Jorge Neff and the zen of procrastination

Professor Jorge Neff was a walking encyclopedia when it came to issues around colonialism and third-world development.

It's not called the "third world" anymore of course. The winds of political correctitude have rendered the third world into the developing world, the post-colonial world, and God only knows what else.

I got to know Jorge when he taught a course in International Studies at the University of Guelph many years ago.

Jorge was a blast. A refugee from Pinochet's Chile, he'd found at least a temporary refuge at this lovely little second tier university in Canada. And he totally knew his stuff.

Pinochet was the guy we installed in Chile after that democratically elected commie Allende committed suicide by shooting himself 57 times in the back with a machine gun.

Anyway, Professor Neff opened my eyes to different perspectives on what might be going on in that great big world out there.

And as much as that was an eye-opening course, my eyes soon became preoccupied with the minutia of day to day life. Raising children, paying the mortgage, and so on.

So it was only thirty years later that semi-retirement permitted the luxury of rediscovering International Studies.

And here's what's so great about that.

At any given moment I've got a to-do list a mile long here at Falling Downs. The dining room needs re-plastering. The wood-shed needs re-stocking. The bathroom ceiling needs re-painting...

The farm manager is never shy about mentioning the to-do list. Luckily, as long as I'm sitting in front of the computer typing out some obscure take on peace in the Middle East or the 2012 election campaign, she figures I'm working for the greater good!

What's more important? Peace in the Middle East or the bathroom ceiling?

See what I mean?

Obviously, to write even semi-intelligently about world affairs requires a ton of research. See where I'm going here? I mean TONS of research. I'm talking about a viable excuse to sit in front of the computer all day long when others might think I should be cleaning up the bat shit in the attic or painting the bathroom ceiling.

And the fact that every once in a while a reputable almost-mainstream website picks up one of my blog-posts... well!

How is the farm manager going to argue with that?

One thing I've learned from all this research is how wide the range of opinion is on any given issue. Take this attack on Iran that may or may not be in the works.

Mainstream American media pretty much sees it as a done deal. It's just a matter of timing.

The Likud faction in Israel seconds that sentiment.

But then a whole range of security insiders in Israel are on the record as claiming this would be the biggest nightmare in Israel's sixty+ year history.

I have to admit I'm a little partial to the point of view of the insiders. With them, there's at least a chance they know what they're talking about. No guarantee, mind you, but at least a chance.

Which is why I was fascinated by MJ Rosenberg's essay on the Al Jazeera website today.

Rosenberg is very much an insider. Knows AIPAC, knows his way around Washington, knows how stuff works. His latest missive is Will AIPAC and Bibi get their war?


I'm not going to spoil the fun for you. Look it up and give it a read. Find out for yourself what this insider thinks.

Anyway, between reading that and writing this, I've probably taken care of a good two hours of time that would otherwise have been spent on chores around Falling Downs.

Thanks Jorge!

The zen of Chloe

Falling Downs regulars will know Chloe. The evil cat from hell who spent years doing nothing but sulking on asbestos-wrapped heating pipes and slipping over to Mary Ann's house next door for kosher cat kibble.

Don't think I mentioned it before, but Chloe's only one or two degrees of separation from one of the country's most notorious serial killers, Paul Bernardo.

Here's the connection. Chloe got her operation at a cat clinic down Burlington way. Karla Homolka, Bernardo's wife and partner in the dastardly deeds that made them famous, used to work at that clinic.

Sends shivers up and down your spine, don't it? What's she thinking about as she's purring on those asbestos-wrapped pipes? The caress of Karla?

But Chloe has become a much more convivial cat since we moved to Falling Downs.

She's out and about every single day. Where we didn't see her for weeks on end, she's now making regular daily purr-pasts. She's a happy cat at last.

She mixes freely with the hounds, and has largely symbolic hiss-fests with the other cat.

She has, however, developed one peculiar habit I wish she hadn't. The cat box is in the basement, a few feet away from the wood furnace. I tend to spend a lot of time down there, because apparently the farm manager has decreed that keeping the wood fires burning is one of my responsibilities. Possibly it's the only one. In fact, she mockingly refers to that little space in front of the wood furnace as my "man cave," which is more than a little bit cruel.

Anyway, I've been noticing for quite some time that as soon as I park myself in front of the furnace, Chloe comes for a squat in the cat box. Without fail. Every time. Guaranteed.

I've gotten over my resentment. Join me, Chloe, as I keep the fires burning, and by all means have a shit while you're in the neighborhood. After all, we are doing jobs of equal import.

Without fire, we'd be dead. And if we couldn't shit, we'd be dead too.

Zen and the art of procrastination

First of all, make peace with the idea that procrastination is an art, not a science.

As is zen. Zen is a journey, not a destination. Or more correctly, the zen journey is the destination.

Marrying zen and procrastination is Nirvana. Pull this off and you have truly arrived at a state of Bliss.

Best time for the wedding is right after a good meal. When it comes to a good meal, remember that gluttony is good. If you're sitting down to a spread of scalloped potatoes and roast beef and fresh-picked fiddle-heads, don't just have a bit of this and that. Eat as much as you can. Eat until you need to lie down.

Once you are lying down, you are ready for the zen zone. Make sure you're comfortable. Start by counting your blessings. If you are familiar with the Christian hymn of that title, hum it quietly to yourself for five or ten minutes. Remember, Robert Pirsig had to ride his motorcycle five thousand miles to get to the zen zone. You just had to walk from the dinner table to the couch.

That's a blessing.

If you are partial to the weed of wisdom, partake before the big feed and not after. After will result in you lusting for a bag of Doritos ten minutes later.

That's not a blessing.

You are now comfy on the couch. You are feeling vaguely sleepy. You are approaching the town limits of Zen.

Now, picture in your mind's eye three chores you have been putting off. The mind's eye is crucial when one wants to find zen. If you can imagine it successfully, you can avoid doing it.

For the sake of this illustration, I will choose three chores at random. Three unpleasant tasks that I'm feeling guilty about avoiding. In all probability your three chores will be different. Doesn't matter. Just think of three things somebody's been nagging at you to do.

My first chore is cleaning up the bat guano  in the attic. An unpleasant task in every aspect. There's nothing good about cleaning up bat shit. Close your eyes. Visualize yourself up there in the cold attic, scraping solidified bat shit off the floor with a wall-paper scraping tool... see yourself there... imagine the cold... the smell...

Now feel the sheer joy of not having to be up there right now!

My second chore, just randomly; tidying the basement.

Yuk! The cat turds that spilled over the side of the litter-box six months ago. The detritus that accumulates on the floor as you shlepp firewood to the furnace. The cobwebs that haven't been cleared since 1948... yuk!

Now feel the pure relief of knowing you're not going to do it today! Feel it. Caress it! There'll be another day...

Chore number three; organize the shop. It's December; it's cold, really cold out there...there are boxes labelled "miscellaneous" that haven't been opened since I moved from British Columbia in 1981... but not tonight... not now... I'm... almost at... zen.

Nirvana... Bliss in the state of Zen.

If you haven't nodded off by now, switch on the Leafs game.

That will take you over the finish line for sure.

And you never had to leave the couch!