Act Your Age… Enjoying the View

As I wrote in last week’s Act Your Age, I am very goal oriented when being a tourist on vacation. I have a check-list of the things I want to see in each city. As I see each site I often get more enjoyment from crossing the item off my list than from actually experiencing it. It was a running joke throughout my recent Europe trip that I spent more time looking at my lists than at any of the wonders we saw. And we certainly saw some incredible things: the Coliseum in Rome, the Eiffel Tower and Catacombs in Paris, the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, and the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City to name a few.

But it’s one thing to put something on a list and another to experience it. At the beginning of the trip, I don’t think I realized that. There is a church in Barcelona called the Sagrada Familia. We went to the very peak of the church tower and looked across the city from its highest point. The city sprawled out in front of us, but I was hungry and looked forward to our next stop, Spanish McDonalds. Days later, we went to the top of Mount Tibidabo. At the peak of this small mountain is an amusement part with swings that seem to almost throw you off the edge of the mountain. It was an incredible view, but I was distracted by the next stop on our list; the roller coaster. I hate roller coasters and I was thoroughly distracted.

This sort of distraction continued throughout the trip. That weekend, we took an hour train ride out of Barcelona to Montserrat, a monastery at the top of a mountain. Our group took a ten-minute cable car to the monastery, a funicular (basically a train that goes diagonally up a mountain), and then hiked for an hour to reach the very peak of St. Jerome, which is 1,236 m above sea level. The view was breath-taking, without a doubt, but at the time I didn’t really know what breath-taking meant. Certainly staring out across the world, the winds billowing around us, I was moved by the view. But I also knew if we didn’t leave within five minutes we’d likely miss the last cable car down the mountain and be stuck at Montserrat overnight. So I took my pictures and rushed down.

My girlfriend had already seen Rome, so during our week in the city I had purposefully looked into doing some side trips so she could see something new. During my research I found Capri, which is a resort island known for its lemon flavoured liquor and so-called breath-taking views.

We arrived at the ferry terminal early after leaving our hostel. I was coming down with a cold and admittedly wasn’t in the best of moods. Sprawled out across three seats, I slept for most of the ferry ride and before I knew it we had arrived at the Marina Piccola on the island of Capri. Departing the ferry, we were met with postcard views of mountains, greenery, and a sandy beach. We dipped our feet in the Mediterranean before taking another funicular to the town of Capri. After having a quick lunch of over-priced cheeseburgers, we decided to take a bus further up the steep island. I had read that the bus ride to Anacapri, the island’s other town, was filled with sharp turns and narrow roads, which made the experience quite harrowing.

The four of us crammed into a bus and were forced to stand, holding tightly onto both the hand-railings and each other. My girlfriend stood in front of me facing the window, while my friends stood to either side. The bus’s engine roared to life and started to zoom along the narrow streets, swerving up the mountain and regularly making 180o turns.

Being the smartass I am, I joked, “Are you guys harroweded yet?” They weren’t impressed.

At one point, the bus made yet another sharp turn and suddenly we seemed to be at the very edge of a cliff looking down to the marine port we had just left. From my girlfriend, I heard an audible gasp. I chuckled and asked her if she was scared.

She didn’t turn her head; her eyes stared across the mountains and ocean. My jaded girlfriend then said the one thing I did not expect. She whispered, “It’s just so beautiful.”

I looked over her shoulder and out the window and indeed it was beautiful. But my breathing remained consistent. She had had her breath literally taken away by this incredible view, but for the life of me I could not feel that same wonder. It was just one more view in a string of incredible views. Trying to understand it all, I looked down at her.

She was staring out the window. Her mouth, open because of her dropped jaw, was surrounded by her red pouty lips and her blue eyes, which often looked green or grey depending on the light, darted back and fourth across the scene before her. Her sun-freckled shoulders held up her black summer dress with pink polka dots, which was tied tight across her slender stomach. And as I looked at her in all her stunned appreciation and stunning beauty, I felt my heart skip a beat.

That’s when I learned to enjoy the view and it’s a lesson that we can all appreciate. Sometimes the view you have to take time to enjoy is from the top of a mountain. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, the only view you need is the view of the face of the person you wake up across from every morning.

I Can Explain… Justin Bieber

Justin Bieber; upon the utterance of his name pre-teen girls across the country squeal with glee. But who is he, why is he famous, and why is his hair so long? Don’t worry. I can explain!

Justin Bieber (Pronounced Bee-Bar, though it kind of rhymes with “beaver”) is a 16 year-old R&B singer from Stratford, Ontario. Raised by a single mother, he showed signs of musical talent from a young age, teaching himself how to play the piano, drums, guitar, and trumpet. His mother began to post his vocal and instrumental performances on Youtube.com. Watching the short-haired Justin playing a guitar that seems far too big for his 13-year-old frame, one can see why his videos were watched by so many people, including Scooter Braun. This record producer flew Justin and his mother to Atlanta where he met and impressed Usher. Mentored by Usher, Justin earned a record contract and his first single “One Time” launched his career.

Like the dozens of children artists that came before him, Justin is now a pre-teen heart throb, that’s heavily publicized and manufactured. His short hair has grown into his famous shag known as “The Bieber” and is imitated by fans and non-fans alike. His face is on t-shirts, posters, and coffee mugs and he’s currently attempting to transition into movies. A rumour began about Bieber staring in a remake of Back to the Future, and while it proved to be just a rumour, it certainly is a sign of things to come.

Of course, Justin does have his haters. There are those who feel he’s just one more child, in a long line of children, whose careers are manufactured by publicists and whose fame will last about as long as it’ll take to text “I <3>

If you do happen to listen to his music, he uses the term “Shorty” at regular intervals. Confused I asked my girlfriend what “Shorty” meant and apparently it means “girlfriend” or at least a serial monogamous female partner of some sort. Just so you know!

So what does the future have in store for Justin Bieber? It’s hard to say. Though given the string of child singers we’ve seen in the past decade, it’s not looking good for Bieber. Likely he’ll end up yet another sacrificial celebrity that the world will love to watch fall (Read: Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, etc.). Alternatively, he could continue to make music as his fame slowly fades (Read: Lil Romeo, Lil Bow Wow) or disappears altogether (Read: Well… they’re long gone so I can’t remember their names). Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll be the next Justin Timberlake.

So, in conclusion, if you’re interested in listening to the music that your pre-teen granddaughter listens to or are just curious to find out if a 16-year-old Canadian has what it takes to be hip hop, then take a listen. And if not, be glad that I can explain!

I Can Explain… Jersey Shore

Jersey Shore. You may have heard DJs talk about it on the radio or your grandchildren mention Pauly D, JWoww, or The Situation, but what is it really? And more importantly why is it on TV? If you don’t know, and are even mildly curious about what the hype is about and why you should check it out or avoid it like a punch to the face, then you’ve found your answer. After all, I can explain!

Jersey Shore is a reality television show on MTV. The premise is seven young Italian Americans (Kind of… few are actually of Italian descent) living together in a summer home in Seaside Heights, New Jersey. Cameras follow them around as they work at a local t-shirt shop, tan and groom, and party at bars near the beach. Drama ensues as love triangles are created, relationships form, and people get hurt.

I first heard about the show, while doing my Masters in Popular Culture. While taking a class in Melodrama, we studied this new show as a perfect example of the current reality driven drama. It’s over the top emotions is likely a large draw for the audience as well as an appreciation for the absurd antics of this group of youngsters. After incredible ratings success, the show has been signed for a second and third season and spun off into Wicked Summer, which will be the same show in a different city… Boston.

But success doesn’t mean it’s good. It is typical over-the-top reality television based on over reactive and over drinking New York and New Jersey young adults falling head-over-heels for people they just met. So unless you’re a young adult who enjoys a drink or seven while dancing to loud beats or at least enjoy watching that sort of person, then Jersey Shore is not for you.

There are a key elements of the show that you may hear people talking about, that I can explain so you don’t have to watch for yourself to understand the references:

- The Situation is the nickname of Michael Sorrentino and began as a reference to his strong abdominal muscles.

- “Beat up the beat” refers to when the men in the house crouch on the dance floor and hit the floor with their hands to music.

- JWoww, Pauly D, and Snookie are all nicknames of people on the show.

- The most cited incident on the show was Snookie getting punched in the face by a man at a bar. He had been stealing drinks from the group and when she confronted him he punched her. He is currently serving time in prison for the incident.

We’re likely to see more shows like these. They’re cheap to produce as the network doesn’t have to hire writers, actors, or directors. Plus people can’t get enough of the drama that seems to spiral around these people. So stay clear if you can, and if you ever feel curious enough to find out what it all means, well, I can explain!

Act Your Age… Bargain Hunting at a Flea Market

There is a certain, unmatchable thrill in finding a good bargain. Perhaps the enjoyment dates back to our earlier years as hunters and gatherers or perhaps a cheap find appeases our current sense of greed and consumerism; get a lot of stuff for little effort or money. There’s nothing quite like it. Whatever the reason, bargain hunting at flea markets is a past time enjoyed by both the retired of every community, and a bit closer to home, my own family.

So entering yet another flea market near my sister’s apartment is nothing new. Oddly enough, it’s finding the flea market that gives us the most trouble. Because of my compulsion to get an orange slushie from every gas station I happen to pass, my sister Jessica and I end up getting off the bus early and find ourselves at the back of the large bingo hall where every Sunday tables are arranged and amateur merchants set-up shop.

I know that going around the building to the right will bring us to the entrance of the flea market, but going to the right seems quicker. Maybe it is curiosity, or that hunter instinct is already kicking in, but we decide to take the path unknown. Wrong decision! We walk down a narrow alleyway. A chain-link fence runs to our left, while the large ominous building casts a looming shadow across our path on our right. Upon reaching the other side of the building we can see our destination, which happens to be across two fences and up a grassy hill. The only way to go is up a set of stairs at the top of which people yell in a foreign language. We choose to return to the back of the building and start over.

After this minor hiccup in our shopping plans, we make it to the entrance of the market. A young man plays fiddle at the door and an older man with a thick black beard exclaims, “Get in there quick! People are already taking down their tables!” as we walk by.

Now, about this flea market. As I’ve moved to Halifax, Nova Scotia, it’s a Sunday market on the corner of Robie and Young Street just outside of the downtown. But being in a different city doesn’t make shopping at the market any less of a universal experience. It’s the sort of flea market that every city and town across Canada has. A large room, filled with an array of colorful characters with tables and shelves overflowing with merchandise ranging from children’s toys to DVDs to old paintings that only the most eccentric would hang in their homes. Because we’re in Nova Scotia, not to be stereotypical, there are also miniature lobster traps and glowing lighthouses for purchase.

As Jessica wanders ahead, I begin to peruse the various tables. I flip through rows of DVDs and VHS tapes in pursuit of a rare find, but nothing jumps out. A game of Trivial Pursuit: Pop Culture Edition catches my fancy for a moment, but without a marked price and with a particularly intimidating looking vendor I move along. I may be 6’2 with a big beard of my own, but I’m a pussycat deep down.

I finally catch back up with Jessica, who is examining a small wooden duck. For some reason, Jessica has always had a special place in her heart for ducks and a special place on her ankle for a duck tattoo. She says it’s because they represent a life of freedom to her, while dad joshes her about his weekly trips to the camp during the “season” every winter. In any case, this wooden duck has in the moment captured her imagination. While flawed, with a chip on its tail feather, it’s still a duck and Jessica has no intention to leave her new feathered friend behind.

“How much for the duck?” she asks the balding man behind the table. He steps forward, and plucks the duck out of her hand. He examines it from butt to beak before handing it back to her.

“Five dollars,” he answers. I grimace at the surprisingly high price for such a small trinket, but Jessica reaches into her pocket and pulls out two toonies.

“I have four,” she counters. There is a long drawn out moment of silence. The man hesitates before lifting the duck from her hands once again. He looks at it as if it was made of solid gold and he’d found it in tomb of King Tutankhamen himself. Jessica adds, “It has a chip in the tail and four dollars is all I have on me.”

He final puts it back in her hand and sticks out his own hand for her change. “Want a bag?” he asks. Jessica shakes her head and we walk away with a new treasure.

As we head back toward the exit, the couple with a table full of baked goods lifts up their large yellow sign, which reads “SPECIAL!” I walk over to make my own purchase of some caramel squares for half price.

Yes, there’s nothing quite like hunting for a bargain. While this trip had only a few minor successes, the experience is worth the couple of hours and few dollars spent on a Sunday morning. For this reason, I do suggest taking some time and checking out your local flea market.

As we leave, my sister smiles and tells me that I should end this article with the line, “When flea marketing, you may not find what you’re looking for, but you’ll always find something.” Isn’t that the way it always is!

Act Your Age… Appreciating Art

How I ended up sitting in front of Picasso’s painting Science and Charity in a museum in Barcelona, Spain is a bit of a long story. Needless to say, on my travels this month through Europe, I’ve ended up walking along streets crawling with cockroaches and witnessing mountain top views that literally take your breath away. But I digress. Today I’m telling you about my visit to the Museu Picasso de Barcelona with three of my best friends, including my girlfriend, to see some Picasso paintings.

To be honest, it was not my idea to come to the museum. While seeing some original Picasso paintings intrigued me in the sense that I could later say I had seen the pieces, I had no real appreciation for the art itself. Were I to see the paintings in a book, I would likely flip past them without further thought. However, because I was making an effort to see the things that my travelling companions were interested in and because I write Act Your Age about my experiences trying new (for me at least) activities, I agreed to find the museum. I would not be disappointed.

It was down a cobblestoned alleyway that we found the entrance to the large cold museum. The brick wall to our left opened up into a grand arch and we made our way through. After paying a small admission fee and delivering our bags to the coat check for safe keeping, we entered into the first gallery of the museum.

There were a range of Picasso’s early works in the first rooms. A few oil paintings and a variety of sketches hung on the walls. I walked past them all making empty glances at them. It was almost as if all the paintings were items on my “To Do” list and I had to just check them off by seeing them. Oil painting. Check. Sketch. Check. Portrait. Check. Another sketch. Check.

I wasn’t really appreciating any of the art. Certainly I was seeing it. My primary goal of saying I had seen Picasso’s work was being met. But was I getting anything out of the experience? Not at all. I found myself well ahead of my group of friends and with sore feet I plopped myself down on a bench.

Growing bored, I looked up and began to analyze the painting in front of me, which as you can now deduce was Science and Charity. The painting, which is the size of a large rectangular kitchen table, was painted by Picasso in 1897 when he was only sixteen. It depicts a man lying sick in his bed. To the man’s left is a doctor seated in a chair, staring at his watch, and taking the man’s pulse. On the other side of the sick man is a nun looking down at him comfortingly, while offering him a drink and holding his child.

When I had first walked past the work I had certainly looked at it. Big oil painting. Check. But I hadn’t really seen it. Now as I sat staring at it, I began to take it apart with my eyes. As its name described, the painting contrasted the doctor’s cold calculating treatment of the sick man with the nun’s warm comforting care. “What was Picasso trying to say with this painting?” I wondered to myself. Was the fact it was a nun important; a comment on religion’s ability to comfort the sick and dying? Were a male doctor and a female nun reflective of the times or a comment on gender stereotypes concerning emotionless calculating men and emotional caring women? Was the child with blond curly hair supposed to suggest that “charity” would look after the man’s child or was the child supposed to be Jesus? Maybe I was reading too much into it.

My girlfriend caught up with me shortly and sat next to me on the bench. With a bachelor degree in cultural studies and with a few art history courses under her belt, she began to point out aspects of the painting I’d overlooked. She observed that the shadow on the left side of the doctor’s face suggested a single point of light, but the fully lit nurse suggested that even the light had something to say. She also noted the painting was likely painted from the inside out.

The other two in our group finally caught up and I proceeded through the rest of the museum in my usual fashion, observing each painting as another trophy for my eyes. Picasso’s Blue Period. Check. Picasso’s nudes. Check. Picasso’s abstract portraits. Check.

But it was Science and Charity that stuck out in my mind. When I entered the gift store at the end of the tour I sought out the painting in its postcard form. Thus, I accomplished my retirement activity of the week. Appreciating art. While I didn’t take the time to appreciate all the paintings in the museum, the ten minutes I spent in front of that one spoke to me. A stagnant century old canvas became dynamic as I spent time trying to understand, and if not understand then appreciate, the piece. And there is certainly merit to that.

While I can’t specifically suggest that you fly to Barcelona to see the Museu Picasso de Barcelona, I do suggest going to one of your local museums or art galleries and sitting or standing for a few minutes in front of a piece that speaks to you. They all won’t, but find one that captures your imagination and try to find its story. Talk about it with your friends and see what you come up with. Even if you’re as artistically dense as me, you may be surprised with what you come up with!

Act Your Age: It’s A Story!

Hello. My name is Jeff. You may know me from my interviews and profiles with community members in the Niagara region for Retirement News Weekly’s column “Visionaries of Our Community.” After writing profiles for six of the most amazing people I’ve ever met, it’s time to introduce to you someone different. Me. I’m certainly less accomplished then the people I’ve interviewed and I haven’t found that “life’s passion” that the bookseller, the chef, the conductor, and the coach have for their particular arts. I am, however, doing what I love. Writing! Starting this week I’ll be bringing you two new bi-weekly columns, I Can Explain and Act Your Age!

But, before I get carried away writing about these columns, let me tell you more about me. I’m 23 and was born in a small, French, fishing village called Pubnico in Nova Scotia. Before you ask, I am unilingual, though I’d like to think my mastery of English compensates for my utter failure to conquer French. I had a really nice childhood, two loving parents, was raised Catholic, and played (badly) a variety of sports. I attended Mount St. Vincent University in Halifax, NS and received a Bachelors of Public Relations before moving to St. Catharine’s for a year to take my Masters in Popular Culture. I’m not finished it, as my thesis still needs work, but I should be done soon enough! I’m spending August with my sister in Halifax and September in Europe seeing five major cities.

Now, for my passion, writing. I started young. When I was 12 I wrote an 80 page novel about a boy who starts a charity club. By the time I was 17 that list had grown into six plays, four movies, a rewritten version of the novel, an autobiography, and a musical called, “Isn’t Life Ironic.” It was about a young man who writes a musical to impress a girl that doesn’t care about musicals and the story still seems pretty close to home. In my senior year of high school, desperate to be read by anyone, I started an unofficial newsletter and in University began an online newsletter. Perhaps it was these experiences that gave me the edge when I applied to work at Retirement News Weekly this summer.

I loved working for Retirement News Weekly/Niagara. Interviewing these incredible individuals and telling their stories was a dream job. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end and with regret I had to quit in order to return home. For what happened next I will be eternally grateful. I was offered a column and went immediately to the task of proposing a variety of ideas. Two were selected and the columns will come out on alternating weeks.

“I Can Explain” is simple enough. In this column, I will choose a new pop culture or technological trend and attempt to explain it as clearly as possible. Whether its Jersey Shore or Twitter, I want to make it an easy reference of new developments and let you know what they are and whether or not they’re worth checking out.

The inspiration for the second column, the one you’re reading right now, came somewhat as a fluke. While writing the “Visionaries of our Community,” I was invited to attend the opening gala of Music Niagara and listen to Andre Laplante play Chopin and Schumann.

To be brutally honest, I know nothing about music. It’s actually a bit embarrassing as my friends regularly tease me for not knowing about artists and songs. That said, as little as I know about music I know even less about classical music. The prospect of sitting in a pew in a church while watching a man play a piano for two hours was not the most appealing use of my Saturday night. However the ticket was free and finally I decided, “Why not!” My philosophy has been and continues to be, even if things end up a disaster, they’ll at least make a good story.

This wasn’t the case for the opening gala. I attended and was blown away. While it was strange just to sit and listen to music without any visual stimulation, there was something about the experience that could be universally appreciated. Even if you couldn’t delight in the music, which I did, the simplicity of this man holding his audience in rapture through his playing was entertainment enough. The experience inspired the article “1000 Words About Music From A Man Who Knows Nothing,” which inappropriately enough can be found in the archive for “Visionaries of our Community.”

This inspired me to write this column. Every other week, I will go out and try a cliché retirement activity, and then I’ll report back to you my findings. I will humbly submit myself to a variety of activities that I would otherwise wait until retirement to try. The outcomes of each activity will vary. Some will be incredible, like “appreciating classical music.” Others will be embarrassing, like “trying yoga.” Yet others will be revealed to be cliché for a reason, like “learning to knit.” But I’m willing to have my eyes opened wide! Maybe all these activities need is a chance.

The benefit of this column is that you can read about my experiences every other week. If it’s something you do, you can enjoy it from my fresh perspective. And if it’s something you’ve never tried, it at least gives you options of cheap activities that are either nominated or discouraged by someone you now know. Me!

You may be currently saying to yourself, “Jeff, this has been a great start to your column, but it hardly lives up to what you’ve now promised us! You haven’t tried a single clichéd activity!” But I beg to differ. “Tell a complete stranger my life story.” Check! I’ll see you in two weeks!