Archive for December, 2009
I think maybe if I post to the Internet that I’m putting Sooey Says on hiatus for a bit so that I can devote my teeny tiny allotment of concentration to writing a book, I may actually get to chapter two by January.
So there you have it.
Except for one thing – the War on Christmas should be pronounced the War of Christmas.
Now go off in pursuit of happiness. That’s my advice.
Christmas, Don’t Get Me Started
I’m looking for dog-walking boots, the kind that can trudge through anything, so I’ve been frequenting malls. I want to buy something made in Canada, but it’s difficult. Mostly because we don’t make boots. They’re all made in China. Even Sorels. And there is no way in frozen hell that I’m going to pay more than $10 for a pair of winter boots made in China. I just can’t do it. If retailers are going to price stuff made in China as if it’s made here, they can go fuck themselves up the ass with any number of pointy objects made in China and I’ll go without boots altogether.
And call me a bad Canadian, but I won’t buy Toe Warmers. They may be made in Canada, but they’re so fugly I wouldn’t buy them for my dog. Although, I’d buy them for my mother. But she doesn’t care anymore about fugly. She’s too worried about staying alive so long that she can’t afford the ever rising rent of her senior’s residence. My dog’s only saving grace is his good looks. I don’t know what my mother’s saving grace is, but I can’t see that Toe Warmers would make much difference either way if she’s living in a cardboard box in the middle of some road in Northern Ontario.
But back to the mall. This year, there seems to be a determination by retailers to repel people who don’t enjoy treacly affected schmaltzy schlock with their muzak. I mean, my gawd, I was in Sears, which looks like an autistic monkey designed the new layout, desperately trying to like the fugly Candian-made Toe Warmers, on sale for just under $100, when my stomach started to heave at the latest rock carol that followed right on the shitheels of a grotesquely retro version of Here Comes Santa Claus by Barbra Streisand. And that followed on Celine Dion (who sounds increasingly like Ethel Merman to my damaged ear) yellsinging at us all to be grateful for something or other at this time of year.
Grateful? Fuck you, Celine! I You live in L.A.
Seriously, I thought I was going to puke. It was that sickening. Literally. I almost had Christmasick all over Sears. Which probably would have improved the decor, quite frankly, but since Sears is clearly sticking pretty close to last season’s “WHO GIVES A SHIT ANYMORE JUST THROW CRAP ANYWHERE LIKE WE DO WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” theme, I held back and headed for the closest exit – by climbing over heaps of merchandise and, I think, a few dead bodies. Staff or customers, it was hard to tell but if you’re missing anybody around the Christmas mowdown this year, you might want to check Sears.
And once home from the mall you’re not safe from a commercial Christmas either because, of course, if you turn on the tv, ’tis the season for syrupy sappy only 2 weeks left to buy love Christmas COMMERCIALS! The most offensive one so far that I’ve seen involves a bunch of dancing GAP kids dressed up in winter garb that, having just been to the GAP at the mall, I know is ALL MADE IN CHINA! And those little Chinese kids making the duds aren’t exactly going for employee of the month stickers, if you catch my drift. Why shop at the GAP anymore anyway when you can buy the same crap cheaper at Old Navy and even cheaper by chopping up an old table cloth and stapling it back together in box shapes?
But back to the season to be jolly. It almost makes me hate little passersby, holding daddy’s hand, with their gimme, gimme, gimme or I won’t love you forever, won’t like you for always, as long as I’m living my baby you won’t be – unless you buy me more Christmas presents than Mommy – and I already peeked in the closet and SHE BOUGHT ME A PONY!
Seriously, no kidding, I overheard a little girl walking through the mall with her dad listing in the most ear curdlingly cloying way what she wanted for Christmas that I just wanted to scream at them both, “Ohferchristmassake! Your consumerism is destroying our habitat! Thanks to you, we’re all going to bake to death under a merciless desert sun! Run to Sears! We can build a new habitat under the piles of abandoned merchandise!”
But then I would have been the crazy one, which I’ve learned from past revolts hither and yon is not the position one wants to be in if one wants to be taken seriously, as opposed to into custody.
So, anyway, Santa? All I want for Christmas is a pair of size 7 Canadian made dog walking boots that cost less than $100 and aren’t Toe Warmers. And see what you can do about topping up my Mom’s pension. Failing that, maybe you could spot her a pair of Toe Warmers that wouldn’t fugle up a cardboard box foyer.
Saving Tiger Woods
How unhappy does a marriage have to be, do you think, before one or the other of the couple throws in the towel and decides it’s not worth saving? Further to that, is a marriage that isn’t working out, ever worth saving? Why is everyone in such complete denial that marriage is pretty much just a hangover from a time when people had less freedom of choice? Good grief. All you kids out there – pay attention as Tiger Woods tries to get himself out of his sandtrap of a marriage. It’s the most instructive sports video you’ll ever see.
In spite of our New Conservative government:
The incidents demonstrate that Canadian soldiers deployed in a dangerous war zone were willing to take additional risks to uphold their Geneva obligations and recover detainees being abused.
Numerous others instances of post-transfer suspected torture and abuse exist – including at least eight where Canadian officials demanded investigations of detainee abuse or torture by Afghan security officials – but in all those cases documentary records have been withheld or censored by the government.
Gosh, remember when we had that crazy old tradition of Ministerial responsibility and Ministers resigned over such matters, such as knowingly or even unknowingly misleading Parliament?
Anyway, I wonder who, who is not a New Conservative Member of Parliament, will end up wearing this latest burst of truth?
December 6, 2009 and So On and So Forth and More of the Same
Twenty years after December 6, 1989 and, thanks to a reactionary Rightwing backlash to all attempts by sane society to address male violence against women, we are barely stemming the tide of Feminist-blaming-for-male-violence propaganda spewed forth daily in the editorial pages of our newspapers.
If you suddenly arrived from another planet and read a column by almost any one of our Conservative pundits on any given day you’d wonder how it is that Feminists, in spite of overwhelming male dominance in business, government, religion – wherever money, power and influence can be found – are some how, some way, to blame for male violence against women, here, there, and everywhere. Yessirree. Feminists make men murder women because, thanks to Feminists, women are getting in the way of the Gawd-given right of men to keep all that money, power and influence for themselves.
Damn Eve thinking Adam wouldn’t just use that tasty bite of apple as his excuse for everything to come ever after.
I bet he ate the rest of it without sharing, too.