By Brian Lee
The New Year brings a mixed bag of gratitude and anxiety. This year is no exception.
On one hand, the world came together in Copenhagen in 2009 and solved the problem of climate change. So that was good.
On the other hand, I live across the road from waterfront fat cats. I was looking forward to having beachfront after their homes washed into the rising ocean.
Now that our world leaders have fixed it, I have a hard time understanding what all the fuss was about. Global warming wasn’t supposed to wipe us out for another 50 years or so. It’s now 2010. Do the math folks... Armageddon is only two years away. You know, 2012? The end of the Mayan calendar? Doomsday? Hellooo?
The bright side is that it’s not until late in 2012 that the earth is expected to implode so it’s more like three years away. But if you saw the movie, you’ll wanna get right with your God.
In the meantime, you can be consoled with the promise that the ’90s are making a comeback. Yup, you heard it here first.
Just last month I saw a big glossy Billabong ad proclaiming "Flannel... not just for lumberjacks anymore."
Know who else said that? Kurt Cobain. In 1991.
On a sombre note, if we’re welcoming back the fashion trends of 1990, it means we’ll also be bidding adieu to the fashion of the ’80s ... for the second time. Thankfully, the return of leg warmers and such never really got off the ground in South Pender (did they ever leave?) but as anyone who’s been to Toronto in the last five years knows, they were back. And it was tragic.
And speaking of decades, we can be thankful the embarassing debacle of living through one without a name is behind us. Seriously? We had 10 years and our greatest litwits couldn’t come up with something to call the most talked about decade since that one that came after 1899?
Wait. Do we know what we’re calling the next 10 years yet? The Tens? The Twenty Tens? The Twenteens? Uh-oh.
For a dwindling few, 2010 holds promise as the year we gleam with Olympic gold in the eyes of the world. Our chance to stand up and show the world how much we can spend ― a corporate potlatch, if you will.
I won’t pass judgment here; I’m sure the old crank on page 37 will handle that. I’ll just say I’m looking forward to finding out how much we pocketed from hosting the games.
It’s been debated and protested and cynicized for so long, I’m anxious to find out what my personal return will be from this investment. Maybe it’ll be enough to replace all the flannel I threw out in 2001.