Headaches over Hormuz

 

 Is the Strait of Hormuz open or closed? 

For the last few months, this is all I really want to know. 

Just give me a simple yes or no. I don’t want to know how many drones flew over the channel, how many ships are waiting in port, or how the captains of those ships are feeling about life. Just tell me: Is it open or closed?

Whatever you do, don’t tell me it’s partially open. What am I supposed to do with that? I refuse to believe a few lucky ships go freely back and forth without a care in the world. We all know the world doesn’t work that way. It’s either open or closed!

The inevitable follow-up question is: Why didn’t I buy a hybrid? I could have but I didn’t. Because when I did my cost-benefit analysis, the Strait of Hormuz was wide open!

Second follow-up question: Why does my car get worse fuel mileage now that the Strait is closed? Does non-Iranian fuel not go as far?

This may be part of my obsessive personality. I start thinking about something and I can’t stop. But isn’t it that way for all of us (please say yes)? Don’t we all obsess over the price of gas?

Unless you own a Tesla... Then who cares whether the Strait is open or closed. I suppose you got the last laugh after all. I admit, we went a bit too far in our mockery. Remember how only a few months ago we would taunt: “You drive an Elon-mobile?! How utterly embarrassing!!” Even though you clearly bought the car when Elon Musk was an Obama-loving liberal and not a Trump stooge, we did not care! Sell it NOW!

But who looks like the stooge now? Anyone who drives a vehicle that relies on fuel impacted by the so-called Strait of Hormuz.

I only say “so-called” because I had never heard of this "strait" until a few months ago, when the so-called “Iran War” began. For all I know, it’s a vast conspiracy of the oil companies who, at the behest of Iran and Trump, sold the world on the closure of a made-up channel of water that is rich in oil, helium and fertilizer.

But let's say it is real. Let’s say there is a strait, somewhere far away in Hormuz, that was open for all my lifetime.... and then, just like that, suddenly closed. Why would it ever close? 

Trump of all people should know this, but I don’t think he does, as intelligent a man as he says he is. That doesn't mean he doesn’t care. He says he doesn’t care, but boy, does he care! He’s checking every hour – maybe every three minutes. Like me, he’s obsessed over Hormuz.

In all fairness, it’s hard to be a president in such times of utter incompetence and dysfunction. Especially when you start a war that no one understands, a war that will likely never end. I don’t blame him for being a little feisty with female reporters. He’s got a lot on his plate. First Epstein, now Iran. How do you juggle it all?

Even if it was his fault, doesn’t he at least get some credit for trying to solve the so-called Middle East? For inadvertently starting a green revolution? For making Tesla owners feel a little better about themselves? 

As I’m clearly not one of them, I still want to know: Is it open or closed?

Best years of life ranked with sentimentalism

 
 

The best year of my life was when I met my wife. Let’s be clear on that. My most life-changing experience was when I met my life partner. Got that?

But… a close second was grade 10. Grade ten! I’m excited because I recently saw a picture of myself at that age. It brought back memories.

I may remember it better than it really was.… But I honestly cannot recall a bad thing that happened to me in grade 10. Other than my obsession with a girl who didn’t have the same feelings for me – apart from that whole hormone-driven fiasco – grade 10 was awesome.

I bonded with friends whom I have never shared a closer connection. We united over our beliefs in God, our rejection of materialism, and our love of U2. We were as close to hippies as one could be without the drugs.

Strangely, I have not kept up these relationships. We moved apart and I don’t really talk to them anymore. I don’t even know where most of them are today. Even though they may lurk on Facebook (confirmation: they do), I don't feel the urge to reach out to them. I’d rather remember them for who they were, for the close attachment we had at the time. In fact, I doubt such closeness could ever be recreated. I’m likely making this sound waaaay better than it was, but allow me this once to look back fondly at the good ol’ days.

My third best year? Probably grade 12. It was fun. Not as fun as it could have been if I had a girlfriend, but we had fun. I missed my 20-year and 30-year high school reunions, but that's not because I didn't enjoy my time in high school. It’s just... I’d rather remember everyone for who they were, for the close attachment we had at the time – I doubt that closeness could ever be recreated. Notice a theme?

What about elementary school, you ask? I’m not sure it can rival high school, as turbulent as that period of my life was. There’s something about those years that make me a little sentimental. And I don’t get sentimental. Got that?

And so, it was with great sadness, that I read about the unhappiness of our youth. You may have heard: this year Canada ranks 24^th in the world for happiness. And it’s the youth who are dragging us down. They are unhappy with things, and they don’t hesitate to tell the world how much things suck.

Thanks, kids! Thanks for ruining our otherwise stellar reputation!

If youth are really that unhappy, well then, I gotta tell you, it doesn’t get much better. You’ll just keep going down that U-shaped valley until middle age, where (I’ve been told) you hit rock bottom, then (I've been reassured) you slowly start to feel better again. This is all by design, so that by age 80, you’re having the best years of your life.

But if you’re already stuck at age 20, then might I suggest getting off TikTok?

It can't be good for any kids’ mental health when everything is now online. Our social lives, our finances, and every blog post (gulp) could live on forever. We keep our heads in our phones without simply hanging out.

For those of us who didn’t grow up online, we got the best of both worlds – childhood with imagination and adulthood with Facebook – but for those who grew up with everything on their phone, maybe it wasn’t so good for them?

Social media is clearly a part of the problem. But I too went through periods of depression and loneliness at a young age, so it’s not hard to imagine feeling down. It’s no easy slog to have to be independent for the first time, not to mention learning how to function in this increasingly educated, automated world. I mean, just learning internet banking is a feat unto itself.

I’m struggling to come up with a coherent thesis because there isn’t one easy answer. In truth, it could be a multitude of factors made worse by technology.

One thing is for sure, the Baby Boomers are doing just fine. As per usual, they are milking life for all it’s worth. Just waiting, with anticipation, to begin the best years of their lives: their 80s.

 

 

Only conversation worse than dreaded sex talk

 

Back when magazines were still a thing, I used to read Maclean’s regularly. There was one section at the back I would not miss, appropriately called The End.

This was, in essence, a souped-up obituary about someone who had a somewhat interesting life story. I say “somewhat” because it was less about their life than about... how can I say this delicately? ...how they passed. Some were about notable people, but most were about regular folks who happened to have an interesting end. Hence, the title.

The piece made it clear on how the person died, and always in the last paragraph. That’s what kept you reading. In this way, it was different than an obituary, where you may have to parse through each sentence to figure out how exactly the person passed – and yes, I want to know! There was no ambiguity in this write up. It kept you reading until the very end, at which time you would inevitably think to yourself: “Wow, so sad... and yet so ironic.”

The means of death always carried some form of irony that fit nicely with the person’s life story. To this day, twenty years later, I still remember some of the write-ups. They went something like this:

“Ted was a selfless soul. When he was 35, coming home from church, he heard screams from a nearby house that was on fire. Without hesitation, he rushed in to save a woman and her children from the hungry flames. He became a home-town hero. [Skip to last paragraph.] Ted was asleep when the fire broke out in his home. He died from smoke inhalation.”

I’m obviously skipping over all the good parts of the life story that were far more descriptive, but like I said, it was really all about the end. Here’s another memorable one: 

“Margaret enjoyed spending time in the woods since she was a young child. Nature was an integral part of her life. She lived off the land, feeding her family with what she could grow and gather in the forest near her home in rural Ontario. [Skip to last paragraph.] One afternoon she misidentified some wild mushrooms that she boiled and ate for dinner. She died in the hospital six hours later.”

I couldn’t help but wonder why friends and family would ever submit these stories. I’m sure they felt honoured that their loved one was featured in a prominent Canadian magazine. But did they ever realize their story was chosen not because of their loved one’s life, but because of how they died?

Here’s another one (because I know you want it): “Dave lived for running. All his life, he made fitness his number one priority. Whenever not at work, he would train for marathons all over the world. [Skip to last paragraph.] One morning in June, as Dave prepared for a short jog, he fell face-down on the pavement. An autopsy revealed that all his internal organs had failed him.” (I may have embellished this one.)

I confess, I've got a morbid fascination with how people die. I’ve heard it’s not uncommon. Some read obituaries for fun. Others ponder the afterlife. Our fascination with death comes because it is so final. Perhaps at middle age, I think of it more, but rarely do I openly talk about it. The conversation never seems to go anywhere. It may start with, "Honey, when I die–" but it inevitably, abruptly ends with my wife saying, "You're not going to die." And then we watch Survivor.

Talking about death can be as difficult as talking about the birds and the bees to your children. We put it off for as long as possible. Perhaps because our lives are so long. Unlike in the Middle Ages, when the dead were piling up in the streets (based on a reliable Monty Python film), you can now go years without having to attend a funeral. What an incredible achievement of modern healthcare and sanitation! Our present day is nothing at all like the misery humans have had to endure throughout history.

It can at times make us feel invincible, of which we of course are not.

The end is always near.

 

What, too dark? Ah, go watch Survivor!