Life As Performance Art 101

Some of you already know, Gentle Reader, that I read the weekend Globe and Mail, which is rather like Canada's own little New York Times, on an almost religious basis, which is to say that Saturday morning, or sometimes afternoon, I will stop at the local Shoppers Drug Mart, where I am given an incredibly generous discount on this paper, and take it home, make a pot of cocoa and immerse myself in the pages of broadsheet and ink for several hours, often falling in and out of a blissful slumber while in my reclining chair. What could be a lovelier way of celebrating a day of rest, particularly following a good ten mile hike or so, interrupted by an hour and a half or better tucked in a comfy corner in my favourite coffee shop with my sketchbook, an iced Americano, and a gigantic chocolate cookie? The Globe and Mail, of course, provides one of the highest qualities of journalism anywhere in this country, touching and expounding on the current issues of the nation, the world and life itself in ways that are educational, enlightening, entertaining and sometimes humorous. Some of you may know that for around eight years or so I quit reading this paper, primarily thanks to their former editor-in-chief, that arrogant blowhard John Stackhouse, when he crowed infamously and quite stupidly that the Globe and Mail is primarily and by default exclusively a paper for the One Percent, and the rest of us Great Unwashed needn't stain our fingers with their precious ink. Harumph! I snorted as I boycotted for several years the august publication. Still, I do find myself admitting that he is half-right, that the journalism does slant more towards the privileged classes, people with lovely university educations, advanced degrees, and lucrative and influential professional lives and positions. I would be utterly daft not to see this. And perhaps it is also because I'm a bit of a wannabe, myself, since my own economic and other difficult life situations made it impossible for me to advance beyond a second year of community college. I have lived ever since as a low income worker, though I still can't complain, given what an interesting ride it has been. I am currently wading my way through the Opinion pages of this weekend's and pondering a couple of articles in particular. One is about making do, or taking the time to fix and mend things rather than going out to buy something new. The other article touches on the idea of people with big empty houses renting out the extra rooms to help solve our housing crisis. Of course, I agree one hundred percent with these premises, and am also amused to have just read that Prince Charles (yes, THAT Prince Charles), will mend his old clothes and go on wearing them till they can no longer hold together, rather than buy something new. A splendid role model for frugality and economic common sense, especially considering how fabulously and ridiculously wealthy he is. While I find this kind of writing admirable, and even laudable, I am also left laughing with a little bit of irony, if not quite ready to choke on my cocoa. I do not have a large house (I live in a small bachelor apartment in a government subsidized building), but I am, for want of a better word, a minimalist (but for an abundant home library, bilingual in English and Spanish of some five hundred books, and of course tons of my own paintings that I never sold). In my case, if I am a minimalist, then, of course, I am a minimalist by necessity. I mend things, and I keep wearing clothes until they are no longer wearable. I buy on average, maybe two shirts (always second hand), and one pair of pants a year. This is partly because I can't afford to buy a lot of clothes, and certainly usually not new ones, except these days for pants, because they tend to wear a lot longer if bought new than secondhand. For me, and people like me, frugality and economy are not boutique luxuries that we can cop in order to feel and look virtuous. While it is a good thing that privileged folk are beginning to catch on to the notion, if only to slow down this manic death dance of consumption and waste that is choking the planet, it also strikes me as something very typical of their way of grabbing and reinventing old and common sense values, and branding them as their very own, just as if no one has ever done or thought of doing the same thing before them. And this does make me laugh. Perhaps if some of them would actually learn what it is like to be poor, to have to decide between going to the dentist or buying a new bedspread, or having to buy oranges at the No Frills supermarket because strawberries are once again unaffordable, even if they are still in season, such dilemmas and choices that they have never had to worry about, and likely never will. But they can salve their conscience and build their public cred a little by stitching up a pair of frayed designer jeans. Uh-huh! I do think they are onto something good, by the way. I only wish they would give a little credit to those of us who have been doing the same thing far longer than they have, and not simply because we want to, but because we have to. Happy Sunday, Gentle Reader.