An Elegy For Music

For people like me, it is a very exciting time.  I collect music.  I don’t just play it, I study it.  I take the album art out, unfold it and read every last credit in every album I purchase.  I’m not sure which is more startling, the fact that I read the credits, or that I actually still purchase music.  And I don’t mean from iTunes.  No, I still like to hold the real thing in my hands.  I like to look at a CD from all angles; I turn it sideways to look spine-on, arrange the disc so it sits straight in the jewel tray, and arrange it with other albums from the same artist on my shelf.  I dig out my laptop and actually research the artist and album, usually following through with other titles by the same artist.  By the time I’m done, I could tell you what the singles were, who produced it, what year it was released, and what critics thought about it.  That’s a far cry from just having the radio on in the background.  I am, and have always been, an active participant in my music listening experiences.  Perhaps I am slightly neurotic.

The fact is, I’m a hobbyist.  If you were to examine it in that context, it doesn’t sound quite so fanatical.  Hobbyists devote themselves to something wholly.  They learn all they can about it, invest their leisure time in it, and spend their money on it when it is feasible to do so.  It becomes obsession when you do it at the expense of relationships or necessities like food or lodging.  If the day ever comes when I have to choose any hobby of mine over paying the power bill, I know my hobby spending has to stop.  But until then, I’m quite content with my most coveted pastime.

Why is it so exciting for music collectors these days?  Surely these must be the worst of times.  Fewer record stores exist.  Fewer quality albums, it seems, are available for us to ingest.  Everything is more expensive today, and the cost of living is sky-high.  It must be awful for people like me to practice our search for new titles.  As it turns out, it’s actually a great time to purchase new music.  With the arrival of the mp3 format, people are uploading their favourite music to their computers or portable devices, then pawning off the CDs and records.  No one pawns cassettes anymore.  They sound awful, and it is almost impossible to find a decent cassette deck anywhere.  What has happened is that a glut of discarded CDs is beginning to clog up the shelves of thrift stores.  Digital World in Fredericton, on any given day, has dozens of milk crates full of discs just piled haphazardly around the aisles, and that’s aside from the CDs they have actually catalogued and organized on the shelves.  I have literally spent hours sitting between the aisles pouring through these crates looking for rare or unusual finds, or even just to find that elusive title I need for my collection. 

What I like about Digital World is that they don’t put stickers on the jewel cases.  The rule of thumb if you shop there is that if the disc is actually in the case, it’s $3.49, and all at that price qualify for the perpetual 4 for $10 sale.  The rest are usually around $8, which is still reasonable for a good album.  I believe that in 2013, it is unnecessary to pay more than $12 for a new album.  I bought a CD player a few months ago for $27.  If the machine you play them on costs as much as the album, the album is way over-priced, unless it is a boxed-set or some other commemorative release.  The disadvantage of Digital World is that most of their inventory is disorganized, so you have to invest your time (not to mention get the backside of your pants a little dusty) if you’re going to find any hidden treasures.

I enjoy shopping at Spin-It in Moncton, when I’m passing through and there’s time to sift through their immense selection of both CDs and vinyl.  I rarely purchase records there, because I find them a bit expensive, but there is also a perpetual sale there for CDs.  They have a ‘buy two, get the third free’ policy, and while their CDs are between $8 and $10, it’s worth it if you find some hard-to-find titles.  I find their selection turns over quickly, and they have a wider palate than Digital World, generally.  It also helps that they sell toys there, which is my second-favourite hobby.  If I come across both music and toy finds, it can be an expensive day.  Usually, I try to keep my purchases responsible though.  I try to cap a CD purchase at $20.  I also only make it to Moncton about five or six times a year, and even then I don’t always make it out shopping.  It’s a good thing.

By far my most frequented location for second hand goodness is Value Village.  It is addictive, and I am most likely hooked on shopping there, not just for music, but for just about everything.  How great is it that people willingly give away their things, fatigued from generations of yard or garage sales, toiling for only pennies.  Yard sale-ing is a cold business.  People who would have no trouble paying forty or fifty dollars for a gourmet meal won’t pay more than a quarter for anything in a yard sale.  And they’ll be rude about it.  I remember we once held a yard sale, spending hours labeling and laboring over the price of our soon-to-be-departed treasures, only to have a parade of complete strangers turn their noses up at our wares.  “Hmmph!  They actually want a dollar for that?  It’s only worth fifty cents…”  We made just over $30 at one yard sale.  That’s when I realized it wasn’t worth the bother.  No one is snobby to me when I donate a box of clothes or unused Christmas ornaments at Value Village.  I know, they’re a business that profits off a charitable venture, but if I learned anything from running my own yard sales, these folks deserve to earn a living if they’re willing to sift through the junk.  It’s kind of like people who pick up beer cans on the road.  They’re making the roadside beautiful, earning a little money, and most importantly, not sitting around waiting for hand-outs.

The downsides to Value Village are many, not least of which are the stickers.  They insist on placing these big, ugly stickers on CDs and tapes which are notoriously difficult to peel off.  Whenever a space shuttle falls apart upon re-entry, I often think of writing to NASA to suggest they hold future space-bound craft together with Value Village stickers.  They’ll last forever that way.  And they apply them right on the spine.  I refuse to have these grotesque labels visible on my CD shelf, so I painstakingly rub them, digging with my nails and polishing with spit until no residue from the offending sticker remains.  It’s really annoying if you buy ten or more at a time.  At only $2 each, it is entirely possible, and has happened to me more than once.  I remember years ago spending more than $20 on a single album.  If VV can sell them that cheap, and given that no pawn shop will give me more than a buck or two if I try to sell to them, it seems to me that it’s indefensible for a new album to retail for more than $10.  I’ll accept $12, but would prefer a toonie.

There is no real value in my collection, other than my own personal satisfaction, and that I like to think of my music library much like an actual book library.  There are several key differences:

Ø  I own far fewer books than CDs, but I can honestly say I’ve played every single CD front-to-back at least once.  Some I like more than others, but I can generally say I like most of my albums.  I have many books I’ve never even read.  Indeed, in most libraries, people have multiple titles they haven’t nor will ever read.  But the books look great on the shelf, and that does matter.

Ø  Music is a medium I can enjoy while doing other things, like driving, house cleaning, grading papers, or working on my other hobbies.  Books are pretty hard to read while driving.  And books on CD, while a great idea, aren’t as great if the person reading isn’t very convincing.  Reading for audio-books is a very difficult job.

Ø  CDs are smaller than most books, and easier to arrange.  They are usually the same size.  Books come in all shapes and sizes, and aesthetically arranging books can be a chore, especially if you have multiple titles from the same author, and you want to keep them near each other, yet the sizes are completely different.  No library should look like hell.

Ø  For now, I can still play my CDs pretty much anywhere.  I know that time is running out, though.  I’ve heard that newer models of cars are starting to be made without a CD player in the dash.

The fact is, music doesn’t fill the same spot for people like it used to.  Some might say that music hasn’t changed at all, and that it’s just the generations that change.  While I can’t for the life of me understand why artists like Kanye West and Miley Cyrus are actually popular, I am fully able to understand that in my late-thirties, there are pop acts I will never understand, simply because it’s a generational thing.  I’m okay with that.  For as much as there is on the market I don’t like, there are all kinds of current music I really love.  In terms of why we listen to music, there has been a huge shift.

Back in the old days (the ‘80s), we had no internet to depend upon.  You discovered new music in the following ways:

Ø  Music television:  Much Music or MTV, for those lucky enough to have cable or satellite, was your daily fix for music.  Today, these channels don’t focus as much on music programming as they do reality TV and movies.  Reality killed the video star.

Ø  Radio:  It was still a staple in the ‘80s to listen to the radio, either in the morning, on the bus, or in your room.  I used to tape songs off the radio.  God, they sounded horrible, but sometimes it was the best you could do.

Ø  Trading:  One of the reasons why I believe file-sharing shouldn’t be illegal is because we’ve been trading music as long as they’ve been making blank tapes.  If the music industry was that concerned, they should have banned blank cassettes from the very beginning.  Compiling mix-tapes and swapping with friends built up a network of underground tape-traders, not to mention fan-bases.  Sometimes people traded through the mail, spanning thousands of miles.  No one appreciates the time and effort it took to make a proper mix-tape.  The modern playlist or mix-disc just isn’t the same thing.  The advent of the ‘skip’ function, introduced with CDs, was the beginning of the end for mix-tapes.

Ø  Record clubs:  Whether it was Columbia House, BMG, or other mail services, the poor high-school kid could acquire lots of new music for minimal cost.  You had to wait four to six weeks for them to arrive, of course, and the titles were at best six months old when the clubs picked them up.  I used to ‘chain’ memberships, joining under my own name, then enlisting my poor grandparents next door, so I would receive the four free tapes as incentives for enlisting new members.  I’d then cancel my own account, only to chain off my grandparents’ account back to my own name, and so on.  The record clubs were a hassle, but there remains no greater satisfaction than receiving an anticipated order of music through the mail.  The closest I get to that now is Amazon, but the clubs were cheaper.  With albums so cheap, you could take a chance on a new selection with less risk.

Today, we access our music differently.  Artists post their music on social platforms.  YouTube and Vevo allow you to see videos on demand, as long as the record company hasn’t pulled them, and you want to endure the increasing amount of advertisements.  Prime time dramas have become a showcase for up and coming talent, the same way college radio used to be in the ‘80s and ‘90s.  Otherwise, the radio has become a background drone of a dozen or so songs prepared to be your next favourite tracks, whether you realize it or not.  That and inane DJ banter, which is usually based around celebrity gossip.  No one watches videos anymore.  Maybe the medium is tired, or just uninspired. 

More likely, it’s because labels won’t spend the money on videos like they used to.  The fact is, music just doesn’t sell like it used to.  Sure, people are buying songs digitally, but the return from album sales versus single tracks just can’t compare.  According to Billboard magazine, album sales drop on average by about 10% every year from the previous year.  Twenty years ago, albums were entering the album charts in the top five with sales in the five to six hundred thousand in units sold.  Very few sell over a hundred thousand per week in 2013.  There have been albums at the number one position with less than eighty-thousand sold.  To me, that’s shameful, and as an artist, it must be demoralizing to put that much effort into your art to only see a fraction of the traditional audience even care.

I really think that the problem is that music as a hobby just isn’t a priority anymore.  You don’t have to put any effort into finding music; by the time I finish typing this paragraph, I could have two or three new albums downloaded, and at no cost.  When it was more difficult to acquire, it was more appreciated.  If you pay twenty bucks for a cassette, damn sure you’ll play it a lot.  I have no emotional attachment to a bunch of data files on my computer.  If the memory got wiped, I’d just download them again, and it would be only a minor inconvenience.  Someone stole a case of my cassettes in university, and while I’ve long since replaced them, I’m still hurt by the initial loss.  And all those mix-tapes I spent hours putting together?  I still actually play most of them.  If I took the exact track list from my favourite mix-tape and had it burned onto a CD, it just wouldn’t be the same.

While an entire generation of changing music listeners shed the remnants of their old collections in favour of their mp3 players, people like me are there to gather the shards.  I imagine a year in the not too distant future where my collection of CDs, tapes, records, and even 8-track cartridges will be less a library and more a museum.  It will stand as testament not to the artists contained within the various media, but to the fans, young and old, with their records spread out on the bedroom floor while they sang along with their heroes; waiting by the mailbox for the brown mailer with the Columbia House logo; hanging on every breath from their favourite VJ, whether it was Erica Ehm or Martha Quinn.  Music hobbying has receded, gone underground, regressed to the point of near obscurity.  That’s where I come in; I figure there is roughly a five to ten year window where second hand CDs will be readily available.  Beyond that, they’ll have been mostly sold or thrown away.  Until then, if you want to unload any of those physical copies gathering dust, feel free to drop me a line.  They will have a good home here.

Run For The Ribbons

"More than 40 years after the war on cancer was declared, we have spent billions fighting the good fight. The National Cancer Institute has spent some $90 billion on research and treatment during that time. Some 260 nonprofit organizations in the United States have dedicated themselves to cancer — more than the number established for heart disease, AIDS, Alzheimer’s disease, and stroke combined. Together, these 260 organizations have budgets that top $2.2 billion."

Dr. Margaret Cuomo,  A World Without Cancer.

One of the stipulations I place on my blog writing is that, to keep the spirit of the Fence, I write strictly for opinion, rarely straying into deep research.  Of course, to have an opinion, it is important to know something about what you’re discussing, but I have tried to keep my little essays as observations, as though I were just standing on the street corner watching life happen.  I am not a doctor.  I have very little knowledge of how cancer is caused, spreads, and claims its victims.  I know about as much about how fundraising works; like most people, I have taken part in it, but have no real idea where the money I collected is allocated.  Like everyone, I have lost loved ones to cancer, and surely will again.  Morbid as it may seem, I expect cancer will be my final adversary in this life, eventually.

I saw a link on my Facebook page to a video from a fellow who claims he is a cancer survivor, denouncing well-known, prolific cancer charities, most notably ‘Run For The Cure’.  His name is Chris Wark, and the article is called “Why I Don’t Run For The Cure”.  That was a very gutsy claim to make on a public forum.  To say something like that, you had better have your research well-articulated, because there are few subjects that strike close to the heart like cancer.  It helps that he is a cancer survivor.  Otherwise, it would be like me trying to write about life on the street in New York.  There would be zero authenticity.

Without delving into his personal history, I have had to take his word that his personal story is accurate.  At no time in history has integrity ever been so dubious.  Anyone can write anything, and with little regard for factuality, it can be approved as truth.  Especially if it is attached to a high emotional response.  Facebook constantly sends around shocking stories, most of which are proven to be false.  ‘Snopes’ is a great website for debunking urban myths, but even there, you have to wonder if someone is just making up the answers.  Where can an honest fellow go for truth these days?

Mr. Wark’s argument is not against supporting cancer research.  The title of his video leaves you to think that, without actually watching it of course, he doesn’t care about cancer.  This is a tactic that is as old as journalism.  Leave the title a little vague, and you immediately snare the reader based on emotional response.  Huffington Post takes this to the extreme, often posting articles that veer far from the tag-line.  It doesn’t mean the articles themselves are poor, but like all advertising, it’s meant to draw you to the flame before it singes your eyebrows.

In this short clip, he suggests that cancer research funding has amounted to virtually no progress in the fight against cancer.  It still happens, and with the exception of some cancers like leukemia, it is still a guaranteed killer eventually.  With tens of billions, if not more, pouring from the pockets of millions of well-intentioned people worldwide, how is it that cancer is no closer to being a memory than it was when Terry Fox first took up the mantle as the world’s most famous advocate for cancer research?  How would he feel today if he were to peek in on all the work being done in his name?  Would he be pleased to see the human spirit working for the greater good, regardless of the outcome?  Or would he be dismayed at how many people make a living off false hope?

At the end of his video, there are some suggested websites which he has endorsed as being honest.  That’s a pretty strong indictment of all the rest, so it’s best to take a moment to explain why some charities are better than others.  Any organization that is so visible that it employs a huge staff, has a massive corporate identity, and that has its tendrils in every corner of civilization should immediately be suspect.  This  principle goes beyond cancer research.  If that organization can’t provide transparency as to how it allocates its funds, it is not a charity, but a business.  The company that makes Q-Ray bracelets tells you that if you wear their product, you’ll feel better.  You pay them, you get a bracelet, and you may or may not feel better.  If you do, you feel happier, and your money was well-spent.  If you don’t, you got suckered by a false product by a greedy business.  Q-Ray can’t prove their product works.  Sadly, I’m cynical enough to believe this applies to most drugs we’re given.

Let’s look at the sheer cost of research.  All research is costly.  It is like training Olympic athletes; if you want them to have a fighting chance, they have to train professionally, so you need to fund their workout facilities, cost of living, and compensate them for lost wages.  Scientists’ integrity isn’t the issue here.  They are highly trained, and because they are experts, know everything they need to know in their field of study.  If we want them to dedicate their lives to finding cures for diseases, they also have to be funded like our athlete friends above.  Billions seems a bit excessive, though.  How many scientists are employed for this purpose?  Who employs them?  If a scientist from the United States and a scientist from Iran are working on the exact same thing, are they sharing their data?  You already know the answer to that one.  In fact, are they sharing among themselves domestically?  There’s only one Nobel Prize for medicine.

I’d like to think that my dollars are being spent on the real thing.  My five dollar contribution last week may as well have been spent printing banners for a relay, or to fund the visit of a guest speaker.  Did the speaker stay in a fancy hotel on my dime?  Does the government reimburse organizations for things like this?  If so, have I inadvertently donated more than once, just for paying my taxes?  I don’t have the answers for these musings, but I think it’s important to think about it before we give someone freely our hard-earned money.  I have some suggestions as to how you can spend your money, and guarantee a more certain outcome:

Ø  Quit smoking.  The doctor at the start of this blog post stated in her book that lung cancer, while no closer to being cured, can be reduced by 85% simply by eliminating tobacco smoke intake.  Not only will you be less likely to get lung cancer, you’ll be less of a drag (pun intended) on the health-care system.

Ø  Quite eating junk food.  While eating healthy is a money racket itself, relying on deep-fried foods, or those crammed with preservatives and are high in sodium are proven to be linked to higher rates of cancer.  While I’m not convinced sodium is as evil as they claim it to be, you can do yourself a favour, and everyone else, by eating better.

Ø  Support your local children’s hospital.  Here in the Maritimes, we have the IWK in Halifax.  There are many ways you can support them.  Make your donation directly; by-pass Wal-Mart or Toys ‘R Us, because they are in it for profit.  The government matches your contribution, and I have seen no evidence that that rebate is funneled back to the charity. 

Ø  Support nursing homes.  Give them resources, such as comfortable chairs, exercise equipment, magazines, books, TVs, radios, and other things that will make someone’s quality of life in those twilight years more comfortable.

Ø  While we’re at it, support hospitals with the same things.  Have good games and toys available for children who have to live with such an awful affliction.  And if you can, get in to volunteer once in a while.  My youngest son loved when the volunteers spent a few hours playing games with him.  It made all the difference in the world, and cost nothing.

Ø  Don’t forget that other, equally series diseases exist.  I know that cancer is maybe the most prevalent, but it is no less of a concern for the person with MS, or lupus, or Parkinson’s, or AIDS, or any other illness for which we don’t have the solution.  I’d like to mention that mental illness may be the most pervasive category of misunderstood medical concerns.  Someone once suggested to me that cancer is a ‘trendy’ disease.  Discuss that statement amongst yourselves, but I’m not touching that one today.

I want to end by making it clear that supporting cancer research is a very noble cause, regardless of how you make your contribution.  People find solace in the support they receive from friends and strangers alike at public events and rallies, and I don’t want to take away from that community spirit you get from big-name events.  Don’t let yourself be duped into thinking that what you do makes a difference, though, or at least the difference you think you are making.  You can wear pink ribbons everyday if you like, but you are not getting any closer to a cure.  You certainly can make a difference, however, by directly helping people who are living with this disease right now.  We are so smug as a species that we think we will actually cheat death.  Eventually, we figure we can cure all illnesses, and that one day we will live forever.  The planet has news for us, I’m afraid.  The Earth may well see us as the cancer, and is fighting back as fervently as we are against it.  I suggest that we re-examine our residency in this world; we should strive to make life for ourselves comfortable and dignified, but we must remind ourselves that our time here is temporary, and that the human spirit is not about extending life indefinitely, but in providing dignity and the very best of humanity for all--cancer and otherwise.  Which carries more value:  the billion-dollar ruse, or the board games you donated to the local hospital?

*

I would like to dedicate this essay to the memory of two people.  First, to my great-aunt Marjorie.  She passed away in the mid-80s after a long, slow, and excruciating battle with cancer.  I was only ten years old, but seeing her in the hospital that last time left a big impression on me.  She was a wonderful lady with a wonderful spirit.  Second, to Tracy Spence.  She was a school-mate, who lost her battle with leukemia in 1989, if memory serves.  All these years later, I remember less and less about her, which sadly is the reality of growing older.  She deserved to grow older.  One of the greatest moments of my high school years was seeing a memorial to her in our yearbook.  Two very different people, felled by the same disease. 

Tea Time?

Here is a mantra by which I would love dearly to live my life:  coffee in the morning, water in the afternoon, and beer in the evening.  It says it all.  Nothing, and I mean nothing starts the day better than that first sip of Java in the morning, before breakfast, before I’m even fully dressed and ready to start my day.  As a rule, I cut coffee off at noon, promptly.  I can’t get to sleep on time if I drink coffee in the afternoon.  I would love to be able to enjoy that glorious roasted goodness twenty-four/seven, but I don’t for two reasons.  The caffeine overload would have done me in years ago.  I actually cut Tim Horton’s out of my life for almost four years due to being seriously addicted to their brand, and was starting to feel my heart rate rise.  It could have been something to do with my job at the time.  It was more likely the coffee.

The other reason is because I associate coffee with my mornings.  I look forward to swinging my heavy heels over the side of the bed almost exclusively because coffee awaits me in my Kuereg without fail every day.  Of course, I like my job; this time of year is especially enjoyable because I have a beautiful, country drive in to my school, and you can’t beat the fall colours.  But honestly, coffee is the motivator to crawl into the shower, clear the cobwebs, and head out to the kitchen.  I even allow myself a second and third cup as the morning progresses—one upon arrival at school before homeroom, and one later in the morning.  After that, I’m fine with water in my bottle.

I have always enjoyed the flavor of fresh, cold water.  Some folks find the flavourlessness of regular water unpalatable.  There is a huge market for those putrid Mio flavor squeeze thingies.  You know the ones, with the silly commercial set to ‘Eye of the Tiger’, the kind that stain your clothes or the floor if you accidentally spill them.  Others enjoy those crystalized powder flavour enhancers.  Others still just buy juice, pop, or those dreadful energy drinks.  There is technically water in all of those, but there is so much more, most of which is not beneficial to our health, but as with most food and drink, taste wins the day.  For me, you can’t beat a tall glass of water for refreshment.  As much as I love coffee, I don’t drink it to quench my thirst.  It’s all about flavor and routine.  I understand completely why coffee and cigarettes go so well together.  They are both consumed for the same reasons.

You can imagine why I can’t drink beer every day.  As much as I love the subtle nuances and characteristics of a good ale, I don’t enjoy binge drinking.  Most of us go through our ‘drinking years’, and I was no exception, but there comes a time for us sooner or later to realize that regardless of all the obvious health risks, drinking is really best appreciated properly, and that means in small amounts to be savoured carefully.  I’ve been labeled a ‘beer snob’ in the past, and it’s probably true.  I scrutinize my selection at the liquor store the same way I would an album, a book, or a movie.  It is rare I would drink for the sake of drinking.  Enjoying a quality beer is an activity that requires care, dilligence, and reflection.  It’s a treat.  It is also a privilege.  If I chose to abuse it, I could lose it, either legally, or I would medically have to stop.  I choose to respect the boundaries so I can enjoy it this way for the rest of my life.

Since I refuse to buy bottled water, due to the environmental issues concerning the plastic it uses, and I’m usually at my coffee quota, and you can’t legally walk around with an open beer in public (which is definitely for the better), one day recently I wondered as I wandered at my local shopping center what, oh what, a fellow like me can drink while hitting my usual haunts.  As it turns out, there is a new tea shop open at our mall, so I decided to stop in for a moment to sample their wares and examine their merchandise.

The young man who greeted me in company apron and company smile was very efficient.  Usually, in up-start shops like this, or established, trendy, artsy cafes, you have young hipsters working behind the counter.  Knit capped, facially pierced, and almost passively content, they are your new best friend if you come in and take interest in their brand.  Maybe they are peddling fair-trade coffee.  Maybe Arcade Fire is playing over the speakers.  Maybe they’re wearing hemp bracelets and purple corduroy pants.  Always, they speak a little softer, their words enunciated a little more carefully.  Was that a pierced tongue I just saw? 

They’ll have exotic sounding drinks like ‘chai tea’, ‘frappucino’, or ‘mocha latte’.  A certain brand that I particularly enjoy doesn’t even call the drinks ‘small’, ‘medium’, or ‘large’, opting for the more pretentious ‘tall’ (for small, for some reason, as though it will impress me), ‘grande’ (pronounced with an “ay”), and the inexplicable ‘venti’ for the largest size.  The young men who work in these shops almost always wear facial hair, while the young ladies will have either dyed hair or dreadlocks.  My greeter approached me confidently, but without encroaching.  Good salespeople know by intuition when a customer is fishing.

He offered me not one, but several samples of their quality tea products.  They had several flavours steeping in cast-iron teapots over tea-lights.  It occurred to me then that ‘tea-lights’ obviously derived their name accordingly.  And all this time I thought you had to steep tea on a stove burner, or on an old-fashioned wood stove.

The teas were all great.  I drink tea very rarely, to tell the truth.  It wouldn’t be prudent for me to judge whether or not the tea really was worth buying or not, because I couldn’t claim the expertise and experience to really say one way or another.  All I could venture was that they were each pleasant to taste.  One was a little bitter, but as a fan of bitter ales, that didn’t bother me at all.  The rest were more fruity, which, if you don’t like traditional coffee or tea, might make it more palatable.  One, my new friend explained to me, was made from dragon fruit and pomegranate, I think.  Being a Maritimer, and raised on Pete’s Frootique segments on Live at Five, I would have figured I’d heard of a dragon fruit before, but no, it’s a new one on me.  I am more familiar with pomegranates, but not so much for the actual fruit itself, rather for the juice you can get in punches and cocktails.  Have you ever cut open a pomegranate?  I actually had to go online the first time I tried one to figure out exactly how to eat it.  They are also really messy.  Stick to the punch.

I decided to order the dragon fruit concoction.  It took about five minutes for them to properly steep it, but like good food, a good beverage worth its while is worth the wait.  I browsed the merchandise while I waited.  Shops like these always have lots of trinkets designed to catch your eye, claim your money, and sit in your china cabinet collecting dust.  You know the things I mean.  When was the last time you used that fondue set? 

Thinking about potential gifts for the holidays, I spotted a very well-crafted teapot.  It came either by itself, or with a set of tiny tea cups, which had no handles, designed like those tiny Japanese glasses that hold about three ounces; not one but two small wrought-iron, leaf-shaped saucers per cup; a ceramic serving tray, a base in which to set your tea-light; and utensils, probably carved out of bamboo.  What a beauty!  This would make a fantastic centerpiece for Mom, I thought, before I lifted the pot to check the price.  Suffice to say, as I was setting it back down, half a dozen other things I could spend a hundred dollars on came to mind.  My friend and guide, knowing that I was certainly not buying merchandise today, informed me that this beautiful conversation piece would cost me no less than six hundred dollars.  Do you really need two saucers per cup, though?

As I shuffled out into the mall, almost four dollars poorer, but richer in spirit for my soul-warming new favourite beverage, I couldn’t help but imagine how fancy my dining room table would be with that swanky new tea set.  And before my tea was cool enough to actually drink, I realized that this shop wasn’t for me.  It is for the tea snobs.  The people like I am for beer, except for tea.  I reminded myself of the only time I actually drink tea.  It is when I am visiting my parents, after we’ve had dessert, when we’re sitting in the cozy sun room, with a warm wood stove heating our outsides while good ole’ Red Rose warms us from within.  One cup, just a little milk, that’s it.  While it didn’t make my daily fluid schedule, tea has a distinct place in my lifetime of routines.  Trying to become acquainted with the wonderful world of trendy teas would, for me, be like lifting weights, learning to play guitar, drawing, and scrapbooking.  All things I would like to like, but just can’t.  Maybe it’s time to give away that fondue set.