HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1996-09-04, Page 5Arthur Black
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1996 PAGE 5.
That which we
call a rose
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name, would smell as sweet
Shakespeare
Well, there are roses and then there are
roses, Bill. Take the Pantone Colour Institute
of New Jersey. Pantone comes up with
names for paint colours and they don't mess
with simple minded concepts like red, blue
and yellow. Pantone creates concoctions like
"terra firma" (brown); "vintage claret" (dark
red); "angel wink pink" and "orange you
happy".
Silly, you think? Not very. Last year one
paint company took all its "off-white" paint
tins off the shelves and re-dubbed them
"antique silk". Sales more than doubled.
Names are important. And not just for
paint cans. Ask Dick Assman how important
a name is.
Up until a year or so ago, Dick Assman
was an unheralded gas pump jockey at a
Petro-Canada station on the outskirts of
Regina.
Then David Letterman discovered him.
The inherent absurdity of Mister Assman's
name struck a resounding chord in the anal-
retentive humour quadrant of Letterman's
brain and Dick Assman became a running
gag on the Letterman show. Each week
Statistics mislead
I think I have mentioned in the past that on
my bookshelves sits a small paperback
called "How to Lie with Statistics." It makes
interesting reading but there should be.a
sequel entitled "How Statistics Lie."
What I mean by that is that statistics are
sometimes misleading, even before you get
around to using them. Let me explain.
We recently heard that the rate of
unemployment in this country jumped up in
one month by about one-half of one per cent
and the most immediate reaction to that was
the value of the Canadian dollar dropped like
a stone by half a cent.
This is one of the most idiotic situations to
take place in the world of economics in quite
a while, for the simple reason that, not only
were the figures on unemployment flawed,
but the money traders and/or their clients
must be the most neurotic bunch of people
on this planet. To react in such a way to
flawed figures is downright dumb; the same
traders used to react in the same fashion
whenever Lucien Bouchard raised his voice.
He hasn't done that much lately, though, so
the money crew must be looking for new
things to terrorize them.
Mind you the half cent drop did not do our
export trade any harm, but that is not the
point. Our dollar should not drop on money
markets just because of some flawed figures.
It sends the wrong message to the business
world which is not totally conversant on
what is going on in Canada; all sorts of
dopey Dave would relate some tidbit about
Dick Assman and the studio audience
(whose humour threshold is even less
demanding than Letterman's) would roar
with approval.
Dick Assman was famous. The ultimate
butt of the Letterman wit, as it were.
Letterman should get out more. There are
lots of funnier names than Dick Assman's
around — some of them already famous.
Anybody remember the president of
Zimbabwe, one Reverend Canaan Banana?
How about the Archbishop of Manila —
Cardinal Sin?
I'm not making these up, you know.
Rock stars have foisted some memorable
monikers on an unsuspecting public. Z.Z.
Top and Iggy Stooge, Syd Vicious and
Johnny Rotten come to mind. Some pop
icons have extended their zaniness to the
second generation. British singer David
Bowie crowned his son Zowie.
Zowie Bowie. There's a kid that'll need
either a great sense of humour or a wicked
right cross.
Frank Zappa named his kids Dweezil and
Moon Unit. What was the guy smoking?
Sports has always been a haven of wacky
handles. Baseball gave us Thurman Munson.
Hockey produced Sheldon Kanageiser. And
(does anybody remember the great
quarterback Y.A. Tittle? His full name was
Yelberton Abraham Tittle.
Some kids obviously had sadists for
parents. There's a fisherman in Warsaw,
New York who answers (reluctantly) to the
By Raymond Canon
wrong ideas then take on a life of their own.
Let's get back to the unemployment
figures. Of all the major statistics released
on a monthly basis, these are perhaps the
most flawed. They are for one thing
seasonally adjusted and like other figures
they are corrected about three months down
the line, a correction which, by the way, is
given little space by the same press that was
so anxious to blow up the first figures to
portray all sorts of dire consequences.
Furthermore, a lot of self-interest groups,
which have a bone of some kind to pick with
the government, jump on the bandwagon and
make their own kind of dire predictions. Not
only does the value of the Canadian dollar
fall, as it did on the day the news was
released, but it does.not bounce back, since
all the negative comments follow in the
wake of the released statistics. Too many
people jump to the conclusion that finally we
are going to hell in a handbasket.
If you walk in a house and you find
someone crying, do you automatically
assume that the person in question cries all
the time, is a pessimist by nature or reacts
negatively to any news? Hardly! The same
applies for an economy.
There are a number of reasons why the
unemployment figures jumped by so much
in a month but until I have a look at the same
statistics over a four to six month period I
cannot say whether any of the changes are
long-term in nature. Why, then, jump to
false conclusions?
The same goes for the free trade argument.
The biggest joke is some spokesperson for a
well-informed self-interest group publicly
name Dennis Elbow. There's a farmer in
Kentucky whose driver's license identifies
him as Henry Ford Carr and a society dame
in Houston Texas whose real name is Ima
Hogg.
If you live in Los Angeles you can have
your legal work taken care of by an attorney
named Lake Trout (and yes, he has a brother
named Brook).
As for magnificent rolling names — how
about Humperdink Fangboner? He's a
lumber dealer in Sandusky, Ohio — married
to Fanny Fangboner. And then there's the
firewood salesman in Cambridge
Massachussets — Mister Vestibule.
Mister Marmalade P. Vestibule.
The most outrageous name of all time?
You'd have to go some to beat the son born
to John Brook, in New York in 1876, a
centennial year. Mister Brook, who loved
attending performances at the John Hodge
Opera House and manufactured gargling oil,
also supported Samuel J. Tilden who was
running for the U.S. Presidency.
So naturally, Mister Brook christened his
son John Hodge Opera House Centennial
Gargling Oil Samuel J. Tilden Ten Brook.
His friends called him "Buck".
Names. My favourite story about weird
names comes from a weirdly named chap —
the comedian Groucho Marx.
"Groucho!" a stranger snorted to him one
time, "surely that's not your real name!"
"Of course not" said Groucho, waggling
his caterpillar eyebrows. "I'm just breaking it
in for a friend."
announces that free trade is the worst thing
that has ever hit this country. There is no
evidence to back it up, but we are supposed
to take this statement as something akin to
holy writ.
Most economists, myself included, have
always stated that free trade, or trade
liberalization, to give it the correct name, is
something that must be judged after a period
of five to 10 years. In addition, as in any
major restructuring, there are both winners
and losers and these, too, must be evaluated
over a similar length of time. There have
been jobs gained and jobs lost under trade
liberalization and only in the long run will
we be able to establish the real losers and
winners in this country.
To hear the Americans tell it right now,
the Canadians are winning hands down. You
have no idea how many American industries
are claiming to have been shafted by those
damned Canadians and that was even before
Sen. Helms got in the act.
In short the neurotic money traders and
instant experts are right out of Alice in
Wonderland. In the real world we can do
without them.
Got a beef?
Write a letter
to the editor
The
Short
of ►c
By Bonnie Gropp
Don't want attention?
If you don't want attention, don't be a
show off.
Actors Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell,
would do well to think about this. I was
reading in a Sunday paper that the
Hollywood couple considers Canadians rude
because they have been gawking at their
Muskoka getaway, an ostentatious green and
white gabled estate tucked away in cottage
country next door to a public beach and a
waterfall. Sorry, folks, I'm sure people just
couldn't help staring.
There is no surer way to be noticed than to
do something different from the norm,
something that makes you stand out from the
crowd. When you build a showplace amid
picturesque perfection, wouldn't you think
you might expect the occasional gaper? Why
would anyone create such a testimonial to
pretension if not to have it admired? I would
think even a denizen to the elite Muskokas,
summer haven to many monied
Torontonians, could get away with a little
less roof over their heads.
I'm not a person to be denied my creature
comforts even amidst the splendour of
utopia. No sleeping bags or outhouses for
me. But, I can make some sacrifices when I
decide to get away from it all. This past
Sunday we visited family at their beachfront
cottage. It's not fancy, just rustic simplicity
with only the necessary amenities.
And the free ones with which we are
blessed and seldom have the time to notice.
Sitting on the deck listening to the rhythmic
cadence of the water as it washed onto the
shore, we stared at the glorious panoramic
view.
For a time an entertaining diversion
arrived. A friendly chipmunk, with a
penchant for peanuts and bold as brass
accepted our presence into its natural habitat
while we delighted in its visit. He ran from
chair to chair accepting food from each of
us. Then with tiny cheeks bulging he would
scurry back to his nest, to store his good
fortune, before coming back for more.
When not being amused by our little
rodent friend, we passed time in nonsensical,
and occasionally sensible, conversation. We
were relaxed, we were having fun and just
simply enjoying where we were.
Not that that was too difficult. At the end
of one work week and just before another
was to begin, it was a lovely place to be. The
powder blue sky umbrellaed crystal clear
water, while white sails billowed on the
horizon. Seagulls bobbed on the surface like
tub toys and we watched awestruck as a
duck moving like the wind, skimmed across
the top of the water.
At sunset, a shimmering stripe steaked the
lake while the tangerine sun began its slow
descent, tinting the sky, as it sank towards
the water. And all this, for my viewing
pleasure, was framed between two birch
trees.
The day ended in my certainty that
nothing fancy, nor frivilous would ever be
needed to enjoy this setting. The day was
ours. It was one of silence and serenity. No
one bothered us, because, of course, no one
noticed us. Just maybe, Goldie and Kurt
might find God's country a little more to
their liking if they had opted to blend with it
rather than try to rise above it.
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