I am now entering a state-of-grace

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage-rage ‘gainst the dying of the light.

-Dylan Thomas

Fat lot of good that bit of philosophy did for DT since he snuffed it from alcohol toxemia at age 39. Hardly a Lear-like fulmination against the conspiring forces of the universe.

Regardless, I’ve reached the point where I’d rather stop raging against much of what I see around me. George Carlin recently mused that he had reached a certain mellowness about life at age 70 (the Hippy-Dippy Weatherman is 70?) and decided he wasn’t going to waste energy any longer by screaming invective at the shit-headedness he sees around himself. I like that attitude. It comes close to suggesting ‘wisdom.’ George Carlin, Wise Man rather than wiseguy.

I think I would like that. I state in my blog profile about working to be a full-fledged curmudgeon. I don’t know that I want to do that any longer. It’s pointless and stressful. I’d like to be mellow of the type of mellowness that comes from no longer giving a damn about things I cannot change. You know, like the first line of the Serenity Prayer: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

Each morning I pick up the newspaper and I read something that pisses me off. In fact, I often read many things that piss me off. But, why expend energy on such negative thoughts? The world has always been ruled by assholes, so why did I think that would change during my lifetime? And, my rages and shaking of the fist haven’t made any fools mend their ways, so I think I’ll settle into a shrugging “oh well.”

So, in that context, I have made a list of things I will no longer care about. Included in that list will be such former sources of concern as:

Rampant Political Correctness (or, when in doubt, use a euphemism): Way too many examples of this, such as the social-worker type woman who, in reference to my recent report on homelessness in my community, was displeased when I referred to the hardcore homeless as, well, ‘hardcore’. She didn’t like that. She wanted me to substitute ‘chronic’ homeless. I was going to point out that the adjectives are synonymous, but I refrained. Aha – I must be growing, I thought, because I said I would change it, and I did.

Ethnic sucking-up and Europhobia: Nothing that the white guys did after coming to North America was good. It was all evil and destructive of indigenous cultures. Well yeah, a lot of it was, and some of it wasn’t. But, history is the tale of a stronger group of folk quelling the aspirations of a weaker group of folk. May not have been very fair but shit happens.

Latterly there has been a great embracing of aboriginal culture in this country. Nothing wrong with that. Native Canadians got short shrift all over the place. But, nowhere has this become more apparent than with the feelgood brigade (and politicians who will seek a vote wherever they can) wanting to change place names to the ones that sit better with the native population. In other words, well over 90 percent of the population should defer to less than 10 percent of the population all in the name of some sort of ‘niceness’ that will maybe make those same people forget about being dumped off their land, having their children apprehended by the state and maybe disregarding the effects of such pinnacles of western culture as sugar and alcohol, or a Biblical interpretation that told them they were heathens and their beliefs were evil and pagan.

No, we’ll just change place names and then the touchy-feelies and Natives will be happy. So, Georgia Strait will become the Salish Sea in the latest incarnation of this nonsense. Well, in the first place this is going to piss off all the non-Salish aboriginals in thee area, and secondly, it’s Orwellian historical manipulation.

Fine, thought I, do what you wish but be assured that to me it will always be Georgia Strait and I will never refer to it as anything else. Much as the Queen Charlotte Islands are to me the Queen Charlotte Islands, not Haida Gwai. If the Haida people want to call it that, it’s no skin off my nose. They can call the place ‘Fred’ if they choose, for all the difference it makes to me.

In that context, I live in a place called Comox, which is the name of the native inhabitants in the area. I am quite content with Comox, and if somebody decided they want to change it to New Winchester, or something equally anglocentric, I’d be just as irritated.

Other people’s health: Item in the paper yesterday noting that there are now more tubboes in the world than starving people. Fatness is the new ‘famine’ and our obsession with our excessive avoirdupois has almost surpassed cigarettes as the great health evil of the known universe. Get this straight, folks, I don’t care if you want to take in 80,000 calories a day. It’s none of my business. Just don’t be sitting next to me next time I ride on an airplane. In other words, people make their own health choices and if they want to knock of three bottles of booze, a half carton of cigarettes and 2 chocolate cakes on a daily basis, why do I care? I don’t.

Whoopee, we’re all gonna die: Of course we are. But I don’t necessarily have to accept the premise cherished by so many as “the truth” that we’re all going to die as a result of global warming and therefore international economies should be compromised for the sake of one ‘theory’. I’m sorry, and I know this may be heresy, but I don’t necessarily accept the fact that Al Gore or David Suzuki know any more about this stuff than I do, and I know damn little.

OK. Now I feel better. Offloading spleen also brings about serenity.