Monthly Archives: February 2016

I’m sorry. Honestly, I am. To tell you the truth, I’ve spent the last week mulling over what I would write in my next post and up until today, this wasn’t it. Let’s face it. As a shallow person I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about things that I should apologize for. I suppose there was that “I’m Sorry” piece I wrote a few months ago, but that was more of an observation than a confession. And I guess I did ask for your understanding and tolerance when writing those rants of mine, although in retrospect, that was not so much to apologize as it was to politely let you know what was to come. Let’s face it. I may be a Canadian but I’m just not an apologetic kind of gal and yet, here I am doing the very thing I’ve just told you I don’t often do. Which leads me to believe that right about now, you’re probably looking for an explanation.

Some of you know that I started this little blog of mine to help others understand that life in the shallow lane isn’t all that bad. In fact, divested of the burden of constantly seeking meaning from each and every day, one can actually live a rather blissful existence. It was important for me to share with you that it’s possible to be shallow yet happy or sad, thoughtful or introspective and, at times, even funny. Without being presumptuous I wanted to help you to gain just a little bit of insight into the life of one, if not all, shallow person. Along the way it wouldn’t have bothered me one bit if I had sold a “Shallow and Proud” T-shirt or two which I certainly would have made had anyone asked. Or if this blog had somehow gone viral. Nonetheless, I am content in knowing, as my little Bro’ oft reminds me, that I have a small but loyal following. Now I’m thinking that you’re thinking there’s absolutely nothing to be sorry about. But unfortunately you would be wrong.

I’m no political pundit. As a matter of fact, and as you can well imagine, I don’t pay all that much attention to the powers that be, or those that would like to be.  For the most part, I figure that they are going to do pretty much what they want to do regardless of what I would actually like them do to. At the risk of being overly cynical, from where I sit it seems that they know and care about me as much as I know or care about them. Don’t get me wrong. I have my preferences and every once in awhile I mark my “x” on a little piece of paper, for better or for worse, to let them know what I think. And for the most part, that’s the extent of my involvement in the political process. At least that’s what I thought until this most recent batch of presidential hopefuls found their way onto the stage.

You see, for the past couple of months while I’ve been enjoying the sun and surf, it has been hard to avoid all of the hoopla surrounding the upcoming changing of the guard in these United States. It seems that at least a couple of times a week five or six guys (apparently the number varies according to who is asking the questions) get up on the stage to take part in something that is called, but doesn’t in any conventional way, resemble a debate. Because it seems that each and every time they get behind their little podiums they neglect to talk about the issues, or their policies or even the state of affairs that this world of ours is in. Rather, it seems as though they prefer to spend their time calling each other some rather unbecoming names, pointing out past indiscretions, and generally acting in ways that would make you or I scold a five year old. And while I’ve been watching, I’ve been wondering why. Why would these men, in their well tailored suits and expertly coiffed hair, be acting like this?  Why are they saying and doing things that their Mother’s would disapprove? What makes them think that this is what the voting public wants or expects of them? What is going on and more importantly, how did this happen? And that’s when a rather terrifying thought crossed my mind.

Over the past few weeks I have noticed an increased number of visitors to this site from the U.S. of A and that got me thinking. Is it possible that one or two, maybe even three of these fellas happened upon this blog? Is it possible that they have been reading my musings about being shallow, not realizing that these are the ramblings of one single human being among many? Could they be focusing in on the “thoughtful and introspective” parts and missing all the “funny”? And at the risk of sounding just a tad arrogant, could my blog be the reason for all of their shenanigans? The way things are going these days, I suppose anything is possible. So just in case this is the case, I find myself in the rather awkward position of having to say I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.

I’m really, really sorry!

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We have a problem

girl-with-smart-phoneI’m shallow. Perhaps that’s more than a bit of an understatement from someone who has been writing a blog about said condition for nigh on three years. And if you’ve been with me for all or even some of this time I suppose that to some extent at least, you have come to know about me and my ways. As such, I am sure you would concur when I say I do my best to accept life as it comes, let bygones be bygones and live and let live. What you might not know is that I am an avid observer of human behaviour. Let’s face it. Anyone who spends as much time as I do sitting on a patio sipping lattes ought to notice something about humankind. And as much as I hate to admit it, I have become quite bothered of late by what appears to me to be an ever growing problem shared not by a few, but by the vast majority of people I have encountered in not one but many situations. Having thought about it for some time, I have decided to use this medium of mine, limited as it may be, to share (some might say vent) my feelings on this rather troubling phenomenon. So fair warning…this is gonna be a rant.

Here’s the thing. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, whether walking on the beach, driving down the road, shopping for (let’s just say) a bar of soap, or enjoying that heretofore mentioned latte, people are on the phone. And if they’re not actually talking on it, texting on it, or taking pictures (primarily of themselves for some reason I hesitate to try to explain) with it, they simply have it in their hand. In fact it is a rarity these days to actually see someone without a phone. The thing has become ubiquitous. Never mind the notion that future generations will be born without a baby toe because, as we all know, who really needs that? All things being equal, if we continue on our current trajectory, I figure future iterations of this species of ours will be born with special little grooves on our dominant hand into which we can permanently slip our miniature talking devices. But back to the point. How did phones, of all things, become such an insidious and, from where I sit, annoying aspect of our lives? How is it that we have become so dominated by this comparatively new, in the scheme of things, piece of technology? How is it that we have let them take over?

Get ready, because I’m just going to go ahead and say it. In the “good ol’ days” when you were out you were out. Business was business and pleasure was pleasure. Now no one knows what’s what anymore because you have your phone.  You’re walking down the beach, the sky and water are a brilliant shade of turquoise blue, not a cloud in the sky, the cool wet sand is cushioning each and every step you take, waves are crashing against the shore, rocks glistening in the sun, but do you notice? No. You’re on the phone talking to some shmo’ who got stuck at the office on the weekend because he spent so much time answering emails that he couldn’t get his work done and now he needs you to help him out.  And he knows you can because you have your phone.

In the good ol’ days when you sat down to eat you inhaled the delicate smells of the freshly cooked meal in front of you, admired the array of colours artistically arranged on the plate making each part of the meal look more appetizing  than the next, wondered where to start and which succulent bite you wanted to experience first. Now when that meal comes to your table you take out your phone and take a picture of what you imagine will be a most delicious treat and then, before reaching for your fork, you post that picture on Facebook so that I can see what you are not, at least at that moment, eating. And here’s the thing. No matter how good that picture looks, no matter how delectable that meal appears to be, I’m still going to be chowing down on yesterday’s leftovers which I might decide to warm up if, and that’s a big if, I can find the energy to do so.

Just one more so bear with me please. In the good ol’ days when you were driving that’s pretty much all you were doing. Sure, you might be listening to a few tunes on the radio, singing along to some “oldies but goodies” on that easy listening station you favour, and the kids might be bickering in the back seat, the sounds of their chiding almost driving you to distraction but you keep your eyes peeled on that road because the kids are in the backseat. Now, sitting at a red light looking over to the person in the hot rod next to me, invariably they are on the phone. And if they’re not talking on it they’re texting that all important two line message to someone who is likely in another car doing the very same thing. Apparently that $20.00 fine they face down here just doesn’t seem to make a difference but perhaps the day they wrap that car around a tree, or even worse, yours or my car around a tree, will.

Right about now you might be thinking “What’s with the shallow gal? What’s her problem? I like my phone. And here’s the thing. I like my phone too but let me just be bold and say it. Just because you and I like our phones doesn’t mean that we don’t have a problem. And just because I’m shallow doesn’t mean I’m not going to say that we do.

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