A dollop of daisy

Jay Gatsby is not in love with a woman. He's in love with his image of himself, and comes to invest Daisy with all his ambition and delusions of what 'being an aristocrat' might mean. She is the key, and he loves her for all his projected need. Daisy as a person does not exist. She is a prize. Did Fitzgerald give thought to what the decision might mean to a woman, to divorce, to cause a scandal, to leave 'old money' for 'new money'? Did he talk to any women about this? Judging from his female characters, I'm not sure he knew any real women who would talk to him.

The take away message for me from Great Gatsby is that class matters, and we ought not to aspire to a higher station. Did he intend that? If he didn't, why did he kill off the two 'social climbing' characters, and allow the 'careless' upper echelon to continue their worthless lives? Sure, Carraway declares judgement as our everyman narrator. But no punishment accrues.

Is that the point? Is it an indictment of a society that rewards aristocrats?

PS - Kudos to Carey Mulligan on infusing some life into a character that is only a shell of reflected man-need.

PPS - This felt like the first 3d movie that was based on a future idea of TV/movies. Where the 3d wasn't the point, it was just icing.

Metro Transit Driver Inspires Moral Outrage.

This has nothing to do with seals, if anyone remembers that, nor with heinous behaviour to autistic children and minorities.

A bus driver in Halifax handed a regular passenger, apparently with whom she had a good relationship, a business card a few days ago. It said, "If you appreciate my driving, compliment me (name & block number) by calling (phone # for Metro Transit). I receive an extra hour of pay for every compliment received."

Before I remark further, take a moment to think about the last time you called a company -- CALLED, not emailed -- to compliment someone for service. Most of us can think of times we've called or emailed or tweeted or blogged to complain (I'm all about the whinging). But how often do we say to a friend, coworker or partner, "wow, that waiter / cashier / manager / bus driver is awesome. Every time I have an encounter with them, they're so helpful, they know me, they get my order right, they stop the bus to let me on, they make me feel special." That happens often. And sometimes we even think, I am going to tell their boss how good they are.

But we don't.

Life intervenes. Things distract us. We can't find the number. We don't know who to call. So when an enterprising bus driver, to get back to the opening anecdote, who likely had often received compliments to her face, realized that some of her regulars might need a bit of assistance to close the loop, and may not realize what a difference that compliment could make, she took matters to heart and prepared a prompt card. Brilliant. Entrepreneurial.

And the passenger who received it... reacted with moral outrage. "I was going to call and compliment her (really?) but when she gave me that card, I thought -- wait a minute." OH, if you're going to ask for it, if you're only interested in the filthy lucre and not merely my momentary undying gratitude, I want nothing to do with this! How dare that bus driver do that! Hmph!

High dudgeon in an age when media gives it a forum gives me breakfast indigestion. Get over yourself, lady. If the bus driver did a good job, gratefully accept the prompt, and call -- or don't. No skin off your nose. How are you damaged in this? Official complaint?? Seriously??

Many companies-- MANY companies -- base a variable pay or performance incentive on the results of satisfaction surveys. Have you noticed how many of those you get now? Have you noticed how many cashiers and mechanics and others have told you to fill out the survey because you could win $1000 in groceries or what have you? That is the same damn thing. They just aren't adding, 'and if you mention me, I will be rewarded.'

H8rs gonna h8. If you feel compelled to compliment someone, do it. Don't be offended if they take that compliment to the bank.

The Great Bell Centre Canadiens Lighter Hunt Fiasco

Last weekend, I was in Montreal for a two day whirlwind visit centred around a Nick Cave show at Metropolis.

Nick Cave was phenomenal, by the way, thanks for asking -- but this post is about our approximately 20 minute headache inducing visit to the Bell Centre.

The Bell Centre occupies a central downtown spot. It is the home of the Montreal Canadiens, of whom Montrealers are inordinately and justifiable fiere. (insert your own accents, I can't find them quickly).

The Centre itself is not a beautiful building. It's pretty bland, with "Bell Centre" in extruded letters high up on the front and a full side of building-height photo of a Canadien player--probably a famous one. I dunno. I didn't see any flashing digital screen or promotional signage to promote upcoming events. Pretty bland.

So the Centre carries two brands: Bell and the Canadiens. Bell, rightly, defers most of its branding to favour the Canadiens.

What I want to know is, whose brand values include "ignoring the customer", "arguing with the customer", "allowing the scalpers to be the first point of contact", "difficult to access", and "frustrating".

We had a mission. Neither the fella nor I are super duper sports fans, but we have a good friend who is, and he made us a request that we go to the Bell Centre and buy him a Canadiens lighter. Simple enough. Sure, it probably would cost more there than is reasonable, but hey, he's a good friend.

Approaching the Centre, we were accosted by four scalpers. "TICKETS? TICKETS?? TICKETS??" We demurred. The front of the building we were approaching had lots of words and arrows pointing to the box office. Presumably somewhere there was a door these led to, but I never did see it. There was a door to a restaurant. But there didn't seem to be any sign of a gift shop or merchandise store. Okay.

We went down one side, towards the Hall of Fame. Found that (cleverly tucked away near the back, facing a parking lot and some construction). Went in and found a wee kiosk type gift shop. It didn't seem to have any lighters, but we didn't get to ask because the two staff were busily engaged in arguing with a customer who had missed the building tour. He claimed he had been there and no one had called the tour. They said there were 40 people, and gave him that 'you're a lying scammer, but I'm too polite to say so' look. Clearly, someone's watch was off, but in my customer service experience, the only right thing to do would be to give him another tour or his money back. No goods had been consumed, no cost to the company, and let's face it, tours are about building goodwill. ...? Bad brand experience. We slunk away.

Because we had seen people swirling around with Canadiens bags we knew there was somewhere with a fair amount of merchandise. (I tried to ask someone where they had bought the stuff, and the man pulled away, aghast, as if I were a virus-carrying homeless beggar trying to give him the leprosy. "NO ANGLIS. NO ANGLIS." Yeesh, okay.)

We tried the other side of the building. We found where we could purchase penthouse condos! (Yes, frickin really. Ugh). But no easy to spot merch store. Hint, Canadiens: Maybe you could help tourists find stuff and sell more if you had a big "Canadiens Magasin" sign somewhere obvious.

We were harangued by more scalpers. We finally gave up in disgust. We bought lighters at a tourist shop in Vieux Montreal and it was a delightful experience.

The whole thing reminded me of my experience as a Bell customer -- 'customer service on our terms, you just show up with your money and shut up.' Some maybe the Canadiens brand isn't prominent after all.

William Gibson infiltrated my bath.

Secrets, says Hubertus Bigend, are the root of cool.

This is in Spook Country, William Gibson's 2007 novel. Bigend also refers to a time "preubiquitous mass media." Considering that characterization, it's true. In our socially connected, phone-laden, wireless world, secrets may have acquired the scarcity and darkness required to define 'cool'.

Now, secrets are a commodity. Post Secrets. Wikileaks. Subtweeting. Everything out there. Rate my professor. Look at my porn. Hear my angst. Emulate my government.

To hide secrets now, we're back to radio operator techniques. Illusionists. Look over there. Now here. Listen to the static, to the steady roll of open-transparent-tell-all-datastream. Somewhere, inside a microscopic cell heart, is a kernel of a secret. It's lost in the river of all-ness.

In Agatha Christie novels, astute readers learned to look for the negative space, for the edges that didn't fit because they were fuzzy or glossed over. The absence of information often revealed the direction of truth.

Sometimes that works now too.

Who wants to keep secrets? Openness is our greatest value in the internet world. It's what the libertarians fear, it's why they clutch their guns tighter. Learning, understanding spreads... does democracy too? Or just insatiably conquer lust fuelled by a new ability to manipulate more at once?

Gibson thoughts from a hot bath.