Rooney Mara vs Noomi Rapace

Noomi Rapace and Rooney Mara, whose names are almost anagrams of each other, are actors who both play Lisbeth Salander in the Swedish and Hollywood versions of Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

Which one do you think fits the bill better?

My husband, who is a completist, purchased the extended Swedish version. Originally called Millennium, it actually ran on Swedish TV before it had a theatrical release. It's nine hours long. Therefore I'm more partial to Noomi Rapace because I've been exposed to her more than Rooney Mara.

Noomi just seems a little tougher, a little more grownup. It's more believable that the men she meets, Armansky and Blomkvist, fall for her just a little. Rooney just seems a little young, a little frail, although Lisbeth is frequently mistaken for a rebellious teen.

My husband, the completist, has also purchased all three books, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Girl Who Played with Fire, and The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest in hardcover. That will have to round out his purchases because Stieg Larsson died of a heart attack in 2004 at the age of 50.

Buy - Amnesty International's Chimes of Freedom - The Songs of Bob Dylan

Bob Dylan's first studio album came out 50 years ago this year. Amnesty International is also commemorating fifty years since its inception. My Dylan-mad husband bought Chimes of Freedom, the Songs of Bob Dylan - Honouring 50 years of Amnesty International . It's great. You'll feel good when you buy it. It's wonderful if you know the "Canon" and if you don't you will surely learn more Bob tunes than you knew before. Eighty artists participated. There's Miley Cyrus, Johnny Cash, Neil Finn ex Crowded House, Pete Townshend, Cage the Elephant, Marianne Faithfull, Patti Smith, and  bunch of bands I'm too out of the loop to know. There's 92-year-old Pete Seeger singing Forever Young, old flame Joan Baez, plus Sting singing in his new "deep voice".

Bob Dylan shuns the mantle of "Civil Rights Activist", ( I think he shuns just about everything) but this project is such a great melding of music and human rights activism that the connection can't be avoided.Check it out.

Dylan's career and Amnesty International aren't the only things turning 50  this year. Just sayin....

The Rain in Spain

First I noticed North Americans pronouncing words as if they were from London's East End. "Buh'n" for Button. "Badmind'n" for Badminton. Then I had a wee rant about Schtrawberry, Schtrong and Schtupid. Now I'm noticing "E-zactly" instead of Exactly. I've heard it six times in one week alone. Three times from the girl on the bus who intoned, "ezactly, ezactly, ezactly" into her phone.Stop. Stop it now.

Courage My Love - Men's Style

I’m a big proponent of men dressing better, with more creativity, more flair and more colour. Jimi Hendrix’ drum major’s coat fills me with delight. Bob Dylan’s polka-dotted shirts are spot-on.

Casual Friday doesn’t have to mean “dress” pants and golf shirts. That’s just gruesome. So when I read that portraits of Mick Jagger from the 1960s would be on display at London’s National Gallery, I just had to get on my bandwagon again.

The exhibition will include portraits of Jagger by Gered Mankowitz, which will highlight the effect of pop art and psychedelia on Jagger’s clothes. Gered Mankowitz (who was just 18 when he became the Rolling Stone’s official photographer) is also responsible for an iconic photo of Jimi Hendrix wearing the military jacket he bought at the boutique I Was Lord Kitchener’s Valet, in London’s mod Carnaby Street. The store specialized in movie costumes and military gear. The designer of the Beatles Sgt. Pepper’s album cover was inspired while walking past the shop.

Again the Beatles circa 1968 demonstrate a male style of dressing that exhibits originality, a sense of confidence and above all, a sense of humour. Known as The Mad Day Out, Don McCullin’s photo session of July 68 show the Beatles as colourful as the flowers surrounding them. Love it!

I see a profound lack of confidence and of humour in clothes both male and female now that I’m back at school. The thousands of university students I pass everyday are as colourless and uniform as a swarm of black ants.

So turn off your mind, relax and flow downstream. Add a little velvet to your life. Dress like the Beatles, not beetles. Start with striped socks, or a bow tie. You’ll feel better too.

Courage My Love, refers to a vintage shop in Toronto’s Kensington Market. Maybe one could pick up a nice striped waistcoat there.

Mick Jagger: Young in the 60s will be at London’s National Portrait Gallery starting May 3. npg.org.uk.


Photo 1 and 3: Gered Mankowitz
Photo 2: Colin Jones
Photo 4 and 5: Don McCullin

Recovery

I saw a BBC drama yesterday called Recovery starring David Tennant (Dr. Who) who receives a personality-changing head injury that affects the lives of everyone around him. This portrayal, originally aired in 2007, was so similar to what happened to my father in 1979, that it felt as if it had been written by my mother.

My father was plowed into by a driver heading to our town to face dangerous driving charges. How about that for irony? It was the first snowy day in November and she skidded off the road only to drive straight into Dad’s lane upon correcting herself.

What happened in the TV dramatization was like reading a diary. It was like reliving those days at the end of '79.

The doctors saved my father's life but they didn’t save my “father”. After a coma that lasted three weeks, he was better and recovering but he had lost his “Raymond-ness". Dad was a librarian for a huge swath of northern Ontario. He was an active member of our small town’s cultural community. He was well-liked. People thought he was funny; his British sense of humour won over many.

But people thirty-years ago didn’t understand head-injuries very well. They didn’t “get” what had happened to Dad. There was no psychiatrist in our small town of 5,000; no therapist that could be objective. Despite the smallness of the community I grew up in, people seemed to forget that Dad had been injured. Six months later they expected him to be normal again and couldn’t understand when he didn’t recognize them on the street.

In the dramatization, when Tennant’s character Alan comes home he  appears to be fit,  but things don’t fall into place for him. He doesn’t understand how to unlock the car. He sets fire to the kitchen because he can’t remember how to use the toaster. Sentimental songs have no meaning for him any longer. He acts inappropriately and his sense of decorum is shot. He's suddenly furiously angry and doesn't understand how this affects those around him.

My father was unable to drive. He set fire to the lawn and had no idea how to put it out. Simple tasks like changing a light-bulb were beyond him from then on. People were backing off of committees he was on because of his sudden temper. He couldn't add much to a conversation. Jokes and puns were strange and esoteric. What he did want to talk about, and he did incessantly,  were reminiscences of his life in England shortly World War II.

The thing that affected me most in the movie was the teenage boy. He was exactly the same age as I was when my dad was involved in the accident. Like me, he had enrolled in post-secondary education and couldn’t wait to get out of the tinder-box of tension at home. He was charged with looking after his Dad when his mother wasn’t at home. It's tough situation going from child to care-giver when you’re that age. It’s your Dad for heaven’s sake, he’s supposed to look after you.

Like Alan in the movie, my father could never make any attempt to help himself because he never understood he was different, despite trips to doctors, neurologists and worker’s compensation boards. Alan starts back to work to find that he can’t cope. My dad managed to work for another 4 years with others propping him up until he was given the golden handshake.

Alan’s wife Tricia, played by Sarah Parish, sounded just like my broken-record of a mother. My mother’s incessant cries of “It’s like I’ve been widowed already”,  “I didn’t want a third child”,  “The man I know is gone” were echoed throughout the film. He was a different, strange Raymond. They never shared a bed again.

Dad wasn’t the most emotional of men to begin with but we were left with someone who didn’t care. If someone was sick, or a long-discarded friend had died or if we had personal trouble, he didn’t flinch. When my mother fell down the stairs he barely looked up from his crossword. Alan in the film left us with the hope that he would try to be a better husband. That didn’t happen in our family. To carry on with this depressing theme, my house was filled with another thirty years of acrimony, cold-shoulders, dinner time arguments. My mother was the worst of all possible "nurses". She never gave up the notion that Dad was doing this to her deliberately.

If anything positive can come of this, I was thrilled to see that my story is out there being told so accurately by others and that I wasn't the only one who had suffered the effects of a brain-damaged relative.

Ignorance Has Been Elevated into a Political Movement.

Aww, he's only been in for 8 days and I'm already cringing with embarrassment. It's going to be a loooong four years for Toronto's...ahem..."elite".

What Hath Toronto Wrought?

Photo Aaron Lynett/National Post

For those in Toronto and those not, feast your eyes upon who we voted for for Mayor. Here is Rob Ford at his mature, mindful, compassionate best. Toronto can say goodbye to advances in public transit and any kind of positive reputation built up over the years.  Diane at Things We Love 2 forwarded the link to these videos. Thank you Diane. Hold on tight. We're in for a bumpy ride.


Notice how the councillor in front cringes.








Boring at the beginning but watch this one to the bitter end if you can. He's a bully.

French Unions Plan New Pensions Strike October 12

Today a  group of six French unions said they are planning a fresh strike Oct. 12, and a day of protest Oct. 2, against government plans to overhaul the country's pensions system.

Calling for a "new day of massive strikes and protests" on Oct. 12, to coincide with a debate on the pensions bill in the Senate, the unions are striving to make my holiday uncomfortable. I'll be in the thick of it. Hopefully, the massive protests won't interrupt my flight home. It should be anything but boring!


Photo Francois Mori/AP

HEY!!!!

A teenager was shot several times while on the basketball court outside my son's high school cafeteria at 4:45 in the afternoon. Thankfully it was Sunday. The victim is fighting for his life in hospital with wounds to his head chest and abdomen.

What can I say except get a grip. Channel your anger in more constructive ways. Quit playing with your life as if it were a video-game. The guns have got to go. There's a river of guns coming through the US border and they're ending up in the hands of marginalized kids with little education, few expectations and no dreams for the future.

photo: Citytv.com

Wrong! - Ontario Allows Mixed-Martial Arts

Yes, my province will do anything for a buck. Ontario now  reminds me of Bartertown in Mad Mel's movie Beyond Thunderdome where the call of "two men enter, one man leaves" was frequently heard.

Mixed Martial Arts sounds sort of Zen but it's not. Its other moniker is Ultimate Fighting. It's blood, broken teeth, broken bones, broken noses. Pitting two neanderthals together to thrash it out, Mixed-Martial arts sticks to the no-hold barred concept literally. Guys with no head gear beat each other stupid until the mat is spotted with blood, just like the corner butcher-shop.

I hate this. I thought fake wrestling was a bad enough influence on kids - now we have to deal with this organization as an arbiter of taste for the lowest common denominator.

Circus Maximus can't be far behind. Bring on the tigers. Just keep me on the other side of the moat.

Ticky Tacky - Everything's Relative

Malvina Reynolds might have written her 1962 song "Little Boxes" in response to the Westlake housing developments in Daly City CA, but she would have been really affected by the urban sprawl surrounding most North American cities today.

Westlake - pictures found on Flickr via Telstar Logistics

The Westlake District is one of the first post-war suburbs in the US. I can't appreciate the whole scale of the development but I find the modern and colourful homes quite refreshing compared to the multi-unit suburbs surrounding Toronto. The green and manicured lawns, the Bermuda-like colours and the Jetson-style windows and roof-lines are really pleasant.

Developed by Henry Doelger, Westlake has become an icon for cultural blandness exemplified by endless rows of boxy houses. This obviously inspired the anti-conformist Pete Seger to record Malvina Reynold's song.

Now I'm all for non-conformity too, but I find this song to be narrow-minded and bitchy. Here are the lyrics to the sanctimonious song that I had to sing in Grade 8. I guess my music teacher was a non-conformist too.

Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a pink one & a green one
And a blue one & a yellow one
And they are all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And theres doctors & lawyers
And business executives
And they are all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they´re put in boxes
And they come out all the same.

And the boys go into business
And marry & raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a pink one & a green one
And a blue one & a yellow one
And they are all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

Urban Sprawl - Greater Toronto Area

Nice, eh? Notice the absence of trees. A friend of ours from Germany, out late one night with the family car,  tried to return to the house he'd been staying at in  Mississauga but found himself lost on a loopy suburban street that contained houses identical to the address he was trying to find. He had been staying there for a week. That was over 15 years ago. The mind boggles at how bad it is now. Urban planners need to infill. Build up, not out. The two-storey buildings with retail on the main floor and apartments on the second that line most downtown Toronto arteries need to be 3, 4 or 5 storeys. Paris does it, as do most European cities. It works and it provides a vital street scene.

I digress and I seem to be a little off topic. Next, I'll feature some Toronto infill that works.

first image  - Tony Bock/Toronto Star File Photo
second image - Antoine Belaieff/ spacing.ca

Hells Bells

Why does anyone watch this pugnacious egomaniac anymore? Why do people want to watch others being yelled at? It's beyond me. We all know by now that he's doing it for the camera. He's like the Jerry Springer of  TV chefs.

Ramsay's a lot calmer on his other show "The F-Word", but he still named his doomed Christmas turkeys after other famous TV chefs. Nice. I've seen one episode in total and it included a challenge where Hugh Fearnly-Whittingstall made the better dessert. I could almost see steam coming from Ramsay's ears. Tooooot!

Everyone professes to be wound up tighter than a top these days. So why waste our time watching someone so un-Zen. He's no Lorenza De'Medici or Jacques Pepin.

Give this guy the cold shoulder. I'm going to focus more on the Slow Food Movement. That's more my style.

Holy Tongue in Cheek - Time to Move On Dr. Laura

I borrowed this excellent piece of satire from Corine at Hidden in France. 

In her radio show, Dr Laura Schlesinger said that, as an observant Orthodox Jew, homosexuality is an abomination according to Leviticus 18:22.The following response is an open letter to Dr. Laura posted on the Internet. It's funny, as well as informative:

Dear Dr. Laura

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's Law. I have learned a great deal from your show, and try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind them that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination ... End of debate. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some other elements of God's Laws and how to follow them.

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighboring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians?

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of Menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbor who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination, Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wiggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev. 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev.19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? Lev.24:10-16. Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev. 20:14)

I know you have studied these things extensively and thus enjoy considerable expertise in such matters, so I'm confident you can help.Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Your adoring fan,

James M. Kauffman,
Ed.D. Professor Emeritus,
Dept. Of Curriculum, Instruction, and Special Education
University of Virginia

PS (It would be a damn shame if we couldn't own a Canadian)

Roncesvalles

Yesterday I fell upon the word "Ronces". After translating it, I found that the word Ronces means  Brambly and Valles - Valley. So Roncesvalles, the predominant street in my Toronto neighbourhood, means Brambly Valley.  I think that's very cool. But ever since I was old enough to be cognizant of Toronto street names, I felt that  Roncesvalles Avenue was most likely pronounced incorrectly.  Most Torontonians pronounce it "Ron-sez-veils".

Colonel Walter O'Hara was an early settler who owned the tract of land comprising our neighbourhood. In 1813 he fought in Spain at the Battle of Roncesvalles, taking an active part against Napoleon's army.  After 1850 O'Hara divided up his land and was responsible for naming the streets. He named the main artery "Roncesvalles" after the battle he had been in.  Parallel Sorauren Avenue was also named after a battle in which O'Hara was present. Constance, Geoffrey and Marion were named after family members. Fern Avenue used to be called Ruth after his daughter and Grenadier was once called Walter Street after his son.

When I moved into the neighbourhood I wondered if one should just call it Roncesvalles or throw in the Spanish "TH" and the fricative Y-sound and pronounce it "Ron-theth-vayes". I had a polyglot Czech friend who couldn't cope with the Canadian pronunciation so he called it "Ronces-val" and let it tail off at the end. My mother-in-law always threw in an extra N just to spice it up. A lot of people call it by its nickname "Roncey". Google Translate and Forvo.com pronounce it Ron-sis-VAY-es. But no one would know what I was talking about if I pronounced it correctly which led me to wonder if  the 19th-Century inhabitants pronounced it en español.

Now if only the  neighbourhood could come to a consensus on how Geoffrey and MacDonnell are supposed to be pronounced. Really - why would a Scotsman pronounce his name MacDon-Elle - I ask you?

Top picture - a mural on Roncesvalles found on travelpod.com
Bottom picture - a mural in my neighbourhood by Joey Devilla on Flickr

Reduce - Reuse- Recycle

In 1971 my 18-year-old brother joined Pollution Probe. He and his pals initiated a recycling program in our small town of Parry Sound. Being only 9 at the time I don't remember too much about it - but I do remember Steve and friends driving around town in a pick-up truck, collecting pop cans and baling newspapers from those residents who were interested in creating less garbage. I also remember a float in our Winter Carnival that the team had created, with a papier-mache globe dripping with garbage.

Was Parry Sound the first community to have recycling I wondered. In 1971 Pollution Probe published a book titled "Recycling Project". The report stressed the need for recycling but also offered various ways to implement such programs through household sorting and collection systems.  Parry Sound's chapter of Pollution Probe was one of 60 groups throughout Ontario concerned about garbage issues. It didn't last, but about 15 years later the "Blue Box" program was introduced all over Ontario.

Now Toronto has a waste diversion program. All my fruit and vegetable peelings, teabags, eggshells and garden waste go in my composter. Other wet garbage goes in a green bin. Now that I've given up on meat again, this output could be practically nil - if it weren't for the DOG. All other garbage gets picked up every two weeks. Again - that's practically nothing because we avoid those unrecyclable clear clam shell containers that salad and eggs are sold in  and I cook fresh 99% of the time. But one does have to get rid of furnace filters, light bulbs, holy socks.

Starting last year the city demanded that all retail outlets charge a nickel per plastic bag. A great deal of us in the neighbourhood take tote bags with us and speaking of tote bags, here's one.

Something I just learned from the City of Toronto website. Don't include biodegradable packaging in the Blue Box. It messes up the sorting procedure and cannot, obviously,  be recycled into anything new. It goes in the Grey Bin where the air can get to it later in a "fill".

Artist's Lofts

I've been looking and drooling recently over decor blogs which feature "hard" lofts with naked cement and soaring windows. I commented on Solid Frog, that these lofts are almost impossible to find in Toronto. Everything's been converted, plastered, hidden, covered in the North American Ticky-Tacky that we're supposed to love. And once everything has been covered in plasterboard and painted "Builder's White" (except for that one industrial-looking tube - they're de rigeur) the realtors still advertise them as "Artist's Lofts".


An example. Up the side-street from me is a warehouse dating from 1907. I think it was originally a candy warehouse and then a baseball glove manufacturer. It's not bad as far as loft conversions go - they actually left the plaster off a couple of exposed walls. When we first arrived in the area the building was populated with trapeze artists, painters, musicians, photographers - people with pin-ball machine collections, people who trekked to Burning Man. Out back was a communal garden and a fire-pit. Then one day, these residents were told they had to move from their apartments because their living-spaces were being renovated into Artist's Lofts.  Oh the irony.

Photo from B&B Italia via Mia Linnman at Solid Frog

People in Iceland - How Are You?

Although I haven't waded through the 14,000 news items provided through Google News about the volcano Eyjafjallajokull and the havoc its ash is reaking, I can't find anything on how the population of Iceland is faring. Iceland has a tiny population, about 320,000. But are they walking around with handkerchiefs pressed to their nostrils? Are kids missing school? Is livestock able to graze?

They've had a terrible year financially and now this. But I haven't heard a peep about how the people from Iceland are dealing with this latest disaster. HOW ARE YOU DOING?

Back in 2002 I had to find (virtually) and describe every town and tourist destination in Iceland for an online travel encyclopedia I was working for. It's wonderful and temperate, yet a place of extremes. Here's how I described it back then

"Iceland is a combination of fire and ice; where active volcanoes, geysers and hot springs occur amid glaciers, ice fields and fjords. Rich in history, literature and folklore, Iceland offers many winter sporting activities with bird watching and fishing close behind"

To my ear, the name of the volcano Eyjafjallajokull is virtually unpronounceable. I would have said Ay-yaf-yalla-yokul, but I'm not even close. My favourite translation instrument Forvo doesn't have a sample yet. But if you listen here, (it's fast) the first one is an example of  how it's supposed to be said. I've also found a blog called The Iceland Weather Report that states it's business as usual there. Good to hear.

top image - www.thetravelpeach.com
bottom image -www.art-iceland.com

What, Me Worry?

"WHAT is going on down there?" she says, hands on her hips.

Congratulations on the passing of the Health Reform Bill. But the Republican nay-sayers are running around creating copy for MAD Magazine. I can see it now -  a double-page "Mad Looks At Republicans". Sarah with her bum in the air, drawing cross-hairs on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Bewigged tea-partiers dumping ballot boxes into the sea. Glenn Beck with a big fat tear drop.

We've had Medicare in Canada since the 60s. It's all about giving a little so we can all be treated fairly. It may sound socialist. It is! But we don't have horns coming out of our heads; we don't goosestep around like Soviet soldiers, we don't have death panels and we don't have to bargain over which severed digit to save.

When Did People Start Being Nice?

Here's a question. Something I'm curious about.

In my parent's day and before, way back into the mists of time,  the population in general seemed to be tougher, but basically unkind to each other.

My mother was clouted a lot by her parents. Her teacher whacked her hands with a cane during lessons. When she had my brother, the nurses and matrons were unspeakably mean; making sure the wheels on her bed were aligned and her sheets were tidy.

My dad was orphaned - despite family around, no one took him in ( another Sepia Saturday in the making). He was raised in a "boy's home".

In those days you just had to take it. I saw a CBC documentary of working mothers during WWII. Without daycare some children were actually tethered alone, outside, all day except when a neighbour-lady would take the kid in for a meal. That would be cause for arrest now.

Heck, even I was tethered to a tree on our property  with my harness in the early 60s. I've never been able to figure out what my mother was doing inside that she couldn't sit with me in the yard for half an hour.

When we were babies, we were all left outside shops in our prams while mothers shopped.  I'm not some kind of hillbilly - this happened to most kids my age.

Kids still "got the strap" at my school up until around 1970.

My husband mentioned this morning that even dogs were tougher back then. When they got their new puppy in 1971 it stayed in the basement on its first night. His parents are lovely people. But we were more hardhearted.

So what I'm trying to figure out is when the tables turned. I can't speak for everyone, but when did we in the West do this 360?

Teachers can't touch kids at all. Corporal punishment is a no-no.Children aren't tied to the oak tree in their yard. Children aren't allowed to roam in the streets. Play dates have to be arranged. We had to wear real itchy wool sweaters in the wintertime and get our fingers caught in real metal Meccano. We didn't have seat belts. Playgrounds had real metal slides and swings that would cause a goose-egg if a corner of it hit you on the head. We had to take our lumps.

A hundred years ago men ran to enlist in the Great War - now people run the other way.

Health care practitioners stand on their heads to make birth a wonderful experience. There's a huge social safety net. Dogs have their own daycare centres. People are more tolerant and accepting and it's wonderful.

So what, when, why or who? It happened some time in the 70s. Gradually of course, but it happened. People started being kinder.

Was it the Viet Nam generation that said "Question Authority"? Was it kids who had grown up during World War 2 and said "never again"? Was it the erosion of a class system? Was it when women started having more buying power? (An aside, - does anybody remember when the only hair styling product was Dippity-do? I do and I'm only 47.) Was it when the boomers started having children of their own and wanted things done differently?

Was it Kennedy? Was it Trudeau. Was it the Beatles? Was it from improvements in communication?

People born in the late 70s or 80s probably won't have experienced this. They were the first coddled generation.  But for anyone else born before -  I bet we have some stories.

Any ideas?

The Red-Headed League - My Version

Do you remember the Sherlock Holmes story The Red-Headed League? Pawn-broker Jabez Wilson was the ginger-haired rube. His assistant Vincent Spaulding, needed him out of the way (to dig a tunnel into the bank next door) and came up with the most amazing scheme.

Spaulding had shown his carrot-topped boss a want-ad in the newspaper offering work and the staggering sum of four pounds a week to red-headed men only and urged him to apply. Curiosity piqued, Wilson had waited in a long line of fellow red-heads He was the only applicant hired because none of the other applicants had hair to match Wilson's fiery red locks. For several lonely weeks all Wilson did was transcribe the Encyclopedia Britannica.

He had acquired knowledge about Abbots and Archery and Armour and Architecture and had hoped to move on to the Bs when he encountered a sign: "THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED."

I have my own story to tell. In 2002 my son was 8 and I need to find work. I’d hemmed and hawed. Not trained in any specific field, I’d created lists upon lists of what I’d like to do with my life.

I typed in two words to an employment search engine: Travel. Writing. And found a hit right away. An online travel encyclopedia was training and hiring writers for their website. I spoke to a fellow on the phone, whom I thought was some young dotcom kind of firebrand, and he wanted to interview me at his home office. After much deliberation with my husband, we figured I was safe enough to go for the interview.

So I headed up into north Toronto, where seriously there was more snow. I rang the bell of a tasteful house on a quiet street and was greeted by a man about 60 who seriously resembled Groucho Marx.

He ushered me into his basement where the long thin room was lined with books and 5 computer stations. I also noted a fake nose and glasses among his mementos – I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the resemblance.

“Jim” asked me some questions about travel; where had I been and what style of travel did I prefer. Then he asked me to complete a test that he himself had created on the computer. There were questions like “name 3 European Museums other than the Louvre”, “name 3 world-famous waterfalls other than Niagara” “what are three sites worth visiting in London." He had me rephrase two travel articles and reduce them into one. The test was over an hour long. Apparently, I did very well and he hired me on the spot. Training was to start the following week.

The next Monday found me sitting in Jim’s basement on a plastic patio chair along with 2 other trainees. One looked normal, but he was a real “the dog ate my homework” kind of guy, and the other, - pale, bearded with the shoulder of his sweater held together with a diaper pin. Despite being in his 30s he started every conversation “When I was in hospital as a kid…”

Apart from familiarizing ourselves his database, training consisted of Jim sitting with a collection of picture books on his lap, showing us useful things. “This is Gothic architecture. It’s known for its pointed arches, ribbed vaults and flying buttresses.” “This is a Mayan pyramid, this is an Egyptian pyramid.” And so on.

After writing another test about useful things and database code, we could carry on at home independently. For $8.00 an hour (it eventually went up to 10) and the comfort (?) of never having to leave my own home, I described, with the help of maps and national tourism websites, every city, town, village, neighbourhood, point of interest and tourist attraction in:

Bermuda
Jamaica
Anguilla
The Dominican Republic
Dominica
Buenos Aires
French Guiana
Guatemala
Honduras
Iceland
Singapore
St Bart’s
Switzerland
South Africa
and
the Turks and Caicos

Again we were called in for training with the whole crew. There were IT people. Graphics people who dealt with maps and the 60,000 travel slides Jim had. And 3 other “writers”. Another test. I aced it. Top of the class.

Then crisis. To make ends meet the company had to take on a different kind of job. A Japanese manufacturer of in-car GPS wanted the latitude and longitude and a description of every point of interest in the US.

I found and plotted every roadside attraction in the small towns and big cities of Massachusetts, Connecticut, Pennsylvania, DC, Ohio, New Jersey, Maryland, Rhode Island, Delaware, Georgia, North Carolina, both Virginias, and Utah.

Over the course of 11 months I learned about the sulfurous gas lakes of Dominica, the European charm of Buenos Aires, the serene monastery hotels in Antigua, Guatemala. I learned about the banana industry in Honduras, the three distinct ethnic groups in Singapore and how to find my way around Kitty Hawk, N.C. and Devil's Island. Then there was the penis museum in Húsavík, Iceland, the glass flowers at the Harvard Museum of Natural History and the Sundance Festival in in Utah.

Heck, I even played the soundtrack to the Civil War as I plotted my way around Harper’s Ferry and Sharpsburg.

I had saved enough money for a trip. After 3 weeks away, I came back and waited for my next assignment. Tick, tick, tick.

Then came the call. They had to make cuts. People didn’t want to subscribe to the site’s wealth of encyclopedic travel knowledge any more. They didn’t take ads in those days and due to the management at the time, going into debt was a no-no. I was the last in and the first out.

Despite the paltry wage it was the perfect job for me. I remember it fondly.

The website still exists although it has changed drastically and is far less user friendly. New management. My work is still there if you can find it. www.planetware.com