I Can Explain... Charlie Sheen

You know Charlie Sheen.

You may know him from his early movie successes like Wall Street, Major League, and (my personal favourite) Hot Shots. Or perhaps you know him from his more recent success as Charlie Harper on the hit TV show Two and a Half Men. Maybe you only know his father, Martin Sheen, who starred as President Jed Bartlett on the West Wing. Whatever the case, you should know Charlie Sheen since he’s been a staple of our popular culture since the mid-80’s; which is likely why his very public break from reality has captured our imaginations as much as it has. If you want to know what’s up with the man with the tiger blood... I can explain.

Charlie was always a little outspoken and a little off-kilter. Take, for example, his very vocal views on 9/11. He suggested that it looked like the “buildings came down in a controlled demolition” and he was one of the primary spokespeople for the 9/11 Truth Movement, which suggested the government may have been involved in the 9/11 attacks. However, I hate to even begin to make the comparison to the crazy he’s been saying more recently.

It started in February 2010, when Charlie Sheen took a break from his show to enter rehab. By March, he was out and by May he had signed on to do the show for another two years at $1.8 million per episode. Things seemed like they were going okay. By October, however, he was removed by police from his hotel after drinking, using cocaine, and causing $7,000 in damage to his suite. In January 2011, less than a year after leaving rehab, Sheen was taken to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center by paramedics while suffering from “severe abdominal pains” and a day later began rehab in his home.

While in this house-arrest/rehab, the real crazy started. He phoned the Alex Jones radio show and called Two and a Half Men creator Chuck Lorre a turd and a clown. He also said that he had embarrassed Lorre by “healing at a pace that his un-evolved mind cannot process.” Two and a Half Men still had four episodes to film in the season, but after these remarks the episodes were cancelled.

That’s when the fun really started. On February 28, 2011, Sheen did an interview on ABC News in which he was very open about his past drug use. He said he was proud of the parties he had, but was now bored with it and wasn’t afraid he was going to relapse. He also made comments like:

§ “It [my brain] fires in a way that’s... umm... I don’t know. Maybe not from this particular terrestrial realm.”

§ “I’m not bi-polar. I’m bi-winning... I win here and I win there.”

§ “I have tiger blood, man.”

§ “I blinked and I cured my mind [of addiction].”

§ “I am on a drug. It’s called Charlie Sheen. It’s not available because if you try it once you’ll die. Your face will melt off and your children will weep over your exploded body.”

This crazy caught the imagination of the public. In later interviews he said he had “fire breathing fists” and that he was a “high priest” and “Vatican assassin warlock.”

Now, here’s the thing. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Does he sound crazy? Of course. Is he living in his own world? Very likely. But while living in his world, he kind of was winning in ours. He was dating two incredibly attractive women, while living in a mansion and being paid more than any other TV actor ever. Plus, he seems happy... crazy, but happy. Arguably, he was winning. He’d likely eventually die of an overdose, but he was, at the time, winning.

To make matters stranger, as Charlie sunk deeper and deeper into his own world, he began marketing this world to sell within our own. He joined Twitter and had a million followers within 25 hours and 17 minutes. He started producing drinks called “Tiger Blood” and shirts with his various sayings. He created an online show where he talked to his camera and began to document all of his conversations. He starred in a short comedy sketch seeming to mock himself then launched a sold-out tour called the “Violent Torpedo of Truth.”

So the question remains. Is Charlie on drugs? Is he just burnt out from all the drugs he’s done to the point that he’s never really sober? Or maybe, just maybe, Sheen was bored with his success and is trying something new. Maybe he’s selling us a new character, not unlike Joaquin Phoenix portrayal of his drugged out self in the mockumentary I’m Still Here. Only time will tell what Charlie has in store next.

And if you want to know what a Vatican assassin warlock is... well... I can explain.

Act Your Age... Going to Bed Early

First appeared in the April 15, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

I am an evening and night person. I always have been.

My mom likes to tell the story of the time a high school friend called me in the early morning (and by early morning I mean 9 am-ish). She woke me up, gave me the phone, and I had a five minute conversation of grunts and one-syllable responses. When I woke up with the phone in my bed moaning out its dial tone an hour later, I couldn’t recall the conversation or ever receiving the phone.

My ex revealed her distaste for my morning persona when she let me know that she tended to try to avoid me until around noon because I seemed distant and generally unresponsive.

But there’s something about evenings that I adore. It could be that bite in the evening air, the stars dotting the sky to remind us how small we are in this universe, the sound of cricket’s chirping their song, or a day of productivity behind me; but whatever it is, I feel at my most motivated and most pleasant between 8 pm and 2 am.

It’s with this in mind that I embarked on this week’s Act Your Age. Stereotypically, people of a certain age begin to go to bed earlier and earlier. I don’t know if this stereotype is true, but I felt like it would be an interesting retirement activity for me to attempt. Considering I’d had a particularly long week with six evenings of plans and a persistent cold, the idea seemed to have many perks.

Now to make things just a little trickier, I’ve had problems sleeping of late. It started post-break up. I’d lie in bed for hours, lost in thought, and eventually I’d make myself so upset that I’d give up on sleep. After a couple of weeks, I started getting into the habit of lying in bed until around 3 am watching TV until I eventually would pass out and avoid the whole lying and thinking situation. While I now lie and think all the time without problem, the habit stuck.

So there I was, climbing into my queen-sized bed with new light blue sheets and my old tan comforter, at 9 pm. While I wasn’t particularly tired, I assumed the position. I laid down on my stomach with my right foot hanging off the end of the bed, my left leg propped up on a pillow, my right arm under my pillow, and my left arm over it. Then I closed my eyes and started breathing through my mouth.

As I lay there, I started to think about all the things I could be doing: There are jobs to apply for, stories to write, and movies to watch. Maybe I should write this all down, I thought. I reach to my desk for paper and pen. But no, I’m going to bed early. So I laid back down.

Before long my mind was wandering again: This is a new sheet. My last sheet had a huge hole ripped in it so large a person could crawl through. This new sheet is comfortable enough, but it looks a bit ridiculous with my tan comforter. Once I get a full time job, I could buy new sheets and maybe even a new comforter. I read in Esquire, my favourite magazine, that women are impressed by sheets with a 400 to a 600 thread count. I wonder how much of a thread count this sheet has. Probably not high. And a high thread count probably can’t compensate for a low income anyway.

But what was I doing? I wasn’t going to fall asleep with my mind rambling on. So I tried to clear my head of everything. Once again I closed my eyes and tried to lie in peace.

Blank. Yes, blank. This is good. Blankness. Thinking nothing. Black. But black is something. It’s a color. I’m picturing a color. Even thinking of blankness is something. ‘Cause I’m thinking of this word: blank. Blank, blank, blank. Bank. I need to go cash that check tomorrow from temping. Where had I worked again? Oh, yeah I was binding books. And I told that story about when I got an MRI. My co-workers thought that was funny.

Clearly I was having trouble with this whole exercise. I went to the fridge and pulled out the milk. Movie characters who can’t sleep always drink a glass of warm milk. I poured some into a mug and heated it in the microwave for a minute before taking a sip. It was... weird. Not necessarily bad. The flavour was actually pretty good. But it just seemed wrong. Plus, doesn’t warm milk curdle? So I poured the rest down the sink and went back to my bed.

I didn’t feel comfortable anymore. Forcing myself to rest was just making me restless. I tossed and turned. I flipped back and forth... left to right. I tried counting sheep, but again it devolved.

One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. Is it racist that I’m imagining all white sheep? Let’s throw in a black sheep. Four sheep. Why did I watch that Youtube video of a rhinoceros pooping? I bet sheep pooping is equally gross and entertaining.

I got up again. Then I lied back down. After an hour, I started to worry I’d never get to sleep. Time dragged on and on. Eventually it was past midnight. But I still lied there. The thing about sleep is that it’s kind of like love. When you really pursue it and seek it out, it starts to elude you. But when you just stop chasing it... when you let yourself be in the moment and let the chips fall where they may... it’s then that you find it. So after hours of lying in bed trying to sleep, I gave up. And then I fell asleep.

I Can Explain... Rebecca Black

First appeared in the April 8, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

If you have the internet and/or a TV, you’ve likely heard of Rebecca Black and her song “Friday.” The song and video are horrible and people are talking about it. The most common complaint about the song is the ridiculous lyrics, which follow Rebecca through her daily Friday morning activities and then devolve into proclamations about how she plans to “Get down on Friday” and then nonsensically repeats “Partyin’” and “Fun” over and over and over. While the production value seems high, Rebecca’s nasally and heavily auto-tuned voice (A technology which corrects a singer’s pitch, while often distorting the voice to sound mechanical) does little to raise the song into anything more than sub-par. So what is this song and why have we been watching the video... I can explain.

Rebecca is a thirteen-year-old girl, who wanted to be a famous singer. Her somewhat-wealthy parents hired ARK Music to write and produce a song for her. They were given two options written by the company’s co-owner Patrice Wilson: one was about love and the other was about Friday. Given that Rebecca is only thirteen, she chose to sing about something she actually knew about (Good for you, Rebecca!). Unfortunately, the song had ridiculous lyrics that are easily mocked. In one verse, Rebecca can’t decide which seat to sit in: Kickin’ in the front seat. Sittin’ in the back seat. Gotta make my mind up, which seat can I take? Later in the song, she explains the days of the week: Yesterday was Thursday, Today it is Friday, Tomorrow is Saturday, And Sunday comes afterwards!

The video was put on Youtube on February 10, 2011 and went relatively unnoticed (only 4,000 views). But on March 10, comedian Daniel Tosh posted the video on his blog under the title “Song Writing Isn’t For Everyone” and the video became a viral sensation. Between then and now, the song has been viewed 84.4 million times and has received 1.6 million comments.

The fact that even the best comedians and singers are doing covers of the song and are unable to save it reveals how atrocious it really is. Stephen Colbert, a news satirist on Comedy Central and a personal hero of mine, sung a cover of the song on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon after fans donated over $26,000 to Donors Choose. Conan O’Brian spoofed the song on his show with his version “Thursday,” which he claimed Rebecca Black has ripped off. (The cover that’s made to sound like Bob Dylan sings “Friday” is actually pretty good.)

The response has been vile. Comedians have mocked it. Rolling Stones called it an “unintentional parody of modern pop.” Many have dubbed it the “worst song in history.” Viewers have sent hate mail to Rebecca, while making the nastiest of comments on Twitter and blogs. In her appearance on Good Morning America, the interviewer sat Rebecca down and read off the worst of the comments, which is atrocious in and of itself. (A reporter reading “Her song Friday is the worst song I’ve ever heard in my entire life... even deaf people are complaining” to garner a reaction from a 13-year-old is disgusting journalism. Her upbeat and positive spin of each of the comments reveals a side of Rebecca that shows she in no way deserves this much hate.)

Now I’ll be the first to admit that when I first heard this song, I got upset. (How dare this bad singer push this horrible song on us! How dare she claim to be good!) And I was early to point the finger and mock it. But the fact is, Rebecca in no way claims to be the best. And no one’s really claiming that the song is good. People are upset, but why? It’s just another bad song by an amateur singer. What upsets us is the fame and notoriety that Rebecca now has, but we’re the ones who did that. We made her popular. We watched the video and we pulled her out of the rabbit hole only to bash her until she climbs back in. So really it’s one of two things: either we love to hate Rebecca Black or we really hate ourselves for not being able to look away. Either way, we’re going to hell.

In any case, Rebecca’s fame and incredible sales (the song reached #19 for top sales on itunes) is likely going to lead to a CD. We’ll see if the world has what it takes to let a young woman, with a little talent in need of a lot of practice, disappear back into anonymity.

And if you want to know whether or not I could have sung it any better... I’ll let you guys figure that one out on your own!

Act Your Age... Getting an MRI

First appeared in the April 1, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

When I saw the advertisement on Kijiji looking for people willing to get an MRI, there were many things that went through my mind. What if I had a “special” brain and this MRI revealed how unique I really am? What if I had a brain tumour and this MRI saved my life? Wouldn’t a picture of my brain make a cool Facebook profile? What never crossed my mind was the need for concern.

It was without concern that I signed up for the research study which promised to pay $90 and provide a set of pictures of my brain. Without concern, I visited the lab for the first time for various cognitive tests and word games. And it was without concern that I was led by a young German woman to the Neuroimaging Lab on my second visit to have my MRI.

However, when I was sat down in the viewing room and a man began to go over my medical history, it finally donned on me that perhaps I should have been more concerned. The man focused on questions that would help determine if there was any possibility that metal could be inside my body. He explained that the magnetic resonance imaging machine (MRI) worked with giant magnets and if there was any metal on or in me it would be pulled into the machine. However, to get to the machine, the metal would likely travel through my brain in the process and kill me on the spot.

“I’d hate to be the next guy getting an MRI,” I joked uncomfortably.

We determined that I was metal free and I finally entered the room with the MRI. The machine was enormous and seemed to take up half the room. If you’ve never seen an MRI machine, imagine a giant, long marshmallow made of plastic lying on its side. In the middle of the marshmallow is a hole and in front of the hole is a table on wheels. At the top of the table is a much smaller tube, slightly larger than a person’s cranium.

I pulled myself onto that table and the German girl taped a Vitamin B tablet to my forehead. Apparently it’s sometimes difficult to determine which side of the brain is left or right and the tablet would shine brightly on the MRI and identify the left side. I then lied down on the table and placed my head into the smaller tube. The technician who would be running the MRI (a man who would be played by Judge Reinhold if my MRI was made into a movie) pressed baseball-sized pillows around my head so I didn’t have to hold it steady by myself. I was then manually slid into the larger tube.

I point out that I was manually slid into the tube because there is a machine that would have slid me into the tube at the push of a button. However, the technician had warned me that sometimes it didn’t work when the patient was too heavy. They requested two additional technicians to help push me into the MRI. Very flattering.

The inside of the tube seemed almost black. My arms could not bend at the elbows without hitting the roof of the tube. And given that my head was lodged firmly where it was with pillows, I wasn’t going anywhere. Yet I was still fairly calm. Looking straight up from my lying position, all I could see was a mirror positioned directly in front of my eyes. This allowed me to see outside of the tube and into the viewing room. A radio in the headphones I was wearing allowed me to keep in contact with the experimenters, while playing a local radio station when we weren’t talking.

“What radio station do you want?” they asked. I’d recently been hanging out with a quirky lady who was a part-time promotions girl at Q104 so I asked for that station. The soft rock music began to play through the set. They let it play for a few moments and then it abruptly cut out, while they warned that the first scan would start soon. The music returned, but was soon drowned out by the whirring of the machine. It sounded like a piece of heavy plastic being flicked every few seconds. It was a grating click, click, click sound.

It was during this first scan that I panicked. I was lying in this tube, unable to move, with the radio playing in my ears. But what got to me was the fear of being bored. I’d spent six months applying to jobs, getting over a horrible break up, and ultimately just trying to keep pushing forward. Trapped in this tube I was suddenly without distraction and faced with the weight of everything I was trying and failing to do. I took a deep breath. I took another. And I forced myself to focus on Neil Young’s Heart of Gold.

Before too long, the clicking stopped and I was calm once again. The experimenters asked if everything was okay and I told them to crank the music. They adjusted the volume, made a few reassuring comments, and then the next scan began. Each scan took 7 to 14 minutes and I would try to lie as still as possible.

Other than this minor panic, the MRI was no problem. During the third scan, I felt my nose start to itch and as carefully as possible, without moving my head, I lifted my right hand to scratch. Around the fourth scan, the rhythmic clicking and soft rock lulled me to sleep. After 80 minutes in the tube, the radio turned off and Judge Reinhold’s look-a-like told me the MRI was over. Four technicians entered my room and pulled me out.

Judge said with a smile, “You looked relaxed.”

“No problem,” I told him. I was debriefed, given another $30 and three days later my Facebook profile was a picture of my tumour-free, typical brain!

Act Your Age... Volunteering for Experiments

First appeared in the March 18, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

You’re not a real writer until you’ve volunteered your body for science experiments to earn money to pay your bills. That’s what us writers, who are volunteering to be experimented on, tell ourselves anyway.

The first experiment I volunteered for was a couple summers back. It was a beer sampling study. I (i.e. the guinea pig) went through a variety of cognitive tests and then was asked to taste three different types of beer. At the same time, I listened to what was effectively elevator music. I was told that the study was set up to determine if music would affect my taste buds. However, after the study was complete, the experimenters revealed that they were actually measuring how much free beer I would drink during an experiment. Tricky, generous scientists.

As I’ve recently been on the job hunt, I’ve returned to volunteering for these random experiments. Free beer and a handful of cash immediately after? Sign me up! This past week, I participated in a couple cash-earning experiments that I’d like to share.

The first was held at Dalhousie University in the psychology department. Being unfamiliar with the university’s layout, I arranged to meet the experimenter at the main entrance. However at the time I was to meet him, he wasn’t there and I realized I was at one of the many side entrances. I wandered the building in search of him and found myself in a sub-basement next to a water cooler. Finally, I gave up searching and called the British man conducting the experiment. He met me in the Oceanography Department and led the way to his office.

This experiment was designed to suss out patterns and predictors in prescription and illegal drug users. In order to conduct a thorough study, they required all levels of users (even non-users) so anyone could qualify for the study and twenty bucks is twenty bucks. I was asked a series of questions about drug use and felt a little inadequate by just how little data I was able to give him. Almost apologetically, I told the experimenter, “I’m sorry this isn’t more interesting data for you. I kind of wish I’d tried drugs to give you something to study.” He laughed and told me he’d interviewed all levels of user and that my data was just fine.

The second experiment I found on Kijiji (Stay tuned for next week’s I Can Explain... in which I explain free online classified ads). In partnership between the local university and hospital, a study was being conducted to determine how the brain’s chemicals may change in patients with psychosis over a year period. The experimenters were looking for healthy brains to compare with their psychosis patients’ brains. In return for nine hours of my time (three 3 hour meetings), I’d get $90 and a picture of my brain. Of course, I volunteered! After some pre-screening interviews to determine if I qualified, I was invited to come in for the first of the three meetings.

I’d never been to this department of the hospital, but after using Google Maps (Wow, I’ve become a self promoter!) I made my way to the hospital. It was a cool spring afternoon and the walk was a pleasant escape from my high-rise apartment. The lobby of the Early Psychosis office was a brilliant white. A sitting area was to my right and a glass reception desk was to my left. I approached the desk hesitantly.

“I’m here for... the experiment,” I managed to stutter.

“Excuse me?” asked the receptionist as she pushed her thick-framed glasses up her nose.

“The experiment?” I responded. She nodded and pointed me to the chairs and I took a seat.

When sitting in a lobby of an Early Psychosis Program, you can’t help but feel a little crazy. I looked at the people sitting around me and wondered why they were here. Were they all guinea pigs? Or did they suffer from some mental disease? Would this hospital help? And was I really here for an experiment or was I one of them? Was I too, suffering from psychosis and waiting for my treatment, while living in the illusion that I had volunteered to come here? I have a writer’s imagination and the apathy of a hypochondriac.

I didn’t have to wait long and soon a young woman greeted me and brought me to her office. This first round was all cognitive testing. They were determining how I thought and how quickly I did so. I was subjected to a variety of tests ranging from defining words to spatial thinking puzzles to computer mazes. It ended with a memory test in which a string of ten grocery items were listed and I was asked to remember as many as possible. Upon completion, they handed me $30 and scheduled my MRI a week from the day.

The next week, I once again arrived early; this time without the help of Google Maps (Though I did Rick Roll my way to the hospital). I was subjected to the same cognitive tests and after 30 minutes, the woman led me to the Neuroimaging Lab for my brain scan. As we made our way, we chatted and I asked her where her accent was from. She told me she was originally from Germany as we passed the lead-lined door and I was faced with a row of technicians and a tube I was about to enter for an hour. Yes, I was about to have my brain scanned by Germans... next week’s article should write itself!

I Can Explain... Free Online Classifieds

First appeared in the March 24, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

Need an apartment? How about a used car? Or two posters of Canadian stamps, which are described as “valuable”? You may pick up your local newspaper and turn to the classifieds, but more often than not people are jumping online to meet their shopping needs. Websites offering free classifieds like Kijiji and Craigslist provide the opportunity to buy, sell and rent at ease. But if you’re not sure where to start or what a reasonable price for a pair of women’s show chaps is... well... I can explain one of those things!

Online Classifieds are websites that allow users to post and/or view classified advertisements for free. If a user wants to create an ad, they just go to the site and click “Post Ad.” After choosing a category that there product falls within (Buy/Sell, Pets, Housing, Services, Vehicles, Jobs, etc.), the person creates their ad. They’ll have to decide if they are offering something or looking to purchase something, the desired price, a title, and a brief description. Then other users can search for their ad or browse within the categories listed above.

Perhaps the most well known online classifieds website is Craigslist. The site, started by Craig Newmark in San Francisco, took over the internet in the mid to late 90s with options to post ads for nearly anything. E-bay, the online auction website, created Kijiji to compete with this free service. While Craigslist is used almost exclusively in the USA, in Canada Kijiji seems to be much more popular and offers more listings in my experience.

My father is somewhat obsessed with this whole process. He’s bought windows, appliances, furniture, and vehicles off of Kijiji. Both of my parents have also been using it to sell off all their unwanted exercise equipment, appliances, and basketballs (Yes, they recently sold three worn-out basketballs from my childhood for $5 each on the site, which just goes to show there’s nothing too big or small for Kijiji). I’ve also used the site. I’ve found numerous apartments on the site and since I’m currently looking for a summer residence, I posted an ad two days ago. Within 12 hours, I had six responses. Kijiji is also where I found my job selling Christmas trees for two weeks this past December.

While my family and I love the site, it’s not for everyone. When responding to ads, one must remember that it is online and that the ads can be posted by anyone. When going to see an apartment found on the website, it may be best to take precautions. Also, shoppers should always see the item being purchased or apartment being rented before making a commitment; pictures and people lie. A close friend once rented an apartment off the site without going to see it and spent a summer with a hole in her bathroom large enough to see her neighbours.

Craigslist also has a bad reputation as a result of their personal section (Kijiji removed their personals). This is where people can look for dates, friends, and sexual encounters. That said, if any ads are inappropriate or offering something illegal, it’s possible for users to flag them and the administrators of the site will take the offending ad down. As a joke, someone recently posted an ad selling children, which was removed within the hour and police investigated the incident.

So if you want to take second-hand shopping to the next level, check out one of the many free online classified websites that the internet has to offer. And if you want to know why someone wants a super ugly couch because it’s free online... well... I can try to explain!

I Can Explain... Rick Rolling

First appeared in the May 10 issue of Retirement News Weekly

This past weekend, I had a small group of friends visiting. At one point in the evening, one of my friends put on the music video for Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” and I joked, “Don’t Rickroll yourself!” If you don’t get that joke (or get it and it’s too lame to be funny), then I can explain!

The Rickroll is an internet phenomenon in which a hyperlink is presented as if it leads to an interesting video or website. Once clicked, the link brings the viewer to the music video for Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.” It is a bait-and-switch online prank and the person who has been tricked to watch the music video is said to have been Rickrolled.

The origins of the Rickroll are well-documented. The phenomenon began on an internet chat board. A discussion would be started with an interesting thread and a provocative picture, but when the link was clicked the viewer was presented with a picture of a duck on wheels and was said to be “Duckrolled.” On the same board, weeks later, a link to an “exclusive video game trailer” led to the Astley music video and history was made!

The choice of song has no significance. It was popular once upon a time, having reached #1 on the charts in Canada, the USA, and the UK in 1987. The video is predominantly Rick Astley swaying side to side (See “Dancing to the Music of the 70s, 80s, and 90s” for more details on this sort of dance) wearing a white shirt or trench coat. Throughout the video, the bartender at the hall where Astley’s dancing does flips and tricks. Ironically, when the video was filmed, the bartender was very hung over. However, Rick and his producer got in a two hour fight and by the time it was over, the bartender had slept off the worst of it. The cause of the fight? Whether Rick should or should not roll up his sleeves!

In April 1, 2008, as an April Fool’s joke, Youtube had all of their videos turn into Rickrolls for the day. This resulted in one newscaster getting Rickrolled on live air. There’s also been a variety of live Rickrolls. During the 2008 Macy Day parade, one float had a bunch of puppet’s singing about imagination. Half-way through the song, Rick Astley burst from the float and performed “Never Gonna Give You Up.” Other examples of the live Rickroll include a group of activists singing it at a protest against the Church of Scientology and a performance of the song by an impersonator prior to an Eastern Washington University woman’s basketball game.

So now you know! If you ever follow a link on Youtube and end up staring into the face of Rick Astley as he serenades you with his voice and wiggling hips, you have officially been Rickrolled! If, instead, you’re wondering why this skinny white man has such a deep, soulful voice... well... I can explain!

Act Your Age... Donating to Charity

First appeared in the March 2, 2011 issue of Retirement News Weekly

There was once a bearded guy who watched as various parishioners entered a temple to make their offering. They were handing over big bucks, but the dude wasn’t impressed. “What are a couple hundred bucks when you have thousands to spare?” he figured. Then this widow comes into the temple. The man watches as she reaches into her purse, pulls out the few dollars she has, and offers them up. It barely makes a difference to this temple’s annual revenue. But the dude’s impressed and he turns to his buddies and says, “That widow gave more to this temple than any of those rich guys.”

When you’re a recent graduate looking for work or a retiree living on a budget, it’s important to remember these sorts of things. Give of yourself what you can because everything is relative. That’s one of the reasons why every couple months I find myself at a Canadian Blood Services (CBS) clinic to donate a pint of blood.

I got the call recently from CBS, while in a grocery store (they always call me while I’m shopping for groceries somehow), and they prompted me to schedule my appointment.

“The sooner the better,” I said and I was booked a week from the day.

The clinic is only down the street, so on the evening of my appointment, I bundled up in my warmest jacket and made my way. I arrived with time to spare and after signing in with the receptionist, I was prompted along the assembly line of blood retrieval. The next stop was a nurse. She made polite small talk before stabbing me in the finger with a pin (well... she used a special contraption that pricks your finger to extract a touch of blood). Because I’m so strong and my blood has lots of iron (I think that’s what high iron means), I was approved and given a questionnaire to fill out.

Have I ever lived in Africa? No. Have I donated blood in Quebec? No. Have I played with monkeys? Only in my dreams (That’s actually one of the questions on the survey!). With the questionnaire filled out, a nurse brought me into a small room and proceeded to ask me a range of more personal questions about past illnesses and my sexual history.

This is the hard part for me. After the questions, the nurse checks your pulse and blood pressure and mine tend to run a little high (I’ve gotten it checked by my doctor and he said I was fine). She strapped me into the contraption and it did its thing. Too high. I was concerned because I’d already come so far and didn’t want to be rejected. They checked it again. Still too high. Finally she said she’d check it manually and thankfully it was just below the maximum. Perfect!

When I was younger I was terrified of needles (I was actually terrified of a lot of things). However I remember the exact moment I got over this fear. I was in junior high school and it was the Hepititis B vaccine. In the past, I had gotten it at the health clinic in order that my “freaking out” would remain confidential between me and my doctor. This time that precaution had been overlooked and suddenly I was going to have my skin pierced in front of all my peers. We were herded to the school’s library and one at a time stepped forward, got our injection from the school nurse, and earned a box of juice. Time stood still as I waited in that line, but that didn’t stop my turn from arriving. What was I going to do? I looked over at the cute girls in my class, stepped forward, and sucked it up. No problem. You do what you have to in order to save face in front of women.

My point is: the needle isn’t a problem for me. It was a small pinch, 11 minutes of slight discomfort, and presto! I was done! I got my cookie, put on my layers of jackets, and headed back out into the snow.

The pint of blood given by any particular donor is separated into three units – plasma, platelets, and red blood cells. These units are then administered to three different patients, each with a unique need: the red blood cells are used to help accident victims, surgical patients or people with anaemia; the platelets help treat leukemia and cancer patients; and the plasma treats patients suffering from burns or shock. Thus, when anyone donates blood, he or she has effectively helped save three lives.

But on a limited budget there are other ways to donate to a worthy cause and that brings me to Heidi Bezanson. As mentioned in the last Act Your Age, Heidi is a friend of mine that brought me to church. This week she donated her hair to charity.

Heidi wanted to shave her head for a while. It’s on her list of things to do before she turns 30. So this month she started raising money for the Stephen Lewis Foundation and luvHaiti in hopes that her upcoming baldness wouldn’t be in vain. She raised over $600 and the day of her shaving finally arrived. After a church service, she sat in a chair that she brought from home and let her friend Sarah Mott cut all the braids off her head. There was only a slight grimace and then a smile on Heidi’s face, as Sarah cut one by one. Then, came the shaving. She took it with high spirits and gave her hair to help!

You too can help! Like the widow in the temple, it doesn’t matter how much you give, but how much of yourself you’re giving. Whether its money or blood or hair, it’s important to contribute and help this human race truck along.

Editor’s Note: If you’re interested in donating blood to CBS, check out their website at www.bloodservices.ca. If you want to know more about Heidi’s balding and the charities she is involved with, check out her blog at heidisheadshaving.blogspot.com. And if you want to suggest a retirement activity for me to try, email me at jeffdeviller@gmail.com.