If Karma is a bitch, she has one heck of a slap waiting for Gwyneth Paltrow. Next in line are the Fembots marching catatonically to her pop-up goop circus (June 7 – September 22, 2019 ) at the Hazelton Hotel in downtown Toronto. Who am I kidding, goopsters can’t march, they have jade eggs clenched in their vaginas to regulate menstrual cycles and harness the power of energy, stickers made of the same carbon NASA uses in spacesuits, plastered on their bodies to promote healing. (Never mind that NASA doesn’t use carbon in spacesuits, and that’s the least offensive contradiction ).
Health Canada inspectors wary of Paltrow’s goop dupe were no match for the queen of lifestyle sorcery. Despite their unannounced inspection, two sunscreen products not approved for sale in Canada were all they could deny drooling wellness devotees. Fear not goopbots, unapproved goop is available online and there’s nothing Health Canada can do to stop it.
Gwyneth is a quack who believes a bee sting heals scars. Her lifestyle brand is snake oil. Muster some self respect people! Goop is a dupe!
Taylor Swift has a secret power, the ability to fill a dance floor with wedding guests. Obscure as it may be, that’s no small feat. Her 2014 hit “Shake It Off” joins Billie Jean by Michael Jackson, Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars and Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline in the wedding DJ hall of fame. Don’t argue with me, I speak from experience – it’s a fact.
Today Taylor Swift released her song “Me”, I doubt she realizes how it will impact the wedding world. Mark my words – within a few weeks “Me” will serenade newlyweds on their entrance to ballroom head tables, solidify itself as first dance tune of choice, fill dance floors and elicit boisterous drunken sing-a-longs.
Kudos Taylor, weddings thank you for injecting fresh air into the DJ hall of fame.
Meet anti-vaxxer extraordinaire Brittney Kara. According to her Amazon bio, Brittney is a master NLP practitioner (Neuro Linguistic Programming) hypnotherapist, nutrition coach, author and mother. https://www.amazon.com/Brittney-Kara/e/B00EJS3FEM
Anti-vaxxer jibber-jabber has Brittney to thank for a naturopathic epiphany of Biblical proportion – Vaccines are bad because God never mentioned them in the Bible. Seems Brittney decided to Google vaccines in the Bible, when no reference was found she went public. Watch a short video from https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNxt-Npm5rNEJ4ySRsilF1A
Phonebots clog city streets. Tenacious, impenetrable and defiant, they march catatonic to the glow of their hand held device. They invade crosswalks with self absorbed surety of army ants, oblivious to crossing signals, traffic flow or common decency.
Wanting to scream “what’s wrong with you!” never goes well when driving a company vehicle. Self centred numskulls always take offence. Sometimes they snap a photo of our company logo/phone number, calling to express outrage over the employee who almost ran them down. Propriety dictates polite restraint. I take a deep breath, waiting patiently for phonebots to cross the street. Every so often my inner prankster honks the horn, if I’m lucky a phonebot jumps and scurries. One time a phonebot dropped their device, I laughed out loud.
Do phonebots know how infuriating they are? Believe it their right to cross intersections with flashing “Don’t Walk” signals? Create gridlock by stepping off the curb seconds before a light changes preventing vehicles from making turns, then dawdle along with kaleidoscope eyes fixated on their cell phone? Do the self absorbed little darlings care? Absolutely not! So I sit, and I wait, and every so often I shake them up with a strategically dispatched blast of the horn. It’s hysterical, phonebots hate it when you interrupt social media dribble in the middle of an intersection at rush hour.
For the past eight years the last holiday party of the year falls a few days before Christmas with the same corporate client. We deck the halls for eighty employees at head office of this grocery/drug store chain with anticipation of their appreciation and our eminent release from party season. We provide prime rib, baked ham, turkey dinner with all the fixings. They provide a truck load of cheese/meat deli platters, dozens of sushi platters, 30 boxes of mandarin oranges, a plethora of cakes, desserts and non-alcoholic beverages. The understanding being we deliver leftover bounty to a homeless mission or soup kitchen.
So far so good, head office employees eat themselves into blissful comas, we start packing everything for the mission. Without fail a handful of vultures start to circle. Well mannered scroungers receive polite reminders leftovers are destined for charitable donation, sneaky scavengers are shamed when we point them out to corporate management. Professional temperance prevents me from shouting “What’s wrong with you! ” Truly a mind boggling spectacle to witness human nature at its worst, glutinous employees gorging on free lunch then plotting to deny the homeless.
This afternoon oblivious ignorance reached a new low. Female employee enters room, doesn’t make eye contact or say a word, starts rummaging through stacks of platters set aside for the mission. “Can I help you?” She turns to face me holding a large platter of sushi, uttering “I have a party tonight, going to take this with me”. I doubt she’ll ever know what happened next solidified her place in my ledger of shame, that her shallow insensitivity spawned Quote Of The Day ponders.
“All leftovers are going to Union Gospel Mission” I said.
“Homeless people don’t eat sushi” she replied, and marched out of the room.
On the cusp of silly season is lost on those without an inkling of what my job entails. The magnitude of Christmas party season poised to ignite defies explanation. I could say I’ll be busy, I’m always busy, busy isn’t silly. Silly is working 18 days straight, working 80 hours a week, getting home at 4 am, showering and heading back to work. Silly is loading and unloading 3 cargo vans in the middle of night, silly is brewing hot chocolate at 2:30 am, loading 7,000 pastries out at 6:30 am and serving canapes to 2,400 guests at the ballet. Silly is how many pounds of turkey and bottles of wine we’ll transport in the next three weeks.
Those of us crazy enough to embrace my profession live for silly season. Surviving Christmas party season is a badge of honour, we live for silly season. The more extreme, physically challenging, convoluted, impossible timelines or elaborate execution, the better. Bring it on! It’s silly season and I’m stoked. See you in a few weeks.