HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1995-02-22, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1995. PAGE 5.
`Citizen' makes
great boot liner
I don't know whether you noticed or not
but you and I are not the only homo sapiens
in the joint. We share this planet with some
five billion other people. (I know this for a
fact — I counted their feet and divided by
two).
All told, we speak 9,000 different
languages and dialects, wear every shade of
skin pigmentation from ebony to albino and
fly more national pennants than the United
Nations has flagpoles for.
The thing is, every single one of us is
convinced that our family/tribe/clan/team/
city block/province or country is better than
everybody else's family/tribe/clan/team/city
block/province or country. That's why Serbs
bash Croats, Russians bash Chechens,
Israelis bash Palestinians and Philadelphia
Flyers bash Vancouver Carmelo.
But folks, there's really no need for tanks
in the streets, AK-47's in the alley or
switchblades in the school cafeteria. There is
a gentler way we could all work out this
patriotic aggression we feel for each other.
Insults.
Sure. We could just ridicule one another
and save all the bloodshed and gunpowder.
Think about it: we could sponsor intramural
insult squads at the high school level. Kids
On the lighter side
It only takes one bad winter storm to bring
out the gloomy side of a lot of us. We are
already faced with the chore of paying off
the past Christmas bills, vowing for the 10th
time never to spend so much money again
on that event.
Add to that our apprehensions about the
coming federal budget as well as the
question whether we have enough money in
our savings account to pay off any part of
our income tax bill that Ottawa and Queen's
Park haven't managed to siphon off yet and
it all adds up to gloom squared.
I think we can be excused for recalling
that frequently quoted opening line of
Dickens "It was the worst of times...We
don't even think about the rest of the line.
For the express purpose, therefore, of
getting your minds off any troubles for a
short while, I promise not to mention one
serious topic for the rest of this article.
I got the idea of laying off the dismal stuff
for a while when I came across a survey
done by a firm in London, England.
Admittedly it is only one of a large number
of such reports that cross my desk which
compare countries on a wide variety of
topics, but this one was a little different. It
not only did not touch on the topic of
economics, it was cheerful in tone and
treated the question of how happy people
were in a wide number of countries, one of
which was Canada.
I'm not sure what the criteria were for the
survey but the firm is a reputable one and I
assume that the whole thing was not done as
something of a lark.
At any rate here arc the results. Are you
ready? The first three places were occupied
by Ireland, Northern Ireland and Britain, the
who were really adept with a jibe or a sneer
could go on to a district team that would
compete against other school teams across
the province.
The cream of the crop would turn pro and
play for franchises in the International Insult
League. Every four years we'd have an Insult
Olympics where our Best would face
everybody else's Best for a World Cup Slur-
Off.
It'd be great. And we English speakers of
the world would be good at it — we've
already got an arsenal of personal insults for
just about everybody. There aren't too many
nationalities or ethnic groups that have been
spared.
What do we call it when someone takes us
out to dinner then expects us to pay for it?
A Dutch treat.
What's our name for a humorous story in
which the punchline makes fun of
somebody's stupidity?
A Polish joke.
We make fun of the sons of Erin by
calling shovels "Irish banjos". We denigrate
Romany travellers by saying someone
"gypped" us in a deal. If you don't pay your
debts you get called a "Welsher".
Know what they call a cigarette and a
glass of water in Texas? A Mexican
breakfast.
Some insults don't travel well. Continental
Europeans refer with a sniff to "the English
disease". They mean laziness.
latter presumably composed of- English,
Welsh and Scots (or, as John Kenneth
Galbraith would have it, the Scotch). To
think that all those people living on the
British Isles are congenitally happy to a
greater extent than other nations came as
something of a surprise to me. The Irish I
can understand but it is a mite difficult to
include the rest. Have I been missing
something during my visits there?
That the Germans came at the bottom the
poll is also not surprising. They are
professional worry-warts; take my word for
it. However, to think that the Italians are in a
virtual tie with their Germanic neighbours is
another great surprise. They must keep it
hidden; the Germans, on the other hand, do
not.
Where did the Canadians come in all this?
We are in sixth place, ahead of the
Americans, the Scandinavians and the
Benelux nations and well ahead of the
French.
As for the Swiss, they did not even get on
the survey. My guess is that they are in the
bottom third although I would be delighted
to be proven wrong.
My faithful readers know by now that I am
more than somewhat fascinated by things
aeronautical. This, among other things,
means that I read a lot of magazines
pertaining to the trade. The Americans like
to think that they spot things before any
other writers which gives them the right to
claim the number one position in aviation
writing.
Thus it was that an American journalist,
after examining one of the latest Russian
fighter jets at an international air show,
thought he was on to something big when he
stated that "a mysterious amber-coloured
fluid was seen to be dripping from a small
pipe under the front fuselage." I can only
hazard a guess that it was not too long before
one of his foreign competitors rather
The English on the other hand tut-tut
about ''the French disease". They're talking
about venereal problems.
The French have a name for V.D. too.
They call it "the Italian disease".
But you'll never guess who gets it most
when the nationalistic insults start to fly. No,
it's not blacks. Or Germans. Or Italians or
Puerto Ricans or Newfies.
It's my folks: the Scots.
Well, sure. It all goes back to that 18th
century Limey curmudgeon Samuel Johnson
who grumbled "much may be made of a
Scotchman...if he be caught young."
Old Doctor Johnson started the anti-Celt
ball rolling more than two centuries ago.
Soon the world was snickering about
"Scotch coffee" (hot water flavoured with a
biscuit); the "Scotsman's cinema" (the
winking lights of Piccadilly Circus); "Scotch
blessing" (when somebody really chews you
out); and "playing a tune of the Scotch
organ" (to put money in a cash register).
That's the unkindest cut of all. The notion
that we Scots are parsimonious. Economical
to a fault. In other words: cheap.
Och! How can the world be sae cruel?
Enough. Let bygones be bygones. Auld
Lang Syne and all that. I'll nae hold a
grudge.
Now if you're finished with the newspaper
could you please mail it back to me?
I find old copies of The Citizen make great
boot liners.
gloatingly asked him if he had ever heard of
a "relief tube." Did he expect that the
Russians had, somehow, been able to install
a portable toilet in the damped cockpit?
Because of so many years (70 plus) under
Communism, Russians have frequently been
accused of having little in the way of
entrepreneurial instincts. Thus it was that the
well known Junior Achievement organiza-
tion set up an international competition in
Michigan to see who could make the most
money at a computer game that simulated a
company at work. Included in the 60 teams
participating were 10 from Moscow. Would
you believe that the Russians took the first
four places. There is hope, it seems, for
capitalism in the old Soviet Union after all.
Your opinion
means a lot
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The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
I wish I could
say thanks
You have to wonder if he knew the impact
he would have on the lives of so many
young people.
This week members of the Scout and
Guides movement will be commemorating
the organization's founder, Lord Baden-
Powell.
Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell
was born in London, Eng. on Feb. 22, 1857.
A British general, Baden-Powell had made
the army his career and it was through his
experience with training recruits that he
came to the conclusion these young men
were not prepared for the rigors of outdoor
life, because they had not been conditioned
to it as children.
In 1908, to provide that type of outdoor
living training, he founded the Boy Scouts.
Two years later, at the request of King
George V, Baden-Powell retired from the
army to devote all his time to the scouting
movement. It was that year that he and his
sister, Agnes set up a similar program for
girls.
I spent many of my formative years as a
member of Brownies and Guides, years that
were obviously too long ago to remember in
any great detail. I do recall, however, the
camaraderie, the fun and some of the
experiences I had as part of this
organization. •
I haven't forgotten that as a Brownie I was
a gnome and as a Guide I was the sixer of
the poppies. I know that I first learned to
knit, to socialize and to start a fire while
with these groups.
I pledged allegiance to God, Queen and
country, though I'm not certain at the time I
really fully understood what that meant, and
promised on my honour to help other people
every day, especially those at home. I'm not
sure how helpful my mother found some of
my assistance, but quite often the efforts did
get me a badge.
Earning these awards, which were then
worn on our sleeve, not on a sash like today,
was not always as much fun as it could have
been. Kitchen and cleaning chores were
things from which I would have gladly
otherwise escaped, but there was one that I
remembering working for with zeal. To get
my child care badge, I had the pleasure of
watching a five-year-old girl, who thought
me a big sister and was enthralled by the
attention. Likewise my 12-year-old ego
enjoyed the adoration.
With this special week, I found myself
remembering this part of my life and its
impact. Waves of nostalgia would rush
forward then recede. But as certain
memories washed over I found it interesting
to discover that I have little recollection of
my leaders. I think one of them was named
Kay, but I'm not sure. Irregardless, it's a
shame, because without her I wouldn't have
the memories.
This past week, while taking pictures of
our local organizations, one thing became
abundantly clear to me — the leaders
deserve a great deal of credit.
These volunteers come out each week to
give of their free time, which like most of us,
is quite likely limited these days. And let's
face it, working with large groups of often
extremely boisterous children isn't exactly
relaxing. The more isn't just the merrier, it's
also the loudest.
At weekly meetings, weekend excursions
and campouts, leaders provide some of the
elements for these young people to grow
physically, intellectually, socially and
spiritually. '
I wish I could say thanks to mine.
Arthur Black
International Scene
By Raymond Canon