Adventures in Literacy

It’s tough to devote time to reading these days but I try to make sure that I get through at least a few pages a night. It’s important that I spend at least a little time not staring at a glowing screen when I’m not toddler wrangling.

This past month, however, thanks to a United Church book sale and a friend who works at the McGill bookstore, I’ve been on something of a reading jag and managed to get through a larger number of books than usual. Here are some of the highlights.

Broken Music – Sting

I have a thing for showbiz autobiographies because they can be often charming, frank, and humourous (see Dear Fatty by Dawn French) or incredibly self-aggrandizing and full of bullshit. Sting is somewhere between the two. I recently became nostalgic for his first solo album, The Dream of the Blue Turtles, which was when Sting was still a pretty good singer-songwriter before he became the most boringest man on Earth. Around the same time, I found a copy of his 2003 memoir for a dollar.

The book covers his life before his success with the Police and as you might expect, it’s incredibly pretentious. His recall of past events is embellished with descriptive details that I doubt even the sharpest mind would remember (“My fingers froze over the piano keys mid-cadenza.”). I only recently remembered spending my Saturdays running around the stables at the harness racing track where my dad spent time (which is a great thing to have in your childhood, by the way). Some like events are likely to be embroidered a bit. But I suppose all our memories do that. I certainly can’t argue that he has a bad prose style.

Dead Air – Iain Banks

Another acquisition from that church sale, Dead Air is a paranoid semi-thriller set during the days following the terrorist attacks in the US on September 11, 2001. A left-wing radio host has an affair with a mobster’s wife, goes on enjoyably leftist rants, and punches a Holocaust denier (then denying it ever happened. Ha!). It’s funny but the 9/11 thing is wallpaper and the thriller aspect fizzles out at the end. Apparently Banks writes really good sci-fi so I should check that out.

Stuff White People Like – Christian Lander

Based on the popular blog, I learned that I am merely 41% white, despite being ethnically whiter than milk. I have very pedestrian tastes, sadly.

Wishful Drinking – Carrie Fisher

George Lucas wouldn’t let her wear a bra under her Princess Leia costume because “underwear doesn’t exist in space”.

Next up: Saints of Big Harbour by Lynn Coady. All the better to help me get in a mindset to return to the Maritimes (which, yes, is still going on).

LOST: The End. Explained. (Spoilers, obvs)

Ok, so this post contains an image from the last 10 minutes of the last episode of LOST. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a good idea to look away now.

Ok?

You’ve been warned.

So I’ve been mulling it and over and after all the smoke and the polar bears and the Apollo bars and that Nikki and Paolo business and Dharma bums and pockets of energy and Egyptians and Richard’s eyeliner and Dr. Marvin Candle and teleporting rabbits and invisible peanut butter and We All Everybody and corks, I think it all came down to one thing: that church. I mean, seriously, check out that stained glass window.

I’ll let Christian Shepherd explain it:

An Alternative Explanation for the Housing Crisis, Two Years Later

Because I have my finger on the pulse of society like that.

Remember how everyone in the US was losing his house because of these sub-prime mortgages? Falsely led to believe that they can afford more house, borrowers would take on bigger mortgages than they could normally afford. When the interest rates went up, they defaulted on their mortgages, became homeless, and the financial sectors that were counting on these debts suddenly found themselves in trouble. Or something like that.

Several bailouts later, I still don’t know what led people to think that they needed a starter mansion when a condo, townhouse, or small bungalow would suffice nicely. While I’ve never purchased a house, my assumption is that I’ll buy something slightly smaller than I can safely afford, for when things get tight.

Then it struck me why people bought bigger homes than they could afford: television. Have you seen the houses that so-called middle class families live in on TV these days? They’re enormous.

Take Modern Family. I enjoy it. It’s a sharply written but generally light-hearted take on families making a go of it in suburbia. They live in massive houses.  The last episode I watched had Gloria purchasing a Hawaii vacation, using her husband’s money, for the entire family as a surprise to her husband. When he learned of this, he merely grumbled. He was more concerned over his step-son sitting on his Kindle, which contained his favourite Robert Ludlum novels. While I relate to some of the things they talk about, it’s evident that there is no problem their considerable wealth can’t solve.

When were working class people banned from the airwaves? Everybody Hates Chris? Cancelled. Louis CK’s Lucky Louie? Cancelled. Roseanne? Malcolm in the Middle? Distant memories.

Maybe it’s just too tempting for set designers to splash out on the expensive stuff when they’re given a network budget. Maybe American TV producers don’t know what middle class is. Whatever the reason, it’s occurred to me that when people see these lavish lifestyles on TV, they feel they deserve it as well. A five bedroom home with granite counter tops? This is what people like me live in. I need to live in this, too. With a Volvo SUV.

Maybe the answer is to start creating programmes that show people modestly living within their means. Then you might have TV that’s more reflective of a broader section of society and it won’t cause so many financial crises.

Daycare

Today, the wee lad started daycare. It’s not as emotional as I thought it would be.

Yesterday at church (that still feels strange writing that), I mentioned this to another father who has a son a little older than James. He asked me what kind of daycare it was.

Not quite understanding the question, and as usual, not one to press for clarification, I answered, “Um, a private one? It’s a new place near my office in Ville St-Laurent.”

We spoke some more on the topic and he gave me some friendly advice about being patient with new daycares as they’ll spend some months working out the bugs.

It wasn’t until the drive on the way home that I realized that, when he asked “what kind?”, as his own child goes to such a place, he may have meant “Waldorf or Montessori?”

And then I felt inadequate for not sending my kid to a daycare with a declared educational philosophy.