I don’t think pandemic updates are the blog content anyone is interested in right now, so why don’t I instead do an upbeat write-up about a docuseries featuring a cult in 1980s Oregon?
This story is so farfetched that the filmmakers couldn’t compress it into a standard two-hour documentary. Instead, the Wild Wild Country docuseries is made up of six episodes, each lasting a little over an hour. I have now been subjected to 400 minutes of footage showing burgundy-clad guru-worshipping settlers pissing off their redneck neighbours with their casual sexing ways, and I still have many questions.
This guy’s face says it all:
Question number one: How come this moment in history is seemingly absent from pop culture references?
Everybody knows about the Manson Family. Old millennials like myself still think about Heaven’s Gate when they see black Nikes. The Branch Davidians’ David Koresh is the reason aviator glasses went out of style (they’re back because people forgot about David Koresh). Jonestown gave birth to the phrase “drinking the Kool Aid”. Rajneeshpuram, somehow, disappeared off the map and faded into obscurity.
Yet, the founder of the Rajneesh movement had more followers than Manson, Applewhite, Koresh, and Jones combined! Without further ado, here’s the man who was charismatic to attract more than 10,000 followers worldwide:
I’ve been working on a documentary recap, but until that’s done, I only have the pandemic to talk about. I think everybody is tired of reading about that.
So, for today, I have an update from 2006 I wrote when I also didn’t have anything to write about. This is about the time I was forced to take a month of Music class in elementary school. If you’re new here, I’m deaf.
On Monday, I stepped outside for the first time since the 12th to the mailbox. It was a brisk jaunt around the neighbourhood lasting about fifteen minutes. I made it back home without coughing in public.
The next day, I had a proper outing when Yann and I went down to the beach with the binoculars. Five minutes into settling on the edge of the concrete walkway, I was looking at an eagle and a seal within the same field of view. A little later, we saw an Anna’s hummingbird hanging out in the bushes. What a treat! Until we realized that the beach was also teeming with teenagers drinking out of thermoses and throwing pebbles at each other because that’s what teenagers do when they’re not getting an education. Our reaction was more or less this:
It looks like I need to expand on the mushroom story mentioned in my previous post. I thought I had shared a satisfying amount of detail, but upon spoon-feeding Yann bonus morsels of information, I’ve come to realize that not everybody was privileged enough to have a backyard, never mind a backyard containing a bounty of mushrooms.
I grew up in the Township of Langley pre-housing developments. All the houses in my neighbourhood were constructed independently in different years, rather than consisting of clusters of cookie-cutter condos painted in a variety of off-white shades. My family’s house was older and slightly smaller than my friends’ homes, but we had a massive backyard bordered by mature cedar trees. At the far left corner was an enclosure where we unintentionally bred rabbits to feed the owls (I realize this will raise more questions), and on the right was–of all things–a tetherball pole.
I’ve actually found a photo of the backyard from five years ago by googling my old address:
Aside from all the hot air balloons that would drift overhead in the summer, it afforded us lots of privacy. My dad would frequently go hot tubbing in the buff, but only at nighttime when the skies were clear of overhead voyeurs travelling via hot air balloons.
I had an interview last Thursday. It was for the same job I’ve had for the past year. The exact same job. This is what the job market has come to.
In the 70s, employers had to beg for workers.
In the 80s, I don’t know, because I don’t appear to have a family member who tried to break into the job market that decade. I assume it was the same as the 70s, but with more hairspray and shoulder pads.
In the 90s, you needed a resume, but you were able to list “married” as one of your qualifications as my mom did.
In the 00s, this Millennial had an argument with her mother about whether “married” and “non-smoker” were descriptors appropriate for a resume. Jobs in the 00s required that you include a cover letter and fill out an application form, AND thank a potential employer for taking the time to even consider you.
2010? You definitely need connections.
Now that we’re at the beginning of the third decade of the millennium, we need to convince our employers to keep us on. I’m not opposed to this idea, though, as there are definitely people who have flown under the radar doing the bare minimum without making a sack-worthy misstep. I’m tired of picking up the slack. Too bad I’m only mostly sure that my employer doesn’t see me that way, which stresses me out. I should have brought snacks to the interview.
If I don’t get the job I already have, it’s because I didn’t bring donuts. No donuts, no job.