Leisure Figures from History: Captain John Palliser, "explorer"

Behold! British surveyor Captain John Palliser: famous for surveying much of Western Canada. Here in Alberta there's a school division named after him and a slew of other public buildings and places. However I think a strong case could be made that the legend has somewhat taken flight of the actual life. His first book was called "Solitary Rambles and Adventures of a Hunter in the Prairies." I've read some of it, skimmed all of it. It's pretty entertaining in parts. By all accounts except for his he was a fearless trailblazer and scientist. His own account reads more like the diaries of a rich bon vivant. He spends a good deal of the first chapter describing gleefully an officer aboard the ship he sailed on who was a midget- his clothing, and especially his demeanor, which he took to be most comically at odds with his stature. In the book he catalogues with Germanic thoroughness each animal he kills. It's a staggering amount.

He makes his way inland from Boston, taking every opportunity to lay waste the native creatures. At one point he steps out of the queue waiting for a ferry, loads his gun and begins shooting at the birds to stave off his boredom: "I went out with my double-barreled gun whilst waiting for the New Orleans boat, and after some wading brought back several ducks and quails." His day to day diary includes entries like "Arose at eleven to a fine morning..." and "Left several carcasses to rot for we could not carry all the meat..." In fact most of the land he is credited with surveying had already been surveyed and explored for a while by the time he brought his swath of destruction along, just not by what the British North American Exploring Expedition considered reputable sources. The title is also misleading- he travelled with at least two native guides at all times, and often with a small crew of lackeys and fellow gentleman of means and leisure. I think this illustration is a perfect summary of his life and work- if only because it's hard to determine whether the man clinging to the tree is evading the buffalo or the trigger happy Englishman's bullet.

If he had shortcomings (I wouldn't call them that) as an explorer (which he wasn't) his legacy has more than compensated for them. I'm glad this Flashman-like character of our history has a proud place among the progenitors of this province. If traveling around in a caravan with pack mules for your wine, pack mules for your guns and ammo, guides and lackeys to make and break camp for you and shooting anything feathered or furry with impunity can be passed off as serious scientific inquiry there's hope for us all 200 years down the road. Hats off to John Palliser.

2013

2013. So far I've worked like five days this year.  I think I've been in the hot tub about thirty times. Pruny, pruny and boring is how I'd say 2013 is being forecast. My number one preoccupation is keeping the walkways clear enough from snow so the mailman delivers the books I've ordered. Hoisted by my own petard. Wherefore my band of merry leisure fellows? I may have reached a relaxation saturation point.

Famous Historical Leisure Figures: HUCK FINN

As December starts to middle there's a noticeable change in people's demeanor: traffic is worse, shoes get dirty and slushy, daylight is overwhelmingly truant, and everywhere a mad rush. This isn't meant to be anti-consumption- consuming is one of the most pleasurable activities in the leisurists itinerary. But right now, going to a mall, or a store, or even anywhere trade is practiced is bad for the humours. At the mall today I became furious at an old couple seeking seniors discounts (extra 15% off at the Bay- I'm totally hitting that up when I'm old) for requesting to try on so many pairs of shoes! I stewed and steamed and snorted- but isn't it Christmas, I can hear you say... Isn't it the holiday for photogenic deprived kids to finally get the toys they want... for goodwill and hearty feelings? The black and white cover of Christmas on 34th Street flashed through my mind and chastised me.

Chastised. My soul is too evil and shrinks like Gollum from such manipulative sentimental tropes. Then I decided that because I try to live as far outside the law and social conventional as I can -while also staying comfortably close enough to arrange my benefit through freeloading- that I needn't 'buy' into the purchasing fever. And because it's becoming super popular to cleverly combine proper nouns with normal nouns I'm adopting a total "HUCK-FINNSMAS" attitude this year. When I realized this, I was flooded with zen.

Huck Finn, also flooded with zen. Surveying the world he has conquered by escaping the rigorous routine and confines of Missouri convention. SOLID COMFORT. Rafting down the Mississippi in a raft big enough to float a tent, a fire, and a whole pile of supplies- check. Corncob pipe- check. Picaresque adventures- check. Intoxicating smirk of satisfaction- check. Lose a fortune, nevermind, Huck knows he'll be fine as long as there's floating down the river, fishing line tied to his big toe.

This Christmas is going to be -and here is another trendy grammar foul- very Huckleberry for me. At the first sign of holiday panic I'm heading out the window to the river banks (out the backdoor to the hot tub). I might get a corncob pipe. If you manage to get that gleam in your eye I guarantee no shopping mall hustle will harsh your Huckleberry vibes. Huck Finn, born a natural leader of leisure, is a perfect example of someone who toed the line between convention and corncob smoking professional child raftsman. A reminder to us all. 

MOTORHOME SEARCH Pt. 1

When we finally found the house nestled between concrete silos and the gravel pit in the middle of the industrial park we didn't think anyone was home. The yard was a parking lot- old motorhomes, a teal Ford Pinto, rusted out flatbeds everywhere. Conspicuous on the hood of the pinto was a half-bottle of whisky. We entered the yard. An overweight pitbull wheezed up to us. We stopped, it stopped. The dog lunged and we jumped the fence.
I called the seller. It didn't seem right away like he knew he was talking on a phone-a after some false starts I said we were outside his house. He came out, between swigs of the whisky he picked up as though he had just set it down there seconds before he warned us not to enter his yard or his dog would surely attack.
The motorhome was on blocks- it was a class A, with ample room to sleep about 8 people. There was a rotting hole in the middle of the floor. Does it run? He said, with a conspicuous leer: no, it's more, like for partying. Get a couple crates of beer and some girls. There's girls in here all the time.
He offered to tow it to my backyard for free- 200 bucks for everything! I declined. The atmosphere grew tense. We left on bad terms.
I got a few calls from him over the next couple weeks. Each time it was like a pocket dial, but right next to his face. I would pick up the phone and listen to the the end of whatever he way saying to someone beside him, then he would say "hello? hello? is there someone there?" The first time he invited us to a party. The next time I cut him off and told him to stop calling me. He was so bloated and addled on alcohol I don't think he had picked up on our social cues, or even society's in general.

Vomiting Again Pt. 2

I was once a camp counselor- to my regret I was, perhaps not surprisingly, occasionally laid back about the whole affair. One might even say a little too leisurely- though perhaps uneven is a better word. I counseled at what could be nominally called a bible camp, but I think this might be putting too generic a tag on one of the best and most unique places I've been.

One night, when I was a lowly counselor-in-training, I was tasked with delivering the evening devotional. I began with the usual talk-about-our-day, prayer-requests, does-anyone-have-any-questions, and then I asked if someone wanted me to read from the bible. One kid said yeah, he'd like me to read Revelations. Relieved that the whole spiel was finally out of my hands, I gladly turned to Revelations and began to read aloud. I read without thinking at first, then when I realized what passage I'd serendipitously turned to, I read with horror. Gnashing of teeth! The unsaved being tortured! Many fires burning eternally! And all in the pitch black of a cabin in the woods, a setting that to any mind, especially an 8-year olds, anything said is immediately imagined, and immediately imagined right outside the door. The King James bible is where the gravity of doom was perfected in our language -phrasing, tone, rhetoric, graphic violence- I defy anyone to disbelieve anything the King James version tells them in a setting like that. I stopped at one point, sure that there were six wet beds in the room. Does anyone mind if I stop? One little kid, I can't even remember his name, said in a quavering voice that he'd like to become a Christian. I was silent- there was sobbing- where was the counselor? He was absent. I cursed under my breath. Surely this was the epitome of scare tactics. And all inadvertently done. Again I cursed. Yes of course, I said. And that is the only time, for better or worse, I've ever guided anyone spiritually. I felt bad about if for weeks- my one conversion, under such morbid conditions.

That was just a super long non sequitur. We had weekly talent shows, where people sang songs, performed skits, played piano etc. A couple of my chums- there were probably 7 or 8 of us- decided that we were going to pee our pants for the talent show. I guess this was supposed to be funny- but the irony was lost on us that this probably shows a dearth of all talent, imagination, and general self-awareness more than anything else. Anyway, we all got together and began drinking water in huge quantities. We drank and drank water until it hurt. You can become intoxicated if you drink enough water in a short enough time. That could account for why the notion that it was a good idea managed to be sustained. At my fourth or fifth 2-litre jug, I began to throw up. I probably threw up ten litres of water. A staggering fire hydrant. The kids cheered. Only one of us managed to pee his pants. It happened before the talent show had even begun. He couldn't make it to the bathroom. Lesson: these sorts of things are impossible to time.

Famous Leisure Figures: Hobbits

I remember reading the Lord of The Rings (L+) and imagining myself as Aragorn or Legolas or another hero-type; never a dwarf or a wizard. Dwarves dig and live underground- they're greedy. Wizards are curmudgeonly. As I've grown older, and now have fewer people telling me my leisure principles are in fact symptoms of sloth, I've come to realize that my disposition is fundamentally hobbit-like. Hobbits wish they were elves, or of the line of Elendil- from the comfort of the Green Dragon (L++), or a hammock (L++), or over the main course of second breakfast (L++). This is all to say I'm looking forward to The Hobbit more than any other Harry Potter movie I've seen. I re-read it not so long ago. The dialogue (typing dialogue makes me squirm- too many literary theory classes (U++)) between Smaug and Bilbo is priceless, as are the narrative asides on burglaring and dwarvish idiosyncrasies. Anyway, I'm of two minds about the hobbit lifestyle. One part of me wishes to live in Gondor, living and eating Spartan-style*, sleeping on cold stone and having high-minded thoughts about duty, death and country. This is also the part of me that thinks it would be a noble thing to learn to work with my hands in a iron smelting plant or something. Another part of me, the part that spends four hours a day reading, shooting local fauna with BB guns at night, and forming hot tub clubs, knows that it would be a sin against my nature to take up the Gondorian symbol of the White Tree and fight for Aragorn son of Arathorn. This part favours the life of the Shire.

*there's a good bit in Patrick Leigh Fermor's book "Words of Mercury" about gluttony and the Renaissance. Essentially, his tongue-in-cheek thesis is that Raphael, or da Vinci, couldn't possible have painted what they did on a diet such as we have today. It's all olives and scarcity; lean physical comfort.

Famous Leisure Figures: OMAR KHAYYAM

This is an illustration and a quatrain from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, a medieval Persian philosopher and poet. He was exceptionally prolific in terms of scientific and philosophic output, but it's his Rubaiyat he's best known for now. It's not hard to see why. You could draw a straight line from Diogenes to these leisure savvy chaps, 2000 years between them notwithstanding. In fact I can almost imagine this is Diogenes sulking when he wasn't invited to their "wine and Houri" picnic under the olive trees:

"But Diogenes, you sleep in a barrel, he lives in the sultan's palace..."

Being a stoic doesn't mean you don't have feelings.