cheryl santa maria

Check out Madonna, out and about in London the other night:

[photo credit]

Yeah.

I respect Madonna for her hard work – she follows a strict diet and she’s religious about her two hours a day, six days a week workouts – but I think it’s time she gave it a rest.

If you ask me her arms are starting to look a little … ah … freakish.

Madonna, on the other hand, is probably proud of her guns. Arms like that don’t happen overnight – they take years of work and deprivation. Madonna is constantly photographed wearing short sleeve shirts with those babies on full display so make no mistake: she is fully aware of how she looks.

There are dangers that come with being wealthy and famous like Madonna, one of them being the sycophants that people like Madonna employ to shield them from the outside world and to fluff their fragile egos. Take for example what Tracy Anderson, Madonna’s nutter of a personal trainer, said in response to accusations that Madonna is working too hard and looks ridiculous:

“Madonna is an athlete … [and she] will never look her age. She doesn’t even look half her age – she looks 19.”

Uh huh.

While I’ll be the first to admit that Madonna’s face, albeit a little pinched and pulled, looks great, she looks nowhere near nineteen. Here’s a picture of Madonna at 50, and here’s a picture of nineteen year-old actress Hayden Paniterre. Both women are beautiful, but they don’t look the same age.

This is a perfect example of the bubble that Madonna lives in and the horsesh!t that her entourage is feeding her.

I’m a little perturbed about why Madonna would want to look 19 anyway. Back in the nineties Madonna called herself a feminist and would speak out against cosmetic procedures and about self-acceptance.

Now, by (allegedly) going under the surgeon’s knife and excercising herself to the point of exhaustion in a futile attempt to fight gravity, she appears to have done a complete 180.

Does Madonna think there’s something wrong with ageing? Does she think it’s unattractive?

What’s the message here? that it’s OK to be a feminist and talk about loving yourself when you’re young and attractive but not when you reach the golden years?

Sad.

Not that I know anything anyway.

I’m common folk, after all. People like Madonna don’t listen to common folk. Instead, she’ll seek advice from her publicists, nutritionists, surgeons, life coaches, trainers, stylists, make-up artists, managers, PR teams …

In other words: the people she employs to tell her how great she is.

And this is why (most) celebrities have no social skills and have had way too much plastic surgery.

Remind me again why we look up to these people?

(I like lizards).

[photo credit]

Last week I wrote an article for Women on Business about finding your online target audience.

We’re lucky to be living in an age that enables us to market our skills to a (practically) unlimited audience 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Unfortunately everyone else is out there doing the same damn thing.

In the saturated world of the internet it isn’t always the most talented person who finds success but rather the one with the loudest voice.

I don’t have a niche and this is a problem. I write about whatever comes to mind and there is no discernable pattern or theme to my blog. People are People is a great outlet for me to practice writing but I don’t think it will attract a large readership in its current form. Audiences don’t gravitate towards blogs like mine. Look at the internet’s top blogs. Pretty much all of them are “themed”.

My new mission is to find a voice for People are People. I’m open to anything but the chosen theme has to be broad enough that I won’t get bored yet narrow enough to appeal to a specialized audience.

If you have any suggestions, please send them my way.

Right now I am stumped.

*Siiigghhh*

After a weekend of gray skies, torrential rain and flash floods, I woke up to find this cheery little message in my inbox:

I need to start a scrap book of these things. At the rate I’m going I’ll be able to fill up a phone book by the end of the year.

Ah, well. C’est la vie.

On that note I think I’ll go and hide under the covers for a little while longer.

Allow me to introduce you to some of my former co-workers:

First there was Tara.  Tara was a clueless middle manager with an important daddy and that’s the only reason she had a job in the first place.  Then there was Sally, the office bitch.  She was sleeping with her very married boss.  Albert was the passive-aggressive mail room guy. He gave people the finger when they had their backs turned.  Hilda was the office gossip (she’s how I found out about Sally).  Chad was the young hotshot. Nobody had ever spoken to him directly because he was always on his Blackberry.

And then there was Darlene.

Darlene decorated her cubicle with Beanie Babies and pictures of kittens. She wore plastic earrings and sweaters with wolves on them.  Her computer monitor was covered with Winnie the Pooh stickers.

Darlene was fifty-two years old.

I liked her, though. Darlene was friendly and sincere, which is more than I can say for most people.  Sure, she had her quirks, but she was a great lady to work with, except for one small thing.

Every morning at 10:55 , Darlene would heat up a bag of popcorn. Three minutes later,  the smell would reach my cubicle.

After six consecutive months I started fantasizing about throwing the microwave out the window. Rather than ask Darlene to give the popcorn a rest (I’m kinda passive-aggressive), I started taking my lunch at 11:00.  Problem solved.

If you work in a cubicle, you’ve probably worked with a Tara and a Sally, an Albert and a Hilda, and a Chad.

Chances are you’ve also worked with someone like Darlene – but in your case, it might not be popcorn wafting into your personal space.  It could be curry, or maybe Kraft Dinner.  Perhaps it’s last night’s takeout; mmmm … that’s always a treat.

If you’d rather live without the smell of other people’s food in your face, you can always try talking to your co-workers about the situation, but that depends on the co-worker. You could do what I did and compromise  or, you could  opt for the least popular (but often most effective) method of getting your point across:

You could resort to physical violence.

It won’t win you any popularity contests and it might cost you your job but it leaves a lasting impression. Violence in the workplace isn’t terribly uncommon, either: one in ten employees admit to resorting to it at one point or another.

(But that’s probably not your best bet.  While you could resort to physical violence, I’m not saying that you should. You’ll probably wind up losing your job, and the criminal record that you’ll no doubt acquire will probably hinder your chances of securing future employment).

Tons of studies have been conducted on this sort of thing. Stress is on the rise in North America and it’s responsible for a slew of diseases and disorders. Obesity is on the rise. Divorce rates steadily climb – and everything seems to boil down to the fact that most people are underpaid and overworked.

In other words: cubicles are evil.

They’re so evil that they’ve become a breeding ground for a new psychological phenomenon. Induced by heavy workloads, loss of sleep, and poor eating habits it is known as desk rage. Workplace stress causes about one million people to miss work every day and, according to a small survey released in 2001, 42 percent of workers report incidents of yelling and verbal abuse in their offices .

This doesn’t apply to all cubicle dwellers though. Believe it or not, some people actually enjoy their jobs, but those of us who don’t need to take a long hard look at our career paths. We can blame our coworkers as much as we like but at the end of each and every working day, we are a part of the problem. After all, we choose to work in these environments.

I understand. This isn’t how you pictured your life. It’s not how I pictured mine either. No child thinks they will grow up and become a corporate cog. It’s no use complaining though, unless you’re going to do something about it.

You can remain at the same company or bounce around from place to place, doing the exact same thing over and over again, in the vague hope that things will be better in the next cubicle, while  continuing to collect your mediocre pay cheques until you either retire or get laid-off, or you can quit and try to find something that’s more suited to your wants and needs.

Those are your only options.

On that note, have a good weekend.

In an attempt to further piss on the dreams and aspirations of starving-yet-talented writers worldwide, the good folks at Regenry Publishing have offered Carrie Prejean her very own book deal. You may remember Prejean as the queer-hating, God-fearing girl with bolted-on boobies who was recently relieved from her role as Miss California.

And here I am, trying to develop my literary skills like a shmuck.  I guess if I really want to get published all I need to do is alter my face and body so that I resemble a walking, talking blow-up doll.

And they say good literature is dead.

Seeing as this girl can barely string a coherent sentence together, I’m sure her book will be filled with lots of precious gems.

***

The Great Garbage Strike of 2009 is currently in week five. Because most of the temporary dump sites in Toronto are near capacity, and because the mayor and the union can’t get their acts together, Toronto officials are considering opening almost 200 new sites throughout the city – one of them being the CNE fair grounds. For those of you who don’t know the CNE is an 18-day fair that’s taken place in Toronto for the last 130 years. It generates a huge amount of revenue for the city by creating over 500 jobs and attracting  1.3 million visitors annually.

Toronto mayor David Miller has vehemently denied that the CNE will become a future dumping ground but I’m not inclined to believe him. The very fact that the strike’s been going on this long is a testament to his ineptitude. I have no doubt that Miller is an intelligent man but I think he bit off more than he could chew when he became Toronto’s mayor. I think it’s time to boot Miller and put Hazel McCallion in charge.

Now that’s a lady who knows how to run a city.

***

Chris Brown has issued an apology for mucking up his image beating the living crap out of former girlfriend Rihanna back in February.

Despite the fact that Brown has been convicted of one of the most heinous and disrespectful crimes, his high-priced lawyers managed to strike a plea bargain that has kept him out of jail.

Ever the optimist, Brown hasn’t let a silly little thing like being a convicted felon get him down. Since his monstrous attack he’s been a regular on the party circuit where he’s often seen driving about town in his $1.5 million car and surrounded by plenty of new women for him to smack around, now that he’s been ordered to keep 50 yards away from Rihanna.

Oh, and his record sales are up.

Luckily for Chris, we live in a society that respects fame and stature more than it respects human decency.  Chris will never have to pay for his crime, he’ll maintain his powerful friends and he will continue to make millions of dollars a year.

Lovely, isn’t it?

Looks like misogyny is alive and well.

There are those who live and those who exist.

Then there the ones who want to experience life but can’t because they’re trapped inside bodies that are riddled with disease.

A child sits on a hospital bed and the doctors don’t know what to do. They ran all the tests and they operated twice but the child continues to die.

Her heart is weak and she needs a new one. Sometimes she can’t breathe and sometimes she can’t speak. Medication has ruined her immune system and now she’s battling pneumonia.

There is nothing left to do but sit and wait for a donor to die.

As the child sits on her hospital bed, a man sits on his couch. He’s plopped down in front of the television after a long day at the office. When his shows are finished he will log onto the internet and mindlessly surf the web. Then he’ll go to bed.

He spends ninety minutes a day stuck in traffic and forty-two and a half hours a week crammed into a tiny cubicle, working for a boss he doesn’t respect. On weekends he housecleans and watches even more TV.

He will live like this until the day he dies, thirty-five years from now.

A sick child sits on a hospital bed, begging for a chance to live.

A healthy man sits on his couch, completely wasting his life.

Between this child and this man I wonder who is worse off.

[Written November 1, 2007]

Frank McCourt, Pulitzer prize -winning author of Angela’s Ashes, died today in a New York hospital from cancer.

He was 78.

I’ve admired Mr. McCourt’s work for many years and I am gutted to learn of his passing.  Angela’s Ashes (1996), ‘Tis (1999) and Teacher Man (2005) will remain an inspiration to  millions around the world.

Frank McCourt was a brilliant, brilliant author with an unmatched literary voice.  

He will be greatly missed.

R.I.P Mr. McCourt.

Click here and here to read more.

This is inspired by an article I read on Quiet Color.

I left a couple of ranty comments at the bottom of that post but I thought I’d reiterate them here because – well – let’s be honest. I have far too much time on my hands.

In case you didn’t know I have a really low opinion of hipsters and the people who go out of their way to look and act arty.  Generally speaking these people try too hard,  look ridiculous and reek of insecurity. That’s because most hipsters have no talent whatsoever and they divert attention away from this fact by citing obscure cultural references and referring to the general public as uninformed sheep.

Pretentious people are rarely authentic.

Ernest Hemingway sums this lot up best in American Bohemians in Paris (Toronto Star Weekly, March 25, 1922):

“They are nearly all loafers expending the energy that an artist puts into his creative work in talking about what they are going to do and condemning the work of all other artists who have gained any degree of recognition.  By talking about art they obtain the same satisfaction that a real artist does in his work.  That is very pleasant, of course, but they insist upon posing as artists.”

I studied film in school. Film students are the epitome of everything that’s wrong with art. We tend to have moral superiority complexes and most of us think people who watch Hollywood blockbusters are uninteresting, uncultured and uneducated.

I can’t stand this mentality; it’s short-sighted and it’s wrong.

The idea that people need to diverge away from mainstream art in order to be “legitimate” or “educated” is complete and utter hogwash. I personally enjoy foreign films but I don’t “tut-tut” my friends for having no interest in them. When I’m with these friends I’ll skip Almodovar and go for Borat instead, which is just culturally relevant as any art film (and hilarious).

Personally I don’t think it’s about what we watch, but rather how we watch it.

If you consume art - high and low -with a critical eye you’re far better off than the ridiculous smhuck who sits around watching art house films without truly understanding or appreciating them.

We should only indulge in the art that we enjoy.

We should not indulge in high art if we’re only doing it for bragging rights.

Far too many people do this and it is incredibly disrespectful to the art and to the artist.

The nuts in the health food industry are an innovative bunch. Their business – which is almost completely based on fear - changes its marketing tactics every few years and it continues to generate billions of dollars in profits.

No wonder they always look so smug.

Organic foods have been around since the 1990s but they didn’t become a booming business until a few years ago. In 2008 organics generated over $20 billion dollars in sales and they show no sign of slowing down, as the industry is projected to increase by 18 per cent this year.

The Health Nuts say that going organic is very important. Not only will it improve our state of well-being but it will also save our lives.

According to one organic website:

“Organic foods are spared the application of potentially harmful long-lasting insecticides, herbicides, fungicides and fertilizers. Many EPA-approved pesticides were registered long before extensive research linked these chemicals to cancer and other diseases. Currently the EPA considers 60% of all herbicides, 90% of all fungicides and 30% of all insecticides to be potentially cancer-causing.”

I decided to research organics. I looked up some of the chemicals commonly found in our foods and in our household products and I read about the effects they can have on the human body.

It was terrifying.

I embarked on an organic mission. I bought an organic body wash ($6.99 for a 250 ml bottle vs. $6.99 for a 500 ml bottle of chemically-enhanced wash), organic shampoo and conditioner (it smells awful – or natural, as the bottle puts it – and it leaves my hair feeling greasy) and I replaced my makeup foundation with one that’s chemical-free (it has the consistency of concrete and it’s about two shades lighter than my natural skin).

A half pint of organic blueberries, a few carrots and litre of milk ate up nearly a third of my weekly grocery budget.

If I keep this up I’ll never be able to afford meat again but I don’t think I want to buy meat anymore. The Health Nuts say that the cheap stuff – which is all I can afford – is full of nasty hormones and chemicals.

“Good” meat costs double.

As I sit at home and munch on my carrots I imagine what a chemical-free me would look like.

Would I be healthier, happier and beautiful – like the people in the advertisements?

Or would going organic have absolutely no physical effect on me and only serve to drain me of my already-limited income?

When I consider fact that food safety is heavily regulated in North America and that today’s food – chemicals, recalls and all – is still far safer than the food our great-grandparents ate, I’d place my money on the latter.