Aisle Seat

Nice to see the mayor finally declare a day honouring Joel Zimmerman, aka: Deadmau5. Too bad it’s the mayor of Las Vegas.

Yep, before his hometown could bother to do the honours, the city of Las Vegas and its mayor Carolyn Goodman will declare Jan. 2 ‘Deadmau5 Day,’ saluting the Grammy-nominated, Juno-winning producer from Niagara Falls. The proclamation, which Zimmerman posted on his Facebook fan page, reads “Deadmau5 has taken electronic music to the next level and his sets are always unique, as he assembles tracks on the fly, using cutting edge computer technology, including software he’s helped write himself.”

Okay, it’s Las Vegas – a city which hands out proclamations like casino chips. And with Zimmerman about to start a yearlong residency at the Wynn hotel, this is about promotion more than commemoration.

Even so, what an embarrassment for Niagara Falls. How does another city – in the U.S., no less – declare a Deadmau5 Day before us? What more does Joel Zimmerman have to do before the city he grew up in properly recognizes him? It’s especially astounding considering the Wall of Fame flap earlier this year, when council had to overrule the Arts & Culture Committee’s bizarre decision not to induct Zimmerman despite his name being put forward.

If Zimmerman was a star athlete, slugging 40 homers in the majors or tossing touchdowns in the NFL, this would be a non-issue: The city would bend over backwards to recognize him. But Zimmerman is a massive star in the world of electronic music, capping an enormous year by becoming the first Canadian artist to headline the Rogers Centre in Toronto. He is among the top-ranked DJs in the world, and just this month was nominated for three Grammy Awards.

Not everyone gets his music, that’s fine. Doesn’t erase the fact he is a huge star. And getting bigger every year. To not have a Deadmau5 Day in Niagara Falls by now is shameful.

I realize organizing these things aren’t easy – Zimmerman’s schedule is insane, and (because we waited so long) there would thousands of fans to plan for. But are these the reasons no one has tried? Really?

It can also be argued council has bigger things to deal with, but recognizing achievements like Zimmerman’s should never be tossed aside. Instead, we’ll sit back and watch another city commemorate our own first. Bravo.

*Caution: Santa spoilers ahead …*

To be honest, I had my doubts from the start. An obese guy in a red suit who crawls down the chimney every Christmas Eve? We didn’t even have a chimney! Besides … how creepy is that? Were my parents trying to terrify me into compliance?

Santa Claus … I wasn’t buying it. Even my overactive imagination couldn’t get past the obvious flaws in this story. My parents used to let me watch horror movies on the understanding none of them were real – so how could I possibly believe a load of bunk like Santa existed?

When I was four or five, they told me Santa was on his way for a visit one night. For real. This is it. “Okay,” I thought, ‘I’ll go along with this.” Sure enough, the fat man shows up and it’s my grandfather in a bad Santa suit. The jig was up. To this day, the thing I remember most about that night was thinking, “Do mom and dad think I’m that stupid?”

So it was no surprise the next year when a random search of the closet uncovered a bunch of wrapped Christmas gifts with my brother and I’s names already on them. My parents, being the master deceivers they were, stored them in the closet right next to my bedroom. Were they even trying?

So no, Virginia, I never believed in Santa. And you know what? Things were fine. I didn’t need a mythical figure in a flying sled to understand what Christmas was about. My holidays didn’t revolve around a lie. My parents – two Windsor autoworkers – did their best to get whatever I circled in the Toys ‘R Us catalogue, and I, in turn, tried not to make them mad. At least during December.

What astounds me 40 years later is how many sensible people are still entrenched in the Santa myth. What purpose does it serve? Is it strictly tradition at this point, or is there some deeper meaning behind it all?

The most cynical explanation appears to be Santa as an authority figure. We prepare our kids for a lifetime of servitude and compliance by making them believe someone – not just Jesus – is watching every move they make. Mess up, and it’s no toys. At least not the good ones. Behave, and you’ll be rewarded. All I could think of as a kid was , “Seriously? Someone’s watching me in the bathroom right now?”

There’s also the ‘magic’ explanation. Kids will have enough crap in their lives to deal with soon enough, give ‘em this fantasy to enjoy. But there are consequences to this – at some point, you’ll have to tell the kids Santa doesn’t exist (if they don’t figure it out on their own). Then, they’ll wonder what else you lied to them about. That’s right, junior … there’s no Easter Bunny or Tooth Fairy either. Your whole childhood was built on deception. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

There’s a YouTube video that drives me nuts every Christmas, but I can’t stop watching it. You know the one – the kid unwraps some books, throws a fit, and declares “I don’t get books for Christmas!” The parents laugh like it’s the greatest thing. ‘He’s not angry at us,’ they’re no doubt thinking, ‘he’s mad at Santa’. Ain’t that cute?

No. Crass and depressing, maybe, but not cute. That kid thinks Santa exists to serve him and his want list. There’s no accountability, no sense of perspective. Children are led to believe toys magically appear every Christmas morning, like it’s a faucet. But what happens when reality intrudes on the myth? When one or more parent loses their job and has to drastically reduce their Christmas spending? To your kid, Santa is recession-proof – he makes his own stuff, what’s it matter?

Your kids did everything they were told, and yet, Santa bypassed them. The other kids got bigger and cooler gifts. “Why is Santa mad at me?,” they ask. “What did I do wrong?”

That’s the risk of turning Christmas into a real-life fantasy movie. Adults can handle disappointments … to a kid, they can be devastating. Especially when toys are involved.

So, not to be a grinch, but what is wrong with kids believing in their parents instead of Santa Claus? In knowing it’s their mom and dad’s love and hard work that puts gifts under the tree instead of some red and white blob you only see in malls?

They say Christmas is about family. Maybe that’s the message kids should get from the start, instead of finding out the hard way later.

You’ve got to give it up for Courtney Love: No one can have an epic on-stage meltdown quite like her.

Where other artists might pout and storm off, Courtney – who ruined many a death pool by outlasting Amy Winehouse – has you questioning your safety. She’s like the villain in a woman’s prison flick, about to stick a shiv in you. When she loses it, it’s 20 years worth of drugs, breakdowns and unfiltered lunacy raining down on you.

Her YouTube Hall of Fame would take a week to compile, but she added another riveting chapter this week. At a show in Brazil a fan held up a photo of Kurt Cobain. Here’s what followed:
Courtney loses it

Let’s examine this tender moment between an artist and her fans a bit closer:

:12 – “I’m not Kurt … I’ve been living with his s—, his ghost every day. Throwing that up is stupid and rude.” Going by this, you might assume Courtney Love hated her late husband. That she wanted him gone. That she … killed him? Nah, that’s too crazy even for her.

:16 – It must be asked: Why is the drummer taking pictures? Are layoffs so bad in Camp Courtney that the drummer is also her photographer?

:25 – “You didn’t get kicked out of a band by him like Dave, he did.” So, is she saying Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl kicked Kurt out of the band?  “Go see the f—ing Foo Fighters and do that s—!” Ya, I guess she is.

:35 – “Great, we’ll leave now. F— You!” And there it is, the leaving-the-stage part which every artist does so they can hear the crowd pleading for them to return and feel vindicated despite acting like such a tool.

:45 – The band doesn’t know what to do. At least two of them are about to cry, one thinks this is part of the song, and the rest are flashing back to the day they joined Courtney’s band and thought to themselves, “She can’t possibly be as crazy as people say, right?”

1:24 – Everyone huddles together backstage like someone just pulled the fire alarm at school. “Will they riot? Will we be paid? Is it too late to join Foreigner?”

1:55 – Shirtless hipster with cigarette takes the mike: “Repeat after me: The Foo Fighters are gay!” About five people chant. Courtney Love fans may be a loyal bunch, but even they aren’t crazy enough to bash the Foo Fighters.

2:30 – Courtney’s back, on her knees hugging a bandmate for helping her through this tragic moment. Will she have the strength to continue?

2:35 – “I don’t care who you listen to at home, but if a guy takes money off my kid’s table, F— him!” Whoa … mind blown. Courtney, are you saying you can’t live off the royalties of Nirvana, one of the top-selling bands of the past 25 years? Are you saying poor Frances Bean is going hungry because of the Foo monster? That your money hasn’t been squandered on drugs, lawsuits and rehab? Okay, just drugs and lawsuits then.

Courtney, my love, please come to Niagara Falls so we can continue this conversation.