This Week in Culture: Revisionist History

Undoubtedly the hottest subject in the realm of revisionist history is the age-old debate between Creationists and Evolutionists. To even categorize Creationism as revisionist history - to suggest that it is nothing but bible-fuelled, pseudo-scientific BS is to slap the religious zealots who believe in that nonsense right in the face. Of course, sometimes the only way to get through to an idiot is to slap him in the face - repeatedly - until he or she starts to pay attention.

Creationists have been in the news a lot recently. A few months back, George W. Bush publicly endorsed Intelligent Design, the Creationist assertion that we and all living things were put on this earth by a divine power. Bush agreed that it was an important subject to be taught in American schools, alongside subjects like Math and English. Par for the course, I say. Bush is, of course, the same man who was rumoured to have waved "hello" to Stevie Wonder, who is completely blind, during Bush's inaugural ball 8 years ago. But those were the good old days, when presidential gaffes were limited to waving at blind people, and not, you know, starting wars.

But the biggest recent Creationist news is that they have built their own "museum". Consider it a Smithsonian for the Ned Flanders set, but minus the sense of intellectual objectivity and secularity. If you go to the museum's web page, www.creationmuseum.org, you can learn all you need to know about the museum and it's educational value. Incidentally, I'm pretty sure that you could get a more thoughtful approach to the origins of our species and our planet from, say, romping around the urine-soaked nerf ball room at the Play Pen of your local McDonald's - but that's just my opinion.

All of that said, one bad apple should not spoil the whole bunch, as my grandmother might say: not all revisionist historians are [created] equal. Sometimes they get it right - so very, very right:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozXh_seILaY

Next week, I'll be funnier. I promise.

FS

Alcohol Abuse

She survived an errant, screen-cracking blow from a falling ski boot, a botched battery-replacement surgery that would make even the most unskilled back-alley Mexican surgeon wince, and, perhaps worst of all, my constant stares of envy at shinier, newer ipods. But after some 28 months of dutiful playing, sharing, and shuffling, it was the booze that finally did in my 1st generation ipod mini. But the Green Machine went out in style, taking an unplanned bath in 12 year old Canadian Club rye whiskey. There are, surely, worse ways to go.

I had bought the bottle at the duty free shop at Trudeau airport, crammed it, sans-plastic bag, into my carry-on bag, next to my iPod, and boarded a plane bound for London, England. The Green Machine and bottle of rye survived the 7 hour flight (including a viewing of the in-flight movie, "Eragon", a film about a dragon who was, ostensibly, one letter of the alphabet less lame than his colleagues, hence ‘E’ragon. This film was, incidentally tied with the straight-to-video Tae Bo Salsa-splosion as the biggest piece of shit someone could safely cram into a DVD player), the dash through Heathrow, the jarring ride to Paddington station and, finally, a spirited, rush-hour cab ride to the front door of my sister’s flat in Primrose Hill. As I exited the cab and arrived at the front door, bags in hand, I let go of my bundle in a tired heap, momentarily forgetting I had crammed some fragile things in my carry-on. As the bag hit the ground, I heard the tell-tale breaking of glass, and saw a dark puddle forming below the bag. She was bleeding brown. I knew by the sound and the smell that the gift to my sister’s Canadian booze-loving flatmates (bless their taste) was ruined, as was my beloved Green Machine, her innards drenched and, in all likelihood, three sheets to the wind.

I like to think that the spirit of Green Machine lives on, where she might be shuffling around the cosmos, assembling a playlist so eclectic, and so large, that she may very well overcome the 4 gigabytes of internal memory reigning her in, and rise again, phoenix-like, to be a much more powerful iPod. Like maybe a 6 gigabyte iPod mini, in pink this time, with earphones that are ever so slightly less shitty. Godspeed Green Machine, Godspeed.

"Goddamn, that DJ made my day!"

This past Saturday I woke up to a random selection from my iTunes playlist: “Stool Pigeon” by 70’s funk maestro, Kid Creole. As I eased out of bed and Harlem Shuffled it all the way to the bathroom, I thought to myself: “great, great lyricist, that Kid Creole.” One thing I really enjoy about old school funk and hip-hop music is the storytelling nature of the lyrics. It’s so overtly cheesy, and so clearly from a bygone era of urban slang, that you can’t help but love it. They’re like cautionary tales gift-wrapped in impossibly funkilicious beats and slap-bass grooves, topped up with a bright red ribbon of bombastic horns and sax.

It makes me wonder if the parables of the Bible were presented to the masses (pardon the pun) in the same way - and I guess they are if you belong to a Southern Baptist congregation - how much more impressionable would we be to the word of God? It also makes me wonder how rad it would have been if the choir at my synagogue, which my dad insists is the greatest singing collective to ever walk the planet, were conducted by Curtis Mayfield (“Good Yontif, My Brothas! Look at all Y’all mensches lookin so beautiful this mornin!”). I’d probably go to synagogue more than the 3 times a year I do now. I ask you, can a proliferation of funk in the world’s houses of worship lead to a renewed sense of collective piety? In the meantime, below you will find my 5 all-time favourite soulful, funkified nursery rhymes:

Stool Pigeon – Kid Creole

I Can’t Write Left-handed – Bill Withers

Papa Was a Rollin Stone – The Temptations

Supafly – Curtis Mayfield

Peter Piper – Run DMC

These are not terribly obscure selections, as I’m no connoisseur with stacks and stacks of random wax, but they’ll get you through the day. Don’t thank me - thank the funk.

FS

To buy: Food dehydrator, Obama bumper sticker, Nazi slot car

Guys, I’m not happy with how lackluster my blogging has been over the past few months. With every passing week, I seem to get farther and farther away from the core mission of this endeavor: for me to write a lot, and for you all to have life made a little sweeter by feasting on this word degustation. I'm going to try a bit harder next week. As for this week...

I’m looking forward to purchasing a lot of products that are “As Seen On TV”. Living in a shared apartment, I’ve been too embarrassed to mail-order the items that I see on info-mercials for fear of ridicule by my roommates. But come July, when I’m moved into my new digs, I plan to acquire a Magic Bullet, a Ronco Food Dehydrator, and some pleated pants. This last item, ironically, has not actually been seen on TV for 10 years or so, but looking at my wardrobe the other day, I noticed I had a serious dearth in the pleated slacks department. I’ll tell you, it’s just like my grandmother likes to say, “If it’s not one thing, Daniel, It’s something else!”

I’m thinking of selling my Acura sedan and buying a used Porsche Boxster for the 7 months of convertible-friendly weather montreal affords us. This probably won’t happen for another year. Going through with this would be incredibly self-indulgent, selfish, and unbelievably satisfying. I love cars, love to drive, have always lusted after a Porsche, and used Boxsters are surprisingly affordable, costing less than an entry-level BMW, which is the de-facto ride (or “whip”, as the kids like to say) of yuppies and trustafarians. I am neither a yuppie or a trustafarian – or perhaps I’m both - but I do know that you can’t take it all with you when you die, so why not? Downsides to Porsche ownership? well, if you’re under-30 and driving a Porsche, even a lowly Boxster, there still aren’t any modifications available for the car to mitigate your looking like a first-class prick. Also, insurance is very expensive. Pros? It goes, turns, and stops like a Porsche. Nothing else compares. I spend about 1 hour of my day in my car. I may as well have fun with it. For the other 4-5 months of the year, I’d look into buying an older Subaru wagon. If I have cash left over, I’ll spring for a couple of NPR and “Obama in ‘08” bumper stickers to further offset the Boxster’s lack of social acceptance. Like Einstein once said, “Image is Everything.” He also went on to say, “Obey your thirst.” If you ask me, that guy was way ahead of his time.

"That's One, Small Step for Dan..."

One of the great benefits of a federally funded, trillion-dollar initiative like the U.S. space program has been the continuous trickling down of technologies, first developed for spaceflight, into lowly consumer goods. Teflon frying pans, microwave ovens, and lightweight, carbon fiber bicycles are all beneficiaries of the NASA parts bin. And, if i'm not mistaken, so is this: Possibly the easiest way to meet women in a NYC bar, "The T-qualizer". In case you're afraid your eyes are deceiving you, I am wearing a t-shirt with a built in, LED GRAPHIC EQUALIZER. It lights up in sync with whatever sound is being played nearby. Geeky? You bet, but the ladies never knew what hit 'em...More on New York in minute...





FS