HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2011-03-03, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, MARCH 3, 2011. PAGE 5.
Passed a businessman waiting at a bus
stop this morning. He was dressed to the
nines in what looked like a posh Harry
Rosen three-piece. The suit looked great; the
guy wearing it – not so much. He had his arms
crossed and his hands stuffed in his armpits,
his shoulders shrugged up around his ears and
he was stamping his Gucci loafers up and
down like a Flamenco dancer with a stutter.
Very stylish – aside from the fact that he was
in Canada and he was freezing to death. The
things we do for fashion.
Well…not all of us. I worked for the
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC) for
30 years and do you know what the very best
thing about the job was? No dress code.
Actually there was an informal dress code,
but it was defined by what you didn’t, rather
than what you did wear. We could show up for
duty wearing Levis, Bermuda shorts, football
sweaters, stretch pants, Hawaiian shirts, tie-
dyed T shirts – we could come to work
wearing pith helmets and frogman flippers if
we felt like it.
What a guy didn’t wear was a suit. If you
came to work in a business suit it meant you
were getting married, on your way to a funeral
or even worse, you were “One of Them”: a
CBC executive. A paper pushing bureaucratic
lifer, AKA, a dork.
We had an epithet for such people. We called
them ‘Suits’.
Those who pooh-poohed the CBC
(including the Progressive Conservatives, Don
Cherry, and most of Alberta) considered our
Bohemian attire just one more sign of the
corporation’s Bolshevik, anarchist leanings
but I believe we were actually ahead of our
time, because if there is one word that sums up
the typical business suit as worn by the
Canadian male, that word would be ‘stupid’.
It makes no sense, people! We live in a
climate that is six months sub-polar and six
months semi-tropical. The business suit is both
too flimsy to protect us from Arctic chill and
too hot to bear when the summer sun beats
down.
And the necktie? Don’t get me started on
neckties.
Do you know why eleven gazillion
businessmen around the world voluntarily
half-garrotte themselves every working
morning by cinching a coloured ribbon around
their necks? It’s because about two centuries
ago a troop of Croatian cavalrymen galloped
into Versailles for a visit. They all wore
colourful neckerchiefs and some demoiselle
close to Louis XIV fluttered her fan and
murmured ‘C’est beau!’ Lou agreed. The
fashion of the ‘Croat’, or as it became
corrupted – ‘cravat’ – was born.
When you look at it, the entire business suit
is a hoary hangover from our long-vanished
military past. Padded shoulders? A nod to the
epaulettes that still decorate most military
uniforms. Those odd and utterly useless
lapels? A modification of old time military
greatcoats. The buttons on the suit sleeves
perform no function other than to hearken
back to the days when officers displayed their
rank by brass ‘pips’.
Ever wondered why men’s suit jackets have
vents up the back? That’s so we’ll be more
comfortable in the saddle as we ride our
warhorses in a victory charge.
The whacky fact is, this bizarre,
mongrelized outfit is the accepted workday
uniform of millions of businessmen from
Tokyo to Toronto and from Prince Rupert to
Port au Prince. And it doesn’t much matter
what the wearer does for a living. Bankers
wear suits; so do gangsters. Prime Ministers,
pimps, trade union leaders, riverboat gamblers
– they all ‘suit up’ each morning in a jacket
and trousers, shirt and tie.
As they have – with minor variations in lapel
width and button placement – for the past 150
years.
The business suit is the fashion equivalent of
the cockroach – it survives – somehow – in
climates that range from Arctic winter to
equatorial summer. And I might as well
confess that, even though I no longer punch a
clock, I still own a business suit. It’s a dark
blue number that resides in a drycleaners’
plastic bag at the back of my cupboard. It
hangs in semi-permanent hibernation only
emerging for weddings and funerals. I
hardly ever have to put it on or even see it, but
it still annoys me, hanging there, like
a large, morbid bat, behind my brighter, more
sensible apparel. I’d feel more comfortable
with it if it featured some realistic attachments.
Like, say, a snap-on parka hood and a
detachable lining that could double as a beach
towel.
Now THAT would be a Canadian business
suit.
Arthur
Black
Other Views Suit tradition is a little outdated
This isn’t the first column I’ve written this
week; it’s the second. I wrote one a few
days prior about being the best man for
my friend Scott’s wedding later this year.
As this issue contains The Citizen’s 2011
bridal issue, it was totally topical, heartfelt and
about something that’s very important to me.
Well why then are you reading this column
instead of the aforementioned ode to the
bromance (a non-sexual love between two
bros) that is being the best man at your best
friend’s wedding? Simple. It sucked.
It wasn’t the topic or really even my writing.
It just didn’t work. I couldn’t figure out the
ending, the one I settled on wasn’t very good,
but there were plenty of issues to go around.
Ah well, these things happen to the best of
us. One of my favourite artists of all time, Neil
Young is notorious for his perfectionism. He
has abandoned entire, completed albums, never
to release them. And you can bet that until
Neil’s bank account drops into the red, those
albums will never see the light of day because
of his artistic integrity.
It makes you wonder how many
masterpieces (not that my column was that)
have never seen the light of day.
My favourite band of all time is the Rolling
Stones. How many times over the drug-addled
and unexpectedly-long life of Keith Richards
has the guitarist brainstormed the skeleton of a
song that would have blown every other
Rolling Stones song out of the water, but shot
heroin and went to sleep instead.
The biggest challenge a writer can ever face
is a blank page. If someone writes something
controversial that they believe in, they can
make a choice to stand by it and if there are
words on the page, the writer can move them
around until they work, but a blank page can be
a scary thing.
After delving into the murder of a family in
Kansas and developing a relationship with the
murderers, Truman Capote wrote his
masterpiece In Cold Blood, but never finished
another book. At the time, he was one of the
greatest writers the world had seen, but he
couldn’t finish anything he started.
I have never really had a problem with
writer’s block. Sure some days are easier than
others, but it has never really been a problem
for me. But yet, here I am, writing a column
about writing a column.
In attempting to adapt Susan Orlean’s book
The Orchid Thief, Oscar-winning screenwriter
Charlie Kaufman eventually turned in the
screenplay for Adaptation after several years.
The screenplay is brilliant, but it has very little
to do with The Orchid Thief.
The movie follows Kaufman as he struggles
to adapt The Orchid Thief. He didn’t know
where to start. At one point, the Kaufman
character debates starting the movie at the
dawn of time to properly explain the story.
At one point Kaufman (played by Nicolas
Cage in an Oscar-nominated performance) is
pacing and spewing his ideas into a tape
recorder, his ideas being that the movie should
begin with Kaufman pacing and spewing his
ideas into a tape recorder.
When you’re struggling with something, it
can be easy to overthink it, overcomplicate it
and confuse yourself. The toughest part can be
where to start.
Sometimes when facing a mountain of a
task, the most important thing you can know is
where to plant your foot to start your ascent.
Shawn pushes himself away from his desk,
pleased with his inspirational quip to conclude
the column, stretches out his back and then
checks his e-mail.
The cutting room floor
Note: Readers will most likely notice a theme
in my next few editorials, as I recently returned
from a trip to Montreal courtesy of an amazing
Christmas gift from my girlfriend Ashleigh.
While the purpose of the trip was to see the
Montreal Canadiens (my life-long favourite
NHL team) play a game on home ice, it was
also the first time I had visited any province
other than Ontario.
Montreal is an amazing city. There
isn’t any other way to explain it.
Looking out the window from our
17th floor room at Fairmont Le Reine
Elizabeth, the view was breathtaking. Directly
in front of us were massive buildings flanking
a beautifully-decorated road, looking down
showed several old religious buildings with
amazing architecture and history, and further
away, just between buildings, the outline of the
Centre Bell could be seen.
While I’m certainly not bilingual, between a
translator on my cell phone and our memories
of high school French, we managed to find
everything we were looking for.
In the near future, I’ll get into all the places
I saw in much more detail, a few places
definitely stick out in my mind.
Those religious buildings that I mentioned
earlier were definitely unique.
Right outside the hotel my girlfriend and I
found an enigmatic catholic Cathedral-
Basilica simply called “Marie” by the locals.
Its actual title is Mary, Queen of the World
Cathedral (or Cathédrale Marie-Reine-du-
Monde), and as I found out (thanks to my
phone) was originally called Saint James
Cathedral (Cathédrale Saint-Jaques) and was
renamed when it was classified as a minor
basilica.
While we didn’t make it inside the basilica,
it had incredibly intricate statues lining the
front of the church that we got both a street
and bird’s eye view of thanks to our hotel.
The renaissance/baroque architecture was
amazing, and, barring actually seeing Saint
Peter’s Basilica in Rome, which Marie is
based on, it was probably the most unique
building exterior I saw during the trip.
The second religious building we visited
was another basilica, one that Ashleigh had
studied during school, the Notre-Dame
Basilica (Basilique Notre-Dame).
While the outside of the basilica is amazing
in its own right, the interior of the building is
what really fascinated me.
While I expected grand ceilings and ornate
work, what I didn’t expect was the amazing
life-size paintings and stories-tall murals made
of bronze, the intricate carvings and
illustrations of Bible verses brought to life and
the appearance that everything was crafted out
of gold.
And all that was just in the smaller wedding
chapel at the back of the basilica.
The main sanctuary contains amazing
carvings, sculptures, huge organs and
amazing colouring brought in through the
skylights above.
Walking through the scenes depicted on
murals on the walls while listening to the
guided tour that told us about the famous
people who are involved with the basilica was
one of the most memorable vacation moments
I’ve had.
Of course, I couldn’t write about my mini-
vacation without discussing the Bell Centre.
I’ve been cheering for the Montreal
Canadiens since I was five years old. I
remember someone telling me why they were
so great, and it had to do with Patrick Roy.
Now, I’m not much of a bandwagon kind of
guy, so when people told me I was crazy for
cheering for someone other than the Toronto
Maple Leafs, I asked why they liked them, and
no one could give me an answer.
It certainly wasn’t Stanley Cup wins, and it
wasn’t successful seasons, as far as I could tell
people liked them because their parents liked
them, or because of proximity (and before you
ask, my dad cheers for the Bruins).
So I was sold - Montreal had the history, had
the fan base, and had, as far as I’m concerned,
the best goalie ever.
I figured it would only be a matter of time
before I finally got to see them play.
Well, I was right, it was a matter of time, a
matter of a long time.
I saw a few NHL games as I grew up, but
never the Habs (or Les Habitants if you
prefer), and I’m glad in a way.
I got to see them in their home city, on home
ice for the first time, and they won.
It was an exciting game, one that I shant
soon forget, and one that I’m glad I was a part
of.
As a side note, I didn’t go to the Montreal
Forum. We walked everywhere, which took
some time, but even if I had more, I wouldn’t
visit it.
In my mind, the Forum is something that
stopped existing when it became the Pepsi
Forum.
While there are, I’m told, a great many
connections between the Forum as it is and as
it was, I just feel it could never live up to my
dreams and my imaginings. It was “The
Arena” and is recognized as a heritage
building because of it. Unfortunately, it has
since become a glorified movie theatre. I don’t
want to tarnish the memories of the first
Montreal Canadiens games I watched (on
television) by knowing, first hand, what has
become of the shrine that the Forum was.
Next week I’ll tell you about the food.
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
Montreal bacilicas are amazing
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den