Post-Graduation Purgatory: The Quarterlife Crisis

While many of you have heard me rant (perhaps endlessly) about the challenges of life after university (the Purgatory between university and "real life"), I have yet to write it down. Here it is.

We, the Millennials, are part of a special generation. Only some of our parents have degrees, while a lot more of us do. From a young age up through high school, we were warned that we must get a degree! Go to university! We can do anything we want! We were warned by those who wish they had done it in their day, and those that did and had it pay off. Warned by a generation where having a degree really did set you apart.

Look at this perfect ethnic/gender balanced workforce! They are waiting for you! And your magical degree! They are struggling with so many under-educated employees!

So, we picked a degree, likely on the following advice:

Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life! If you love your job it will be like all your days are days off! You will loath weekends because you aren’t at work! Where you love everything!

We borrowed loans, worked two jobs, or drained our education funds (if we were lucky enough to have them) and enrolled for that coveted degree. We all knew it would pay off.

It's simple, really. All we had to do was get a degree and everything else would fall into place.

Degree = Happy Job = Happy Life

Look how happy these employees are! They must have a degree and a job they really love. They must hate their weekends.

Four (or five, six, sometimes eight...) years later, we emerged. Fresh-faced, bright-eyed, and ready for all those jobs! Spirits waiting to be crushed. That degree in the field you love? No jobs. You’re degree will set you apart? Not now that everyone has one! $20 000 in student loans? Won’t pay themselves off!

Some of us got a job unrelated to our field:

" Two extra-hot grande half-caf triple mocha latte macchiatos"

Some of us got a job related to our field, but at a workplace we hated:

"I'm sorry I was 30 minutes late to the job in which I already work ungodly amounts of overtime"

Or a less desirable living location:

Land Rover not included

Some of us even managed to get a dream job and realized the degree was a huge mistake!

Now it’s nearly five years later and a great many people I know are still trying to get their shit together. Again. And again. For myself, I’ve been looping through the same post-grad life cycle over and over again. So much so, that I turned it into a handy flow chart:

Class of 2012 beware: This could be you.
(Note: At any time, feel free to exit the cycle, go back to school for another degree/masters/PhD, and jump right back in - right where you left off. Also feel free to move home and out again any number of times)

Lately, I've thought that what we should have is a university degree exchange. Find someone with an equally useless degree and trade! See if you can land a job with your new credentials! Swap that philosophy degree for one in creative writing! Change things up with a switch from physics to biology! Swap an English degree for one in geography! Or kinesiology for performing arts! All you need to do is find another twenty-something who is floundering in life with their chosen degree. Trust me, there is no shortage of us!

So, what's a twenty-something in the midst of a quarter-life crisis to do? 

You could join a support group:

Make better use of your days off:

Or ponder the greater philosophical questions in life:

As it turns out, future university grads are unfortunately just as delusional as we were. From the National Post (October 31, 2011): "According to a new survey of 17- to 20-year-olds, many expect to own a home and be raking in more than $90,000 a year within 10 years. That’s three times the average income of $31,648 earned by 25 to 29-year-olds with post-secondary degrees according to the 2006 census."

So, fellow twenty-somethings. Make yourself useful. Find a high school student and warn them!

In the mean time, I'll see you at the support group. We're all in this together.

Denouement: The End of the Ski Season

For fourteen days now, the ski season has been over. For lift users. A category that I am unfortunately a part of. Many of the folks around Rossland are still spending their days shredding pow, after using their legs as chief transportation up the mountain. It sounds like an economic way to ski, which it is, providing you've shelled out the money to get yourself all the necessary touring gear.

Most of the seasonal ski bums have left town and tourism has disappeared. My barely-sustainable jobs have slowed down to a level that is basically unemployment, freeing up my days to do all the nothing I want with all the money I don't have. April is fast approaching a level of bored-restlessness rivaled only by the November pre-season.

Pre-Season vs. Last Day

My weekly schedule is depressingly familiar. Every day is spent scouring the internet for jobs, while pining over the lack of seasonal change. Daily amusements are sinking to a new low. Why, just yesterday I spent dozens of minutes watching the back of the thrift store to see what people were dropping off and/or picking up off the back porch. I'm not ashamed to suggest I may have enhanced my new-found amusement with a pair of binoculars. The store is overflowing with stuff abandoned by those who have left town, and kettles and toasters are in plentiful supply, likely awaiting the next round of seasonal inhabitants. More and more I feel like the thrift store is really a lending library of various goods; several items from our household have made their way back there already.

Usually the saving grace of this time of year is knowing that summer is finally approaching. Rossland's elevation is keeping all signs of spring at bay, from our front lawn still covered in blanket of white, to the snowfall we've been getting on a daily basis. Every time I wish for it to stop snowing, I feel like I'm cheating on winter.

Here are some things I learned from my first ski season:

1. Nothing empties a house faster than a race for first chair on a powder day
2. Blue skies are lovely, but if it's sunny, it isnt snowing and that can be a problem
3. Storm warnings are celebrated, not feared
4. You can make it through an entire Canadian winter without plugging in your car even once, or dealing with this (what I thought was the alternative to -30)
5. Fresh tracks sound awesome (swoosh!)
6. Whatever you need, you can probably get it at the thrift store
7. There is a certain zen to riding the chairlift (watch this)

So what's happening next? I've decided to stay in Rossland for the moment, and make a go of the good life. Stay tuned for updates!

Taco Tuesday: An American Adventure

Ski bums will go to great lengths to save money and buy anything as cheap as possible. This includes the Rossland dinner-out tradition of making a weekly international trip for fifty-cent tacos. While a trip to the US of A is a cultural experience in itself, the quest for fifty-cent tacos is really a trio of ski bum savings:

1. Fifty-cent tacos washed down with cheap jugs of American beer
2. A six-pack of American beer to-go (all that you're allowed to take back with a less-than-24-hour visit to the States)
3. A cheap fill-up of gas for the [unlucky but sober] driver

First attempt at Taco Tuesday: A mostly Canadian group of mostly ski bums drove the short 10km to the border between Rossland and Northport, WA. We had a Swede with us, and shortly into the cross-border interrogation of our intentions in America, we were informed that we would need six dollars for the Swede to get a visa to enter the country. Six dollars, US currency, exact change, no debit or credit cards. Our collective tally of the car's US funds totalled a disappointing four dollars. The border officer seemed offended by our lack of American currency, and demanded to know exactly how we planned on paying for our tacos if were to get to Kuk's Tavern:

1. It's the 21st century. Maybe we'd use a debit card, a credit card, or even stop at an ATM, a magical machine invented in the 1960s!
2. Maybe, with the zillions of dollars being spend on securing the American homeland, they could put in a one of the above modern conveniences at the Paterson/Frontier border crossing.
3. Everyone knows (except this border guard) that Kuk's accepts Canuck bucks.

We pulled a u-turn, drove back to Canada, and ordered pizza.

Second attempt at Taco Tuesday: I loaded my wallet with six American dollars that I gathered from my housemates in case we came up short again. Our vehicle of the week was loaded with two Australians, one German, one Dutch, and myself. We pulled up to the border and the guard-of-the-week let us through with only a minor delay when our Dutch companion needed to get her fingerprints taken. (The following week, our border guard "Dickie" simply nodded knowingly when we stated "Taco Tuesday" and let us through without incident, interrogation, or inspection).

Enter Northport. Population 336, incorporated 1898, and located seven miles south of the border. Believe me, these seven miles seem like a world away and as soon as you arrive in Northport, it's apparent you're definitely not in Canada anymore. The accent is different, the people are larger, the moustaches are serious. Where Rossland is home of toques, Sorels, and ski jackets, Northport is home to camouflage. Lots and lots of camouflage. It's like walking straight into hunting season. A quick stop at the combination gas station/liquor store let's you take a quick peek at the kill board...a charming bulletin board where local's post pictures of the cougars, wolves, bobcats, and bears they've successfully hunted. Frankly, I had no idea it was even legal to hunt any of those animals, and after a brief check into the Canadian government's (or should I say the Harper Government's?) website, I found out it is indeed legal to hunt all of the above. Guess I've never had the privilege of living near a local kill board!

Local Kill Board

With our 30 beers (20 bucks!) and a full tank of gas, we drove the two blocks to get our fill of affordable pseudo-Mexican cuisine. Enter Kuk's Tavern, Disco and Bowling. Established in 1888, Kuk's is the oldest continually-run tavern in Washington. It's the kind of place where upon entering, you feels the inquiring eyes of the locals wondering who the strangers are. I assume they're also wondering why you aren't wearing any camouflage while they peer suspiciously at the fuzzy thing on your head that's taking up the space where the ballcap goes. Never fear, if you feel too out-of-place, you can buy a camouflage ballcap at the front cashier (seriously)!

From the formica tables, shuffleboard and single bowling lane, to the dart board and plentiful beer-girl posters, there is very little about Kuk's that doesn't cry "80s small town dive bar". Let's take a tour:

Kuk's ceiling: '80s beer babes and disco ball...bring your dance moves on the weekend.

Another section of the ceiling

I love this tableau. Custer's Last Fight. The volleyball stud. The ski babe. The Rainier eye chart. Glorious!

The single bowling lane. Unfortuantely broken.

As you can tell from the extensive food menu, we came on the right day! Tacos are a once-a-week delicacy. 

Upon ordering both beer and water for the table, the waitress brought one glass each. I guess in America, you can be drunk or hydrated, but not both! The tacos were surprising tasty. Shell, meat, cheese, lettuce, and tomato is a fair bit for 50 cents (or 48.5 cents CAD). After a couple bites, I remarked that the taco "meat" was of a texture that I hadn't quite experienced in ground beef before. My Australia companion assured me it was just "ground really fine". I'm sure she's right...but then again, I doubt she's familiar with the finer textures of ground goat, cat, or whatever else the locals may have dragged in from the week's hunt!

Tacos. I thought I'd start with four. Al thought he'd start with 10. If you eat enough, you get your picture on a poster at the back!

Paying the bill at Kuk's. A pile of American and the better-looking Canadian bills in one harmonious pile.

And that sums up my international adventure for tacos. I'd like to close with the following quote from Bill Maher:

"New rule: If you're paying less than a buck for a taco, you can't be shocked that the meat in it isn't really meat. You're meal cost less than gum. There's a reason 'taco' spelled backwards is 'o, cat'."

A Valentine's Potato

humble potato:
crispy mashed fried baked scalloped

heroic tuber

Consider the above haiku my Valentine's Day gift to all of you. This February 14th, I'm happy to report that the love of my thus-far 2011 life is none other than the humble potato. Unpretentious, dependable, and always delicious, the potatoes in my life have been quietly playing second banana to my roasts, chickens, and pork loins. Until now. Now, my ski-bum budget has all-but-eliminated tender cuts of meat from my diet, and my favourite tuber has become the carb-loaded après ski snack of choice. Often, it is the star of (or only) component of my suppers and lunches. Don't worry, I'm taking multi-vitamins to ward off the scurvy.

Garth, my sister's boyfriend, knows we Selkirk sisters love potatoes. With that in mind, he lovingly picked out my Christmas gift from the thrift store. I didn't mention it in my Christmas Gift Awards because I knew it deserved it's own post.

A Microwave French Fries Maker.

Even the name of it sounds wrong. Let's venture into the etymology of "french fries", shall we? See, they have something to do with the French, and more importantly are fried. Meaning, delicately bathed in oil. Lovingly simmered in fat. Not microed, and certainly not waved.

But that's okay, right? It's the 21st century. Innovations have been made. This might be one of them. I'm too young to live in fear of new technology. Let's microwave some French fries!

Step 1: Open box. Look! It comes with a warning: "DO NOT USE FROZEN FRENCH FRIES AS MOST OF THEM MAY CONTAIN OILS AND FATS." It's in all caps, so you know they mean business. We certainly wouldn't want oils and fats contaminating our potatoes! I know when I choose fries, I don't hope they contain oils and fats, I want it guaranteed! But we'll try it your way, microwave fries maker.

Step 2: The chosen victim/specially selected potato

Peeled and sliced appropriately.

Seasoned according to my tastes, which means a healthy dose of both salt and seasoning salt.

Distributed in the specially designed microwave tray that is going to simulate a deep fryer (ha).

Eight wildly-anticipated minutes later, the "fries" are done. Look! They're the same colour as before they went in the microwave. That's the sign of a perfect fry! Pasty white!

Taste verdict: These were delicious! So good, I think I'm going to try roasting a chicken in the microwave next week -- à la 1988!

Reviews of the rest of the household:

Chris: "Hmm....interesting."
Garth: "These are like rubber"
Roxanne: "I never knew a potato could taste like this." Which was followed shortly by "I think that was the first potato I didn't like". 

The finished product.

Yes, these were a horrific travesty. Although they still tasted vaguely like a potato should, they were chewy, squishy, dry (but not crispy), and truly lacking any redeeming quality that an actual French fry has. After they had cooled down, they firmed up to be the texture of something I can only compare to licorice. They were, however, surprisingly flexible, and if potatoes had the Olympics these would surely Michael-Phelps the gymnastics portion.

I know the true sign of a good fry is that when you can bend it in half and the skin doesn't even break.

Yes! Potato face!

The final resting place.

Post Script: I'm dedicating this blog entry to B. L., a ski bum who is rather unfortunately allergic to potatoes, but will be lucky enough make it through life without ever having to eat a microwaved French fry.

Supporting the Habit

Although the ski bum life may come cheap, it certainly doesn't come free. I know many of you have been wondering how I've managed to support myself this far. Whether you're taking notes on how you too can be a ski bum, or just concerned that I can't afford the necessary foods to ward of the scurvy, I'm here to share my secrets!

To no one's surprise, my stint working for minimum wage housekeeping didn't last long. I upgraded to two other housekeeping jobs that [barely] pay more. Here's a summary of my work life:

Job 1: Housekeeping at a Bed and Breakfast

I work at a b&b a few times a week. When I read th advertisement suggesting it was perfect for "overqualified" ski bums, I knew I had to make the call. The entire staff is composed of ski bums from around the world, and I'm the token Canadian. Most days I do typical housekeeping tasks, and more exciting things like ice chipping, snow shovelling, and hot tub testing. I also perform quaint, old-timey tasks like hauling firewood and sweeping off porches.

After one of my first shifts at the B&B, I received a bonus of one black banana and half a loaf of expired bread! It was then I knew that this is what quality jobs are about. It's not about the money -- it's about the perks. Since then, I've received several more blackened bananas, which I resourcefully turned into banana bread. Other bonuses:

- a mostly un-eaten jar of pickles

- an entire block of unopened Safeway brand marble cheese (that was a good day)

- half an onion

- leftover chinese food (what meat is this?)

- two pounds of frozen rhubarb

- as many free used bars of soap as I want!

Job 2: Events Volunteer

This job has the best perk on the list. The perk is that I get a free season's pass to the hill, which also comes with all the staff discounts and parties. The catch is I have to work for free. One-hundred hours over the season. The work isn't steady, it comes in waves associated with big events like the Canadian Freeski Championships. The waves of work are really convienent because they allow me to work nearly full time for a week while being paid nothing at all, and therefore still remaining completely broke. Not to mention the lack of skiing that comes with all that work!

Hard at work carrying lunches up the chair lift!

Job 3: Housekeeping for the Rich and Famous

Okay, so I may not be housekeeping for the famous, but I definitely am for the rich. I frequent condos on the hill, and mansions in the country. Doctors, dentists, Americans that commute from Seattle, and in general, people who make more money than I'll ever see.

Sadly, this job has yet to yield any bonuses of black bananas or partially used produce, but I have learned that most people who pay to have their houses cleaned have pretty clean houses already.

One day, while cleaning an American-owned country mansion, I overheard the lady of household enter and ask where "the cleaner" was located. Cue mini-crisis. I am not "the cleaner". I am "Rachel", the "ski bum", who is cleaning "your house" as a means to an end of supporting my "alternative lifestyle" while shirking the responsibilities normally associated with "being an adult." And then it hit me: at some point, a temporary job becomes a permanent job, and what was once "just for now" turns into your career. I certainly don't want to be a career housekeeper, which brings me to my next job:

Job 4: Internet Freelancing

You may have gathered from reading this blog that I enjoy writing. Some of you, dear readers, have told me that I write well, and that led me to see if I could make some money out of a hobby.

Enter internet freelancing. I found a website that posts jobs, that as a provider I can bid on. The client picks the provider after the bidding period is over. It's simple, albeit time-consuming, to search for jobs. There's a lot of crap out there. Here are some examples of common job postings:
- Please write a 3000 word essay on [insert college paper topic here]. I need this done in 24 hours.
- I need someone to write product reviews and post them on amazon. I will pay you $2/hour.
- Please make 200 postings in forums, all from different email addresses.

Needless to say, some of it is sketchy and/or horribly mundane. That being said, I've found some good jobs and have probably made about $500 bucks since November. Some of the things I've done:
- travel articles
- composing multiple choice tests
- internet groupon-like write ups

My latest gig has me acting as a personal matchmaker. I'm not kidding. There is a millionaire who finds managing online dating accounts much too time consuming just to weed through all the responses and find the ones he's interested in. Based on his specific criteria, I sift through the online offerings and alert him when there's a good one. Our household was quite divided on the ethical appropriateness of doing this, but I couldn't resist applying for the job, and now I just hope no one accidentally finds out I've been browsing sugardaddie.com or other sites "for the rich and attractive".

This is me. Sort of.

Ode to the GT Snowracer

A good friend once mentioned to me the strangeness of how a city can change a person, and change priorities. Rossland has quietly adjusted my priorities to a point where last week I found myself going to the grocery store in my long-johns. If that weren't shocking enough, I'm told people also frequent the store in their ski boots and/or cross-country spandex. I remember a time, no-so-long-ago, where I felt like a slob going to the Wal-mart in sweatpants.

Rossland was built on the side of a mountain. My humble abode has an awesome approximation to the most things in town (groceries, the Legion, cheap beer), all within in a one-block radius. However, if I exit that magical circle (and sometimes I have to), I will be heading up or downhill. Couple that with the snowiness of winter and my newest priority in transportation is a GT Snowracer. In Rossland, "GT" is a verb.

Christmas. Early-to-mid 1990s. Santa brought me a white and blue NOMA GT Snowracer. Fully assemebled by the elves, Santa even left the cardboard GT box on the front steps of the house! The next year, my younger siblings also got GTs (purple and neon red-ish for Roxanne, black for Markus) and we had ourselves a fleet! Happy days for the Selkirk family! 
After our 1997 move to Medicine Hat, the GT use declined to a halt, mostly due to lack of a worth-while toboggan hill. Eventually, the GTs were quietly hauled off to the Sally-Ann. Fast-forward ten years and the number-one pick on my Christmas list is a NOMA GT Snowracer! Only NOMA doesn't make them anymore.

The lesson here, folks, is never get rid of anything.

I've scoured the internet, and it's really amazing how little information exists on GT Snowracers. The top Google results are Canadian Tire's current GT offering and Kijiji classified ads wanting or selling GTs. A quick glance through the Canadian Tire online reviews of the latest GT incarnation (not by NOMA) looked promising:

"The Canadian Tire ones are craptacular and will break if you look at them the wrong way."

"Useless junk: Nothing like they used to be, not like image on web, not like image on box. Low quality from start to finish. Need a hammer to make the parts fit, and a knife to trim off extra plastic. No chance it lasts one winter."

Promising, in that it looked like a guaranteed way to waste money and be disappointed at the same time! Something I hadn't done since I thought I was getting a really good deal on 99-cent deli ham at the local grocery store! The obvious solution was to go back in time and never get rid of my old GT. The second-best solution was to get my hands on a retro model of everyone's favourite three-ski toboggan. How would I do this? Would I post want-ads on the internet? Would I probe the plethora of online classifyieds? Probably both! But first, I would whine about it on facebook.

Status update: All I want for Christmas is a NOMA GT Snowracer!

In a moment that can only be considered a Christmas miracle, a friend on mine commented on my status saying that not only did he have a NOMA GT Snowracer, he had one stored away just waiting to be loved again! The GT was in snow-starved Medicine Hat and with a couple of phone calls and the help of my parents, the GT was mine.

Isn't she a beaut?

I am now going to present to you a mostly made-up history of GT Snowracers. Google failed in giving me any real information on them, and Wikipedia fails to even acknowledge NOMA as a current Canadian company. Here we go:

In the beginning, it was ninteen-ninty-something. Probably. Maybe 1991. NOMA, a company known chiefly for Christmas lights, decided to branch out into the cut-throat toboggan market, fiercely competing with these classic models:

Classic Toboggan. For maximum effect, wax the bottom of this baby.

Flying Saucers. The least-steerable, least turnable, and potentially most dangerous on this list.

Crazy Carpets. Light to carry, easy to slide off.

Inner tube of tractor tire.  A Selkirk classic. Pile seven people on one and zoom down the hill. Bonus points if you can bounce off the top person (your sister) with enough time left to run her over after she lands! Also, I don't know the guy in the picture, but I'm sure he has good stories to tell.

NOMA decided to revolutionize tobogganing by designing the well-known three-ski model, besting the entire toboggan industry. How? Steering. And neon. 

Now I present to you, the made-by-me, sponsored-by-google-image-search, visual GT history:

GT Classic. This is probably one of the first ones. Standard GT features: three plastic skis, steel frame, seat, brakes. Unique to this incarnation: Square ("aircraft syle") steering wheel, and colours that scream "I'm from the early nineties!"

GT ProRacer. GTing for grown ups and very large children. Bigger skis, bigger possibilities. Heavier to carry uphill. Classic black.

GT Stealth. Additional plastic bits have been added. I've always thought that if you wanted to be stealthy on snow, you might want to be riding something white...

It also comes with radar, buttons, and various meters/gauges!

Retractable pull cord!

Brett Hull GT. Same mold as the stealth, cool hockey colours. I'm also told there was a Wayne Gretzky model.

GT 2.0. This is when I got on board with the GT. New innovation: round steering wheel. Seat stripes are perpendicular to skis instead of at an angle.

After this, I'm not sure what happened. At some point, NOMA passed on the rights to the GT Snowracer. Which brings us to the 2011 options for GTs: Canadian Tire. There is also a European company (Stiga) that makes what I'm sure, is a higher quality version. High quality enough to stock and sell replacement parts!

What ever happened to NOMA? Well, they still sell Christmas lights. They've also branched out into thermostats, power cords, and light bulbs.

And whatever happened to me and my new GT? When it snows a lot, I join the Rossland GT gang on the streets of town, zooming all over the place in the amazing GT outfit of insulated coveralls and retro ski toque:

Markus and I doubled on the Stealth and he took this action shot:

 I may be older, but I'm pretty sure my GT face is still the same at it was 15 years ago.

The Christmas Gift Awards

Although this Christmas didn't produce a story like the Sun Peaks Tale, it did produce some memorable Christmas gifts, most of which were carefully collected from the thrift store. So instead of a summary of Christmas events, I present the 2010 Christmas Gift Awards:

Best Decorative Art: Still Life

A portrait of bread, milk, eggs, and wheat. I gave this to Sam, our downstairs roommate. Most of the time he eats two-minute noodles. Sometimes he adds an egg and calls it pad thai. I suggested he add peanut butter and call it satay. I thought he would like a picture of the foods he's not eating.

Most Useless Gift: VHS Rewinder

Remember VHS? Remember when these were useful? And now...so completely useless. Ponder your own mortality as you realize that in ten years, you could be rendered as completely useless and obsolete as this relic.

Best Used Gift: Turkey Carcass

Okay, so it wasn't a gift. But unwrapping it after Christmas made it feel like one. 

Most Useful: Goldfish and Syrup

1.36 kg of Goldfish Crackers and 2 L of maple syrup. Somebody's been to Costco!

Most Unfortunately Appropriate: Wall Plaque

My darling sister gave this to me. Little did she know, I had my own cat-related gift waiting for her:

Most Hilarious Gift: Dancing with Cats

I found this little gem on the internet. Stumbled on it one day, knew Roxanne would love it, and ordered a copy off ebay. This is a serious book. It was seriously published, and at one point someone bought this in a very serious way. It features actual cat owners dancing with their cats. The pictures are priceless, and at least three family members had tears rolling down cheeks as we flipped through the pages. The  I've prepared some excerpts for you, dear readers, to enjoy from the comfort of your own home. The captions really speak for themselves.

“Sometimes the energy is so powerful I worry about overstimulating my aura. At those levels, an unstable ethereal oscillation could collapse into an astral vortex and suck my spiritual reserves into a state of negative sub-matter.”

“I adopt the form of a bird because I want to feel vulnerable, like the naive little creature I once was...Zoot treats me like he would a bird. He leaps about and showers me with attention, when in reality he only wants one thing – to dominate, consume, and move on.”

“During their preliminary warm up, as they roll and rub together, the cat will frequently pay special attention to one area of Ivan’s body. It will even curl up and try to sleep on it, no matter how uncomfortable."

My favourite picture in the book. Really...where did they find these people?

Best Retro Gift: 50 Fun Ways to Internet

The title seems reasonable. Fifty fun ways to internet. Published in 1995. When the internet was a toddler. It was written post-netscape, and pre-internet explorer. As far as I can tell, it's about how to use the internet without a browser (wtf) and just by typing "commands" and scrolling through "directories". What fun! And believe it or not, none of the fifty ways are porn. 

The book uses many synonyms for the internet. There are (still) commonly used ones like "net", "web", and "cyberspace". Then there are these long-forgotten (never used?) gems: "electrosphere", "netland", and "cybersphere". Electrosphere! Hilarious.

Here are some more delightful excerpts:

"There's a lot more to the Net than chat lines and flaming. It's not all about kinky sex, space aliens and Melrose Place."

"If you're interested in informing your fellow netnauts about yourself, you've got to have a plan - or, more specifically, a .plan file." Netnauts! I'll be sure to use that gem more often. Other phrases for internet uses featured in this book: "infonauts", "netlanders", "net traveler", and "cyberians".

"If you want to cavort with furry animals in a virtual wonderland, telnet to 138.74.0.10 8888, the home of FurryMUCK...billed as 'the first anthropomorphic' MUD-like world...you can expect to join your fellow furries in building a virtual life with others who think it's cool to pretend they're furry and wild."

"Muli-User Dungeon (or Dimension), MUDs rank among the coolest, most inventive things in cyberspace...decide on your race (human, elf, dwarf or hobbit), and select various attributes for your character." Oh, that's good to know. The internet was spawning basement-dwelling losers as early as 1995! Before World of Warcraft!

Creepiest Christmas Decoration: Pedophile Bear

Look! It's a cute little Christmas bear. Kind of like a stocking! 

See, you just put treats in his overalls! Come here little children, just reach down the front of my pants...there's a treat for you! 

Oh look, there's even a back door option!

And that, my fellow netnauts, concludes the 2010 electrosphere version of the Christmas Gift Awards. If this hasn't inspired you to complete most of your Christmas/birthday shopping at your local thrift store, I'm not sure what will. Happy hunting!