When I started this blog, I did so with the idea of emulating some other blogs that I had read and which inspired me to create a blog myself. For a while I unsuccessfully tried to imitate these blogs; their style, their ideas, their writing. But I realized that I was pleasing no one by doing this. As far as I know the only people who read this blog are Scott, Rob, and Sean. So now I write for myself, if only to make myself feel better.

There, there. No I feel okay.

Still waiting to hear from two customers to get their orders and process them so I can go home for the day. Reading the War of Art at my desk in the meantime, hoping that no one will notice. Actually, I don't give a shit anymore.

Although it is very lame, I give a lot of gift certificates to people. This is partly because I do not like shopping, and partly because I am often too lazy to think about what the recipient would really like but would never think to buy for themselves. Perhaps that is the art of gift-giving, moving it from a mere transaction to an exchange of energy.

What inspired me to write this is the gift I received from my brother Jim, The War of Art, by Steven Pressfield. As soon as I opened it, I felt his presence in the room, even though he was a thousand miles away. It was sent as a wake-up call to a man who is only have awake, and living somebody else's life.

The first record I ever bought with my own money was Combat Rock, by The Clash. I paid $2.50 for it in 1983, at Cheap Thrills, a used record store that would go on to provide me with over 100 more albums, cds and tapes. The Clash to me were as far as I could really venture into the punk world, being a white kid from the suburbs, but they had a huge impact on me, both socially and politically. They showed me that there was space in the world for people like me, who were sent to private school but did not want to swallow the bullshit we were taught to believe. They showed me there was an alternative path to mainstream society, other than becoming a headbanger. And for this, I am truly thankful.

Long may you rest in peace Joe Strummer.

I am going to have to get serious here, so there will be no post about the boring life endured in a "business intelligence" sales office. No, you see I originally started this blog to express my views on the world, and in that process hopefully cultivate a distinct view of the world; distinct enough for me to call it my own, but still relevant to many.

I have to put that aside and go on record regarding some current issues. You may or may not care, but it is important that the records show how I felt at this time.

I have never felt worse about the prospects for peace and prosperity in this world. Evil men, (yes, they are evil) are in powerful positions, and are eager to unleash a bloodbath on this world; they have stated publicly that they intend to wage war anywhere, at any time without notice, and for whatever reason they deem necessary. The pending invasion of Iraq will certainly result in hundreds of thousands of dead, even more homeless refugees, and another generation of orphans. Despite these certainties, Dick Cheney and Co. feel it is a necessary cost of doing business in their quest for oil.

I refuse to accept the commonly held belief that Saddam Hussein is hiding weapons, and even if he is, that is his business. Were he ever to use them, his destruction is assured, which makes me believe that he has no intention of launching any attack on anyone.

I am against this war. I am against the war on drugs. I believe that George Bush was not elected by the people of the US.

I do not hate Americans, but I hate what their government does, and what is does to its own people.

Enough ranting. I cannot change the way they operate. But I can help you change the way you think.

Have a peaceful holiday week.

Ah yes, here we are at another quarter-end, rushing to get revenue booked so we can sleep soundly on Christmas Eve. However, there are bigger problems right now, like my pounding headache, brought on by too much Christams cheer and not enough food. I only have three deals to close, but here I am begging like a pauper for a little generosity to be thrown my way.

Because Scott asked for it, and he may well represent 10% of my viewers, here is another Victoria Moment; number 27, taken from March 1998....

The dealership used to be named $1995 or less, but I don't remember seeing a sign indicating its name. But on its lot sat a mint-condition 1981 Honda Civic Wagon ( the long body-type, not the hatchback). Two guys seem to run the place, both in their 30s, but how late into the 30s I can't tell. The older one is talking on the phone with what must be his wife, as he arranging a pick-up or drop off of his children. His partner is in the office, a shack with a sliding glass door, two tiny desks and a cracked radio playing Q-103, Victoria's all classic rock station.
He too is on the phone, making arrangements for the evening, being Friday night. They both hang up to deal with me as I enquire about making payments on a $900 car.

Divorced dad comes on all friendly and warm-hearted, offering to take me out for a test drive. We drive down through Juan de Fuca park to the water, where I can really it open it up, making it into 4th gear. He tells me the CV joint will need to be replaced, and that frankly, for a man of my means you would be hard pressed to do better.

I give him $500 and tell him I will come back with the rest in 2 weeks, and makes me sign a document, effectively transferring the car to his name if I fail to pay. Partner is off the phone now, enjoying a cigarette while telling me how great the car is. I ask them if they make a good living selling used cars. They immediately reply " Oh no, we just live cheque to cheque like everybody else." They looked at me with empathetic smiles, convinced that we all agreed there was nothing you could do in life but just get by.


Thirty minutes after taking the bus to the dealership I arrived home in my Civic to the astonishment of my roommates.

While he is not an alcoholic in the neglect-your-family and beat-your-wife definition, by the standards of Alcoholics Anonymous, he has some serious thinking to do about his relationship with alcohol. To his credit, he stops drinking for lent each year. My mother has nagged at his drinking my entire life. Some of the more memorable excuses he has come up with for drinking are:

It is St Patrick's Day
It is St Andrew's Day
It is Father's Day
It's Sunday
The Masters is on
The Super Bowl is on
But it's the Grey Cup
It's the playoffs
My son has returned from _______ safely
Your mother said it was okay
Mr. Davey made this wine
I made this wine
This beer is imported