Skip to main content

slow company

it seems like once again, quebecers and maritimers have it right.

after all, and i admit that i'm indulging in a little hypocrisy here, what on earth is the benefit to killing yourself week in, week out slaving all your life away at a job? for most of us, myself included, we could drop dead and no one we work with would notice anything except that there was an office available. hell, in the maritimes, you're likely to have a job swept out from under you at a moment's notice, with no extra compensation, so you'd better cultivate either strong outside-of-work relationships or a serious drinking habit if you're going to pull through.

i'm amused to know that 44 hours is considered a "very long" work week, since it's been several years since i've worked less than that on an average week, but i like to think that i've improved since the times when working 44 hours would have been something i considered a vacation week. my point in mentioning that is that i know what of i speak. for all the time that i've invested in any job, no matter how much or how little, i've basically gotten the same thing out of it: a pay cheque (or a direct deposit, but, you know, same difference). i've picked up some skills, but i've discovered that the amount that i learn is inexplicably inversely proportional to the number of hours that i'm putting in. perhaps it's because you tend to learn things when you're new, when there's nothing to keep you in the office for long hours.

fact is, we'd all be better off putting more time and effort into family, friends, intellectual and creative pursuits. the proof of that is that quebecers are the most satisfied with their current work-life balance. only the people who are already working longer hours harbour the jejeune belief that they would be happier if they were able to work and earn more. it doesn't work like that.

that's not to say, of course, that money can't by some remarkable substitutes for happiness and we all need a certain amount to keep us happy, but the people i know who work the longest hours are generally among the most miserable and depressed. all the money in the world doesn't buy back the experiences you miss by shutting yourself off from the world at a job.

so if you're reading this from quebec or the maritimes, sit back and crack open a beer. feel superior. if you're reading this from central or western canada (or from the usa), you'd better close your browser, because we all know you're still at work and big brother is probably monitoring your internet usage.

Comments

as long as you're here, why not read more?

wrong turn

as some of you are aware, i have a long-term project building a family tree. this has led me to some really interesting discoveries, like the fact that i am partly descended from crazy cat people, including the patron saint of crazy cat ladies, that a progenitor of mine once defeated a french naval assault with an army of scarecrows, that my well-established scottish roots are just as much norwegian as scottish, and that a relative of mine from the early middle ages let one rip with such ferocity that that's basically all he's remembered for. but this week, while i was in the midst of adding some newly obtained information, i found that some of my previous research had gone in an unexpected direction: the wrong one.

where possible, i try to track down stories of my better-known relatives and in doing so this week, i realised that i couldn't connect one of my greatĖ£ grandfathers to his son through any outside sources. what's worse that i found numerous sources that con…

dj kali & mr. dna @ casa del popolo post-punk night

last night was a blast! a big thank you to dj tyg for letting us guest star on her monthly night, because we had a great time. my set was a little more reminiscent of the sets that i used to do at katacombes [i.e., less prone to strange meanderings than what you normally hear at the caustic lounge]. i actually invited someone to the night with the promise "don't worry, it'll be normal". which also gives you an idea of what to expect at the caustic lounge. behold my marketing genius.

mr. dna started off putting the "punk" into the night [which i think technically means i was responsible for the post, which doesn't sound quite so exciting]. i'd say that he definitely had the edge in the bouncy energy department.

many thanks to those who stopped in throughout the night to share in the tunes, the booze and the remarkably tasty nachos and a special thank you to the ska boss who stuck it out until the end of the night and gave our weary bones a ride home…

eat the cup 2018, part seven :: oh, lionheart

it all seemed so magical: england's fresh-faced youngsters marching all the way through to a semi-final for the first time since 1990. everywhere, the delirious chants of "it's coming home". and then, deep into added time, the sad realization: it's not coming home. oh england, my lionheart.

now, if we're being really strict about things, my scottish ancestors would probably disown me for supporting England, because those are the bastards who drove them off their land and sent them packing to this country that's too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. and indeed, shops in scotland have sold through their entire stock of croatian jerseys, as the natives rallied behind england's opponents in the semi-final. however, a few generations before they were starved and hounded from the lands they'd occupied for centuries, my particular brand of scottish ancestors would have encouraged me to support england [assuming that national football had even…