Thanksgiving

My grandmother doesn't recognize me anymore.

This may seem like a depressing thing to discover on an otherwise cheerful Thanksgiving weekend, but I've been expecting it for a while. My grandmother's memory has been getting hazier and hazier over the past few years, to the point that now she's literally living her life one moment at a time. She functions and communicates within each moment surprisingly well, but is unable to connect the present with something that happened even 5 minutes ago.

My aunt, uncle, and myself visited Nan this past weekend at her retirement home in the small community of Harbour Main. As we walked into a busy sitting room we knew exactly where to find her. She was sitting in the back corner of the room watching people come and go.

The three of us sat around her and started to talk. My Nan was always a social butterfly, and she relished the chance to have a chat. And chat she did.

She told us she put up all the Halloween decorations in the windows. (She didn't.)

She said she was out to mass in the morning after the priest had to come and get her. (She wasn't.)

She pointed at one of the old ladies in the home, called her "Aunt Deet", and said she was looking quite well. Aunt Deet was a relative who died before I was even born.

But boy, through it all she hasn't lost her ability to carry on a conversation.

My aunt reached over and touched her hand to quiet her down for an instant, and said "Alright Mother, I'm going to put this bag of sweaters in your room because it's getting colder out now and you're going to need them."

"Dear, did you bring my t-shirt too?" my Nan asked. "The last time you were over I think you took my t-shirt."

We all looked around - no one knew about this mysterious t-shirt.

My aunt left the room and it was just me, my uncle, and my Nan. Before we could start the conversation up again, a big, stocky gentleman walked into the room and Nan instantly cried out: "My, he's after getting to be some size, isn't he?!?"

Me and my uncle looked at each and grinned awkwardly, wishing the back wall of the room would consume us somehow. Luckily, the stocky gentleman was good-natured (as most Newfoundlanders are) and as he sat down he looked over at my grandmother and called out with a smile: "So how are you today, my love?"

My Nan responded, "I'm the best kind, and thanks for asking!" Her social skills are still in tip-top shape, thankfully.

My aunt returned and conversation carried on a little more until Nan was prompted to say my name. My aunt asked ever so gently, "Mother, who is this young man? What's his name?"

My Nan looked at me for a few seconds, hesitated for another few seconds, and I just had to say something. "Well, my hair is a bit different, that's probably why you don't recognize me!" With that my Nan reached out her hand and mussed up my hair a little bit.

We let the conversation drift off in other directions after that, and eventually it was time for dinner. My Nan loves dinner time, so this immediately got her attention. Before I left, though, I just had to say one last thing.

"Remember Nan, you used to call me 'Mark G'. That's what you always called me, when I was little."

Her face lit up, and the words rolled off her tongue: "Mark G". She said it with a big smile.

And then it was off to dinner for her, and back to the world for me. It was a strange day, yet I was feeling thankful. A part of me is always going to be there in her memory, even if it's always an image of a shy, brown-haired, little boy. She may never again be able to comprehend that I am now a 25-year-old man.

But me and my grandmother made a connection there, in that fleeting moment, and for that I am giving thanks.

Dirty Old-Fashioned Politics

I'll make it clear from the start that I've never been a fan of Sarah Palin. I don't normally wax political on this blog, but I just read a story from the Palin camp that makes my blood boil.

Palin has just accused Barack Obama of having ties to a domestic terrorist.

Does that sound just a TAD unbelievable to you as well? Apparently Obama served on a charity board with a University of Illinois professor who used to be a member of an anti Vietnam War militant group called "Weather Underground". The anti Vietnam War movement raged while Obama was but a small child, but Palin doesn't concern herself with such things (I believe they're called "facts"?).

The truly scary part is this: replace the words "domestic terrorist" with "communist" in Palin's accusation above, and we're into Red Scare territory. The fear-mongering tactics used by Joe McCarthy in the 50's are not as far from today's world as we would like to think.

The recipe is simple (and remains the same):

1) Take one respected public figure.
2) Add one obscure tie to a member of an extreme left-wing group.
3) Mix and serve to the public.

That Republicans haven't learned a lesson from McCarthyism is unfortunately not a big surprise to me. The real question now is: can the American Public learn from the past and not give in to reactionary scare tactics like this? I, for one, think so. I sign off now with a quote from a much greater man than myself: "Good night, and good luck."

With thanks to BBC News. Click on the pictures to visit the Wikipedia entries on both political figures.

Is Life a Really a Battle?

All I knew going in was this: it's a game where Japanese school kids have to kill each other off one by one.

The movie is Battle Royale (2000) and it was somehow EXACTLY what I expected, and then somehow became a little bit more.

The setup is quick and painless: it's Japan of the seemingly near future and for a somewhat hazy reason the government has instituted the "BR Act" - every year a "Battle Royale" takes place where a randomly chosen group of school children (yes, children) are stranded on an island and have to kill each other until there's only one survivor left.

The Grade 9 class at the start of the movie comprises 42 children. This number quickly dwindles down, and down.

Some kill out of fear. Some kill out of anger. Some kill by accident. Some kill themselves. And a select few kill out of pure evil.

It's got all the grisly death scenes you expect from a survival horror movie like this, but this is NOT your normal horror movie.

Imagine all the little Junior High storylines you lived through - but all ending in death. The passionate crushes, the fighting between cliques, the loners with a bone to pick, and the seemingly unbreakable friendships - all ending in the most brutal and final of ways. We get to see tiny glimpses of these stories (especially the stories of young love) and of course, the bittersweet endings.

The movie begs a lot of interesting questions, with the main one being: what would YOU do if you were thrown into a situation like that?

Can intelligence get you out of a violent situation, or is violence the only way? Is life really a game, more dependent on random chance than skill or smarts? If your life is at stake, would friendship and love be meaningless?

Like I said - not your normal grisly horror movie. I recommend it.

Falling

I had the strangest dream last night.

I was watching someone jump out of an airplane. And for some reason it looked a lot like Hurley from Lost. He was a big guy, anyway. It was the usual "looking at him from above" angle, but the unusual part was that he clearly wasn't wearing a parachute.

So I felt like this was going to be a grisly one.

But then - another skydiver edges into the frame and gets behind Hurley, wrapping his arms around his chest. Must have a parachute on, I thought. But no - he wasn't wearing one either. 5 or 6 more skydivers enter the frame and they all form a chain behind the other 2. Once again, there's not one parachute among them. So now there's a chain of 8 skydivers in a sitting position falling quickly toward the ground.

As they approach the inevitable landscape below, the "camera angle" changes to one from the ground. The chain of skydivers is getting closer and closer to the ground. But as they close in, they start to decelerate. Once they're about a foot from the ground, they're almost floating in place. They land softly, all sitting together in a chain.

Part of me wants to analyze this - do our dreams give us insights into great truths that our conscious mind can only hint at? Was this dream trying to tell me that the only path to salvation is the human connections we form with those around us?

Quite possible. And even more possible is that every dream is just our brain "taking out the trash" of the day, filtering out thoughts, images, and impressions in a completely random fashion - strung together as little "stories" only because our conscious mind is still barely hanging on, trying to make sense out of the senseless?

There's no answer to that. It's one of the few mysteries left in our modern world, and it's not something that we should take for granted.

Amazon-nesia

am·a·zon·ne·sia
–noun
Complete or partial loss of memory relating directly to purchases from online retailer Amazon.

I love Amazon-nesia.

Saw a package today from Amazon addressed to me and couldn't for the life of me remember what the hell I ordered. I'm not sure if that's good / that's bad / I need help.

I enjoy it. It's like Christmas morning every time I open a package from Amazon. "Past Mark" (a very wise man who doesn't mind spending money) buys these lovely gifts for "Future Mark" (a forgetful man who reaps all the benefits). Thank you Past Mark.

So what was in the package today?

1. The Best of the Black President - Fela Kuti

Not enough people know the name Fela Kuti. I was first introduced to his music in France back in 2005 and it blew me away. It's an amazing (and hard to describe) mixture of Jazz, Funk, Rock, and African sounds with the 70's stamped all over it - and it is PURE fun to listen to. This guy is just as good as Bob Marley, and I do not say that lightly.

You have GOT to hear this.

2. Spaced - The Complete Series

I'm a massive fan of Simon Pegg's Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, so as soon as I heard that the series that made him famous was FINALLY out in a North America friendly DVD - I had to pick it up. I haven't read too much about it in my attempt to approach it as unspoiled as possible, but it seems like every review of Spaced includes the word "AWESOME". Probably a good sign. It's pegged (pun NOT quite intended) as the ultimate geeky British comedy, so I'm sure I will enjoy it immensely when I do watch it...

...RIGHT after I finish The Wire Season 4. God, that show is amazing. I'm sure Amazon-nesia will kick in again soon when Season 5 arrives at my doorstep. Future Mark will thank me.

Now THAT is How You Start a Song.

"Last night they used two bouncers,
and one of 'em is alright,
the other one's a scary 'n
his-way-or-no-way totalitarian..."

Go download "From The Ritz to the Rubble" by the Arctic Monkeys.
Seriously. Go do it now.

Now I must tear myself away from my gritty British music to go back to The Wire Season 4. I'm only on Episode 3 and I can't wipe the smile off my face, it's that good. More on that soon.

Gang Tats

I really don't know what to make of this:


Just when I start to think that I'm the geekiest man on Earth, a quick look around the Interwebs proves that I am wrong. SO VERY WRONG.

This gallery on Wired.com shows off some of the dorkiest ink ever slapped on human flesh, with nine tattoos in total ranging from "nice!" (the DNA strand) to "Oh lord no!" (the flaming ten-sided dice).

In the unlikely event that I ever get a tattoo it will probably be something equally geeky (maybe something from Neil Gaiman's Sandman?), so I really can't say a bloody thing.

Spin Doctors

So I'm going to skip the requisite "I promise to write in here more often" statement.

I think we're past that point now. We'll just play it by ear from here on in.

Anyhow, read something hilarious in the Globe and Mail's "Report on Business" today. Something that made me question the very nature of my business pursuits.

Here's the lead-up: Rafael Nadal is a famous Spanish tennis player, won the men's title at Wimbledon, won Gold in the Olympics, but looks a bit sleazy with long dirty hair and his ever-present sleeveless shirts and quite long shorts.

So recently Nike's marketing machine said they were going to give the poor boy a "makeover". Cut his hair. Give him actual shorts. They were even going to make him wear a T-SHIRT with sleeves! He was supposed to premiere his "New Look" at the U.S. Open in New York.

It didn't happen. He was wearing the usual old stuff. Nike's explanation is bloody hilarious, and I quote:

“Given the condensed time-frame leading up to New York, with Nadal just coming off the Olympics, there has not been adequate time for Nadal to fully transition to the new apparel, which introduces a fundamentally different silhouette in both short and shirt,” a spokeswoman said in an e-mailed statement.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?

He didn't like wearing the new shorts and shirt! What the hell does this "silhouette" thing even mean?!? This kind of spin drives me nuts, and apparently it's not restricted to politics anymore.

Is this what being successful in business is all about? Knowing how to spout garbage and make it sound like a Shakespearean soliloquy?

My comfort comes from the fact that I am both a Business Major and an Arts Major. I always felt I was learning the ways of business to "work on it from the inside": make it do some good things, and maybe even to prove that it is possible to be successful without outright deception. We're all people here, can't we just act and talk like normal human beings, even in business interactions?

I certainly hope so.