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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2002-03-13, Page 5THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13, 2002. PAGE 5. Other Views Fashion definitely not my long suit I 've always had a problem with suits. Men's suits, I mean. The two-piece number — the jacket and trousers. Part of my problem is that I realized early on — most of the people likely to cause me grief in life would be wearing suits - the principal, my teachers, the bank manager, any lawyer. The suit was a metaphor for The Enemy, If I saw somebody in a suit I knew trouble was not far off and probably on the way. Another part of my suit problem: I spent a fraction of my formative years in Morocco, where I came across the ultimate male garment. It is called the djellaba (spelling varies). It's a loose, hooded woolen cloak with full sleeves that cover the hands. But the djellaba is so much more than a cloak. It is warm enough to protect you from the cold. It is also insulated to protect you from the heat. The deep hood will safeguard your privacy and anonymity. _ It is roomy, cozy and hardy. You could be naked in your djellaba or you could be dressed like the goalie for the Nashville Predators. No one could tell from the outside. It is a self-contained habitat. You can almost live in a djellaba. It is everything a North American business suit isn't. The late, great Peter Growski - author, journalist, radio star, kamikaze TV host — once vowed that he would never again take a job if he couldn't wear jeans to the office. This was 'way back in the Sixties, when, unless you were bruising your knuckles for a living, suits and ties were de rigeur. Luckily for Growski, he was immediately hired by the CBC where dress codes are not just optional, they're unknown. (The CBC brass doesn't care if you wear a Batman cape I f I ask you if you have ever bought dumped goods, this does not mean that they have been resurrected by someone from the local dump and sold at a low price. The word "dumping" in economic parlance describes something that has been imported into Canada from another country and sold here at a price below what was charged in the country of origin. If the perpetrator is investigated and caught, he or she is subjected to a "dumping duty" which in effect raises the price to a level equal or above what the same or a similar product would have cost if manufactured in Canada. Such an investigation takes place as a result of a complaint lodged by a Canadian company that believes it has been harmed economically by the dumped goods. Why do countries dump goods when the rules of the game are so well known? For one reason it is somewhat the same situation when people break the law; they don't expect to be caught and in all honesty a fair amount of trade dumping is not detected. The cause of this intentional dumping is likely to be a surplus of the product; the manufacturing company has not been able to sell the total output of the product to its regular customers and, rather than take a law, it engages in what we call marginal costing and dumps the product. As you might expect there is some grey area here. A case in point is the accusation of the American government that Canada is dumping lumber in the U.S. Washington doesn't seem to like the relationship we have between provincial governments and the lumbering governments, a relationship that they claim reduces the price unfairly to a level below the costs of production in the United States. Arthur Black or pasties and a thong - they're just happy if you show up for work.) But I digress. The point is, as Growksi pointed out half a century ago, the business suit is one of the central absurdities of modern North American life. Why are so many of us still wearing this supremely inappropriate garment? Think about it - a flimsy, two-piece outfit that can't keep you warm at a bus stop in February and will drive you to heat prostration* at the same bus stop in August. It lacks the sturdiness of overalls, the comfort of a sweat suit and the weatherproofing of spandex — what is the business suit good for? Not much — and it's been out of date for decades. Ever wondered why men's suit jackets have a vent in the rear? For riding horStback. It was designed to drape over a saddle. When's the last time you saw a broker ambling down Bay Street on a cayuse? The buttons on the sleeves? They were put there to dissuade British seamen from wiping their snotty noses while standing in assembly. What limey sailors have to do with modern commercial dress is anybody's guess, but it makes as much sense as anything else about men's stilts. Suit jackets are awkward and cumbersome when you're climbing into the bucket seat of a Mazda Miata, or cramming your limbs into an Raymond Canon The International Scene I agree with the Canadian government in this respect. It appears that imposing dumping duties on Canadian lumber is far more a political than an economic matter but it does provide a good example of how a government can manipulate dumping duties to fit a political agenda. The same situation occurs here. Our steel producers have recently claimed that foreign steel was being dumped in Canada and accordingly made an official process. The decision was that in some kinds of steel, there was dumping; in other kinds there was not so the victory for our steel producers was only a partial one. But raw materials or semi-finished products are not the only things dumped. I once bought some classical music records made by Deutsche Gramaphon in Germany. 1 was very surprised at the low price and wondered how such a well known company could sell so cheaply since there did not appear to be any clearance sale taking place. I soon had my answer. It seems that the company was unloading records in Canada below the price charged for the same records in Germany and was duly hit with a dumping duty by the Canadian government. Unionized industries are generally on the watch for any sign of dumping since this brings economy rathole on an Air Canada flight to Moose Jaw. They just get in the way - just as they do when you're working in a climate- controlled office. The jackets get slung over chairbacks. What's the point? Men's suits should have gone out of vogue or morphed into something useful a hundred years ago, but for some reason they didn't. Women's' fashion went through long gowns, medium gowns, flouncy gowns, flared waists, high shoulders, empire gowns, the Sack, the maxi, the midi, the mini, the monokini. . . Men just kept wearing the same dumb suits. Oh, the lapels waxed and waned. The cuffs came and went. The trousers flared and shriveled. But it was the same dumb suit underneath. I've got half a mind to start a movement to recall the business suit and replace it with the djellaba, except... Except I remember a conversation I had with a professor in Tangier, a few decades ago. I was ranting, then as now, about the stupidity of the business suit and the superiority of the djellaba when he put a hand on my arm and asked if I had any theory on why North African culture had essentially stalled — made no progress — since, virtually, the middle ages. I said I'd never thought about it. "The djellaba" he said. "It is the most comfortable garment for this climate imaginable. But the sleeves are heavy and long. You can't hammer nails when you're wearing it; you can't repair watches, or work machinery. It's hard to write or even read a book. It's comfortable alright. Problem is, it's too comfortable." Hmmm. Perhaps I won't take my business suits to the thrift shop just yet. with it the threat of lower demand for the product from Canadian companies and thus a reduction in employment levels. Nobody likes to lose his or her job because of a flood of cheap imports and if a‘case can be, made that the product is actually being dumped, so much the better. In spite of all this vigilance I have the distinct feeling that there is a lot more dumping going on than meets the eye. Governments don't exactly have a horde of people watching out for such activity and exporters can become very creative when it comes to disguising prices. In addition, as I said above, there are grey areas when it comes to selling cheaply on foreign markets. After all it happens all the time on domestic markets: it's called a "loss leader." Letter Continued from page 4 your home, in the nursing home or in the hospital. Anyone can access this service. We do not charge a fee for our services, however, we are grateful for any donations and-generosity that comes to us. Call me at the office 357-2720 or write to Wingham and Area Palliative Care, Box 1286, Wingham, ON NOG 2W0 for more information on volunteering, grief recovery groups, Rainbows grief support for children, training opportunities, or because you know of someone who is in need of additional support. Our primary goal is to enhance the quality of one's life ... no matter what Me duration of that life may be. Kathy Procter. Treasuring grandparents Arms grip me from behind and as they tighten their hold I realize that I am powerless against him. "Do you want a horsey ride, Mitchell," I inquire of my two-year-old grandson. He climbs onto my back and we schlumph around, and around the house until Grandma's knees give out on hard hardwood floors. Now, I don't know about you, but my Grandma sure didn't get down on hands and knees to entertain me. A friend and I were discussing this fact recently and we came to the conclusion that we are not nearly as old as our grandparents were at the same age. Granted I remember my grandparents as much older primarily because they were. All of them were about 60 when this particular third generation bundle of joy made her appearance. But in the words of my sister, "Grandma was always old." This is in no way meant derogatorily. Even as a young child I admired both my grandmas and had a genuine affection for them. But, while today's boomers are striving for eternal youth, our grandparents gave little thought to aerobics, facials, massages or tanning booths. They worked hard and were rewarded by the gems of family life, good friends and the little successes. My grandfathers were both quiet men, and I don't recall ever seeing one of them impatient or angry. What I remember most about Grandpa Ott is walking out to the barn behind him. Unlike many adults, he seldom seemed annoyed by ouf presence. My maternal grandpa, though a gentle man, had a child-like love of life. He was the one who would bounce us on his knee or, recite poetry. He was a wiz at drawing horses and no visit ever went by without at least one paper full of his eqi..ine" renderings. Grandma Matthews, on the other hand, was a no-nonsense gal, tiny of stature, feisty of nature. She was firm on temperance and never afraid to speak her mind. And, yet, when I think of her, I can taste buttery shortbread and smell fragrant peonies. She was the soft Grandma, who also liked to cuddle and sing. Of hardy German stock, my paternal grandmother was a solid woman, whom I remember as mostly working. It is the smells, of a Christmas dinner that generally stir up memories of her. And, more sadly, the smells of a hospital. Suffering most of her adult life with crippling arthritis, she aged painfully and quickly. While she was never demonstrative nor emotional, I do recall a visit one day in her final years, a memory I hold dear. Skipping into her hospital room after school, I saw her face brighten. "There's my girlie," she said, as I hugged her. With just three words she had made me feel special. No, I don't remember my grandparents as • being anything but old. They were grey-haired, slower and less sure of foot than today's workout grannies and papas Yet, while I am blessed that I can crawl around on hands and knees with my grandson, while his grandpa will proudly somersault across the living room floor with him, while we build snowmen, play hide and seek or row, row, row your boat, I will never underestimate the impact of just being Grandma. My grandparents, without too much vigour, and without being in my life for too long still left me with memories I treasure. Have you ever bought dumped goods?