Forgive the lack of posts lately, but I've obviously been busy naming my new radio talk show, Dahlia, on Winnipeg's 680 CJOB. It airs weekday afternoons from 1 to 3 central, and you can listen live online at CJOB.com. Now, to introduce my radio show, I thought it would most appropriate to do it with a video. Makes sense, right?
”When I pass a flowering zucchini plant in a garden, my heart skips a beat.” – Gwyneth Paltrow
Oh the lies people tell.
The above quote is from the constantly acting actress’ crookbook, My Father’s Daughter: Delicious, Easy Recipes Celebrating Family & Togetherness.
The queen of the humble brag had other noteworthy delectables such as, “You just need some good ingredients and a few simple recipes, maybe a couple of jokes or a ‘topic to dissect’ at the table, the way they do at Nora Ephron’s house.”
Good thing most of you sit when you read, or there may be many injuries after tripping over the late writer’s name there – or other celebrity friend names casually littered throughout, as if Gwynnie’s referring to everyday buds we all share.
Not only has bragging become socially acceptable, but it has also become the basis of our social value.
Enter the humble brag – or *humble brag* <enter>, as it were.
Remember when we were taught not to be boastful? Well, today social media is training us not to be caught being boastful.
Back in 2010, comic writer Harris Wittels coined the term humble brag, which describes an attempt to crow about oneself whilst casually presenting it under a veil of false humility.
As a national columnist, who has the opportunity to attend fun events and receive cool perks, I am certainly a repeat offender on this front. (See what I did there?)
You should have seen all the paparazzi following me after this appearance on "The Morning Show." Or maybe getting whacked with a racket by the host just made me see things.
It's a bird ... It's a plane ... No! Wait! It's Dahlia flying a plane! (And I may or may not have flown illegally close to the CN Tower.)
It is national non-smoking week, but after watching an inane exchange on the news yesterday, I propose that a national non-stupid week is perhaps more in order.
Now, this television interview between a reporter and some woman off the street – who didn’t want to be identified by name for fear that she’d reveal her identity – surpasses almost every threshold of stupid imaginable.
Thresholds one through five were of course instantly surpassed by the woman’s declaration that she wanted to remain anonymous – while being broadcast live on the most-watched news station – in one of the country’s biggest cities.
Sometimes I wish I were my husband so I wouldn’t have to make supper. And then I realize if I were that guy without someone to cook for me I’d probably resort to foodstuffs – like ketchup – for supper.
So sometimes you just have to treat yourself, or sometimes you’re lucky enough to have Samba Days treat you to a gift experience.
And for those of you who are so practical that you’d rather put that money to the hydro bill than treating yourself, your friends can get you a Samba Days gift experience for Christmas, forcing you to put yourself before the electricity.
Look closely at this picture to the left. What do you see? No, not the half-naked girl. Look again. Bottom right corner. You see a glimpse of me revealing my dirty little secret to Canada and the world - in the table of contents previewing a double-page spread.
After the jump, check out my story in Sportsnet Magazine, Canada's leading all-sports glossy, as I pioneer two things:
1. A new sport for sports magazines.
2. A photo shoot for a 5-foot-nothin' non-celebrity.
I am afraid of everything. But, I am not afraid to do anything.
It’s funny, when Samba Days gave me the opportunity to select from its seemingly endless list of gift experiences, rather than choose from categories such as Wine, Gourmet, Getaway, Body and Soul, or Life and Culture, I found myself choosing from Explore and Adventure.
Yes, I passed up the opportunity for delightful spa treatments and tasty pampering experiences to harness myself to a cable 35 feet above the hard, rocky ground, and wear (an impressively disinfected) helmet that may not have been conducive to maintaining my hairstyle, but was beneficial in making me feel like a stunt-double in a Michael Bay movie.
Now, I have established a reputation as one who fights for her right not to vote, because regardless who wins most elections, I will be unhappy with the outcome.
It’s like asking me if I want pork or chicken for supper. I am vegetarian. I choose neither. And with all the pigs and chickens on our election ballots, there is no point for me to vote.
Quite frankly, though the mainstream parties in Canada run the left-centre-right gamut, they are each just slight variations of the other.
The NDP is as left-wing as a chicken with one wing (a right one), the Conservatives are as right-wing as the Liberals when catering to the popular vote, while the Liberals are quite liberal with their ineptness.