A Royal Wedding Invitation

 

I have been quite preoccupied these last few days: It takes a lot of time each day waiting for the Pony Express, while looking for my wedding invitation. Wedding invitation, you say? The royal wedding invitation, of course. You have heard that William of Windsor and Katherine of Middleton are getting married, haven't you, and that the invitations are in the mail?

Silly you: Where else am I supposed to wait for the gilded envelope?

The word out here in the Back Forty is that Beckham (as in Beckham the soccer player) is in, but Obama (as in Obama the President) is not. So what are my chances? I even heard that some desperate teenager in Mexico is on a self-imposed hunger strike, and will starve herself until she gets her invitation. I like my food too much, so I'll pass on the royal fast—although that is very, er, noble of her.

I'm actually not sure if I ever get an invitation what I would do with it. On the one hand, I would be honoured, flattered, and amused; but on the other hand, I would possibly turn it over to the highest bidder. Weddings are not my highest form of entertainment, and weddings overseas would be a stretch at every level—financial, emotional, personal, and logical.

My sense is that it is big news in Britain these days, and good on them. The Charles and Di fiasco (wedding, great, but marriage, not good), followed by the Charles and Camilla match-up (or is that dust-up?) are both examples of marriages that hit the news for all the wrong reasons. As you know, William's Uncle Andrew, Aunt Anne, and his own father have had marital failures (note how I am careful to not assign blame or contributing factors). Let's hope for the sake of the Commonwealth (to say nothing of their own personal bliss) that William and Kate do better.

I don't know if I am a republican (the philosophy, not the party), but I do know I am not a monarchist. Never was, never will be. The closest I have ever come to anything royal is paying a king's ransom for a family meal at Burger Baron.

I suppose there is a place for royalty, but my settled conviction (or is it raw bias?) appreciates it only as token head of state, with minimal ceremonial and legal power. And for all the queen's vaunted trips to Canada over the years, I would personally rather go watch a parade in Taber. You may call that an ignorant perspective; I simply call it a commoner's viewpoint.

And then there's the little issue of money, as in money tied up in real estate, money maintaining the land and buildings tied up in real estate, money supporting the lifestyle of the rich and famous Windsor family. And only the hairdresser knows for sure what other expenses there are.

Not for a moment do I think that the monarchy should be wiped out completely and all the money simply given to the poor. That smacks of socialism, another unnecessary evil. Cutting back would a good thing; the next step would be taking those savings and pouring them into job training, affordable housing, food subsidies—and any other useful strategies to help the under-privileged.. But to simply give it away without any accountability would be the depth of irresponsibility.

For the record, we have another name for that practice: Foreign aid--a very careless approach to "helping" other countries, fodder for yet another column.

So, whether William and Kate invite me, and I have my doubts, I wish them well. And I wish them well, not because they are royalty but because they are a young couple in love, facing desperate times in Britain. It is a tough world we are all facing and every young couple needs all the support they can get—even if they don't have their own palace.

I'm thinking that if I haven't got it by next week, I'll stop my stakeout at the mailbox near the corral. Maybe our family should invite that Mexican teenager over for a meal out. The closest she'll be getting to a royal wedding is supper at Burger King and dessert at Dairy Queen.

I'd rather be Me

 

I don't know if I would like to be anyone other than myself these days. I am actually fairly happy with being, well, me. I am neither as tall nor good-looking as I thought I would be at this stage, but I've adjusted well—considering the circumstances.

So, until further notice, I'll just be myself: urbane, genteel, and debonair. (Okay, okay, I kid, but jest a little.) Until I consulted my third favourite book (see column, three weeks back), I thought those were different types of doughnuts. Thank the good Lord above for dictionaries. In the meantime, let's take a collective look (meaning: I write, you read) at a few characters making headlines these days—for all the wrong reasons.

The following are people that I wouldn't want to be for all the necklaces in Los Angeles, though I wouldn't mind access to their respective bank accounts and seaside villas.

President Mubarak of Egypt. No, I guess that would actually be "ex-President" Mubarak. The recent riots in Egypt, not to be confused with Calgary's Red Mile of many, many years ago, just goes to show you that if you scream loud and long enough, there's a good chance you'll get your own way. Hey, a million newborns prove that maxim everyday.

My own students may want to try this to get me out of the classroom, and I will go, so long as I can take the money and run.

Anyways, the ex-Pharaoh slunk out of town, possibly with a harem of mummies, along with his pyramid of Euros, money likely that had been designated to help the millions in his impoverished nation. On the one hand, I really wouldn't want that many people mad at me; but on the other hand, a few chariots of gold could easily soften the blow.

Next on my list is Lindsay Lohan. Let me summarize her life in one word: Mess. Big mess. Really big mess. (Maurice, my man, I can count to one, okay, so let me turn them into one word: Really-big-mess. Aren't hyphens grand?) Remember that sweet young thing in "Parent Trap"? No, not Hayley Mills; the other sweet young thing in the other "Parent Trap." Well, she morphed into a cute Hollywood zombie, to be sure. And now every time we read about her, she is either heading into rehab or sneaking out of rehab, blubbering in the courtroom or blubbering at a press conference. And now I read that she has taken a shine to free and expensive necklaces.

So many of these celebrities were once great young people, with promising careers. If you had any idea as to how utterly wasted their lives are—wallowing in the mudhole of sex, drugs, and blow-ups--you would shudder. Lohan is also part of that, a growing phenomenon of Hollywood's wanton ladies.

Lastly, Mario Lemieux. I watched him play the game, long before he was an owner. In fact, I remember when he was drafted. Now he's a bigshot owner, and more power to him. But he has recently sounded off about a recent "Hockey 'Fight' in Canada," where his Penguins lost two battles on two fronts: the scoresheet and the ring, er, rink. Fighting is part of hockey, though the debacle with the Islanders of a couple weeks ago was a ridiculous example of making the arena a war-zone. It adds another twist to the term, "killing penalties."

However, Lemieux's comments are really quite hollow, as his Penguins are leading the league in almost every penalty-related statistic. But the ugliest inconsistency here is that his team has arguably the dirtiest player in the league today, a Matt Cooke. (The same Matt Cooke, no less, that the Vancouver Canucks got rid of years ago.)

Needless to say, Mr. Lemieux has created a lot of animosity with his comments. They're not ill-timed, not all all; they're just ill-placed. If he was not the owner of a team of goons, then he would have the credibility to speak.

So, I have no idea where Mubarak is hiding, I think I know where Lohan is cooling her heels, and Lemieux has probably retreated back into the owner's booth. For me, I am quite content to lay low in my brave office for the time being.

I'll stay this way until further notice, enjoying all those urbane, genteel and debonair doughnuts.

Valentine's Day

 

I recently learned two things about yesterday's "lover's lame"—also known as St. Valentine's Day: One, fifteen percent of women send themselves a Valentine's card; and two, those cards were part of the 900 million sent out on this occasion. My source for this gem comes from my second favourite book (please refer to last week's column for its title).

These figures are based on American consumers. If you want to do the Canadian math, the conversion would be 1.5% of Canadian women and there would be 90 million cards. The first number I can comprehend; the second, well, I don't know. When there are only thirty-three million people (more or less) in the Dominion, that means three cards, per person, coming and going.

Methinks that on either side of the 49^th parallel, there's a whole lot of wishful thinking going on—and it might start with the card companies themselves.

You may recall some years ago my rant about the fallacies and stresses of Valentine's Day. Good on you: I certainly can't recall what I said about it then, but I know what I think about it still: On the one hand, it's good for the lovers of the world, but, on the other hand, it puts all sorts of undue pressure on the widowed, the dying, the dumped, as well as those struggling in loveless relationships.

The same could be said about the Christmas season, because there is much of the same subtle (and not-so-subtle) pressure placed on the same types of people.

Hallmark Cards and other purveyors of romantic stationary are possibly to blame, if, in fact, we feel the urge to blame anyone. And big box retail stores do a brisk business around Valentine's Day, breaking the monotonous routine of the post-Christmas and pre-Easter period.

But I think the biggest culprit (drum roll, please) remains Hollywood, that cinematic cesspool and one of my favourite whipping boys. And it really doesn't matter if it is television, movies, or DVD's. I agree, no one makes anyone else watch the tube; there is no gun placed at one's head to force them to go to a local theatre; and renting raunchy DVD's is not the law. But there is a lot of peer pressure to watch and enjoy the latest offering on the altar of the (very) liberal arts.

My angst is the message these mediums send. Unfortunately, I understand (note the wording) that even so-called Christian romance novels dole out the same tripe. Presenting love, affection, and intimacy in such a way that hopes are dashed and hearts are defrauded is really, really dangerous. When love is seen as strictly physical, immediate, and sexual, there is some serious misleading going on.

True love waits; true love restrains; true love places the other person's needs and desires first. I would humbly suggest that you read a chapter of the Good Book (I Corinthians 13, to be precise) in a modern version. I think you would be amazed and moved at what true love should look like; then, if you're up to it, use that text as a measuring stick for every token love out there. I think you might come away from the "love test" feeling embittered and cheated, but possibly motivated to do something positive about it.

Valentine's Day reminds me that we need to be training our young people more effectively, at least when it comes to how they should treat each other. A wrong view of women, for instance, leads to all sorts of devious moral practices. To be fair, a warped view of men likewise leads to twisted expectations and frustrations. Cyber porn, domestic violence, and child abuse can easily be the result, thus becoming a serious financial, social, and spiritual strain on our society.

And you thought it was merely a card here, and card there (and then another one, to make up for the third card). Well, as usual, done right, with the right motive, to the one-and-only person, a Valentine's Day is a great idea. I'm torn between being stupid and Cupid. And I'm still not sure how you can tell three separate people that they are the special one in your life.

Unless you send two of them back to yourself.

Why I Write

 

Those that have attempted to follow this column for the past few years know that I love to play with words. Sometimes such toying can be misconstrued as bitter sarcasm or religious intolerance. Certain letters to the editor—which are always welcome, so long as they are not personal attacks (a standard that I also live up to)-- are part of the "joy" of writing in a public place.

My third favourite book—next to the Bible and Uncle John's Bathroom Reader-- is the Oxford Canadian Dictionary. Said dictionary defines "satire" in the following manner: "the use of ridicule to expose folly or vice or to lampoon an individual." It is an appropriate genre (or style) of literature. I suggest to you that it is "wit with an attitude."

If I can connect the dots for you, then, one of my writing styles is satire. Sometimes I lampoon sports, farm life, and even something as simple as the weather. In another context, I might stand up and say the following: "My name is Craig and I am a satirist."

That, in an ironic sense, is a touch of satire in itself. Throughout the years I have looked at life and laughed, though the next day, I would look again and cry. Either way, with a certain gift with words, I have tried to expose and explain some of the follies of the world I live in. They are shallow, passing observations, I agree. This column has always been for the common people, not the sophisticates. I believe I could write polemics here and tomes there, but in this context I choose not to. We all need to laugh just a little more, and I do my best to add a grin here and there.

Over the years I have angered some, perhaps many, with my personal convictions regarding marriage, origins, politics, and faith. (Note the disarming way I allow for individual freedom of expression.) No offense was ever intended and never will be; I am sorry if anyone takes offense. My views on the sanctity and solidarity of marriage, on the reasonableness of creationism and a young earth, on restraint and conservatism in every stripe and level of leadership, and, finally, on the wonderful story of the divine mission, have remained constant. I have tried to present these views as consistently and tactfully and simply as possible.

Take, for instance, last week's comments on the current mess in Egypt. I am steadfastly alarmed at what is happening there. Decades of oppression, both from the dictatorship at the government level, as well as the Islamic fundamentalism entrenched throughout the rest of the society, have left that once-glorious country in serious moral, economic, spiritual, and cultural shape. Recent comments were in no way a measured analysis of that situation. I am not that pretentious.

Again, my take on same-sex marriages. Everytime I turn around, someone is crying "homophobia" (or is it "homophobia!"?) because people like me struggle with the concept of a groom and groom wedding ceremony. Have we stooped so low as a nation that we can't simply express our opinion, our consternation, without feeling that we are venomous hate-mongers? Someone should develop the notion of "heterophobia," just to balance things out. (Even though it is actually not a legitimate word, it is a way of looking at things.) I weary of those who hate it when religion so-called is "crammed down their throat." I agree, but I also agree that alternative lifestyles shouldn't be crammed down our throats, either; I suggest we need a level playing field in matters of morality.

Some people are followers of Charles Darwin, others are not. Those in the former category are set in their views and much of their thinking permeates our school system, our workplace, and our public television. Those in the latter category, which includes yours truly, have deep issues with such a porous philosophy. We believe we have as much right to express our opposing view as the textbooks do. That seems very fair to me.

You're probably wandering what is the point of this week's rant. No real point, I suppose, but sometimes there is a need to clarify the purpose of this column. Said purpose is as follows: An often witty, sometimes satirical, look at every aspect of life, revelling in the fact that free speech is still the rule, and not the exception. For the same reason, that's why letters to the editor are published. We really can't have the one without allowing for the other, can we now?

So, I'll keep writing and you, please, keep reading. I won't make you agree with me at any time, but if I can steer you into thinking a little differently in a variety of areas, I may have succeeded just a little. As they say, we can agree to disagree, without being disagreeable—though I won't budge on my view of the Calgary Flames.