A 30-year-old colleague of mine just complained to me about how “ruled” his generation is by today’s society.

“If you party on the beach now, you get hassled because people think you’re dangerous.”

 I was stunned: that’s being repressed?

 My colleague, like too many of his age I’m afraid, has little idea of what society was like before his. Not that he needs to know – he is, after all, living by today’s realities – but knowing how his realities came to be would give him a greater appreciation of what he has.

 “As little as 35 years ago guys could still get beat up for having long hair on the beach,” I said.

Christmas memories are now but a Visa bill away. I didn’t want anything (at my age, to paraphrase Leonard Cohen, the only thing I want is to no longer ache in the places where I used to play), or really need anything (the above citation notwithstanding). My kids are healthy and happy, so too is my partner. There’s still food on the table and heat in the house, so I’m good, really.

Really.

December 6 is the 20th anniversary of what was quickly termed the “Montreal Massacre”.

I never liked the term. I always thought it should be referred to simply as “Montreal” or “École Polytechnique” which would evoke a more sombre reflection of what went on there (the way “9/11” or “Remember Vimy Ridge” many generations ago did to mark those observances). I think adding “Massacre” gave it a less personal name than it deserves.

Progress report: I’m on my second contract now. The first was for a bank, editing and rewriting a manager’s guide and creating telephone scripts for a new product. Now I’ve been brought in to help a large organization’s communications department with various projects as it restructures and things long put on hold are resurrected.