Salt: The Great Killer?

I found this cartoon in Saturday's Montréal Gazette and wondered.  There are now plans to regulate the amount of salt in our food as a means of stabilizing and improving our health (ha, ha).

This is complete and total BS with a capital stink.  The Japanese use more salt on a daily basis with their food as an accompaniment, and they do not have the problems with obesity and health that we face in the West.  Have we just forgotten about that other thing that actually makes us fat called...fat?

I already know more than I need to know about Omega-3, trans fats, multigrain food, brown sugar and the perils of carbohydrates than anyone needs to know.  At least let me enjoy the one spice Canadians actually use and know...

Creativity (What do you need to do what you do?)

I wrote about creativity in my last post, but I think that I may have pushed it a little too far.  I think that I need technology to do my job and that as long as I do not get distracted with it, I can do what I do.  I am at the library surrounded by people wasting their time with the free Internet access; but there are those who are new to the country who need to have a computer for contact with family and friends in different countries.
I do wish that I still had an up-and-running laptop, but I am glad to have a reason to get out of the house on my days-off and just type away with a audio clip playing in my head.

And what do you use to do what you do?

Creativity: Where does it come from?

A few days off from this site sometimes helps...  I just entered another short story contest and looked over some of the files that I have saved on different flash drives and computers over the last decade.  I am still amazed that I wrote so much just for myself while working and working on a master's degree in English literature.  But that is what I did. The files make it plain.  I just have to ask myself why I can do this kind of work when so many of my colleagues and friends feel pinched for time.

I think I got it.  A friend pointed out that there is an article on how they are now trying to grow creativity in our society.  There is serious concern that we as a culture are losing our ability to be creative.  I wonder about this.  I don't think that creativity can be taught.  It is innate, like having a certain taste for a kind of food or hobby.  If I am creative in any way, it is because I took the time to be on my own and contemplate what I was doing.  If you have looked at my profile, you will see that I am interested in just a few things: guitar-playing, music, film, running, etc.  But I devote most of my free time wholly to these things.  I don't like parties and nightclub; bars are a bore; and I can live the rest of my life not knowing who won which professional sports contest. 

I also have to add a note here about technology.  I have to use the computers at the library and college office where I work in order to post these messages.  My last laptop broke down and I am in no mood to put myself through the same nightmares I have relived again and again.  As you can guess, I have no iPhone, iPad, BlackBerry, Kindle or other portable device to really distract me (mp3s and flash disks do not count).
If I could, I would write this by hand (yeah, I still like letters).

So, that is where my creativity comes from: less toys and distractions, more privacy and silent work.  Where do you get yours?

My Saudi Life (Part Six: Final Thoughts)

At this point, there is the issue of shaving off the beard. That would probably help me to blend in with surroundings of a less Middle-Eastern nature. As for my other features, I’m not sure what I could do about them. There is only so much that can be done with plastic surgery and bleaching agents. Not that I am too concerned with how I’ll be perceived by certain small-minded people who need something to hate. My Middle-Easternness is nothing that I would really like to change. It could probably open up a whole new way of life for me. And I have at least one Algerian friend now who seems to have some insight on what it means to be from that region of the world.


Hopefully, I will have more insight into myself. It is always difficult when you discover what the world sees in you.

My Saudi Life (Part Five: Crossing Borders)

One other thing that I am concerned about now is the sort of problems I might face as a Saudi Arabian in the current political climate in North America. Does it make me some sort of liability to the airlines, who are already obsessed with intense security sweeps and anyone sporting a passport outside of this continent? Would it be fair to presume that carrying a copy of the Koran in my knapsack – as I did on my last international flight – may lead to suspicions about my intentions towards the place I have called home for over thirty years? I do wonder. They may have to make some space at Guantanamo Bay for a Canadian of Caribbean origin who looks Saudi Arabian yet feels like a hoser. Of course, my Caribbean background should make me feel quite comfortable in that hemisphere (viva Cuba!)

My Saudi Life (Part Four: Features and Focus)

But are we Saudi Arabian? Only in a few examples. We are easily ignored yet unmissable, following our own codes of (shaving) behaviour. If I think carefully about the incident with the clerk, I realize that he was not just fooled by the extra hair. My skin was also a feature that was tied in with his speculation. My other features are not a pretty sight and do not speak well of the male population in Saudi Arabia: bad skin, fat lips, bulbous nose. But there may be some sort of genetic link to a culture outside of the Dominican/Lesser Antillean domain of my parents. I do recall all of those photos taken of my grandmother where she appears as a rather pale(r) young lady in comparison to my father’s side of the family. And she did like to travel, once sending us a picture of herself in Holland sporting wooden shoes. Did she ever visit the Middle East? Perhaps not. I never did discover a picture of her in an unnamed swathe of desert.

My Saudi Life (Part Three: In The Frame)

It isn’t always a good idea to do a self-examination. What you may discover will stay with you forever, unless you happen to find that you are quite comfortable with your very specific quirks and habits. In Canada, we have made a national obsession out of the constant seeking of selfhood. This has become harder and harder as the years go by and the population changes, with less of an Anglophilic way of regarding the world and our relationship to that elephant in our bed due south.

After I left the clerk and the store with my cheap lunch, I looked carefully at the world of Avenue du Parc and Rue Milton and noted the number of goatees that were framing certain chins. The summer heat had not encouraged any of us to bare our faces with razor blades, setting our faces free. When I finally made it home, I watched “An Evening with Kevin Smith”, the stalwart director of such classics as “Chasing Amy”, “Clerks” and “Dogma”. He still had the goatee, which was not a shock – imagine Silent Bob without it – but I was impressed with the number of fans in the college audiences that fired questions at him who were also sporting the beards in brief. So many of us are out there we must be a special breed. And we are taking over.

My Saudi Life (Part Two: Hirsute Memories)

Ah yes, my goatee. Let me explain my old friend: It has been with me for more than a decade now and has no intention of going away or retreating from the camp it has established, despite the many permutations it has undergone over the years. It has often put me in harm’s way, particularly with my mother who was not pleased when I decided to adopt what may have seemed to her a rough Rastafarian look (halfway towards dreadlocks which never arrived).

Another problem arrived with girls - at least with those who wanted a goodnight’s kiss - who complained of scratches and scrubbed lips. In this latter case, I do admit that I shaved off a few of the excess strands that may have scraped against their dainty mouths, but (like most of the relationships) it did not last and since then I have ignored all requests to remove my moustache’s alter ego. It needed the accompaniment; my urge to grow it out came from a desire to be different, to stand out; I did not want to resemble any of the other guys who stopped with the initial soup-strainers above the lips. It did not seem to owe anything to the fashion of the times (this was pre-grunge; pre-Cobain). It was something uniquely my own, with the added bonus of having the ability to annoy the ones who wanted to be annoyed.

Life was and is good with it, yet that clerk’s comment had me thinking about what it may have meant to others who were silent on my hirsuteness. Were there questions about my nationality that were never aired, or at least made public? Did I really look Middle-Eastern in certain eyes?

My Saudi Life (Part One: Living Through my Goatee)

It was an innocent question. One day, just out and about on the town, I decided to buy something for lunch at one of Montréal’s trendy international food shoppes; one of those places where you can find gourmet potato chips, smoothies with every kind of herbal additive for every kind of weakness and at least four hundred types of rice, at least by my count. Not wanting anything too fancy, I asked for a vegetarian Jamaican patty, which is cheating (they should only be made with meat). And while waiting for the snack to be nuked, the man behind the counter decided to make some small talk, asking the following question:


“Are you from Saudi Arabia?”

At first, I thought that he had asked about my place of origin within Canada; my poor French giving away the whole show. I talked for a few moments about being an Ontario-born Golden Horseshoer, studying at McGill University for a Master’s degree in English Literature. When I had the much-warmer patty in a paper bag, he repeated his query:

“Are you from Saudi Arabia?”

I couldn’t pretend to not have heard him the second time (the microwave was still; the store almost barren), and I did not want to do so. I will admit that I felt quite flattered by his inaccurate guess, and wondered what would make him ask me such a question; me in particular, I mean. He was Algerian – I will not use his real name here – in his thirties, perhaps, so I gave him the benefit of my own doubts about his ability to spot a Saudi Arabian. There was also a temptation to go along with his first impressions of me, but that would have lead to more complications and explanations than I could keep pace with, especially if I wanted to be a regular customer for those patties. He learned that my family emigrated from the Caribbean before I was born, becoming Hamiltonians who now work in the nursing and steel industries. A visible gleam of embarrassment crossed his face during my story and he apologized. His confession - that my goatee had fooled him – intrigued me and made me wonder about my relationship with this hairy companion.

What is Inappropriate?

This has been a week to remember.

The heatwave is still killing us (humidity is something we never think about in Canada until it gets into our sleep), one of my schools asked me to handle two courses at the end of the summer (I need the money, so there goes my summer vacation), and the wall between me and the roommate is still up (thing is to not make eye contact - rather easy to do).  And there was a message from a friend's fiancé that I need to discuss.

I do not know this man.  I barely knew her before she linked up with me on Facebook (from my high school) but I like her.  Then she got engaged and everyone wished her well.  And then he reached me to ask, and I am quoting here:
Kendall,no ill will towards you but i need to ask you a question....Have you slept with xxxx and if so when was the last time?If you did your not the only one

Yep, he asked a stranger if he had done it with his lady-in-waiting.  And he gave me an out by saying that, if I had, I was not the only one.

All the people that I have discussed this with have said that I have done the right thing by telling her about this.  But this is also followed by a discussion about what is now appropriate for discussion.  Mainly, we agreed that technology has changed the game.  But that seems weak to me.  Is it enough to say that web site and email no longer allow us to make mistakes with our thoughts and feelings?  Aren't we still responsible for our own stupidity?

I wonder...

The Ending of Something; The Beginning of Something

I was going to put this under another "How Not to Kill..." section, but I think it stands out on its own.  That roommate I mentioned is in New York for the weekend, but I was not sure about this until one of my other roommates said that she wanted him to be gone for at least a week.  There was also the added problem of him taking me off his Facebook list (no problem there; I was going to do so anyway).

Was it a friendship?  Not really.  I know, by now, what a friendship involves.  It must involve sacrifice, some flexibility, understanding and sensitivity.  Our relationship failed on all four points.  He wanted others to sacrifice their time and patience for him; he was not flexible on how to deal with a guest he invited to a stranger's party; he never understood when he was taking things to far; and I guess all three complaints cover the issue of just how sensitive he could be.

I know why people say that it is family first, everyone else second.  I envy the people who somehow balance the two.  I am not sure if I can do that.  I go out with a few people, but no one is ever too close.  It is hard for me to do things with others if I feel that I am being nudged - pushed? - into doing something that I just rebel against emotionally.  Yes, I am a loner; I have to be.  I would not have passed my course, written the work I have written, travelled the way I have, if I had been too close to anyone.  A terrible thing to say, but the truth is sometimes unforgiving.

So, I guess I do need to start something else.  A move would be nice; more money would be nicer.  There are no new messages from any of the places that I have contacted, but I cannot give up on the chance of getting my life on a different track. 

Time to move...

The Dog-Shit Days of Summer

If I were in a better mood, I would never have bothered with this entry today.  It's my day off, but I am busier than ever with planning school work for my students, cleaning up the house, exercising, avoiding certain roommates (see last entry), finding a place that has an A/C and few(er) flies than my own place, and watching the World Cup wind down. The thing that keeps me going is the prospect that the current heatwave is going to turn into something that is a little easier to handle, that certain roommates will move out soon, and the work that I have been doing will pay off.

Ahh, summer...  This may be the worst time of the year for someone like me.  I am forced to relax, take it easy, nap and do less to save myself the embarrassment of collapsing in public with heatstroke.  Not something that I am really capable of; I was raised by workaholics and the genes stuck.  Only good thing is not having my own computer at home.  Being here or at the school office typing stuff out works for me (commuting and writing my thoughts out).  Being at home in the furnace that is my room does not (I have sweated off at least a pound a night this week - at least I don't have to jog too often).

Okay, now I'm feeling drowsy.  Should stop here.

How (Not) to Kill a Roommate (Part Three)

A long gap between things for many reasons...

I got invited by a roommate to a BBQ.  No problem there, although I really did not know any of the people there and was the only person who spoke English.  All of that I could have handled.  What I cannot deal with is being bullied by someone who invites you to a party and then expects you to not notice that he did so because he had a few shots and, hey, his annoying girlfriend was there (a thief as well; read one of my earlier columns about how to handle such a person). 

Man, how do I get into these situations?  Ahh, yes.  I'm too nice to new people.  If I had just stayed at home that night (or gone out with a real friend), I would not being having awkward moments in the kitchen and hallway.  Only good thing is that I really do not feel the urge to sit down and clear the air.  There was also a BBQ at our place and I just went to bed after a long day of work.  That probably did it for me.

Now, I usually try to say something funny or give smart-ass advice on what to do in these situations.  This time, I feel that I should just state the facts and let the world of the web decide on the matter. 

Any comments on this would be appreciated...