September 19th, 2007

September, 2007 :

The job is (just) about done Christmas Rant.


Well, yes, it is only September and the time of great seasonal indulgences appears to be far off, but, circumstances have encouraged me to write the rant early, a sort of advanced copy of something that won’t be coming in your stockings at the end of the year.

I don’t usually mention names in these finely crafted creations of inadequate wit and poor grammar, but, as this is a very special and premature installment, I will.

Has anyone noticed how big Ron Barlows ears have become? – at one point in the past I convinced John Oh that Ron was a retired boxer and that his ears had grown to enormous size from the constant pounding over the years. This may not be obvious to those in the reading audience who have been giving other parts of their bodies a constant pounding over the years (normally during works time) without any increase in size, but, in the case of boxers ears, they always seem to grow bigger.

But, as you all know, there are bigger issues than Ron Barlow’s ears.

The ship has reached the point of no return as far as taking on water, as you read this I’ll be climbing into a lifeboat on the starboard side, unable to help, or hinder for that matter. As your fearless Captains/Emperors remind you that it’s all up to you, to make things work, I’ll be wearing a nicely constrained yet fashionable Victorian button up number and be using a flare gun to celebrate my departure while toasting my chestnuts.

If you’re expecting the rescue ship Carpathia to arrive before dawn, then good luck, however, in reality the water is extremely cold and the unthinkable truth is that most of you are not going to make it. The ship is going to sink.

The comparison with the Titanic and the Carpathia is perhaps a little off as the crew of the Titanic did fire off as many SOS messages as they could, plus exhausted their supply of flares, to no avail.

And of course they did not wear denim flares, even on a Friday.

It appears that this corporate ship is going down without the crew even considering raising a flag of warning, hundreds of unwilling crewmen, wrapped in silence, incapable of criticism of a regime that has resulted in the destruction of what was perceived as a productive environment.

Although, it could be said that the Flying Squirrel Emporium had the same effect in the late 1980s.

I’ve said it before, and by golly I’ll say it again, the emperor has no new clothes, he is, as the French say, buck nekkid and it’s about time that all of you raised your eyebrows and concerns about what’s happening here onboard and point firmly at his winky.

After all, they can’t send everyone to Peterborough can they?

The Scottish contingent of the escape committee told me the story of the schoolboy visiting the zoo who sees a bear sitting in it’s cage, visibly upset. The schollboy asks why and the zookeeper explains that the bear is sitting on a nail. Why does it not move inquires the young lad? Because, answers the zookeeper, it does not hurt enough.

I looked this story up on the interweb and it continued that there is a lack of what is called chaos for the bear to make the move; actually to want to make the move. So just as the actions have been going on of all time, the bear will continue to sit in it's same place, in the same way, doing the same things; until that moment when chaos is encountered in order to make the bear move.

You’re waiting for your own personal chaos, without it you’ll continue to uncomfortably sit on your nails and hope for the daily darkness to arrive quickly or for prime time programming on NBC to improve dramatically.

Mind you, Graeme Wright is barking mad and spends most of his time relating his world to his childhood heroes of Sooty, Jimmy Clitheroe and Johnny Morris. (For those not familiar, the bear, the schoolboy and the zookeeper) – just a paragraph to make the Scotsman smile.

The last straw on the camels back, or chaos, can arrive in your lives at any point and it can be as simple as an unfortunate miscalculation on managements part about how little money is required to keep you on your nail. This is the ongoing feature film between the downtrodden, exploited proletariat and the smug, controlling bourgeoisie, set to a Rogers and Hammerstein soundtrack.

So a decision is made about how green the grass is and you jump onto another nail at another country club while continuing to contemplate that age old question of exactly how do we solve a problem like Maria?.

John Lennon described us all as “fucking peasants” and that if we wanted to be a working class hero then we should just follow him. Well, I don’t know about you, but moving to a cold city where no one gives a crap and being violently gunned down by a complete stranger is not my cup of tea, hero status or not.

That may still be my fate, although my nemesis may be a tumbling thermos cap followed quickly by the pointy end of a logging truck.

On a much lighter note, the changes in our structure have brought about much merriment, especially the record breaking mid-year musical chairs colocation. I’ve searched the interweb for this word but have found it’s definition elusive when applied to humans.

Although, my colon has been aching with all this movement…..

In a miserable diatribe like this with the cross pollination of Ron Barlow, a 1912 shipping disaster, Danish fairy tales, Marxism and the Sound of Music you’re going to come to the conclusion that it was about time that the cynical curmudgeon shuffled off under his mushroom and turned off the lights.

I agree with you.

As my lifeboat moves off to the horizon, those with sharp eyes amongst you will notice that my Victorian dress has turned into what appears to be a red lumberjacks shirt and trousers, I’m wearing a toque and the lifeboat has morphed into a jet boat.

Call me Nick, call me Relic, but please, don’t call me to find out how to run your programs.

Dave Weldon has left the boat.


Good luck to all of you who deserve it.