Playing the Blame Game

Do you ever fall victim to minor colloquial misfortunes that are so inconvenient that they must have been the manifestation of someone’s mastermind plan to ruin your day? Of course you do.

I blame Teerapun for this image!

When you stubbed your toe last week on the threshold of a door in your own home, your first thought was that your landlord, cleaning lady or handy roommate must have built up that threshold when you weren’t looking, for the sole purpose of having you trip over it, and break your neck. By the time you grabbed your throbbing big toe, yelling out obscenities in pain, it was all clear to you; your vengeful roommate had to have been the responsible party – it was probably in retribution for that day earlier in the week when you failed to re-fill the milk jug!

Yesterday morning, I journeyed, westbound, along the Trans Canada Highway. The previous night had brought about 30 cm. of wet, heavy snow. As unpleasant as it was, I made, what I considered to be, a reasonable effort to clear the snow off of my car in the morning, including that which sat on top of my roof, and coated my brake lights. As I drove along the highway, the wetness remaining on the pavement from the melted snow sprayed up onto my windshield from the rear wheels of the cars traveling in front of me. This sludge – some combination of melted snow, mud and road salt, I think – completely impeded my field of vision every thirty seconds or so. This meant that I had to constantly spray the windshield with my precious, and dwindling supply of windshield washer fluid, until the indicator light on my dashboard began to flash to tell me that it needed to be re-filled.

Like you and your toe, of course, I was not able to simply accept this spraying of sludge on my windshield as an inescapable fact of winter driving. No. It seemed to me, at the time, to be an incontrovertible fact that the other drivers on the road were maliciously spraying me with this filthy sludge. They probably stored their mélange in tanks under their cars, and sprayed it through invisible nozzles next to the exhaust pipe with a push of a button located conveniently next to the cup holder, inside their car. And next to that button, there was probably another button; this button, I was sure, when pressed, would shoot hunks of ice and snow off of the roof of their cars, striking my windshield.

I was willing to bet that these perpetrators were probably the same shady characters who were behind the inexplicable, sudden and unexpected change in water temperature in my shower that morning. One minute, the water felt great, and the next, I was jumping back, squealing, my eyes burning with shampoo, and my skin being scolded by the near boiling water. Someone has to be held to account! Right?

I think we’re much quicker to place blame, usually on innocent, or unwitting parties, when the offence against us is, in reality of little consequence. We so passionately, and sometimes even vocally, in cases like this, toss out blame without thought. Why are we willing to place blame in such insignificant cases, when, logically, we know that the accused party is almost certainly not to blame. My guess is that, like the incident that provoked the blame, placing blame is of little consequence. A serious conflict is not likely to be sparked, because the accused instantly recognized the absurdity of the accusation, and is able to shrug it off, taking no offence.

What we seem to be less willing to do, is to place blame for more serious transgressions, when the guilty party can be clearly identified. We’re afraid of sparking conflict. While people can shrug off an absurd and clearly false accusation, they’re much more sensitive to being called out for something for which they are actually responsible. They will deny, or make excuses, and escalate the situation.

All of this is not to say that we should never assign blame to those who are guilty. I’m not really sure what it all means, but maybe we should keep it all in mind next time we’re thinking of playing the blame game.

Blogging in Ink!

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Radio Head

With the advent of so many new forms of media that came with the technological age and the Internet, many traditional mediums of communication have come to be seen as obsolete. Rather than read the classifieds in the newspaper, nowadays people log onto Craigslist, Ebay or Kijiji; instead of tuning into the evening news at 11:00 on TV to find out what’s going on in the world, we watch the latest news report online on the Onion News Network whenever we please; and there’s no need to peruse celebrity tabloids at the grocery store checkout when we can just as easily load our Facebook news feeds on our smart phones to find out what all of our casual acquaintances are up to.

Radio is still relevant to me. How about you?
Image by Tungphoto.

There is, however, one traditional medium, which I still find to be quite relevant and interesting in my life. While many of you have probably ditched your radios in favour of iPod play lists, I believe that over-the-air radio is a medium worth holding onto.

I know that the reason many people prefer a personalized play list to a disc jockey’s lineup is that it gives them full control over what they hear. As someone who has very little critical knowledge of music, beyond being able to say that either I like or do not like a song, or genre of music, I find choosing a comprehensive list of songs to be a daunting task. I would much rather choose a genre that I would like to listen to, like rock, jazz or country, set the dial to a station, and let the disc jockey take it from there. It’s especially nice to be able to set it and forget it while driving in the car.

“But, don’t you hate all the darned commercials?” you might ask. I tend to see the inevitable advertisements that one must endure if they subscribe to my ‘set it and forget it’ method as the price that must be paid for having someone line up your play list for you. I, for one, am willing to pay that price. As a matter of fact, I quite enjoy listening to radio advertisements. Since radio is really the last surviving and not-dying form of local/regional media, you’re not subjected to the same boring standard national ads, as you are on Television or on the Internet. In fact, radio ads tend to be quite eclectic, with local small business owners recording their own commercials, and updating them weekly.

When I lived in range of Toronto radio stations, I always told myself that the next time I was in need of a business suit, I would go down to “Korry’s Clothiers, 569 Danforth Avenue,” or “Tom’s Place, right in the heart of Greek Town”, or that if I ever needed to buy some jewelry, that I would get it from Jack Berkovits at Omni Jewelcrafters.

If you’ve moved to a new city, listening to local radio stations is a great way to get to know the area. You’ll be sure to hear about events going on in the area, and hear interviews and sound bites with local celebrities. Just last year, I strangely began listening online to a radio station out of Burlington, Vermont*. For whatever reason, I liked the station, and continued to listen. Now, almost a year later, I still listen to this station, and I feel like I know the Burlington Vermont area pretty well. Now that I live closer to Vermont, I would definitely consider driving down to the area for a weekend to check out some of the events that are promoted on the station, and I would very likely check out some of the businesses that advertise with them.

So here’s you’re homework class: go online an start listening to a local radio station broadcasting from a city that you’ve always wanted to visit, but never have, or a random city that you’ve never even hear of. If you’re at all like me, you’ll learn a lot, and build an interesting image in your mind of what that city must be like, based on what you’ve heard on the radio.

Thanks for tuning in!

*I started listening to this station in December because they carry a syndicated radio host who plays great Christmas music in the evening that wasn’t available in my local area. I ended up listening to them around the clock.

After you!

Last week, I was driving on a country road well after the sun had set, when I came to a one lane bridge.  I could see a set of headlights approaching from the opposite direction, so in the interest of safety, and common courtesy, I flashed my lights, signalling to the other driver an invitation for him to cross the bridge first.

Usually in instances such as this one, it would be expected of the other driver to gesture to me with a friendly wave of thanks as he passed, to indicate his gratitude for allowing him to cross the bridge ahead of me. However, given that this incident happened after sunset, it was not possible for me to see inside of the cockpit of his automobile, and therefore impossible for me to discern whether or not the other driver had attempted a gesture of gratitude. Interestingly, some of the first thoughts that ran through my head as I continued driving were along the lines of, why did I let him go first if I couldn’t even enjoy the satisfaction of receiving a wave of thanks?

In the grand scheme of things, it probably would have made very little difference if I hadn’t been so kind, and opted to cross the bridge ahead of the other driver. However, the question comes to mind, why do we practice what we like to consider simple acts of kindness? You may say it’s to make others feel good. Perhaps my allowing him to cross the bridge first did make the other driver feel good, but if that’s really why I chose to do so, then the follow-up question should be asked, why I like to make others feel good. I think most would answer this question similarly; making others feel good makes me feel good.

I’m just full of questions today. Would you continue to practice simple acts of kindness if the gratitude of others was never shown? In other words, would you still hold the door for someone even if they didn’t appreciate it, or if they failed to show their appreciation? Maybe the reason we feel good when we help others out is that we like the feeling of power it gives us. The wave of thanks we receive when we stop traffic in order to allow an old lady pull out of the roadside parking space in front of the bakery makes us feel good because we feel powerful in the sense that the wave indicates that we made the old lady feel good. “I made that old lady feel so thankful that she was compelled to express it to me,” says your subconscious. “I have power over her, and having power over others makes me feel good”.

I think the principle also works from the perspective of the old lady, or the guy I let pass on the bridge. The old lady’s subconscious is saying, “I know that if I give a wave of thanks, that guy who let me out will feel really good about himself, and I will have made him feel good. I’m powerful!”  Would she still express her thanks if there was a chance I wouldn’t appreciate the gesture, or if she knew I was likely not to see it? I’m reminded the scene from an episode of Seinfeld in which George drops a tip in a tip jar, but it goes unnoticed, so he attempts to take back the tip so he can drop it in again, so that this time the server will notice it.

Don’t become disillusioned with all of humanity though. It might seem like what I’m saying is that humans are only self interested and there is no genuine kindness in the world. As long as both the old lady who I let pull out of her parking space and I feel good about ourselves at the end of the interaction, what’s wrong with that?  So next time you have the opportunity to extend a simple courtesy to your fellow man, jump on the opportunity, and if one is extended to you, be sure to indicate your gratitude. Either way, you’ll walk away feeling powerful and fulfilled.

Great Expectations*

It’s been almost a month since I last wrote a blog entry. I had been trying to write weekly, but I got busy.  Not that it wasn’t on my mind; at the end of every week, I would lament the passing of another seven days without dumping a little pile of my ramblings into the cyber landfill that is the internet. If I didn’t share my musings with the virtual world, who would?

I realize that there are probably very few people, if any, besides myself who have come to expect regular blog postings of me. Any pressure I felt to get back on the blogging wagon came only from me (and my mother). However, this got me thinking about expectations.

Our world doesn’t generally accept singular accomplishments. As soon as someone has accomplished an admirable task, created a beautiful work of art, made an entertaining movie or written a riveting novel, there seems to be an immediate expectation that they follow up with another act of equal or greater impression. Do you ever hear the term “one hit wonder” used in the positive connotation? Other than….maybe Jesus, we rarely hear someone’s praises being sung** for doing one great thing, and never doing anything else of note ever again.

Once someone has impressed us, we beg them to do it again; to give us an encore presentation. However, if their second attempt doesn’t adequately move us, rather than applauding the actor’s courage to present themselves to the world once more, most of us are quick to mumble under our breaths that “they should have quit while they were ahead”. On the other hand, when someone does decide to call it quits while they’re at the top of their game, we tend to condemn them for hoarding their talent, and refusing to share it with the rest of the world.



The sign near my house.



By no means am I innocent in this case. I find myself criticizing accomplished individuals on a regular basis for either producing something of a quality I consider to be below them, or for not producing enough product altogether. For example, there is a business near my house with a marquee-style sign along the roadside. Every week they display a different message; usually witty proverbs that make me chuckle. For instance, one week the sign read, “where there’s a will…there are 157 family members”, or another week it read, “teenagers are hard to raise…especially in the morning”. I always look forward to driving past this business on Monday morning to see what they’ve come up with for their sign***. Last week, prior to the long weekend, I found myself a little disappointed with their sign posting, for what I considered to be a lack of creativity. The sign read “have a safe Civic Holiday weekend”. Why was I being so unappreciative? Rather than condemn this business for failing to make me laugh on my way to and from work for one week, why wasn’t I cutting them some slack, and thanking them for all of the other weeks that they had added some humour to my daily commute, at no cost to me?

A quote by Eli Khamarov**** explains why our first experience with something is often the best. He says, “The best things in life are unexpected – because there were no expectations”.

*I haven’t read the Charles Dickens book, but it’s on my personal reading list.....but don't expect me to get around to reading it right away!

** Jesus’ praises really are sung by followers around the world, especially on Sunday mornings.

***Okay, they probably don’t come up with what they put on their sign. I’m guessing they get their content from the internet….or am I being cynical and not giving enough credit?

****I have no idea who Eli Khamarov is. I just Googled “expectation quotes”. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on the sign people ˆ.

The Cable Remuneration Assistance Program

Why not add access to cable television to the
United Nations Universal Declaration of Human
Rights? Photo by Winnond.

I was going to blog this week complaining about the ridiculous amount of coverage the CBC is giving to the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge’s tour of Canada, but I realized that doing so would be a little hypocritical. I can’t wait until they’re gone. Instead, I’ll share a slightly humourous, but mostly sad and pathetic personal anecdote.

The other day I was walking down the street, and I passed the local welfare office. There were a couple of seedy looking characters* sitting in front of the office having a smoke; a guy and a girl, who looked to be in their early twenties. That’s not the funny part. The funny part is the snippet of a conversation that I heard them having. It went like this:

Seedy Girl: So, who cares if you don’t have hot water? At least you have cable. I don’t have cable. I’d rather have cable than hot water.

Seedy Guy**: True dat.

So it looks like this guy is using his welfare money to pay his cable bill, but not his water bill. You know, I’m always trying to tell people how important the welfare system is, but they’re always saying, “Things like hot water and food aren’t essential parts of life, Dean”. How their tune would change if they only knew that without his welfare cheque, my friend, the seedy guy, would have missed last week’s episode of Glee. Oh, the horror!

I propose that a new government agency be created to ensure that all Canadians have access to digital cable, so that no one will have to choose between hot water and Hot in Cleveland, food and the Food Network or paying their rent and watching Rent on pay per view. The new bureau could be called the Cable Remuneration Assistance Program, or CRAP for short.

*Not that everyone who collects welfare is seedy. There are also many seedy people who don’t collect welfare.

**He was wearing no shirt, and his visible underwear to pant ratio was about 1:1.

Dirty Books

Having recently moved to a new town, and with the local library conveniently located near my house, and on the way home from work, I decided to get a borrower’s card.

Photo by Paul.

As a kid, I didn’t really like to read. It might have had to do with the fact that I was a slow reader, and it would take me forever to get through a book. Another factor at play was probably that fantasy books were really popular during my elementary school days; Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and that stupid series whose name escapes me that was about a medieval mouse warrior*. I tried some of the fantasy novels that all my friends were reading, and that were recommended to me by adults who assured me that I would like them, since I had such an active imagination. Sure, I knew how to use my imagination – don’t all kids? – but I like to think I had a pretty realistic view of the world. Those fantasy novels were just too far fetched and un-relatable for my liking.

So, I’ve recently kindled** an enjoyment of reading. I’ve realized it’s about reading good material. I think John Irving deserves some credit for writing extraordinary characters that exist in the most ordinary of circumstances. So last week I took out a book for the first time from the Flesherton Public Library. It’s a popular new-ish book and I’ve been waiting for it to become available for several weeks***.

When you check out a book from the library, you, of course shouldn’t expect it to be in the same condition as a book right off the shelf from Chapters. I don’t mind a few dog eared pages, a cracked spine, or a tear in the paper here or there, but what I do not like is other people’s dirt on the pages of the book that I’m reading. Yuck. Chapter twelve of my current read is smeared with evidence that one of the ten patrons of the Flesherton Public Library who had checked out the book before me was either enjoying a snack of chocolate pudding whilst reading, or trying to add some class to the bathroom by introducing some literature to the process of making a deposit, if you know what I mean. I really hope it was the former.

Beyond the hygiene issues, dirty book pages bother me because the dirt distracts my attention from the content I am trying to read. As I read, even after I’ve passed the part of the page that has been desecrated, I continue to see the brown spot out of the corner of my eye until I turn to the next page. I find myself rushing through the page, and often missing some of the subtle nuances of the text because I’m so anxious to be rid of the disgusting stain. I’ve even found myself cleverly using my bookmark to cover soiled sections of the page so I won’t be so distracted.

To my fellow library patrons, please do not eat or participate in other potentially messy activities while you enjoy a shared book. If I wanted to read a dirty book, I would have checked out Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

*Yes, a mouse warrior. I never read the books, but I had many friends in school who did. Every cover featured an illustration of the little mouse wearing a different battle outfit, and facing off against some giant enemy, like a dragon, or a giant Cyclops. I just googled it; it’s called the Redwall series. Here’s an example of the covers. 

**My instincts told me to write ‘rekindled’, but since I didn’t have a love of reading in the first place, it wouldn’t be an appropriate use of the word. You don’t see the word kindle used as a verb on its own very often. It’s always either rekindle, or kindling, as a noun; the stuff you use to start a fire. It’s also ironic that there’s an e-reader called the Kindle, considering this post is about books.

***I’ve added the Flesherton Public Library catalogue to my favourites on my web browser.