Santa can no longer smoke his pipe

I noticed an article this morning that right away put my teeth on edge.  The smokers are being attacked again, this time by Pamela McColl.

"What was her explanation for the publishing of a new version?  According to a Telegraph article , she is quoted as saying, “I just really don’t think Santa should be smoking in the 21st century. Santa is the most powerful character in the world. "

McColl’s father died in a fire, apparently caused by smoking in bed.  Now she’s made it her mission to join the ranks of smokers haters. 

McColl couldn’t sleep at night until she accomplished one thing … changing the line in a Christmas song “The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth / and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath”. It was too much for her, she couldn’t make peace that Santa smokes and thought this was a bad example for kids.

This let me frown on more than one level.  Does McColl believe in Santa?  Perhaps she hasn’t heard the news, but Santa doesn’t exist, he is an imaginary figure.

If he exists, than he is thousands of years old.  Who (smokers or non-smoker) can say as much?

Children who believe in Santa don’t smoke.  Any normal child only believes in Santa until the age of 5 or 6 and then one way or another the mystery is revealed.

By the time they are ready to make the choice whether to smoke or not, they no longer believe in Santa, so what difference does it make whether Santa smokes or not?

But let’s leave smoking out of the picture for a second.  Let’s look at what else McColl should be interested in.

As we all know, North American children are not just fat, they are obese.  Should Santa advertise junk food McColl?

With alcohol being the leading cause of accidents and spousal abuse, should Santa advertise alcohol?

What about this Santa, this not only looks like indecent exposure, it looks like plain bad behavior.

What about this Santa … that looks like marijuana to me.

How does Santa feel about the sport of ice skating?

 How does he feel about men going to the gym?

And what about this Santa, McColl, what is he up to?

This anti-smoking campaign is getting more ridiculous by the minute.  Perhaps McColl should learn a lesson from the sun and the wind.

Have you heard about the bet the sun made with the wind?

The wind said “I bet I can make that man take off his coat.”

The sun said “I accept that bet.”

The wind blew as hard as he could, but the harder the wind blew, the tighter the man held on to his coat.  Then the sun came out and the man took off his coat.

If McColl doesn’t understand the bet (after she must be of limited intelligence if she still believes in Santa as a grown woman) she can contact me and I will explain it to her.

http://www.forces.org/evidence/index.htm

http://www.rogerwallace.com/smoking.html

http://www.smokersclubinc.com/

Going ice skating

When someone hasn’t done something for a long time, it is often said that the ability for this or that will come back to them naturally. “It’s like riding a bike” they say.
Let me assure you, that is baloney.
Take for instance ice skating.

When I heard that colleagues planned to go ice skating, I was one of the first to sign up to join the group. After all, I had once enjoyed ice skating and even though the last time I had been on the ice was some thirteen years ago, I assumed that my body would remember the balance and the ability to skate. It would be just like riding a bike.

We happily chattered on the way to Nathan Phillip Square, where there is an open air ice rink. We somewhat fell silent as we lined up to hire skates. As we saw the ice and saw the skaters (struggling to stay vertical) our courage began to fail. Would this be like riding a bike?

By the time I strapped on my skates I was half frozen and shivering like a leaf on an Alaska tree. Whether this was due to the cold December wind or nerves I’ll never know.
I struggled to get up from the bench and to stay on my feet. Oh dear, and I was still on rubber carpeting. What would it be like once I was on the ice?
I soon found out ... it was hell on blades.

Even with the support from my son, I stood there, too scared to move. Where were the barricades to hold on to? Where was the balance I once had? Where was the ability to do this on my own? I had once done it, why couldn’t I do this anymore?
Like a wooden doll I shuffled on my skates, in danger of going down at any moment, holding on to my son’s hand for dear life.

As he guided me around the rink I didn’t feel the cold anymore, I felt nothing except fear of going down and breaking something I might need later.
When a colleague came along I clutched at his hand too and now supported by two strong arms I started to feel a bit more secure. Given time I probably would have gotten the hang of it again, but all too soon it was time to leave the ice and head back to the office.

One of my New Year’s resolutions is to take up skating again, in a proper ice rink that is. A rink with barricades to hold on to until I find that lost balance again.