HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2001-01-10, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 10, 2001. PAGE 5.
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There was a fair bit of ink splashed
around the newspapers last week
regarding Mel Gibson's latest movie,
What Women Want. The movie reviewers are
all hot and lathered because Mel is trying his
hand at a new genre - romantic comedy a la
Cary Grant and Spencer Tracy.
They're excited because of Mel's on-camera
performance - I'm excited because the papers
carried pictures of Mel nuzzling his co-star,
Helen Hunt - and guess what?
Mel's got a real, honest-to-gosh, short-back-
and-sides haircut. He's not wearing his
trademark Mullet.
You know Mel's Mullet - his hairstyle. The
one he wore in Braveheart and Lethal Weapon
I through MCLXXIV.
The one that looks like a wolverine died on
the back of his neck.
The haircut is not exclusive to Mel. It is
favoured by hockey players, good ol' Bubbas,
virtually every steroid superstar in the
WWF and pretty well anybody who drives
a pickup with a rifle rack across the rear
window.
Nobody knows exactly how the name
`mullet' came to be applied to this, the gOofiest
of hairstyles ever to be adopted by the male
ego. After all, a mullet traditionally is a kind of -
bait fish, small and forgettable.
Having spent so much of my life in
countries which I could not call my
home, I often think back to the things
that made the difference between having an
enjoyable time rather than a miserable one. In
all honesty, the miserable ones have been few
and far between which probably accounts for
the fact that I still look forward to travelling
with the same anticipation as 25 years ago.
If there is one major determinant of an
enjoyable stay in a country, it has to be the
people I meet and with whom I work. I have
only to think back to my activities in the Czech
Republic, a country that I had not seen since I
travelled through there in 1959 at the height of
the cold war. The atmosphere was
understandably much different then than it was
when I arrived in 1997.
At any rate I would like to tell you a bit about
three Czechs, all of whom were totally
unknown to me when I arrived and all of whom
went to great lengths to make my stays
pleasant ones. They had never met me before
and were probably wondering whether I would
be prickly or pleasant.
The first of the three I met was Zdenka
Stihlova. She was to be my co-ordinator during
my stays and was waiting for me at the station
in Ostrafa when my train arrived, an hour late,
at midnight.
Since I had to gather all my luggage, I was
the last off the train and she came up to me and
said hesitantly, "Are you Prof. Canon?"
To her relief I replied in the affirmative and
she commented that she vitas not sure since I
did not look like her idea of a professor. After
14 hours on a train, I probably did not look like
much of anything.
She and her friend took me to where I was to
stay and left only when she was sure that
everything was in order. During my two stays
in Frydek-Mistek, she looked after me with
nothing less than monastic dedication, having
determined, I presume, that I was not the least
bit prickly. She took suggestions from me
positively and came to rely as much on me as I
did on her. I discovered that she had a daughter
about the same age as my younger
granddaughter and the two girls are still
communicating with each other.
Those are two adjectives that will never be
applied to Mullet the hairstyle.
I've heard the Mullet called other names —
Kentucky Waterfall, Mud Flap, Beaver Paddle,
Ape Drape, Neck Blanket and Hockey Hair to
name but a few. The memorable Mullet sported
by one-hit country crooner Billy Ray Cyrus led
some cynics to dub the hairdo 'Achy Breaky
Big Mistake-y' - but alas, the ,name never
caught on.
Other famous Mulletheads? Bon Jovi, David
Bowie, Michael Jackson, Michael Bolton and
my favourite - Larry `Bud' Fortensky, famous
only for having briefly performed stud service
for Elizabeth Taylor.
But I think Mel Gibson was far and away the
most illustrious celebrity ever to sport the 'do,
and now that he's given it up, methinks the
Mullet is doomed to become a footnote in the
annals of tonsorial excess. It will go down to
the hirsute netherWorld, there to languish
unlamented along with the Afro, the Brush
Raymond
Canon
The
International
Scene
Just as important in his own way was Rene
Pajurek, a graphic designer whom I met at a
class I had set up for Business English. Rene
suffers from few of the hangovers which afflict
many Czechs as a result of their long exposure
to a Communist system and as a result he takes
an entrepreneurial approach to busineSs.
It was because of this that I ended up asking
him to work with me in my efforts to help the
Czechs. He agreed to do this and has carried
out with determination everything I have asked
him to do.
He also made sure that I had a turkey dinner
on Thanksgiving. This was made somewhat
THE EDITOR,
A crisis is looming in Huron County. No, this
crisis is not in the health, nor the agriculture
sector. Rather, this potential crisis bridges a
number of sectors. I'm referring to the lack of
skilled tradespeople available to employers.
Provincial studies indicate that there is a
serious shortage of skilled tradespeople, and an
inadequate number of youth choosing a trade
as a viable educational route and career. This
deficiency is in every sector that requires these
skills.
In Huron County, the Manufacturing Sector
Strategic Plan has confirmed that the lack of
skilled people is a significant problem for
manufacturers in the county. If corrections are
not made, the lack of skilled workers and
skilled tradespeople will cause the employee
infrastructure to crumble in Huron's
manufacturing industries.
Thus, instead of growth, the inability to
compete in the local and global markets will
become commonplace.
Cut, the Beatles Shag, the Mohawk and the
famous Elvisonian ducktail.
Do I sound gleeful? Well, maybe a tad.
As a man who has long since lost the
option of cultivating anything curly north of
the eyebrows, save a scrawny horseshoe
of furze, I derive great, if immature, pleasure
in watching male foliage patterns become a
cropper.
It's not easy for bald guys you know. Even
horseshoes of hair grow. I still have to go to the
barber ever three weeks and fork over my 15
bucks to watch him cut my hair in less time
than it takes to clear your throat.
I complained about it once. I sat waiting my
turn, watching my barber shear a guy who
looked like the missing link. When he was
finished the floor looked like the aftermath of a
sheep-shearing contest. "That'll be $15," my
barber told the guy.
I climb into the chair, the barber makes about
three cursory strafing passes at my head, shuts
off the clippers.
"That'll be $15," he tells me.
"How come you charge me the same price
for a haircut as that other guy? Shouldn't I get
a discount?"
"I only charged you five bucks for cutting
your hair," he says. "And $10 for searching for
it."
easier since his father raises turkeys for his
friends and relatives, something of a rarity in
the Czech Republic.
Finally there is Lenka Svitkova, a very
intelligent girl with a personality to go with it.
Lenka, who is now studying modern languages
at the University of Pilsen, became my
efficient assistant when the occasion demanded
it.
Her English was fluent since she had worked
as an au pair girl in England, and her finest
hour came when I was tasked with the job of
helping the Canadian Figure Skating Team
stock up on Czech crystal prior to their
departure. Lenka persuaded an owner to open
the store and then acted as interpreter when the
Canadians made their purchases.
She was always there when I needed her and
she willingly took time out from her studies to
come down to Frydek-Mistek during my trip
last summer to assist me once again.
With friends such as these three, no wonder
the thoughts of my work in Czech Republic are
filled with such pleasant memories.
Why is a crisis looming?
Traditionally neither trades-people nor
journeypeople have received the credit due
them. Far too often these skilled jobs have been
considered as choices for those who do not
have the ability to be successful at college or
university. Far too often these skilled jobs have
been considered as not "good enough" for my
child. Far too often these skilled jobs have been
considered as low paying jobs. And thus, far
too often the people who are qualified in these
occupations have been viewed 'ay others as not
quite as 'good' as degree or diploma holders.
Emphasis has been on college and university
as the only viable post-secondary education
options for students. In fact many people have
even excluded apprenticeships as a post
secondary educational route.
This being the case, how many young people
would be interested in skilled trades; who as a
parent would encourage their children to
-Tpiirsue a trade; who as a teacher or counsellor
Continued on page 6
Bonnie
Gropp
The short of it
Not putting up with it
There's nothing we can dopout it, so we
might just as well accept it. Well, to
those who think that's okay fine. But
I'm fed up and I feel a lot better letting
everyone know.
Not to mention it's supposed to be good for
me. A recent article I read dealt with an
expert's opinion that we keep too much bottled
up. The tendency to put on a brave face, let a
smile be our umbrella, look on the sunny side
and have a nice day is not only unnatural but
not particularly good for us. Certainly, the
advice is not intended to turn all into perpetual
Nasty Normans or Nancys. Rather the
implication is simply that if something is
bothering you it's healthier to say so than to
pretend otherwise and keep those feelings
fomenting inside.
That said, I enjoyed a tremendously good
vent the other night, to the great amusement of
my daughter. Because it made her so happy, I
wondered if it might work for my readers as
well. I made a promise to her however that I
would write it just as I said it.
First, let me set the scene. Together, my
daughter and I walked, our progress slow as
we chugged down snowy sidewalks. Further
diminishing our pleasure was the biting
dampness and a winter breeze best described
as breathtaking. The once gentle snowflake
had become a weapon driving into our faces
with a rapier-sharp sting. Our only protection
was to trudge head down, shoulders up,
graceless as a troglodyte.
My comments began simply enough,
pattering from of my mouth like a gentle rain.
However as my mood dropped, my words
took on a chill and intensity soon, equal to the
frigid world around us.
"It's not even the middle of January and I am
so tired of winter," I whined to my daughter.
"People say we can't do much about it so we
might as well put up with it, but I'm Fed UP."
It was here that the storm began to pick up
and I fumbled my way along, each step a
wearying battle towards home. "Everything
we have to do takes twice as long. You have to
get up earlier because it's going to take you
longer to get wherever you're going. I don't
have TIME for this. It's wearing me down. I'm
Sick Of It. Sick Of It All."
By now, I was working towards the perfect
storm with the full intensity of my diatribe
colliding with the warm front of my daughter's
laughter coming from behind.
"I'M SICK OF PUTTING ON MY COAT!
I'M SICK OF DOING UP MY BOOTS! I'M
SICK OF CLIMBING OVER SNOWBANKS
AND SICK OF TRUDGING THROUGH
DRIFTS! I'M SICK OF SLIPPERY ROADS!
I'M SICK OF DRIVING BLINDLY INTO
INTERSECTIONS! I'M SICK OF
WEARING THREE LAYERS OF CLOTHES
IN MY HOME! I'M SICK OF NEVER
SEEING SUNLIGHT! I'M SICK OF
SHOVELLING, BRUSHING, CLEARING,
SWEEPING! I'M SICK OF LEAVING
HOME AND NOT KNOWING IF I'M
GOING TO BE ABLE TO GET BACK! I'M
SICK, SICK, SICK OF WINTER!" I finished
with a final kick at the fluffy white stuff
burying my boots.
Then, the storm abated, I listened to my
daughter and smiled, giggled, laughed.
Thus I discovered the expert was right. It
does feel better to say what's on your mind.
And though there may be nothing I can do
about winter, I will not put up with it quietly.
Finally, the mullet is dead!
People make the difference
Letter to the Editor