With the endless battle on social media for “Likes” it’s difficult to become distracted instead by what is perhaps the less beguiling engagement of pure intelligence.

Social media are interactive technologies that facilitate the creation, sharing and aggregation of content, ideas, interests, and other forms of expression through virtual communities and networks.

Social media outlets differ from traditional media (e.g. print magazinesand newspapers, TV, and radio broadcasting) in many ways, including quality, reach, frequency, usability, relevancy, and permanence. Additionally, social media outlets operate in a dialogic transmission system (i.e., many sources to many receivers) while traditional media outlets operate under a monologic transmission model (i.e., one source to many receivers). For instance, a newspaper is delivered to many subscribers, and a radio station broadcasts the same programs to an entire city.

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Today is a day of double distinction.  For one, it is April 1st. So there’s all the hype surrounding April Fool’s Day and the time after which you can no longer pull a prank. And today is also Monday. More specifically it is a holiday Monday or what in this instance is popularly celebrated as Easter Monday.

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Years ago I heard a quip which I have never forgotten, “Two ways to travel, First Class and with kids!” The injunction has stayed with me. I believe it began at the George V in Paris just off Avenue des Champs-Élysées when I was about 14 years old. It was late summer. We had voyaged to Le Havre, France from Montréal, Québec on the S.S. Arkadia a Greek line. Apart from an Irish Roman Catholic priest my family comprised the only other First Class passengers.  My mother (a Roman Catholic whose parents refused to attend her wedding because she married a Protestant) and the priest spent the early evenings together over cocktails. I amused myself into the late evenings by frequenting the First Class lounge overlooking the bow of the ship where I was assured to find an ample choice of sweets and other delicacies.

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Whether or not it is a hangover from the days of carrying a sword by one’s side that gentlemen are fond of sporting a stick when walking, the custom is of some legitimate continued interest to those in need of a stick.  The stick affords balance; and, it is something to lean on. It may also constitute an element of sartorial pleasure but that once fetching limit is now thankfully mostly redundant. Some men simply prefer to carry an umbrella which ostensibly forms two purposes (although the customary twisting about of the ‘brolley for show and as an expression of rhythm is a not uncommon).

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Whether the potion is a drug to induce love or a powder to dry a wound or a concoction to turn metal to gold, we all have our extraordinary elixirs. And given the opportunity, we know when and how to use them. The elixirs are our personal concentrates with which we stimulate ourselves. What delights me in particular about the assembly of elixirs before me is exactly their convenience and accessibility. The detection of the brews is a matter only of reasonable clarity of thought and willingness to translate and transform. In essence the tools and tonics are not only at hand but are capable of endless rhythm and alteration. Some may prefer to call it imagination.  It is thought with an eye and inventiveness.

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Rolling out of town late this morning in my 2024 Cadillac XT4 along the Appleton Side Road was an inexpressibly cultivated experience, civilized and discerning though not urbane and cosmopolitan. We are in the country; and, like a well bred Country Mouse I proclaim the bucolic advantage. I simply cannot imagine anything better. Now this thesis is both endearing and somewhat weird. The endearing part is that the conclusion comes conveniently late in life (suggesting a heartfelt gusto for the here and now when perhaps most suitably proportioned).  The weird part is that it marks the peak of enterprise, the culmination of it all, the polite dismissal of further attendance. The finality however does nothing but encourage me. At last I have rounded the corners; the matter is squared; there are no open holes or disturbing permutations outstanding. In a word, the picture is complete.

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It is a welcome casualty of old age that whatever transpires is assured to be of moderate interest. There is no need to go searching for things to stimulate oneself.  Indeed so assured am I of this account that I dress for the occasion.  Appearance, as casual now as it may be, is de rigueur though not so much to be voguish as merely cleaned up and presentable. In this sad condition of physical decline, preserving a routine of wear-and-wash remains an elemental imperative. This includes in the chilly weather sporting a silken scarf about the neck.

In spite of its frightfulness the tortuous state of unemployment, incapacity and decline nonetheless fail to diminish the ineluctable effluxion of time. Passage remains compelling enough to entertain, say just watching the geese floating on the river, or idly wondering about the mansion with the turret, or digesting the rich colours of the meadows and furrowed fields seen over the lip of one’s afternoon chilled coffee, or beyond the top of one’s plate of sliced green apple and 5-year old St. Albert cheddar cheese. But first let us recover the morning that preceded.

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It has taken me decades to concede that much of the undying glamour of Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, Porky Pig and Daffy Duck in Looney Tunes is the classical musical background to their dramatic performances. In additon the paradox of the union of classical music and cartoon characters is oddly inspirational. What better way to insinuate and improve the minds of young people? The music fully succeeds to capture and elevate the animation for both children and adults. As cartoonish as he may be, Bugs Bunny nonetheless expresses an odd sophistication, vulgar on the one hand, but discernibly clever on the other.

Bugs is an anthropomorphic gray-and-white rabbit or hare who is characterized by his flippant, insouciant personality. He is also characterized by a Brooklyn accent, his portrayal as a trickster, and his catchphrase “What’s up, doc?”. Through his popularity during the golden age of American animation, Bugs became an American cultural icon and Warner Bros.’ official mascot.

Bugs starred in more than 160 short films produced between 1940 and 1964. He has since appeared in feature films, television shows, comics, and other media. He has appeared in more films than any other cartoon character, is the ninth most-portrayed film personality in the world and has his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

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When I returned home today around 1:30 pm following my customary purgative car wash, I seated myself at the drawing room desk prospective the meadow and river. The view was magnificent! This morning before breakfast I had moderately Rebounded for 1.42 minutes and afterwards tolerably bicycled out-of-doors for 2.86 Km. Thus comfortably seated and purged of guilt I warmed to the outlook of what had lately become an ideal afternoon ceremony.

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Death is peering over the icy stone wall. Old age is proving to be a campground for reigniting memories of the past. I am quite certain the underlying theme of the project is something grand like the philosophic clarification of incidents which transpired too unwittingly and too rapidly for me to have properly assessed them. Perhaps now is the time to do so. And – here’s a modest but irrefutable credit – the historic account will afford a record of the inane events before my memory slips.

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