men own as much wealth as the 3.8 billion people that make up the poorest half of humanity? In the USA alone the income growth of the bottom 50% has been zero over the past 30 years while the incomes of the top 1% have grown by 300%.”

“You mean the one about the 99 percent economy? Yeah, I read it. No real surprises there.”

“It’s obscene for so much wealth to be in the hands of so few. Inequality is trapping hundreds of millions of people into poverty and is fracturing our societies and undermining democracy,” I said, more or less quoting Winnie Byanyiama, director of Oxfam International.

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Campbell or Camp, to all of us who know him, said, shaking his head. “And the rich get richer and the poor are left behind. Income and wealth are not trickling down, instead they are being sucked upwards.”

“You can only reduce poverty by sharing prosperity,” I said, lifting another quote from the sobering report.

Without ordering, Vicky brought us two foaming mugs of the amber liquid. “To the 99 percent,” Camp toasted. “We could soon see the world’s first trillionaire.” Camp held up his phone, breaking one of our sacred rules once again. It’s becoming a habit. “It says here: “You would have to spend one million every day for 2738 years to spend one trillion. Talk about pressure to spend. And here is another stat,” he said pointing at his smarter-than-I phone. “In the 80ies coca farmers got 18% of the value of a chocolate bar, today it’s a mere 6%.”

We both shook our heads and took a soothing swig of our drink.

“Just last week there was a front page story in the Vancouver Sun with a homeless former electrician on the front page, now living in a makeshift shelter next to Oppenheimer Park,” I said. “People cannot afford to live in this city anymore. Real estate and rents are out of control, thanks to offshore money laundering and lax rent controls. That doesn’t just go for the homeless and the poor. Even university professors and businessmen turn down lucrative positions because they cannot afford to move here from Halifax or Winnipeg. Lotus Land is increasingly unaffordable for the middle class. “

“You can’t blame the rich for taking advantage of poor oversight and a greedy housing market and you can’t blame the poor for their own misery. That’s why we have governments and laws, rules and social safety nets,” Camp said.

“Or not,” I countered. “But that doesn’t help the working poor. The hospitals cannot find menial workers and care-aids because they cannot afford to live in Vancouver and driving every day from up the valley is a weak second option. All the income you save on rent goes for gas and all your spare time on commuting,” I said.

“And then there are us small business men who work for less then minimum wage because we cannot afford to pay ourselves. I can’t remember when I last took a pay check out of the bookstore.”

“At least you get free books.”

“Well, not really but I do take some expenses like ferry tickets, utility bills and even some meals out of the till, sometimes I take emergency cash advances, and like everybody else I juggle a portfolio of several credit cards.”

“How much does a town councillor make?”

“Not nearly enough and no way to get rich in local politics.. Just under fifteen grand, half of what the mayor makes. I’m just happy and lucky that I own my home which I built myself 30 years ago.”

“You couldn’t do that anymore today,” I said. “They would kill you with permits and licenses, paper and inspections. Death by burocracy. But don’t you worry Camp. I’ll buy the next round. It’s the least I can do for a poor, working businessman and politician.”

“By the way did you read Sean Penn’s letter in Time in response to Trump’s shithole comment? He called him an enemy of compassion and the state?”

“Can’t say I have.”

“Check it out.”

“Did you boys see the latest ‘Star Wars’ movie yet?” Vicky asked, taking both of us back to reality.

We both shook our heads in unison.

“May the force be with you,” she said with a wink while setting down two fresh pints.

https://www.oxfam.org/en/pressroom/pressreleases/2017-01-16/just-8-men-own-same-wealth-half-world

http://time.com/5101806/sean-penn-donald-trump-haiti/

Doctors and Drugs

Posted on January 19, 2018 by brunhub

Campbell or Camp, my sparring partner in all things, controversial, intellectual or trivial, didn’t look so good this Thursday evening. Maybe it was the lighting or the fact that we haven’t seen much of the sun lately; just monsoon like rain, fog and more rain. He looked kind of pale and even his posture was not the usual straight back, upright with chin thrust forward attitude, but instead he looked somewhat compressed, sunken in with his chin on his chest.

“What’s up Camp, you look like shit,” I said, trying to be casual.

“Thanks for your concern,” he said giving me the evil eye. “I’m feeling a bit under the weather, stuffed nose, clogged head, sore throat.”

“I think a hot rum toddy is in order,” I suggested and waved Vicky over for a consultation. “Yes, we can arrange that,” she said, “rum, lemon juice, honey, hot water and a cinnamon stir stick.”

“Sounds like medicine,” Camp grumbled

“Let’s call it Deep Throat,” Vicky suggested with a wink, which got at least a chuckle out of my friend.

“You gonna see a doctor?” I asked which snapped Camp straight back up with his chin aggressively thrust forward and his eyes big and on fire, with fever or fervour was hard to tell.

“It will be a cold day in hell before I go and see a doctor for a common cold. They’re no better than car mechanics and if you find one you can trust you’re a lucky man. I have yet to meet one. They’re bone fixers and pill dispensers. Do I need to repeat how in the US alone the doctors turned millions of patients into drug addicts and how the health care business is the biggest growth industry in history? Don’t even get me started.”

“I tend to agree with you there Camp, I don’t have much good to say about doctors either. I just read an article in my Swiss paper about how unreliable and arbitrary doctors’ consultations are. How they cannot determine anything conclusive with a stethoscope because it has a shallow penetration threshold, maybe a couple of centimeters, nowhere deep enough to diagnose lung or intestinal problems. Most of those surface examinations have at best a placebo effect this study concluded.”

“Muriel’s friend took herself to the hospital because she feared an imminent heart attack. This woman is a nurse and not prone to hysteria. They gave her some aspirin and sent her home, claiming there is nothing wrong with her. That night she couldn’t sleep and the next morning she took the first ferry into town to St.Pauls Hospital where she was immediately hospitalized but still suffered a debilitating stroke that put her into a wheel chair and months of physiotherapy.”

“There are exceptions Camp,” I said, “like ‘doctors without borders’ doing incredible work in desperate situations. Also, remember when I had my busted knee fixed? Tore my ACL, MCL and meniscus, as well as dislodged a piece of bone under my kneecap. I stepped into a divot, twisted and kicked, missing the ball completely but instead collapsed like a felled tree. The doc had a plastic model of a knee on his desk and showed me exactly what he was going to do. ‘Pull this ligament, attach it over here, then pull it to the other side and staple it there, cut off a piece of the cartilage and take out the bone fragment. Takes me about 45 minutes, takes you about six to nine months.’ When I went to the hospital for a check-up after the operation he recognized my knee but had no idea who I was.”

Camp laughed, “That’s what I call a good doc.”

“What about drugs, you must take the odd Tylenol or Advil, maybe even vitamin C or D which is apparently good for lack of sunshine? It’s supposed to help people like me with SAD, Seasonal Affected Disorder. Although no amount of pills or artificial lamps can replace real sunshine.”

Camp just scoffed. It’s all snake oil and witches brew, give me a shot of brandy or Noni juice for more serious ailments.”

“Noni juice?”

“According to Pa, a self proclaimed guru I met in Raratonga, in the Cook Islands, many years ago Noni juice prevents cancer, promotes a healthy liver and even improves memory capacity. That sounds as good to me as any other medicine.”

“So you trust a self-proclaimed shaman more than your doctor who went through ten years of medical school. Doesn’t sound right to me.”

“Why are we supposed to have faith in the medical system, like it’s some sort of religion? Faith does not replace trust and I want to trust my mechanic and doctor, not believe in them,” Camp grumbled.

“I trust the nurses more than the doctors. At least they actually talk to you like a human being and answer questions. I’m just grateful that we have a universal system here and don’t have to bring a credit card and a financial adviser to a medical consultation.”

“Now that I can agree with.”

“How is that toddyl?”

“Probably better than anything the doctor prescribes.”

“That calls for another one.” I held up one finger for my beer and mimicked one finger pointing down my throat for Vicky.

Women and Men

Posted on January 13, 2018 by brunhub

Campbell noticed right away that something was bugging me. I guess I wear my emotions like a flashy T-shirt, for everyone to see or maybe it was just my hair that I forgot to brush. “What’s eating you my friend, you look like shit, if you pardon my French,” he said.

“Clare and I had an argument and we never argue. I can’t believe this #metoo campaign has wedged itself into our marital bliss.”

“Oh,” Camp as we all call him, said with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a touchy subject, if you pardon my pun, with clear sides but no clear winners.”

“Well exactly. I just read that letter from ‘Le Monde’ to her this morning, which was signed by over 100 female French writers, academics and artist, Catherine Deneuve among them. They denounce the #metoo campaign as a witch hunt against men. They also say it puts inappropriate and clumsy sexual advances on equal footing with violent aggression and rape, which diminishes the later which are real punishable crimes.”

“It’s mostly about control, not sex,” Camp said, “and men in positions of power, as we know, can be corrupted. Women on the other hand do have the power to say no or when there are real transgressors, like that sleazy Moore, there is the law. But the public forum leaves no chance for the accused to defend himself.”

“That’s what I said but Clare claims that it is about time women stood up and not tolerate this endemic, inappropriate behaviour by these men any more.”

“And do what?” I argued. “Legislate moral behaviour? The state has no place in the relationships between men and women. Their mandate is to educate the citizenry so they can make proper choices and behave in a civilized manner.”

“From the military to the entertainment industry men have harassed women without consequences for far too long,” Clare said, standing her ground. It is at this point I left to come here.

“She is right you know, and it’s true, these transgressions are intolerable,” Camp said, making me feel even worse.

“But to legislate morality will cast us back to a puritan age, which was the opposite of feminism and freedom of expression. Also this #metoo movement portrays women as victims which is anything but equal and only plays into the hands of the religious zealots who do not even want to talk or educate about sexual behaviour.”

“I agree with you and believe this campaign has overshot the mark,” Camp said in an attempt to pacify me.

“Just look at all the magazine covers at the checkout in the grocery store. It’s all about sexual allure, body hype and who sleeps with whom. Is that helpful?”

“I guess, Clare watched Oprah’s speech at the Golden Globe awards. Very powerful and some even say presidential,” Camp said, trying to focus the conversation.

“Yeah, I watched it as well. She is a very accomplished woman who has come from humble beginnings to become one of the biggest entertainment moguls. On the other hand she did not accuse anybody by name nor did she condone trial by the internet. “

“We should ask Vicky, what she thinks of it all,” Camp said.

I waved Vicky over and asked her straight out what she thought about this #metoo campaign.

“Well fellows, having worked as a server in bars for a few years I’ve had every form of interaction with my customers, from simple flirting to ass pinching to sexual proposals to outright lecherous harassment and even a couple of marriage proposals.”

“Oh, and how do you deal with these, eh, advances?” I asked

“I ask them to stop or swat their hands away or threaten them with emasculation or a phone call to their wives. That usually does the trick.”

“In other words you deal with them yourself. Did you ever complain to your boss?”

“What’s the point, it’s the nature of the beast. Believe me, all those actresses knew that Harvey was a pig but they still met him in his den, wanting that gig. He produced some great movies though.”

“As did Polanski. I’m with you. You have to separate the work from the man. Do you think Picasso or Marlon Brando were choir boys?”

“I do not condone accusing anybody in public,” Vicky said. “If I have an issue with somebody I’ll deal with them directly or there is always the police and the law for real assholes. You two need another drink?”

“Do we ever! Thanks Vicky.”

“There is a woman in Britain who want’s ‘Sleeping Beauty’ pulled from the shelves, claiming the prince had no right to kiss a sleeping girl without her consent.”

“Have we all gone nuts or what?” Camp said.

“I’ll better go home and make up with Clare. I hate it when we’re not agreeing and she is usually right in these matters.”

“She’ll forgive you,” Vicky said, “ask her out for dinner.”

“Like a date?” I said, kind of liking the idea.

“Yes, girls like to have fun. Tell you what fellows, maybe I‘ll start a new hash-tag and become famous. How about #notme,” she said, followed by a throaty laugh.

Frequent Flyer Woes

Posted on January 5, 2018 by brunhub

It’s a brand New Year and we’re all settling back into the doldrums of January: Paying off credit cards, considering diet and exercise plans, putting away Christmas lights and decorations, sorting through tax receipts, returning unwanted presents or just plain sobering up. I for one am glad the jolly season is over and we can get on with whatever each of us deems the ‘normal state of affairs.’ For Camp and myself that means we’re back to our weekly Thursday meeting over a couple of pints at our same old table on the closed-in terrace at ‘Gramma’s Pub’ in Gibsons, overlooking the harbour and the grey, wintry waters of Howe Sound with Keats Island in the near distance. Not such a bad spot to air your latest observations or complaints from the fools pulpit or just plain gripe about the latest ferry schedule or in my case the many wasted hours spent at airports trying to get somewhere.

Campbell or Camp as we Gibsonites know him as, was already comfortably seated in his usual chair. After exchanging happy New Year wishes Camp was grumbling about all the Christmas returns and exchanges at the bookstore. I listened patiently, nodding and commiserating and finally was able to vent my latest peeve: Flight cancellations and/or delays.

“Have you ever flown anywhere lately Camp?” Since this was a rhetorical question I didn’t expect a reply from my friend who just shook his head and looked at me with a raised eyebrow and the demeanor of someone who is being served up a stale, warm pint on a thirsty summer’s day.

“Can you make this quick, like in ten words or less?” he asked.

“Ok, I get it. How about ten sentences?”

“If you have to.”

“Alright here it comes: Our flight was delayed due to a flat tire. After an hour long wait we were informed that the tire was en route from Montreal. The flight was delayed for 24 hours, not cancelled, just delayed. Get it? That was last year.”

“That’s five sentences,” Camp quipped, taking a sip from his pint.

“On our next flight we couldn’t land because of smog and fog and were detoured to another city, parked on the tarmac for two hours then finally cleared for our destination where we missed our connection. Fourteen hours later, around midnight, we are re-booked, and arrive at our final destination at 3AM instead of at noon. Or how about after boarding we are informed that there was a scheduling issue with the pilots and the two guys in the cockpit will have to be replaced with two new guys who were en route on another delayed flight. We had to deplane with all our luggage, were handed a ten dollar voucher and had to wait for three hours for new pilots. Travelling can be hell Camp, not all fun and games. Herded like cattle, treated like inmates and then finally released into our vacations exhausted, unnerved and definitely late and yes, also relieved. That’s it in ten sentences.”

“You can’t possibly ask for my sympathy?” Camp said. “You jet around the planet, leaving a carbon footprint the size of a small island nation and then complain about the ordeals of airports and airlines. Meanwhile us landlubbers and stay-at-home-guys try to save the planet by walking and biking, recycling and promoting a green economy.”

“Ok, you got me but am I supposed to feel guilty, stay at home and bemoan the state of the world? From what I could find out air travel accounts for about 5% of total emissions and us staying at home is not going to improve that. I’m hoping that more climate friendly fuels like hydrogen will eventually be used as jet fuel. I’m sure the Germans and maybe even NASA is working on it.”

I was on the defensive end of a loosing argument and quenched my frustration with a healthy swallow of soothing beer while Camp, against our rules, was thumbing through his smart phone.

“One round-trip flight from New York to Europe or to San Francisco creates the equivalent to 2.5 tons of carbon dioxide per person. The average American generates about 19 tons a year; the average European, 10. So you fit right in there my friend, but between the two of us we’re below average if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not really, but I cannot row across oceans, nor walk across continents. And neither do Al Gore, Naomi Klein, David Suzuki or Richard Branson to name a few, all jetsetters and vigorous proponents of a greener world. I guess I’ll have to buy the next round and convince Clare to turn the heat down and wear a sweater instead, to offset some of our jetsetting.”

Camp laughed. “That’s called offsetting.”

Vicky arrived with two foaming mugs before I could even give her the usual victory sign. “You fellows had a nice holiday season?”

“Yes we did,” we both answered in stereo.

Missing the Boat

Posted on December 29, 2017 by brunhub

Another couple of days and this year is over. I can think of a few things from 2017 we could all live without: Trump, Hurricanes Irma, Maria and Nate, Kim Jon-Un, the Rohingya genocide, the senseless war in Yemen and the BC and California forest fires. A stiff wind blows cold across Georgia Straight, rippling the chilli waters of Howe Sound. Not too much activity in the harbour and nary a boat coming or going. Which brings me around to a nagging concern ghosting through my mind as the year draws to a close.

As I entered the pub I passed Vicky who gave me a thumbs up and then pointed a pistol finger towards our table and my friend Campbell, or Camp for short, already seated in front of two blond mugs of the frosty brew, which sometimes seems like the only constant in my life. How did she know that I was about to walk in?

I sat down, rubbing my icy hands together. “What’s on your mind this week, you look a bit peeved.” Camp said. Am I really that transparent?

“Camp, do you ever get the feeling that you missed the boat or to use another metaphor, that your train has already left the station and you’re not on it?”

“Wow, what brings on this fatalistic mood of yours? Is it the weather?”

I ignored the dig and ploughed right ahead. “Well for one, remember when I touted the Bitcoin craze a couple of months ago, shaking my head at the stratospheric price of the block-chain currency. At that time one Bitcoin was nine grand, now it’s over twenty. I should have, could have and did not buy into the bonanza.”

“Hold your horses there my friend,” Camp said, using another popular turn of phrase. “You sound like you want to get money for nothing, get rich quick for no value added to society? Looking for that free lunch?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind making some easy money once in a while. It seems that all the money we have, Clare and I, didn’t come easy, only by way of work rendered for pay. I’m not a gambler but surely, reasonably smart guys like us should be able to cash in once in a while.”

“My, oh my. Stop chasing that elusive grail, money isn’t everything and free money always has a price as well. Imagine if you would suddenly come into a few million bucks by sheer luck, like a lottery or some pyramid scheme or if you found a hand full of long forgotten Bitcoins in your underwear drawer? Then what? It would change your life. Suddenly your comfy house wouldn’t be big enough, and how would you deal with all those new friends you would instantly acquire. Next, the taxman knocks on your door and every charity in the world miraculously has your number and what about all those long forgotten relatives crawling out of the woodwork, or those needy friends, like me for instance. I would love to borrow a bucket of money so I could renovate the store, add better lighting, buy a new computer, increase the stock and hire some help. Could you handle the added pressure of being rich?”

I had to admit that Camp had a point. Sudden riches would probably change my life, it might even wreck it but I sure as hell would like to give it a try. I know money doesn’t buy happiness but it facilitates contentment and opens doors and offers opportunities.

“I think I could handle being rich but then again I already have everything: Good health, a loving partner, a decent roof over my head, a mitt full of true friends, time on my hands, a trove full of unread books, and money in my pocket.”

“As Anheuser Busch, the famous brewer, once famously said: No matter how rich you are, you can only drink between ten and twenty beers a day.”

“Words of true wisdom, those,” I said “but I still feel like I’m missing the gravy train somehow. What do you think will be the next bubble, Camp? You always have your fingers on the pulse.”

“Water. It’s going to be water, specifically the latest desalination process, reverse osmosis powered by solar. Or it could be seaweed, farmed for fertilizer, finger food and a carbon trap. Maybe oil pebbles, as in turning crude oil into floating pebbles to be shipped risk-free by rail or boat. No more pipelines. Watch out for all those trains and boats still in the station or the harbour.”

I couldn’t be sure if Camp was pulling my leg or if he was serious. Then again if he would be that clever why wasn’t he filthy rich already, instead of running a ‘non-profit bookstore’ as he calls it. When I put that to him he just laughed. “Exactly my friend, so obviously it’s not a lack of knowledge that prevents us from getting filthy rich, it’s a lack of desire, a lack of naked ambition and an adversity to risk and gambling. Let’s face it, we’re never going to get rich sitting here chewing our cud and drinking our beer.”

“Maybe we’re already rich,” I mused “compared to the rest of the world, and all that angst about missing the boat is just about the passage of time. I feel I have just a limited amount of time left to do all the things I should have done. The Germans call it ‘Torschlusspanik’, literally ‘closing-of-the-door-panic’. Clare thinks I should just relax and smell the flowers and watch the birds instead of the stock and real estate markets.”

“You’ll never be wrong listening to Clare who is surely amongst those exalted few who can tell reality from fantasy.”

“How many beer did Anheuser Busch mention? I think we’ll manage another one. By the way, Happy New Year to you, wishing you good health, prosperity and a few good laughs along the way.”

Charity

Posted on December 15, 2017 by brunhub

“At this time of year we always get inundated with donation requests; the mailbox is flooded with generic envelopes full of address stickers, key-chains, Christmas cards, all with appeals from charitable organisations, fishing for a buck,” I complained to Campbell, at our usual Thursday get together at ‘Gramma’s Pub’ on the Gibsons Harbour. Camp, as we all call him, was already seated at our corner table on the glassed in veranda, ignored my tirade and said: “Did you see the festive lighting display in our lovely village this year, thanks to some very committed merchants?”

“Yes, I have and I hear they’ll leave it up all year round.”

“Why not, I think it’s a good idea, also saves on labour,” Camp pointed out.

Vicky, wearing a blue and white Santa hat today, dropped off a couple of frosty pints and I tried to get back on track to my peeve of the week. “You must get dozens of unsolicited begging letters around Christmas.”

“I do and for the most part I recycle them. They all try to guilt us into sending money because at this time of year we are supposed to help out our less fortunate fellow men and show compassion and charity,” Camp said.

“Except it seems to me that the rich seem even richer while the poor are even more marginalized at this time of year,” I said. “We hear about the soup kitchens, open houses and turkey dinners for the poor and homeless while on the next block the glitter and sparkle of the Christmas window displays lure the credit card holders with gifts and consumer goods nobody really needs.”

“You’re in a cheerful mood,” Camp said, where is all the jolly good humour this festive season is supposed to elicit?”

“I guess it’s just that I feel a kind of common guilt and helplessness towards the less fortunate and those who have no family or loved ones. It’s a miserable time of year for the lonely and sick.”

“As you know, Christmas is the one bonanza the book store cannot live without. People give gifts, even if they swear they will not succumb to the pressure but at the last minute they need a present for somebody that sent them a present even if they all agreed to abstain from gift giving. The 23rd and 24th of December are by far the best days at ‘Coast Books’. Books that haven’t sold all year fly off the shelves. Fact is nobody begrudges a book. In other words, I need giving time of year and am happy to participate.”

“It’s the family dynamics that always go sideways,” I said. “First nobody wants to do the Turkey dinner, then somebody volunteers but doesn’t want to invite the sister or brother in-laws parents, then the kids want to go to their partner’s family for the dinner and then accusations fly, promises are broken, feelings hurt. Gifts ? We abolished gift giving in our family decades ago, but still every year somebody breakes the agreement and gifts appear. ‘Just something small Dad’, ‘mom always wanted one of those’, or ‘I couldn’t resist it seemed so perfect’. Clare believes that Christmas it’s all about family and if you feel the need to give, donate to a charity.”

“I tend to agree with Clare in principle,” Camp said.. Although I don’t have a family and have spent many Christmas eve’s alone reading a book or wandering the empty streets, this year Muriel and Sophie invited me to dinner. I’m looking forward to it. As far as donating to a charity, ‘Chimp’ is the way to go. ‘Chimp’, which was founded by a friend of mine, is short for ‘charitable impulse’ meaning that if you feel in a charitable mood but don’t know who to give too, Chimp will hold your money for you, issue a tax receipt, and pass your donation on when you make up your mind who the beneficiary should be. It’s a great way to alleviate your guilt: park it for a while and make up your mind later. Check it out”

“I usually buy a couple of those pre-packaged bags at the grocery store and give some money to the local food bank. Drops of mercy into a sea of misery. I’m always glad when the holidays are over and the humdrum, mundane everyday takes over again,” I said.

“For millions this is the time of year for celebration. For rich or poor it’s about getting together and cherishing each other. You need to cheer up my friend.”

I had to admit Camp was right. I need to snap out of my humbug mood. There is lots to celebrate: Our exclusive way of live, our unprecedented comforts and technology, our advances in health and wealth, our children’s successes and last but not least: our loved ones and partners, our friends and neighbours and our communities. “You’re right of course Camp and I feel a charitable impulse right now and will buy the next round. Just because I can.”

“ho, ho, ho,” Camp cheered.

Santa Hunters

Posted on December 8, 2017 by brunhub

I liked walking to the pub, along the beach into the village, which was festooned with ornate seasonal lighting and quirky front yard scenes of cardboard reindeer and chubby Santas. I needed to tell Camp about my dramatic childhood Santa experience.

“I do like the colourful lights and whimsical fairy tale displays,” Campbell said as I sat down at our usual table. “It brightens up the dark dreary days.”

“Do you know what day it was yesterday?” I asked Camp, after ordering two frosty mugs from Vicky, who wore a cute Santa hat with a white tassel.

“The 6th of December,” he answered with a curious look.

“Exactly, it was Saint Nicholas Day, commonly known around here as Santa Claus or simply Santa. Where I grew up Santa was a vastly different version then the one Coca Cola and Disney invented.”

“Oh yeah, how so?” Camp asked.

“Santa was a personage that struck fear and terror into the hearts of kids. I used to hide in the farthest corner under the bed in complete dread of the loathsome Santa. He would come into the homes of people where the parents had arranged the visit, dressed in red or blue with a kind of tiara like the pope on his bearded head and usually accompanied by two black robed and hooded servants or helpers. Nasty characters. Santa carried the dreaded black book with all your sins noted in there; how you didn’t listen to your parents, how many time you beat up your sister and how you didn’t do your homework. He would know details of your misdeeds and then meted out appropriate punishments with a whip made out of twigs, according to the wishes of the parents who pre-arranged all that, but we frightened kids didn’t know that. I tell you Camp, Saint Nick’s day was the most dreaded day in all the year. I would get whipped and only then, after the punishment, would Santa’s sinister helpers dispense some goodies like nuts and chocolates.”

“Sounds medieval,” Camp said, shaking his head.

“In Germany and Austria the evil Santa is called Krampus, a cloven hooved demon-like creature who snatches up the worst behaved children, stuffs them into a bag and then carries them off to his mountain lair. Our Santas in Switzerland would occasionally stuff kids into their bag with the threat to take them back to the North Pole . Every year, kids would die of heart attacks.”

“You’re kidding?” Camp said, almost spilling his beer.

“Remember, this was the fifties and sixties and before anybody heard of the Coca Cola or Hollywood version of Santa. But here comes the good part: We took our revenge to the Santas when we were teenagers. Armed with slingshots and hiding behind snow banks or trees we would wait for the Santas to emerge from their cars. Ducking and dodging our onslaught they would run towards their appointments through a rain of pellets and horseshoe nails. Then we would again wait for their return and attack them again, cat calling and throwing rocks and pepper them with projectiles from our boyish weapons. Most of these Santas were guys who would make a bit of extra cash, some of them drifters and most likely not your best upstanding citizens, if you get my drift. As you can see my Santa experience is somewhat different from here. Every time I see a little boy or girl being forced screaming and crying onto some fat Santa’s lap at the mall I recall those days when we hunted them down.”

“Maybe you should go see somebody about this my friend,” Camp said, “this sounds like some nasty childhood trauma you’re dealing with. Santa psychosis. I can’t imagine. I’ll buy you a beer for that story. I’ll never look at Santa the same way. You managed to completely destroy a picture of perfect bliss and benign good will and replace it with what you call that guy? Krampus?”

We both solemnly looked at the jolly red Santa pulled by a slew of cartoon reindeer across the pub’s front window. I do prefer the local version of the tubby gift bearing Santa sliding down a chimney for a welcome of warm milk or a beer to the one I grew up with. Vicky brought us two foaming mugs and said: “These are on the house boys, compliments from Santa to our regular guests.”

Wellness or Selfness ?

Posted on December 1, 2017 by brunhub

I practically sprinted towards the pub hoping to dodge between the raindrops but it was like running through an intense shower, water pouring relentlessly from the pewter coloured sky. After I had struggled out of my soaking wet jacket I finally sat down across from Camp who was eying me with a puzzled look on his craggy face. “Ever heard of umbrellas? It’s the only way to go and they serve as a convenient walking stick and can also come in handy as a weapon against unwelcome wild life.”

I grumbled something about having five of those at home. It’s not what I think about when I leave home when it’s not raining.

“I feel like I’ve got a cold coming on, “ I complained,“ so I better opt for a Guinness since it’s the healthy choice.”

“Yes, there are studies that show that Guinness reduces the risks of heart attacks and it also contains immune boosting antioxidants, which might help fend off a cold,” Campbell or Camp, as he is known in this part of the universe, said with some authority as if he was a professor of beer.

“Just like red wine and dark chocolate, as Clare pointed out to me,” I said.

“Make that two Guinness,” Camp told Vicky who is a clairvoyant, I swear, since she didn’t bring us our usual brews but waited for the special request.

“Wellness is all the rage these days, I guess it represents the absence of illness or maybe it’s more than that. Some of these wellness providers claim to add a spiritual component as in: feeling good in mind and body. All I know is that there is money in the Wellness Industry, sort of a new age health fad,” I said.

“I have a whole section in the book store dedicated to wellness, well being and well, just about anything to do with health improvement, physical and may I dare say it: spiritual well being,” Camp said “and it’s a popular section. The health of the bookstore depends on it.”

“Most of these wellness practitioners pander to the self-indulgent and have more to do with pampering than health, I think.”

“You’re treading on dangerous waters there my friend. Many women, including your lovely wife, and some men no doubt, would disagree.” Before I could stop him, Camp palmed his smart gadget from his pocket and was reciting from Dr. Google. “Ok, here we go: According to my little screen here the global wellness economy turns over a whopping 4 trillion dollars. That’s a 4 with a dozen zeros or 1000 billions, according to a research study done by the Global Wellness Institute. To put it in perspective, that is 8 times the yearly global arms industry trade. Think about that for a moment.”

“I’m not good with abstract numbers like the size of the universe or the world’s consumption of beers or the methane output of Kiwi sheep and cows,” I said, bracing for more of Camp’s words of wisdom.

“Beauty and anti-aging’ come in at a cool trillion, then there is ‘Mind and Body Fitness’, ‘Nutrition and weight loss’, each worth over half a trillion and let’s not forget preventive, personalized and alternative medicine. That probably does not include the thousands of books on all these subjects.”

“I suppose it’s all driven by us boomers,” I said. “We can’t stand the thought that we’re perishable goods and that we’re all eventually consigned to the spiritual and physical compost heaps.”

“It has to do with the fear of death or aging. In the middle-ages they looked for the fountain of youth and today, the modern alchemists, charlatans, snake oil salesmen, gurus, saddhus, doctors and scientists, all claim to have discovered a part of it. Selling hope in the form of meds and concoctions, from Noni juice to chemo drugs, all promise a better, longer, newer slice of life. From wrinkle cream to Botox injections, organ transplants and cosmetic surgery it’s all about preserving that youthful body or at least the skin-deep look of youth. ‘New teeth, new hair, tucked skin and implants does not make a new me but it sure helps if others see me that way. Not everybody can be like Jane Fonda at 82, besides I’m more in the Keith Richards corner as far as health and looks go,” Camp said, taking a healthy quaff from his Guinness.

“Now there is a real enigma,” I laughed,” puts all those wellness gurus to the test. If Keith can do it, so can we. I heard that he once made the cover of a British Health Magazine. Sold a million copies I bet.”

Wellness is all about self-ness. Nobody else is interested. And who can afford all those spas and treatments? The boomers of course.”

“Aren’t we boomers Camp,” don’t you feel the need for a back rub or a facial?

“No, but I should pay a bit more attention to Muriel and a hot rum toddy would help to keep that cold at bay.”

“To your health,” I toasted my old friend.

“Santé”

Legalize It

Posted on November 24, 2017 by brunhub

I stopped by ‘Coast Books’, Camp’s non-profit-bookstore because this was the busy time of year for him and that would likely make him late for our usual Thursday beer conference. On my way I passed the local pot dispensary, quaintly called ‘The Healing Shanty’. It loomed empty. I thought those purple Sativa buds would make great stocking stuffers.

Campbell, Camp to all us locals, was just about to close up. “This was one of the better days. If all days would be like today I could actually make a living selling books,” he said.

A minute later we were comfortable seated in our usual corner, even though this time of year there was nothing much to see apart from a few twinkling lights across the dark expanse of water. While Vicky set two foamy mugs in front of us I had to ask what Camp thought about the legalization of pot.

“It’s a weed,” Camp said, “that is why it’s called weed or grass. Should we regulate Dandelion tea? I hear it has a calming effect.”

“Yeah, I get it but the topic is all over the news. Quebec just announced their policy, 15 government outlets, no home growing, zero driving tolerance.“

“Therein lies the problem,” Camp pointed out, “legislations and restrictions do not make for a good business model. Zero tolerance means that if you smoked on the weekend and you get stopped on Wednesday, the THC is still in your blood. Does that mean you can never drive again if you indulge once in a while? Also, the choices, quality and price need to be equal or better then the street merchandise. In other words, the Quebec model is rather flawed.”

“Alberta announced that all their outlets will be private and you can grow up to four plants at home. Saskatchewan and Manitoba are looking at similar models. Not sure what the Minister of pot in B.C. has in mind. All we know is that the feds really want to push this legalization as of July next year.”

“That’s all fine and well but where is the standardization, especially for medical marijuana, who or where is the quality control and who are the distributers? Is it the provincial liquor boards or Big Pharma; maybe Reynolds or Philipp Morris, the cigarette companies?”

“Lets hope not,” I said, “but there will be huge business opportunities and hundreds of jobs from cultivation to distribution. I believe BC will allow ‘craft growers’, sort of like ‘craft beer’ and bigger companies like Aurora Cannabis and Canopy Growth Corp. who by the way have taken over the old Hershey Chocolate factory, are cultivating over a million square feet of pot already. I read that this could be 25 billion dollar bonanza with world wide business opportunities.”

“And all the millions in taxes will go to the government, hopefully to support health care and social services,” Camp said with a hint of sarcasm.

“It will go the same route as gambling and Tabaco profits. First they were designated for sports and culture, now they just go into the big pot. No pun intended,” I said.

“I also read that high profile pot advocates like the prince of pot, Marc Emry and his wife Jodie, will not be eligible to get into the business because of their criminal records – for pot offences. Kind of upside-down-backwards,” I pointed out.

“Yes, and there should be an amnesty for all those kids who were busted for pot and now have a criminal record,” Camp said. “I personally like the Portuguese model. They legalized all drugs 14 years ago and decided to treat drugs as a public health issue and not a criminal one and now hardly anybody dies from an overdose.”

“Here in B.C. we have over 1,400 overdose deaths this year, but the legalisation law will only be about marijuana, nothing else.”

“It’s a bit like legalizing beer but not Rum or Vodka,” Camp said, taking a long swallow from his beer.

“What about the kids or juveniles?” I said. “I believe it’s not a good thing to be a pot consumer when you’re in your puberty. There is research that claims it stunts your motivation and ambition. I know from my own experience in my twenties, when I couldn’t even get up to change the record.”
Camp gave me a raised eyebrow look. “I never really indulged,” he said. “I tried but it gave me a headache. My mind is too overloaded as it is. Tell me, how did an old hippie like you meet a princess like Clare. You must have really pitched a flawless game to win her heart.”
I was a bit taken aback by Camp’s rush to judgement but then I have asked myself the same question. Clare once told me that she instantly liked me because: “You were an open book and spoke your mind,” and then added with a twinkle in her eye, “Now, I wish you would keep some of your opinions to yourself .”

“That’s perfect,” Camp laughed.

“You know there are so many ways to consume pot these day,” I said, trying to get us back on track. “From joints to chilums, hukas and vaporizers, candies and cakes to oil and inhalers.”

“Yes, pretty soon we’ll be able to order marijuana infused beers,” Camp said, “like a Sativa lager or and Indica pale ale.”

“Hey, there will be a niche market for the local breweries.”

“You two seem to have a good time,” Vicky said, standing beside us with her tray smartly on her hip. “Ready for another one?”

“Twist my rubber arm,” Camp grinned.

Salmon Talk

Posted on November 17, 2017 by brunhub

I took off my rain jacket and sat down across from Campbell, or Camp as I call my friend. He was once again staring into his smart phone, violating Rule # 1, which states: ‘Don’t mix leisure time with screen time’ or simpler put: don’t websurf while sharing a pint with your buddy.

“There is nothing to see outside,” Camp grumbled. “It’s dark at 5PM so I check the news on my phone. Listen to this: According to the ‘Paradise Papers’, the rich are parking their money in offshore tax havens, avoiding taxes, once again,” he mockingly elaborated.

“We always knew that the rich have ways to hide their money from the taxman while the working class pays taxes until they bleed,” I said, while at the same time signalling Vicky who was already on her way with two pints. I swear she is telepathic.

“Two pints on the tab boys. Enjoy.”

“On another money issue, do you know what Bitcoins are?” Camp asked, pocketing his phone.

“Not really, it’s some kind of virtual money I think.”

“Bitcoin is a digital currency.” Camp explained. “It cuts out the middle man in payments like banks or credit card companies, which means no transaction or exchange of fees. Like Uber, it’s here to stay. But here is the catch: With the electricity each Bitcoin transaction uses, of which there about 300,000 daily, you could run a fridge for one year. It takes 45 times more energy than a Visa transaction? This is according to Alex de Vries, who is a crypto-analyst, in case you didn’t know. All together the yearly energy footprint of Bitcoin transactions is about 24 terawatthours, which equals the energy demand of Nigeria. Switzerland uses about a third of that..- today. In 2011 one bitcoin was on par with the US dollar, today the same Bitcoin is worth over $ 10’000.

“Blows my mind,” I said. It sounds complicated and unstable and I don’t think we’ll have to worry about paying for our beers in bitcoin.”

On that note we both concentrated on our mugs.

“I bbqued some wild Salmon on a Cedar plank last weekend and Clare raised the issue of Wild Salmon vs. farmed Salmon,” I said. “When I owned the restaurant we had to serve only wild salmon. Nobody wanted farmed fish. Now the pendulum seems to be swinging the other way. It’s about conserving the wild fish stocks now. It’s very confusing.”

“You must have heard about the Cypress Island fish farm collapse back in August resulting in tens of thousands of Atlantic farmed salmon escaping into Puget Sound down in Washington or what about ‘Marine Harvest’, the Norwegian company, which operates over 100 licensed fish farms in B.C.’s coastal waters. I suppose the debate is about if these farmed fish infect wild salmon with sea lice and other diseases and the amount of effluent 4’500 tons of farmed fish produce, or the red pigment they add to their food in order to enhance there natural grey and unappetising colour?”

“Yeah, all of that,” I nodded. “I think the Chileans have 30 times as many aqua farms than B.C. We should just concentrate on ecologically raised fish in closed net pens that minimize harm to wild salmon and the surrounding environment. It could be a lucrative niche market,” I said.

“For the ones who can afford it,” Camp said. “Muriel doesn’t have that problem; she doesn’t like seafood. We should all be glad that we have a choice of what and when to eat and not if,” Camp said, downing his pint. I did likewise.

“What do you think about this latest feeding frenzy over sexual assaults by these celebrities?” I asked, knowing I get a spicy opinion out of my friend.

“Well I don’t doubt it goes on in millions of homes and work places,” he said “and we all know that the glamour business pushes sex and allure. I just don’t believe that we, the public, need to know about all these allegations. We have laws and courts for that. A charge about a drunken sexual advance 30 years ago against somebody who is now rich and famous seems a bit suspicious. Wasn’t it in the nineties when suddenly everybody had a sexual childhood trauma that they could only remember under hypnoses but that explained their present stunted emotional states.”

“I remember. It was almost contagious. You think this current wave of sexual harassment claims is like that?”

“I don’t know but you put those celebrity claims up against the horror of tens of thousands of Rohingyas, who are being raped, maimed and killed and driven from their homes in Myanmar, as we speak. Yes, Harvey Weinstein is a pig and so is that Alabama Senator Moore, but the real tragedies are unfolding in Myanmar, the Congo, Lebanon and Yemen, not so much in Hollywood,” Camp said, shaking his head.

“You have a point there, Camp. Just be glad you don’t own a TV.”

“It just makes it clear to me that we can’t really complain about our corner of this world,” Camp said. “We don’t really have problems here, just situations. We can bitch all day long about the weather and the ferry but then we go home and turn up the heat.”

“Are you two ready for another one?” Vicky asked. “It’s the lack of sunshine that seems to affect you two. It’s called SAD, ‘Seasonal Affected Disorder’. My mom suffers from it.”

“How does she deal with it?” I asked, being one of those afflicted.

“She takes Vitamin D and goes to Hawaii for a month.”

“Must be nice,” Camp grumbled. “How about some sunshine in a glass?”

“Coming right up.”

The Pain of Addiction

Posted on November 10, 2017 by brunhub

“Remember that song ‘Addicted to love’ by the late Robert Palmer? With the catchy refrain ‘you might as well face it, you’re addicted to love,” I asked Camp as soon as I sat down at our usual Thursday table at ‘Gramma’s Pub’. The song was stuck in my head, playing the catchy refrain over and over, driving me crazy.

“Yeah, I sort of remember,” he said warily, “where is this going?”

“Well, if you change the refrain to ‘addicted to pain’ you’re right in line with the latest epidemic. I’m talking about the opioid crisis in the US and also here in BC where over 800 people have died from overdoses this year alone. It’s a crises as big and more complicated than Aids, some experts say.”

“I take it the pain you refer to is threefold: First there is the real pain which gets dulled with ever increasing pain meds, which can lead to the pain of addiction itself; the stigma attached to it and then follows the pain of loss; loss of self, loss of money and loss of relationships and eventually loss of life itself.”

“That’s putting it pretty crassly Camp,” I said, sipping my beer.

“By the way, Americans, who are 5% of the world’s population, take 60% of the world’s painkillers. Americans are the most drugged people on earth,” Camp stated and then went on, “according to an article in ‘Guardian’ over 90 people die each day from opioid overdoses in the US.”

“It’s incredible,” I said, “and how does all that heroin get from Afghanistan to the US each year?”

“Well you can start with the CIA trained Mujahedeen which later turned into the Taliban and who outlawed opium production in 2000. Then the US took the war to the Taliban in 2001 and after 2,300 US soldiers were killed and thousands maimed, Afghanistan in 1995 was once again the producer of 90% of the world’s supply of heroin. Figure it out.”

“And as long as millions of people need and want these drugs, somebody will produce and deliver them. The war on drugs should be a fight against addiction with medical, social and judicial resources, not guns, military and cops. I still don’t know how all these illegal drugs get into the US and Europe.”

“From the south they come in mostly by sea in everything from pleasure boats to submarines, also by cargo containers and tunnels and even catapults and air canons are used to send drugs across the border. Heroin from US-occupied Afghanistan gets in by airplane. People getting on and off military and CIA aircrafts aren’t searched. It’s as simple as that.“

We both sat quietly for a few beats, contemplating the enormity of the mess. Time to change the subject, I thought.

“Camp did you hear about New Zealand’s new prime minister ? She’s 38 years young and tweets as a kitty cat named ‘paddles’ ?”

“No, that news item escaped me.”

“Well, I’m glad I got something new for you. Her first tweet after being elected was: ‘You asked fur it.’ Get it?”

“And here in Quebec they elected Valerie Plante as the new mayor of Montreal. I can tell you Muriel is ecstatic and for my money women can run the world. Get rid of all the old men who are in power the world over.”

“You’re preaching to the choir Camp, we’d all be better off I believe. You know the first thing Jacinda Ardern, the new Kiwi PM, wants to do is stop the sale of New Zealand properties to foreign buyers, because the housing market is through the roof and has become unaffordable for middle-class kiwis, with more and more homeless people on the streets. Kind of reminds me of Vancouver, except here everything is still up for sale. If someone from Timbuktu wants to, they can buy ten properties at once.”

“Yes, this is a problem, even here in Gibsons, property has become unaffordable for young people,” Camp agreed.

“How do you guys want to pay,” Vicky, who suddenly appeared, asked. “I prefer cash or would you boys like the machine?”

“How about a tab Vicky? Could we start to run a tab?” I asked.

“And where would my tips go ?”

“Oh, they’re separate, due each Thursday,” Camp laughed.

“Under what name would you boys like to start a tab”

“Thirsty Thursdays,” I said and Camp pulled out a fiver for Vicky’s tip.

Global to Local

Posted on November 3, 2017 by brunhub

We’ve been having glorious, ‘Indian summer’ weather lately, but last night the wind howled, black clouds rolled in and it looked and felt decidedly like November. Car windows are fogged up, frosty dew on the ground and all the deciduous trees are dropping their leaves. Halloween, The Day of the Dead and Hallows Eve are thankfully over and already a lot of businesses are switching to Jingle-Bells and Christmas décor.

“I hope the pub holds off for a while with the usual Frosty the Snowman window decorations. All this pre-Christmas cheerfulness doesn’t really brighten up my gloomy November and it brings out the early Grinch in me, and my friend Campbell, Camp to all his cronies, feels the same way.

“Santa Claus sounds like Mr. Amazon from the North Pole. A regular mail order business, disguised as a free gift giving enterprise, replete with a fantasy delivery commercial and no warranties. Baloney and Marzipan,” Camp grumbled, “except it’s the best time of the year for a bookstore.”

“Santa goes global Camp. Everything from cars to smartphones, from kitchen gadgets to appliances to electronics is made globally with parts made in China, Japan, Mexico and then assembled maybe in India or even in the US. We just bought a washing machine and it’s a South Korean brand but with parts and pieces in it from around the globe.”

“You must know that globalisation or the outsourcing of jobs has been reversing for the past 10 years, something few people are aware off,” Camp pointed out.”

“Really, I thought it was just one of Trump’s empty battle cries.”

“Not exactly. Caterpillar, NCR and GE built new factories and brought thousands of jobs back form China, Hungary and Japan. Foxxconn, the world’s largest electronic sub-contractor with clients like Microsoft, Apple and Nintendo is creating thousands of new jobs in the US. Tesla built the biggest new car factory in California and their battery factory in Nevada is gigantic. All in all, over 350’000 jobs have been repatriated into the US since 2010, not because of Trump but because wages and transport costs have risen in 3rd world countries and market stability is better close to the consumers which are still mostly in the US. All this bellyaching about unfair trade deals is just so much window dressing. The CEO’s of the world’s biggest companies are ominously silent about this trend and nationalism, a cousin of protectionism, is here to stay.”

“Well, here in this small town we now have 3 local breweries and one distillery. I guess it’s a microcosm of the big picture,” I said. We both sipped our beers, looking out at the grey, gloomy harbour, almost like they painted the whole scene in black and white and took all the colours away.

“Camp, you’re a councillor, what do think about the latest court injunction to stop ‘The George Hotel’ development on the Gibson’s Harbour?”

“It’s just the latest frivolous misuse of the courts by a fringe group who want to subvert the democratic process. Back in 2014, 63% of the town’s voters have elected representatives who support the project. The accumulated costs for defending these abuses of process have cost the local taxpayers over a hundred thousand bucks so far.”

‘It’s a shame. The money could be used to move the breakwater.”

“Don’t get me started, that is also being challenged by certain people who don’t want more boats, more people or even more tourists in this town. They don’t want any change. In fact these people want the ‘good old days’ back or their skewed version of a past that didn’t exist in the first place. Luddites, every one of them.”

“Oh, boy that calls for a drink,” I said. “The local politics are every bit as fascinating as those in far off places. Have you been driving in the city lately,” I asked Camp, changing the subject. “It’s absolute chaos and a game of chicken every time, no matter what time of day, it’s gridlock everywhere. Instead of adding more bicycle paths to the already congested roads why don’t they do what Zurich (Switzerland) has successfully accomplished.”

“What’s that,” Camp wanted to know. “Did they ban cars?”

“Not quite , but they built a brand new three story underground parkade right under the center of Zurich at the Bellevue and topped it with an open event plaza, where people can roam and congregate. The cost for parking downtown? A whopping $ 25 an hour. That keeps a lot of cars away but on the other side of the equation they made all public transport like trams, buses and even some cable cars, free for all. Now that’s what I call thinking out of the box. The teens were riding for free anyway and now they can save all that infra structure like ticketing machines, controllers and policing.”

“It’s going to be cold day in hell before they make public transport free around her. Imagine free ferries. Now that’s a wish Santa won’t be able to deliver,” Camp said, shaking his head. “I do have a good news item I’d like to share with you. It’s a quote by the late Ojibway writer, Richard Wagamese, at a lecture to a white audience, referring to the disastrous residential school policy, which devastated and traumatized so many first nations families. He said: “You can’t undo the past and you don’t have to apologize for the past, or even feel guilty about it, all you have to do is say YES, yes this happened.”.

“It’s a great sentiment,” I said, I’ll drink to that.”

Follow the Money

Posted on October 27, 2017 by brunhub

Campbell struggled out of his heavy wool knit jacket before he sat down.

“Winter is coming,” he said ominously, quoting a favourite line from ‘Game of Thrones’. Winter here on the Sunshine Coast consists mostly of water, i.e. rain. Only once ever eight years does it actually snow in Gibsons. Last year was one of those years. Since neither the town nor the people are prepared or equipped for any accumulation of snow it pretty well shuts everything down. Four-wheel drives, private snow ploughs and shovels were suddenly in big demand or better yet, a plane ticket to a warm place.

“Going anywhere this winter?” Camp asked me.

“Well, in fact we are. We booked a two-week trip to Costa Rica in December. We’re really looking forward to this.”

“Must be nice. I’m looking forward to a rainy Christmas season at the store. Just no snow please until January. Talking of places in the sun have you ever heard of Malta, the small Island state, between Sicily and Libya, once a British Colony?”

“Sure, I’ve heard of it. Sounds lovely.”

“Last week, Malta’s most famous blogger and investigative journalist, Daphne Caruana Galizia was murdered with a Semtex car bomb. I’ve done a bit of digging and it turns out that the small island state is home to over 70’000 corporations and 600 investment funds and for a mere $ 650’000 you can buy Maltese citizenship which makes you a European. Last year Malta sold over 5000 of these dubious passports. It looks like Daphne stepped on some golden toes with her reporting of corruption, drug and oil deals, prostitution and money laundering right up to the young prime minister’s wife. Apparently Malta has become a play ground for Libyan militia-billionaires to Italian Mafiosi and multi millionaire tax-evaders from Russia, the Gulf states, China and anywhere else.”

“Sounds like a real treasure island,” I said. “Costa Rica on the other hand seems like an interesting place. No military, no air force, no submarines. Imagine that. They spend their money on education, social programs, healthcare, infra structure and debt financing.”

“It’s a smart move not to have a military. I wish more countries would adopt that policy. Do we really need a military or fighter jets here in Canada?”

“You know it’s the US who is pressuring us Camp, to increase our military spending from 24 billion to 32 billion, part of our Nato commitments they say but it’s mostly about the flow of money south. Just look at the latest spat between Bombardier and Boing. It’s all about the mula.”

“Isn’t everything?” Camp said laconically. “You want to find the culprit in any shady enterprise. Follow the money. No matter if it’s the Vatican or the drug cartels. Or take a look at our federal finance minister. He thought a blind trust was when he closed his eyes while his millions moved into a loop hole and an account in Alberta He’s been going around the country waving an accusatory finger and scolding us middle classers to stop using legal means to avoid paying taxes.”

“Tax avoidance is legal, tax evasion is not,” I pointed out. “Of course in my case I have nothing to avoid or evade.”

“Nor me,” Camp laughed.

“Clare and I went on the Sunshine Coast Art-Crawl last weekend,” I said, switching to a positive topic. “We had a ton of fun. Over 150 studios, homes, workshops and galleries opened their doors all the way up the coast, from Gibsons to Earls Cove. So many talented artists from blacksmiths’ to glass blowers, painters, potters, stained glass artist, photographers, designers, weavers, carvers and jewellers presented their work. What I enjoyed the most was seeing all these fantastic houses and workspaces tucked away in the woods, including the wonderful traditional longhouse of the Sechelt Band.”

“Yes, the Sunshine Coast is awash with artists of every description including writers and playwrights, actors and filmmakers. We have our very own cultural treasure island here on the coast,” Camp said, proud like a father about the achievement of his many children.

“Did you decorate ‘Coast Books’ for Halloween next week?” I asked, knowing that I’ll get a rise out of him.

“Halloween! It’s just an aberration of the Celtic New Year and used to be called Samhain. The custom probably came to America with the Irish and as far as I’m concerned it should go back there.”

“No trick or treat then?”

“I’ll show you a trick. Watch this beer, close your eyes, count to ten and then open them again…well?”

“Wow, the glass is empty. That’s a pretty neat trick Camp. Can you do the reverse?”

“Just watch me.” With that he held up two fingers in a peace or victory sign and like magic two fresh foaming pints arrived.”

Social Criminals

Posted on October 20, 2017 by brunhub

“Ever heard of Crazy Eddy?” Campbell, or Camp for short, asked me after we both looked out at the gloomy grey world of Gibsons Harbour where the only colour was the bright yellow glasses of beer in front of us.

‘”Can’t say it rings a bell,” I said, ready for a homily that I knew was coming.

“Crazy Eddie is the former hedge fund manager Eddie Lampert and CEO of Sears since 2013; the iconic retail flagship formerly known as Sears-Roebuck which brought Catalogue shopping to small towns, a century before on-line shopping was even a concept. Crazy Eddie is also a fervent admirer of Ayn Rand’s bat-shit philosophy that humans perform best when acting selfishly and only winners survive. He pitted company managers against each other fighting over resources and market shares. Eddie believed that this would make them boost overall performance. Crazy Eddie’s downfall was hubris and his unfailing belief in himself, regardless of the outcomes. Damn the torpedoes. Even as far back as 2015 he was viewed as the worst CEO in America and should have fired himself long ago.”

“Wow Camp, you obviously did your homework. Why so obsessed with this guy? He sounds just like any other egoistical, maniacal, self-serving captain of industry.”

“Not quiet, the guy takes the price for worst manager, worst CEO and self-proclaimed Lord of Chaos. Just this past July he paid out $ 9.2 million dollars to executives in ‘retention bonuses’, completely in the face of the employees who are now fearing for their pension fund which is $ 200 million short and never mind any severance pay when they’re all laid off on short notice. It’s a total disgrace and a social crime. “

“A social crime,” I said. “Never heard of that one. What are the punishments?

Un-friending by social media or maybe public shaming.”

“Well, I personally think that social crimes of the sort Crazy Eddie has committed are every bit as destructive as corruption in politics or stealing from the old and vulnerable or watering down wine. Social criminals usually manage to squirrel away plenty of cash for themselves while pulling the rug out from under people that depended on them.”

“It seems to me that most of these ‘social criminals’ were once considered geniuses and wunderkinder before their fall from grace; guys like David Walsh from Bre-X mining or Ken Lay from Enron or the celebrated Bernie Madoff, a bigger thug then even Charles Ponzi himself.”

“Yes, these guys were all fuelled by one of mankind’s worst deadly sins: Greed. It’s what drives the casinos, investor schemes and even parts of the stock market.”

“Wow Camp, you’re about as gloomy as the weather outside. What happened? Did Muriel ask you to marry her or what?”

Camp looked at me as if he was going to say something rude and nasty but then instead took a long swallow from his brew. “Believe me my friend, if Muriel would ask me to marry her the sun would shine in the darkest corner of my soul. No, it’s the sad news of Gord Downie’s passing on Tuesday. He was only 53 and added more to Canadian music and public awareness of indigenous maltreatment, than any other man. His Secret Path project highlighted the death of Chanie Wenjack, a 12-year-old Ojibway boy who died from hunger and exposure after attempting to make the 1000km journey home, on foot from an Indian Residential school. Gord Downie was the ultimate Canadian voice; with his music, poetry and engagement with everybody he came in touch with. As our prime minister put it: We are less of a country without Gord in it.”

I felt stupid to have said what I did and apologized. “I’m sorry Camp, I guess the next round is on me. One for the Tragically Hip.”

We both took a beat, not saying anything. When Vicky brought us a couple of refills I couldn’t help myself and just blurted out: “It just seems there isn’t any good news out there these days. The tragedy in Myanmar, which is nothing less than genocide, with over half a million Rhohingyan refugees crossing into Bangladesh since August. It’s the largest humanitarian catastrophe since the 1994 Rwandan genocide, and it has been brewing for years.”

“Yes, and the only person who could make a difference is treating the atrocities committed as ‘fake news’ and infighting amongst extremist groups. Aung San Suu Kyi is no Nelson Mandela or Ghandi, she is only a self serving political opportunist, kowtowing to the generals.”

No lament is complete without mentioning Trumpelstilzchen. “He seems hellbent on undoing anything Obama built, like the Iran nuclear deal, the affordable care act, relations with Cuba and surely one of the worst betrayals is the annulation of the DACA program, kicking people out of the country who have no other home then the one they grew up in.”

“Yes, he’s mean and crazy in a world full of good and decent people,” Camp said, shaking his head. “But we have our own mini crisis here on the sunshine coast. We are once again forced to adopt stage 4 water restrictions and this in a place where the annual rainfall is close to six feet. It’s not a lack of water but a lack of infrastructure and political will. If we have to restrict water use here on the rainforest coast then we are really in trouble.”

“I’ve read that. Yes, it pisses me off too. First they spend millions to install water meters in order to monitor use and detect leaks but now apparently also to police water use. Imagine: The Water Police. It sounds like a Monty Python stick. Here come the water detective, stalking through the rain, brandishing a water pistol. Maybe I’ll just become a water terrorist and hose him down.”

Even Camp grimaced in a kind of lopsided grin at the picture. “Here is to the Water Police then, may they drown in their own folly. Cheers.”

Bruno's point of view

Current topics, short and long stories,

Category Archives: Thirsty Thursdays

Leaders and Followers

Choices

National Rifle Addiction

Garbage

Ignorance and Knowledge

Age and Wisdom

Rich and Poor

Doctors and Drugs

Women and Men

Frequent Flyer Woes

Missing the Boat

Charity

Santa Hunters

Wellness or Selfness ?

Legalize It

Salmon Talk

The Pain of Addiction

Global to Local

Follow the Money

Social Criminals

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: