Dead on

"There is one good reason to go to school:  You want to do something that needs specific skills.  That's it.  Anything else is a hobby.  And going to university while you decide what you want to do is like skipping your skydiving lesson because you want to figure out the parachute during free fall."

Could not agree more.  This gem is from the daily essay section of The Globe and Mail.  'Breaking the education habit' (Actually, "education" should read "educational", but I digress.)    Penned by someone called Dave Jorgensen, that boy can write.  He may have wasted years in university, but he obviously learned to master his native tongue, something one never gets in high school.  I have submitted three essays to The Globe, but have yet to have one published.  Oh well, I live in hope. 

But back to Mr. Jorgensen.  "Forget about going to university unless you want to be a doctor, lawyer, engineer, dentist or architect," I used to tell my kids when they were pondering degrees in psychology or political science or sociology or history or English or philosophy.  All fun courses, but useless in finding employment.  "University is a huge waste of time that doesn't make any sense when you stop to think about it," the author goes on. 

"Years ago I worked in a fast food restaurant with a bunch of people who hated working in a fast food restaurant, he goes on.  "I was in university, but had switched my major from psychology to sociology to history, which is to say from useless to pointless to aimless."  What a marvellous turn-of-phrase this guy possesses.  "I'm part of the 'millennial' generation and we love going to school.  If we get a flat tire, our first response is to take out a student loan to get a masters degree in Flat Tire Theory.  What a perfect description of the eternal student today.

Universities are completely bogus institutions which in no way equip students to find a job in the "real" world.  All those professors with tenure contribute absolutely nothing to the progress of society and all to the painful detriment of our children. 

Personally, I got one of those "useless" degrees.  I chose English because I wanted to be a writer, but my degree didn't get me a job as a writer, my skill as a writer did.  Don't get me wrong, I have no regrets about my English degree, but my "jobs" were all a result of personal and proven skill at my craft -- not because I read 250 books a year and studied Chaucer. 

Toothpicks

I was disgusted.  We had driven by "Nick's" on Crowchild Trail a hundred times, but never ventured in.  Today we did 'cause we had to visit "Service Canada", which is right beside this restaurant.  What disgusted me was the sight of the owner, the host and one of the waiters sitting down and eating lunch in table "one"! 

Please.  I do not appreciate seeing the owner and his staff scarfing lunch on my dime.  Disgusting.  But just when I thought I'd seen enough "disgusting", they hauled out the toothpicks.

They then proceeded to ream away at their dentures.  It was disgusting.  Have I used that word enough?  "I will never come back here again," I said to the poor waitress.  "It's all about the toothpicks," she said, apologizing.

Mortifying. 

   

But without the shoes.............

Spotted this in The Globe this morning.  Love it all, except the shoes.  I would have worn this outfit with black patent leather spike heels. 

The shoes are ugly.  Big, wedge clunkers.  Yuck. 



Who?

There was a slight pause and then..........."Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha..........."  I had said, "Hi Roger, this is Nancy Griffith."  That's what happened this morning when I called an old, old friend.  Roger and I had toured France together in 1968, along with my late cousin and his late friend Larry O'Brien.  We had had a ball.  Now we were the only two standing. 

When Roger started laughing, I started too.  We then spent the next few minutes killing ourselves on the phone, as we had all those many years ago.  No words necessary, just beautiful and joyous laughter.  What a great moment!  This all came about because of last night, when Allen W and I had tripped down memory lane and Roger's name had come up.  "What ever happened to Roger R?", I had asked Allen.  "He lives here in Calgary," said A.  What?  Give me his coordinates.  I am going to call him. 

And this morning I did.  That's when "Hi Roger, this is Nancy Griffith," was said.  "Oh my G-d, when can we get together?" he asked, after we stopped laughing.  "Why not today?" I replied.  "You're on."  So we met for lunch at a local watering hole near me.  I arrived first and when I saw him walk in, after 46 years, my eyes watered with tears of joy.  I know that sounds sentimental, but at very rare and infrequent times I can be.  He looked great.  He wore a beautiful pair of cream cotton slacks, a white T-shirt and a black cashmere jacket.  Calgary or no Calgary, no jeans for dapper Roger.  "Except for the grey hair," he lied, "you look exactly the same."  And so began a beautiful two hours of laughing and crying, as we remembered so many fabulous and innocent times, re-living our glory days and nights in France driving around in Larry's two-gear-only Land Rover. 

Sadly, Larry died at sixty, my cousin at 56.  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaay  too young.  But here were Roger and I, still healthy and happy.  It almost felt as if we shouldn't be so happy, our loved ones gone.  But we had a ball.  I introduced him to the servers and, of course, the manager compted half our meal, delighted as he was to meet such an old friend of mine and hear ribald stories of wonderful times back-in-the-day.

We parted and believe me, we will be getting together regularly. 

Roger and I.  Forty-six years melted away in seconds. 

 

       

Forty years ago

I spent this evening with a great guy I knew 40 years ago back in Lisgar Collegiate Institute in Ottawa.  "Google" Lisgar and you will discover it is a fine and coveted old institution.  Today parents actually camp out to be sure their kids get into Lisgar.  I understand because I was head cheer leader for three years and dated the head boy.  That was really tops! 

My old friend "A", his lovely wife, I and my husband attended the opening party of the Calgary Tennis Club this evening.  What a great time it was!

Hadn't seen "AW" for many, many years.  And since he was a couple of years older than I, he didn't even talk to me while we were in high school.  That was the way it was back  in the sixties.  Nevermind, tonight we re-connected and here we are:

 

 

 

By the way, I finally stuck false eyelashes successfully for this event!  What a chore!  But you know what?  It's worth it.    





More fashion, in my opinion..........

Flipping through a couple of publications which landed here this morning I found a few "gems" -- not.  Here they are:

So, we have socks with heels.  Doesn't work -- AT ALL.

 

Now, here's a beaute.  Is that a slip showing under the skirt?  Then we have some sort of weird vest?  And the shoes?  Hideous.  I have put her in the witness protection program so she can save face. 

 

What's going on here?  Another top that doesn't work, then something underneath and then the most appalling, clunky boots I have ever seen.  Sad. 

Now, these are gorgeous heels.  Guess who's?  They are orange suede Moda shoes and my husband picked them out himself in Houston.  I am lucky we have the same taste in shoes!

Another pair he chose, Adrienne Vittadini, black and white patent.  Love them too.

  Yes, love my shoes. 

 





 

 

Ill-bred low life

It's my fault, I know.  I actually watch these dumb shows now and then, why I don't know?  Maybe to see what unbelievable behaviour will be exposed.  The one to which I refer this time is 'The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills'.  Last night hit a new low.  Stupid men may marry these trollops, shower money on them and dress them up, but they simply cannot be taken out into the public thoroughfare. 

One dreadful character, Carlton, is particularly appalling.  An obvious gutter snipe, she has no idea how to behave.  None.  Last night's typical episode found her continually using the "F" word at a very fancy birthday party in honour of someone other than she.  Jabbing a drunken finger at one of the other harridans and screaming, she finally walked out in the middle of what must have been a $50,000 party.  Affecting an upper-class British accent, this cow reverts to her real gutter tongue when drunk and hysterical.  It is beyond belief!

But she is not alone in being a bum.  The rest of them are right behind her -- especially bimbo Brandi.  (By the way, anyone who names their kid "Brandi" deserves all the bimbo-ism's they get.)  Always counted on to get quickly smashed, this one was even filmed vomiting into a toilet in another episode.  What true class.  Apparently, she has written two books which are best-sellers!  Jane Austin and Edith Wharton, are you turning over in your talented graves?  In Jane's world, the heroines were classy and succeeded; in Edith's they were silly and indiscrete and therefore had to commit suicide.  Or maybe we have stream-of-consciousness writer Virginia Wolff to thank -- only minus any talent.  Go figure?! 

In fact, all these trashy 'Houswives' shows are unspeakable.  What has our civilation come to?