A Streetcar Named Disgust

It's the time of year that does it to me. It's fed by a love of things historical, a fascination for the machines of war, and winter's onset. It's triggered by Remembrance Day and probably the guilt of never having served in the armed forces or having been affected directly by war. I know I shouldn't feel guilt, but nonetheless it's still there. It makes me kind of morbid, quiet, and I think too much.


In my own tiny way I try to imagine what soldiers and civilians went through - the hell, boredom, not knowing, comraderie, surrealness, loss, gallows humour, etc. I have a pretty good imagination, yet I know I can't imagine more than a tiny portion. The parts that I do 'get' a bit are mostly from Mum and Dad, who were too young to be officially involved in the war growing up in England.


Dad and his family were bombed out of their house in the south of London (Tottenham?). Mum and her family were relatively lucky to be away from the flightpath of the bombers in a small village north of London, but were still affected by severe rationing and troop movements.


To this day, Mum is severely agitated by the sound of wartime sirens and fireworks that whistle like bombs dropping. She's owed that. I'm not sure why Dad didn't seem to be affected. I suppose a young boy simply files things as either 'adventure' or 'not adventure'.



Thanksgiving signals that the harvest is in and winter is looming. It's now time for the ironically-named Remembrance Day. I say ironically because, aside from some people wearing poppies, it largely goes unnoticed. The Halloween decorations are coming down and the Christmas ones are going up. Remembrance Day is the first holiday to get moved to Christmas to get another day around the holidays, when people want it. I defy anyone to find someone who pays homage to the veterans of wars on their extra day at Christmas. That's quite the tribute. But hey - the people now want it. I guess freedom and justice are cheaper when they're further away.


Around Remembrance Day I try to do my little bit. I buy a poppy, I read accounts and stories about the war, I go to or watch the official ceremonies, I observe silence at the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, I talk to vets, and I try to point out the relevant good and bad things surrounding Remembrance Day. This blog entry, unfortunately, is about the bad...


People around me know that I sometimes obsess on things that don't seem important to anyone else. One of those things is Stella Artois beer. It wasn't memorable when I had it, but I'm sure that it's a fine beer. Certainly those Belgians know how to make beer, and those Stella Artois glasses are cool. Any beer would taste better out of those beautiful Belgian glasses. But I won't have them. I won't have anything Stella Artois.


And it's all because of one commercial. It's called "Stella Artois - Returning Heroes." It's about an injured soldier and his buddy returning home from World War 1:

• A soldier is severely injured and calls out for his buddy to help him. His buddy risks his own life to carry the injured soldier to safety.
• The injured soldier invites his saviour to his family's pub, where his father offers to pour them a couple glasses of wine. The wounded-soldier-son insists on Stella, because it's better.
• The father draws his son a Stella from the beertap. When the father goes to draw his son's saviour a Stella, he steps on the hose to make it look like the keg is done, then pours him a glass of wine instead.

Is it the a-hole thankless father's fault? Of course it is, but it's also the injured soldier's fault for not giving his buddy his Stella. In fact, that change would've made it a fantastic commercial as it would've shown the wounded soldier rising above his upbringing to do a simple decent thing for someone who saved his life. Instead, he quaffs it down in front of his 'buddy'. It's an award-winning commercial too. Just f-ing priceless.


Anyway, that's why I won't go near it. No Stella beer, no Stella glasses, no Stella coasters on the table in the bar even. Nada. And I lecture every single person I see drinking a Stella, and will continue to do so. I can provide several references to this fact. If I ever get a gift of, or win Stella stuff, I'll destroy it. I know that's petty, thankless, and immature - but I don't want any of their advertising to go through me. It's my little bit. My tiny little bit.


Here's the commercial that sickens me: Returning Heroes


No company I've worked for has taken Remembrance Day on Nov 11, and I get mad at myself in retrospect for not just taking the day off. I don't even think the stores need to shut down on Remembrance Day, but a store would have my undying frickin' loyalty if I saw this happen: A Pittance of Time video


This is my mum's grandfather in WW1 at Ypres, West Flanders, Belgium. I guess that's Flanders Fields, where the poppies blow...between the crosses, row on row. I wish I could've bought him a beer. Thank you for letting me rant once again.