A few stray thoughts, if I may, before we get down to serious business.
Would Prince Michael II have been better off in the long run if Jacko had dropped him from that hotel balcony in Germany?
A resounding round of applause, please, for Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chretien. He may sound like a combination of Bogey and Cagney with a Quebecois accent, but he has more backbone than most American politicians. He refused to accept the resignation of one of his cabinet ministers who, in a supposedly off-the-record conversation, said, "George Bush is a moron." Our neighbors to the north have a slightly higher tolerance for the truth than those of us here in Baja Canada.
I have been trying desperately to think of something that would be more fun than a "nostalgic Cold War cruise" to Grenada hosted by Oliver North. In case you missed it, our home grown Genghis is taking reservations for just such an adventure on the 20th anniversary of our brave invasion. Well, hell, if you can't be a senator, the next best thing is cruise director. Hoowah!
Let us now turn our somewhat bemused attention to the pervasive pandemic that sweeps our country every year about this time. I refer, of course, to Seasonal Affective Disorder Syndrome, or SADS. Whatever did we do before acronyms became a part of our consciousness?
SADS was first identified in the DSM IV-A, a comprehensive manual of mental disorders that is used by mental health practitioners. And thank God for that. If this insidious pandemic had not been so scientifically identified, we might still be referring to it as cabin fever.
Those of us who live in the upper left hand corner of the nation know this syndrome intimately. When the monsoons strike in the fall, we know that we won't see the sun again until April. So we hole up inside our abodes like hibernating bears.
Homo postmodernii, however, has yet to adapt to this climatological phenomenon. Being cooped up inside with one's loved ones for six months or so turns some of us into Dr. Lecter.
Those of us who have endured several winters in Alaska know that the symptomology described in the DSM IV-A is a masterpiece of understatement.
The late, and very lamented, Canadian folksinger Stan Rogers captured the syndrome more eloquently than any shrink in his song "Canol Road."
"With one wrong word he burns and the tables overturn, When he's finished, there's a dead man on the floor."
The good news is, there's a cure for SADS. Those of us who get our jollies sliding down the slopes on skis or snowboards are not only immune to SADS, we welcome it. Bring on the dark days. It means snow on the mountains and joy in our hearts.
As one of the world's oldest snowboarders, I am ready to give SADS the middle finger. Whistler opens this weekend. I'll be up there on Monday doing my bit for mental health.
1:24:26 AM 
|
