Ersatz

On the drive into work this morning I had my oldest in the co-pilots seat as I gave her a lift to a conference she was attending at a downtown hotel. She's experiencing the other side of what I do for a living so it's kind of interesting to hear her thoughts on things. Hobnobbing with medical industry professionals from around Canada and the US she is being exposed to a new world, one that can be kind of hard to grasp for a third year university student...how the world really works.

As we made our way ever closer to the core of the city we talked about the social aspect of these conferences. The networking that takes place amongst seasoned veterans and dough eyed newbies alike. Drug reps looking to score, so to speak, interspersed with a plethora of other "medical industry" professionals. It's about who you know and who knows you. No different then the trade shows I go to to try and keep current with not only new products coming down the pipe but with who is doing what and where. Gossip, rumour and innuendo run amok amongst the latest fried wonder food that permeates the air.

I tend to make my way through these events rather quickly. Generally for two reasons, most of the products being showcased aren't of interest to me and too may people there are simply ersatz....fake, not genuine. While there are a number of people that I see every year at these events and I enjoy catching up with them the majority of people that cross my radar are only looking to me for a chance to sell me something. And that's fine really, since that's what they do for a living and in the end I am a buyer, it's the way this happens that irks me. Almost as if they are all reading from the same playbook using the same catch phrases and hoping to make a connection that generally I don't care to make...you need to do better. Start by being original and genuine, the opposite of ersatz.

Ersatz? A German word denoting a fake or imitation of another something. I remember reading the word in a novel about world war two and actually asking one of my German born instructors about the word to understand it better...I've said it before, the German's are great for this kind of thing. Ersatz boiled down to being a substitute, an inferior one, to a hard to come by product. In the story they were talking about a coffee substitute during the bombings of Germany...a melange of roasted rice, barley, chicory and probably shoe leather that stood in for a good cup of Joe. Along with death, destruction and disaster people had to suffer though fake coffee. The humanity of it all! To me those fakers are like boiled shoe leather....hard to stomach.

In the same fashion that I can't do small talk I have a problem with fakers. But the bigger issue may be is that I can't "normally" function in this world because I naively believe that a persons success should be tied to their ability as opposed to who they know. I didn't learn to network effectively and for sure it doesn't help that I am horrible when it comes to remembering names and faces so I think there have been times that I didn't get one position or another because I wasn't in the loop. Spending fourteen years as an island unto myself with my own little business didn't help either. Being the head cook and chief bottle washer, amongst other titles, meant I couldn't go to chef meetings to meet people, much less influence them. And when I did attend events it was an exercise of awkwardness for me...ugh. Square peg in a round hole could be engraved on my headstone if I choose to be disposed of that way...I'm leaning towards getting myself turned into a glass vase or a record...hahaha.

I hope my daughter learns from my experience and does the networking better than I ever did...she'll have the skills and work ethic I am sure, with the added edge coming from actually knowing the right people at the right time. But I also want her to understand that having that work ethic and the skills is still the most important thing. Your road may be a bit harder but you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you did it a la Sinatra...."your way" and without regrets.

Ciao
D

Tales From Behind the Pass

Taken as a whole, she was less than what I would consider a good person. Like the uncomfortable neighbour that you have to be nice to, but really wish you could just bounce off of a brick wall at least once. I didn’t see any redeeming qualities and it seemed like she was going out if her way to be sociable by talking to me. And I wasn't sure why.

My comment, at best was rhetorical, a place holder. Much like when someone asks you how you are and your answer is the same every time “good buddy, how about you?” as you continue on your merry way. Nobody wants to actually hear how you are, they're just trying to be nice by asking. "Well Jeff, I'm not doing so great. I just found out my wife is sleeping with the starting lineup of the Chicago Bulls, a fucking piano dropped on my shit box car that I haven't finished paying for and I have no coverage for that kind of calamity. My shoulder still hurts from when you hit me with a rolling pin as "a joke" and the restaurant I'm working at is one bad weekend away from closing up shop. Oh, I almost forgot, my dog was in the car when that Steinway dropped on it. How are you?"

Back to the conversation...so why must I be subjected to a five minute story on how she remembers this time that she did this thing with this other chef that went really great and the dish featured 28 varieties of mushrooms and one of them happened to be shitake – which, in the end, is what I had made the comment on and why she feels she can tell me this confounding story. God I hate that, almost as much as I hate vegans and that’s saying something because I really hate vegans. I don’t know why but I associate them with witches. The burn in Salem kind of witches.

There I am, standing in the middle of the kitchen, one foot going one way and the other going the other way, brain and eyes going others. Like Pixie Le Knot, the greatest contortionist that ever lived, limbering up before wrapping her legs around her head from the front. I wanted, I needed to get out of there before I said something stupid or showed an interest. But here in the middle of a not so great bistro hovering on the edge of Yorkville, I was trapped. Bound by a code ingrained through the years of doing the trenches. Nondescript homage’s to lost dreams and fortunes. It’s a team and you don’t throw your team under the bus, in front of the bus or even near a bus. Unless you are helping them onto the bus because they can’t walk. Walk? How about can’t even speak or see – rye is funny that way. I did that to a buddy once. Threw him on a bus and told the bus driver where he lived. He’s still alive so I guess no harm done. Throwing Madison, Madi for short, out of the way is simply not the way good guys are wired. No matter how much you want to. No matter how many times it has happened to you and will happen again. So there I stand, nothing pressing to do and a desire to get out of the way, still listening to a story that would make watching paint dry as exciting as the running of the bulls in Pampolana.

“Sounds like a great night Madi, I have to get going on my prep. You should as well, we might get busy tonight.” I said as a way of extricating myself from the pain. And just like that I moved on. Not really needing to do any prep because we weren’t going to be busy. In fact, the complete opposite of busy is what we will most likely be. Chef knows it. The bartender and the front of house manager know it. I know it. Seems everyone but the owner knows it. And probably Madi. She’s new to “Herbs” and new to the city. She will learn soon though. Shortened shifts, always a couple of days late in getting paid, suppliers calling looking for accounting – the writing is on the wall if anyone cares to read it. I’m ok of course, I’ve got a gig lined up next month. I’m not sure about Chef though, I’m starting to wonder if he got suckered into putting money into the place. Well, that’s what you get for not being at your post. This isn’t the fucking Hilton or Trump Towers. We need you to work, not carry a clip board.

Friday night can be a weird night for the restaurant business. If you’re good and known, busiest night of the week at the start of a busy weekend. It’s where you can make your money. But, if you are like us, in decline, you would be forgiven for feeling like the road in front has been blocked by a mass suicide and no one feels like eating when that happens. We have a few reservations but nowhere near the capacity of 75 seats that we would like filled up tonight. Hell, if 75 people showed up I don’t what we would feed them. Love working in a place that has been forced to make decisions based on worse case scenarios. But now, for some strange reason I am thinking of Madi. Something has my attention and I’m trying to figure out what that is. This is dangerous territory for me. I realize that, like a gambling addict trying to walk past a row of VLT’s or the front door of the casino – but the lights are so pretty - $20 and that is all, get up and leave once that is gone. Something has stirred in me because of Madi and it isn’t because she is drop dead gorgeous with a great body, which, by the by, is not the case. She’s attractive in her own way. Her personality is the thing that rubs me the wrong way. So why am I thinking of her….

“How many specials do we have and what’s the count on the tenderloin tonight?” asks chef as he strolls into the kitchen, clip board in hand. “Four trout and three tenderloin” chef I respond. “How old is the tenderloin?” comes the expected question. “Four days; we haven’t sold one all week” He just shakes his head and heads out into the dining room for a pre-service meeting but mostly a pre-service drink.

I’ve known chef, also known as Peter, for a few years now. He came in as sous chef at the last hotel I worked at. Seemed like a decent guy with big dreams of running his own bistro. He talked about it all the time actually. “When I have my own place I’m going to do this and that” while indulging in his third smoke break of the morning. Typical stuff that all chefs spout out because we all think we know better. Having lived and barely survived my own experience at being the boss, I know different. Chef is out of his depth here. I don’t think he knows business at all and worse, he has no clue about what is wrong with this place. Classic case of cooking food you like and not understanding when the John Q Public isn’t as enamoured with the crispy proscuitto and chorizo mac ‘n’ cheese as you think they should be. And I won’t even get into the bar and front of house.

I’ve cobbled together my station as best I can and am ready for the “rush”. Madi to the left of me on garde manger, which for novices is a catch all for cold appetizers and such. In this place it is also where desserts come from since we aren’t busy and can’t afford another mouth to feed. And on my right is….no one, there is no one beside me on grill. Didn’t I see Jeff recently? And almost as if on cue, Chef walks in. “Jeff called in sick so we let him go. I’ll be helping out if you need a hand” was the declaration of the night. For fuck sakes!!! Really? I hate that. The chef says he’ll be there to help out but what will really happen is I’ll be doing two stations for service as the king glides in and out of the kitchen looking busy. And who the fuck is going to set up his station for him? Me of course….wait, “Oh Madi”

And so it began, that confluence of events that started with Jeff not coming to work and ended with Madi and I drunk in a local watering hole frequented by us fluorescent light dwellers. And as sure as I am pissed on tequila I know that she and I will be entangled in a bed before the morning sun rises. I know it, I’m staring at her as she talks about those fucking mushrooms again and do you think I can avoid it? Nope…were going to bump uglies tonight.

When I called Madi over to check over the station and see what was needed for chefs/mine mis en place she actually did so in a friendly and team player way. I did a double take because her normal MO was to drag her feet and bitch about having to do anything outside of her normal duties. Granted, she always had her station set and prepped perfectly while maintain a clean area, but that didn’t absolve her from her lack of convivial spirit.

If rule number one is don’t be a douche rule number two must be play nice with your team. Nothing, and I literally mean nothing, can you throw you off the rails quicker than a team that doesn’t work well together. It’s not a case of even liking the people that you work with, who cares about that, it’s about melding together like a well oiled machine to produce results. Keeping our heads and by extension our bodies out of the weeds…and for that, you need your team.

I’ve been part of some simply awesome teams, both big and small, where everything seems to fire on all cylinders and when the shit hits the fan everyone works that much harder to get the job done. And then there were the times I felt like Andy Dufrene in The Shawshank Redemption…crawled through 500 yards of shit to get out the other side.

Here at Herbs we don’t even have a quorum to be able to call ourselves a team. Myself, Madi, Chef and the recently departed Jeff. I wonder how many times Jeff turns when people call out chef thinking they were calling him? A team? Not really. At best mutual aligned goals, temporary as they may be. But one must never forget that you still have to hold up your end of the bargain when your work is dependent on another, and maybe this is why I have an issue with Madi? She should know better. But now she's acting like she is all about the team....Spidey sense tingling. Maybe I should say something…..?

Headliners

After a little rant and an ode to moms in honour of Mother's Day I feel a little mockery is in order...self mockery to be exact. In my favourite category of "why is he still alive?" I bring you this little example of how I used my head.

My mom will remember this better than me I'm sure but in grade seven my teacher, Mr. Reilly, asked to see my parents for parent/teacher interviews. That can never be a good thing. Not once has a teacher asked to see a parent and the student comes out looking great. And such was the case this time around. I should note that the three years or so that I spent at St. Dorothy's were what some may describe as my rebellious years, elementary time frame. I was constantly butting heads with teachers...Mr Howell especially, like oil and water he and I. But at least he never asked to see my parents, probably because he saw me as a lost cause. To be truthful I had no idea why my current teacher wanted to see my folks and it was bugging me. A lot.

The date of the inquisition came and our turn to go in and see Mr. Reilly was at hand. My mom asked where my seat was and, like the feeling you get when you know you're busted for speeding with the flashing lights in your mirror, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was so screwed. As I pointed up to the desk not only closest to the teachers desk but actually touching it my mom gave me one of those "wait till you get home looks". Screwed I tell ya. "Come sit down Danny" came the beckoning from that comb over. I slumped into my chair and tried not to look guilty as my mom sat in front of the teacher. 

Here's where things get fuzzy as I tend to tune out when people drone on, especially when talking about me. The general gist was that I wasn't working to my potential. I talked too much....hence why my desk was surgically attached to his own desk. The thought being, I'm sure, that he could reach me easier this way with a piece of chalk or a ruler. Obviously it didn't work and my mom sitting there with me and Captain Over Hang was proof enough. I was, and still may be, incorrigible. What I do recall was an odd twist in the conversation, I probably perked up because he said my name, "we know he's smart, he's just not engaged" Isn't that another way of saying I'm lazy? "Is it ignorance or are you apathetic, I don't know and I don't care"...that always makes me chuckle. It's always most enjoyable to have people talk about you as if you weren't there....I'm sitting right here jack off!!!

In any event, the time seemed to drag on and all I wanted to do was be out of there. The walk home wasn't entirely horrible as I think my mom took solace in the fact that the teacher thought I was smart...she and my dad could take care of the lazy part. Ha!!!! I figured I had dodged some bullets so I was relatively happy it was all over.

Fast forward a few months and our grade seven trip was being planned. Now, I have no idea what other schools were doing, like maybe going to Quebec or something like that but our school was sending us to a camp of sorts. Actually, in the winter it acted as an elite hockey camp facility and in the summer they rented out for summer camps. On the edge of a lake in the middle of God only knows where, we were going to spend four nights and five days getting to be at one with nature. With teachers to supervise us. It sounded horrible. In the end it was a pretty good time....and despite nearly decapitating myself I was a hero.

The powers that be had decided that this camp was going to provide a back drop for a competition. We were to be divided up into groups and certain tasks designed to test us mentally and physically were to form the bulk of the competition. The teachers, in their infinite wisdom had already picked the teams and the team captains. I was team leader for what could have been generously called the Big Bang Theory team. I mean I had a bunch of geeks and nerds on my team. I was the only one capable of any sort of sports like ability...this being way before getting into the other shape I am now, that is to say pear shaped. As class ended I went up to Captain Comb Over and asked him what the hell was going on. Please mix up the teams a little more would ya...you're killing me. He looked me in the eye and said I predict your team will win and they'll win because you're going to find a way to lead them. I wanted to bop him in the head with the chalk board eraser to my right. Are you fucked? David over there finds it difficult to walk and chew gum....how is he supposed to paddle a canoe or help in playing hockey? My powers of persuasion not being up to the legendary status as they currently are meant I was stuck with the pile of gomers.

So off to camp we went, not knowing what to expect and not entirely caring I ended up having a great time that week. We fooled around, chased girls a little, ate too much junk food and learned about nature and team work...we bonded as a grade, as a cabin full of boys and as a team that I was in charge of. How did we do you ask? Well...I don't know how, but we actually did win the weeks challenges to come out on top. And we did by playing to our strengths and working together. While I could hold my own in some of the physical challenges they were often paired with other more brainy challenges. Meaning while I was swimming out to the buoy and back and coming in third out of seven my cohorts were finding out where the larvae were while other team members were tying knots as per diagrams. A lot of the other teams didn't even know what larvae were...advantage team us!!

You see, that was the key, like a cup sinning team we weren't built around one guy only, we had a team to carry the load. Somehow I knew enough to not get in the way  of those attributes and actually played them up. Not only was I the deemed leader, I became the natural leader, so while other teams that had two or three alpha dogs on it were arguing over who should anchor the race we were quietly running our race. Mr Reilly saw or sensed something in me and I rose to the challenge, sharing the glory with my team. To this day that is what I try and emulate. I may be the general but my guys make me look good because they do a bang up job and most importantly I trust them to do the job. That's Mr Reilly!!

But wait, this was supposed to be about my near death experiences. Yes, well....uhmmmm....errrrrrrr. While I said I could hold my own in the physical challenges you must also remember that I was some sort of special stupid in the ways that I could do damage to my body. In no particular order I remember falling out of the top bunk a few times, taking a slap shot to the groin area during a ball hockey match, being chased by some wasps as I dived into the lake to get away from them, dancing with a female teacher that made me uncomfortable and most notably, nearly taking my own head off.

On the Thursday, the grand obstacle course was the final challenge. It was a series of tests and obstacles that tested us in all ways. to be able to move on you had to complete certain tasks or find certain things. As we were given the agenda I saw that the final challenge was a paddle across the lake to a small island where we needed to capture the flag. I was going to paddle with one of the girls, Marissa I believe, and I needed the rest of the team to get to me first to allow for a chance at victory. I was matched against guys like Ricky and Steve. Both were friends of mine but they were the guys that walked around school in Rep jackets from the minor hockey league. They were athletes.

So as we waited with paddles in hand to see who round the corner to the docks first I was quite nervous. In theory we should hit the water first, and if we did, we had a chance to win it all. So it was quite exciting to see our team round the corner leading by quite a bit....the tag was made and off we went for our paddle. Marissa kept me posted on how far back the other teams were and it didn't seem like a big enough lead to me but we managed to get to shore first. Not bothering to throw off our life jackets we bolted for the centre of the island, running as fast as we could to capture that flag. Running, straining, puffing hard we could see the opening ahead...we were almost there...trumpets were sounding...glory to us all...smack!!!! I had run right into the rope that was used to demarcate the home base. As it was described to me after I came to, the sight of my feet flying out in front of me as my forehead hit that rope was one of those things that would last a lifetime. Yeah, that's great. We're you the moron that strung up a rope at eye level? A brownish/green rope, like the flora and fauna around us? Nearly invisible to a guy with poor vision?

Thankfully the fact that my momentum carried me into the inner circle and Marissa had grabbed the flag meant we did the impossible...we won. And the rope burn scar across my forehead was all the trophy I needed. That night, as the prizes were handed out, Tim Balderserra winning the astrology award for pulling the most moons and me nursing my tender noggin, I realized that maybe Mr Reilly had stacked our team. Given us the edge despite what it may have looked like on paper. It was quite the learning experience.

The next day we bussed home to finally shower like humans and bask in our glory. The look on my moms face when she saw me open the door for her as she returned from work was priceless. Joy at seeing her son replaced quickly with horror at the scar on my forehead...you know how moms are.

Thanks again Captain...lesson learned.

Ciao

D

Ode to Mom

There is one day that reigns supreme for its chaos in the hotel world. The day that most cooks and chefs dread. A monumental effort in prep and production followed by a few hours of smiling benignly for the festooned attendees. New Years Day, Easter...all pale compared to Mother's Day when it comes to the world of hotel brunches. Not that mom doesn't deserve a special time out, quite the contrary, she probably deserves more than that but Mother's Day is when Hallmark and the flower industry, not to mention my business gleefully welcome you with open arms....ahhhhhh, capitalism at its finest.

So, naturally I'm writing about mom. My mom, your mom, everyone's mom. Of course a special place for my mom as she is my mom and quite awesome to boot. Ma for short. Mother when I want to bug her...as in, mother what's for supper? Her death stare can sometimes flash when I do that. Death stare you ask? Surely you know what I'm speaking of...that look that only a mom can give that would have easily stopped you in your tracks of whatever mayhem you were about to cause. Well, at least for a little while...rebellious as I was growing up, my moms stare and wooden spoon stopped working when I could snap the spoon in one hand and throw her or my dad on my shoulder. I think at that point it became a wait and see how he turns out kind of thing. I'm sure in some ways they are still waiting for me to grow up. I don't think I ever will, I'm enjoying things a little too much.

Ma hasn't had the easiest of lives. My oldest recently got the whole story from her and it made her cry, would make most people cry I think. Born in a time and place when sometimes things that most of us now take for granted were considered luxuries. Like an education, opportunities, stability. Nope, my mom had it rough. From a young age basically out on her own in a strange land. Life sometimes isn't fair and god doth like his tricks. But through it all, and I do mean all, she has always managed to show resilience and strength that seems to know no bounds. I'm sure reality is a little different but what I see is a fierce love that, to me, defines the idea of wearing your heart on your sleeve. You don't have to wonder what my mom is thinking or if something is wrong, it's there if you care to look.

My mom is like a sponge when it comes to the trials of others and especially her family. Your problem becomes her problem, often to her own detriment but you know you simply can't change some people. It's the way she is wired, she's a giver. Every time there was a"crisis" it was her that we looked to for comfort and it was her that was going to be there. She was there at the hospital, probably before the ambulance got there, when I burned my legs with a vat of boiling water back in 1992. She was the one that sat with me in the hospital all night when I went to emergency after I jumped off that car in a controlled landing attempt, even though at the time she was under the impression that I had had a bike accident. Scraped knees, rope burns on the forehead (that's a funny story I have to tell you about sometime), kidney stones and cancer...those and many more things that she has lived through. And that's only with me. My sister, my father, other relatives and friends alike...your pain becomes her pain. And while fatalistic in some ways, I know my cancer diagnosis left her with a "dead and buried" feeling of helpless fear, she can't help herself in her feelings. And that's one of the reasons I love her.

She would have doled out the wooden spoon on us for crossing any number of lines growing up if we deserved punishment but at the same time, but if you had the misfortune of doing wrong by us, you would feel her wrath. Maybe that's where I get Chef Eyes from? Hmmmmmmm. I know for certain that's where I get my approach to my kids. If they have done wrong then for sure they deserve to be reprimanded. Cross my kids unfairly or worse, hurt them, there is a fair to good chance that you're going to end up with a spoon sticking out of your chest staring into my eyes. That fierce love can carry you through a lot and I know that is where her strength comes from.

Be it my mom or the moms I have come to know over the years, I have come to appreciate more the love only a mom can feel. That's not to discount a father's love of course, simply to say that with mom it is different. For all its complications there is something, a bond if you will, that knows no boundaries and can be as strong as oak. The idea that you don't cross mama bear in the woods would be easily adapted to mom in the suburbs or out in the country. Moms rule...moms are awesome.

The cards, the flowers, the buffets...enjoy them all but do remember to tell her how much you love her. That's what she wants the most. She gives you her heart the least you could do is give a part of yours back.

Love you Ma

Dear Fuck Heads

Dear Fuck Heads,

Also known as douche bags, ass holes and ass hats. Maybe it's the fog and maybe it's my general mood today but I feel the need to release a bit of vitriol to clear my head. So in no particular order but with equal venom I give you this:

A merge lane on the highway means get up to the speed of traffic and ease your way into it. It is not the end of a road where you stop and wait for an opening. Learn to drive. Or you morons that skirt outside on the shoulder to move up five spots in some sort of NASCAR wet dream...you are the reason accidents happen. Learn to drive. You fucks on the bicycles that can't make your mind up if you are a car or a pedestrian....I swear I'm this close to popping open a door on you next time you rush by me on the inside instead of sitting at the red light like the rest of us. And you fuckers in the douche bag trucks that feel you own the road. You don't and your dick is still small.

To all of you that think the only way up is by stepping on people as a way of lifting yourself to the top of the heap, well...karma is a bitch. Respect garners respect and when you can't bring yourself to show even the most modest bits of it you are a douche. I have seen too many times in this business and the world at large people thinking that the way forward is right over someone, that may be the case in football but when people's livelihoods are at stake...well, don't come crying to me when shit starts hitting your fan.

As a sub set of that category, the ungrateful deserve a special mention. Is it really so hard to say thank you and show real appreciation for what people do for you? Be it trivial or substantial a simple heart felt thank you goes a long way. If you can't understand that you should really climb back into the hole from whence you came...take that as you wish.

Can you see I'm getting closer to the magical 50? Filers, such as they are, falling away.

A special shout out to liars of all stripes. Were you distracted by a bumblebee when your parents told you not to lie? Here's my general rule for life....do it, if you screwed up, own it. End of story. Don't pass the buck and don't lie about it. I'm not saying I haven't lied but it certainly isn't habitual with me. Most people I know would say that I'm a pretty honest guy...unlike some people you will never be able to trust because you know they lie to you. Fuck em I say.

Zealots of all kinds but especially religious ones. You really do irk me in your fervent belief that your beliefs are more important than mine or anyone else. A big fat throat punch to those of the world that would use their faith as a reason for marginalizing someone else. I may not be smart but I'm not stupid, you know...I'm pretty sure whatever god you believe in didn't mean for you to fuck someone else over in his or her name. Fuck you and your flock. It was particularly nauseating to see Drumph stand by his latest executive order declaring that the assault on peoples religious freedom is at an end. Unless of course if you're Muslim. Correct me if I'm wrong but the assault has been more clearly targeted on people who are free from religion when it comes to the GOP and their base. This order is nothing more than an attempt by the Republicans to get more money from their base. Nothing more and I wouldn't be surprised at all if it came out that this new health care bill getting through congress was a direct result of Drumph signing that disgusting order.

Republicans....just fuck off. Actually, most politicians that fall into the lying douche bag category can go fuck themselves.

Drumph....you orange tinged piece of shit. You and all like you...your ilk if you will. You bamboozled morons that think you're really in it for them. Truly you are the head fuck head, a true dick faced sorry excuse for a human being much less the president of that messed up country. Insert shit emoji here.

I could go on but I feel better already so that's all for today.

Ciao
D

Frenemies

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend"

An ancient Indian concept that has been applied and proven through history in geopolitical terms and high school spats alike. If I don't like Bob and Jim doesn't like Bob ergo Jim and I could be friends with the common bond being that we don't like Bob. On a larger scale, Great Britain was at war with Germany, Russia was at war with Germany, ergo, Russia and Great Britain could be "friends" in their war against Germany. This of course unravelled eight minutes after Germany capitulated and the Cold War began so this "friendship" lasted only as long as it was beneficial to both parties. I think in the end, "friends" may be the wrong word to use in a geopolitical way, allies being more appropriate since friends don't usually work against each other as ruthlessly and efficiently as Mother Russia and England did. Not sure about me and Jim though.

This concept caught my attention the other day in an article about fighting infections and viruses. A somewhat radical approach to fighting a super bug with a virus. How interesting it must be to the scientific world to use this kind of approach to a drug resistant virus...could this approach provide a new way at looking at treatments? And I say new but really it's not that new...phage therapy has been around for 100 years but it has taken a back seat to drug therapy. Well, certain kinds of drug therapy I guess. Lobbyists and government puppets ensure that "legal" drugs are protected whilst other options of the more natural kind are an invitation to a penal colony...ugh

Don't get me wrong here, I actually don't have a bone to pick with the pharmaceutical industry per se. I think there has been tremendous good from the work that scientists have provided over the years. Think polio as the quintessential example of this good work. But there are issues to be sure when life saving treatments are at the mercy of the almighty dollar and share holder returns. The search for cures for the sake of cures is often shunted for the pursuit of the almighty greenback. I'm not a communist by any means but I do believe that there are areas where the greater good has to take precedence over profit. It is profoundly disturbing when a very small concentrated number of people control 98% of the wealth in the world....or whatever the damn number is. Anyway, don't get me started on that.

I guess the point is that we need to ensure that science is left to do science for the betterment of society in general. The eradication of small pox; dwarf wheat to help feed millions that couldn't before...these are examples to aspire to and one feels like they are more under attack everyday...especially when one thinks of Drumph and his stupid decisions in his first 100 days. Cutting funding to the EPA and trying to renew coal mining? This denier of global warming will tell you the no one cares for the environment more then him but his actions speak volumes. The ass hole.

Speaking of Drumph and enemies...would it not be natural for Mexico and Canada to band together to stand up against that crap flinging ass hat douche bag? Let the fuck wad build two walls for all I care...at some point we'll probably need one to keep the Americans out but in the mean time we can better serve our collective needs by joining up with Mexico in a united front against his protectionist ideas.

See how easy it is for me to get sucked into the vortex of fundamental stupidity with that douche bag? Back to the science and discovery thing. Go back in time 25 years and show yourself what you carry in your hand with your smart phone...the entire history of the world and a shitload of cat videos at the touch of a few buttons. One couldn't imagine that unless you were Elon Musk or somebody like that. And that's the point...no one can tell you what a discovery will yield in the future and that's why un-directed science is so important. Pose a hypothesis and let future unfold before you. But let us not throw out the past in a blind rush to the future. Everything old is new again and that is why leeches are used in medical procedures to help healing and smoking pot is helping in treatment of anxiety.

So be the enemy of closed minds and hearts. Find commonalities with other enemies of those things and make them your friends. Resist.

Ciao
D