Archive for January, 2011
How Corporate Tax Breaks Here Lead to Democracy There
Haha – just kidding. Relax, New Conservatives – corporate tax breaks here will lead to more prison work camps there.
But I wonder what the G8/G20 Summiteers would have discussed, instead of whatever “our idea of aid for your first born sons” scheme was on the agenda, if they’d known there was a threat of democracy breaking out in the Middle East only a few short months after their celebration of corporate elitism. Afterall, I doubt very much that Conservatives and their corporate elite overlords would want globalization to lead to some sort of people over profits principle or, well, what would be the point of restricting G membership to 8 and 20? And with expanded numbers of G members, well, what self-respecting Conservative would want to belong to a club that let in EVERYBODY because EVERYBODY could afford the membership fee?
Anyway, enough of all that democratic excitement and back to humdrum Canada now that it’s Canada and not whatever it was during the G8/G20 when it wasn’t Canada, as accidentally on purpose revealed to demonstrators by one of the mercenaries hired by our governments to suspend civil rights for us while the chattering classes/corporate elites met to decide how democracy was going to behave during tough economic times brought on by a sudden and staggering increase in white collar malfeasance for which our soft on crime governments were ill-prepared with not enough prisons. Apparently. So here’s one “Foog” (yes, I believe if you recite it backwards it’s “Goof”) on my illustrious forum – about all that jazz:
Here’s a BBC piece (some days old now) about the protests in Egypt. ‘Tis your basic shit-just-got-real article about the insanely massive protests, violence, death, destruction etc….
But as I was scrolling through the article, I couldn’t help but notice this factoid:
Quote: Security officials say 1,000 demonstrators have been arrested.
So, correct me if I’m wrong here, but the corrupt and dictatorial Egyptian regime, in response to days of widespread protest involving mayhem, cops, soldiers, destruction, riots, tear gas, rubber bullets, real bullets, dead protesters, half the fucking city of Cairo on fire, etc etc etc, has arrested about the same number of protesters as were arrested at the G20 in Toronto.
Irony abounds, dunnit? Maybe Mubarek could flee Egypt under cover of CSIS and become Toronto’s next police chief. Afterall, we could do worse – and have, apparently. What’s going to be embarrassing is if we end up living in a global democracy and we’re the ones returning the perpetrators of brief suspensions of democracy filled in by temporary police states to political office. No bloody coups required. Just, “Okay. Here are the keys to the treasury. Again. But don’t do that thing you always do where you give all our money to your corporate elite overlords and then tell us to tighten our belts, reduce our personal debt, expect less for more, and so on an so forth and more of the same etc etc. ‘Kay? Promise? Ooh – tax cuts?! Alright! Here you go, Conservatives! Here are the keys to the treasury! Yay! Tax cuts!”
Tiger Mommy Dearest
I’ve been reading the reaction to the latest incarnation of the bad mother, the Tiger Mom, and noticing that the cheerleaders and naysayers tend to fall into the same old same old camps: Conservative Reactionaries of one variety or another and People Who Shall Be Known As Progressives.
What I find interesting is that many of the pundits in both camps were probably raised by Tiger Moms, or, what I call, Mom.
The fact is, anybody who is over fifty had a Mom who, I’m sorry, boys and girls but cover your ears, given a choice, probably wouldn’t have chosen to be a Mom. Especially if she had known at the time, most often in her very early twenties, that her children would grow up to be baby boomers. Unless I’m suffering from False Memory Syndrome, our Moms were all Tiger Moms. They didn’t care about our little psyches, they didn’t care about our ups and downs, they didn’t care about us.
We were an obligation, a duty, and an ungrateful one at that, because all we did was lay around and eat groceries. And whenever we said anything we were either being lippy or a smart alec. Even adopted kids who were told they were special because they were chosen (and really, what was up with that expression if it wasn’t a backhanded indictment of the unchosen among us) should have rolled their eyes and lifted a twenty of mom’s pin money in payment. Yeah, chosen because to be a childless couple was like being short – you got no reason to live.
Now, my own Mom didn’t have children until her late twenties and there’s a ten-year spread between the four of us so the last of her brood was born when she was in her late thirties. That’s mostly on account of WWII and a scheme by my grandmother, with whom she was boarding while she taught school up in Northern Ontario, to find fault with all her suitors (including my “bachelor” uncle), until my father came home from the war.
So she saved herself for him (although, what happens while a WREN in Halifax stays while a WREN in Halifax, unless there’s a b.a.b.y., in which case you’ve ruined your life and will never be fit for a decent man so you may as well rope off the shirker who chose a little action with the ladies over a little action and lie in the bed you made with the rogue you made it with), got married, became a housewife, and had four children.
Then my father died.
This meant that we her children would grow up hearing in answer to any calamity that had befallen us and for which we sought sympathy or a sad smile of understanding or even a nod of acknowledgment, “Ohferchrissakes, you’re not exactly a widow with four young children, are you!” Sort of a precursor to the “Suck it up!” that adults today will jokingly say to each other in the midst of one or another “Bourgeois Crisis”.
Because really, whatever we’re going through, we’re not exactly Haitians witnessing the return of the murderous and corrupt Baby Doc to Haiti after a devastating earthquake and a year of, well, murder and corruption amidst largely ineffectual aid from abroad for which we from abroad mindlessly allow our craven and duly-elected governments to take credit.
Except that, where our Moms said when we didn’t want to eat our over cooked frozen or canned vegetables, “Why you spoiled selfish ungrateful little brat – think of the starving children in Biafra!”, without apparently thinking of the mothers of the starving children in Biafra when they left the olives sitting in the bottoms of their empty martini glasses, we don’t say any such thing to our children because, well, they would feel terrible.
And come home from school the next day with an application to sponsor an S.O.S. child.
(To be honest, my Mom never actually mentioned the starving children in Biafra because my Grandmother did all the cooking and the self-appelled Greatest Generation was never shy about pointing out to its Moms that they were overcooking the vegetables. But, of course, going off to war was a free pass to adulthood, wasn’t it. Meanwhile, I don’t know anybody my age who isn’t still justifying perfectly sound adult choices to their critical and disapproving Moms who don’t understand why we think it matters who we’re married to when all men are the same except that some make more money than others and in any case you should never depend on a man for money because men are not even remotely reliable and can die, leaving you a widow with four young children.)
But that’s just it, isn’t it. All my Mom contemporaries have kids because they wanted them. Baby boomers, on the other hand (and cover your ears again because this is the cold hard truth and if you’re still one of those baby boomers who thinks your Mom was happy just being your Mom, well, you’re either a man or retarded) are only here, still parked in the best jobs and ready to cash out with fabulous pensions before heading back to finish up contract assignments with the government that they’re busily arranging as I write this, because our Moms had no choice but to have us.
Like the boys of the Greatest Generation who went off to WWII to do their soldierly duty, our Moms did theirs when they came home.
I know, I know – harsh. But one of my friends, who has the same Mom as I do (you do, too, if you’re over fifty, you’re just not there yet – or, see above re “man or retarded”) says that those same Moms have produced a generation of comedians, following the adage that tragedy + time = comedy. Indeed, according to her, comedy is the payoff for a society produced by a generation of Moms who saw times change such that, while we were growing up, they were realizing that, had they been born just a little bit later, they could have been a generation of Mary Richardses and That Girls instead of waiting for Father Knows Best who didn’t want kids, either, to come home from work and yell at everybody to “Shut the hell up! I’m t’inkin’!”.
Remember, I’m just going by what I’ve heard – my own father died, so my mom came home from work instead to ask, “What the hell are you doing?” “Uh… watching tv?” “Don’t get smart with me! Go outside!”
The reality of the modern Tiger Mom is that she isn’t. There’s no bringing back the real deal because choice has changed everything. And I’m not even talking about abortion, which is actually a very minor part of the choice equation for women, so much so that many women choose NOT to have abortions even when faced with an unwanted pregnancy because, in the end, they decide that, while they may not want the pregnancy, they do want the baby.
I’m talking about a society so changed that there is no duty to become a Mom and no stigma to NOT becoming a Mom. I’m talking about a whole new Mom reality – the wanting, choosing Mom. The Moms of a generation of kids who have grown up knowing that their Moms got pregnant – on purpose, deliberately, some even going to extraordinary lengths to conceive them.
Including, having sex with their Dads.
And alongside all that choice is the matter of child rights. When I was a kid, the question most often asked of me was, “How would you like a good swat?”, a question for which there wasn’t actually a good answer so the best choice of action was to “button your lip”. And then, of course, there was the famous, “Stop that crying or I’ll really give you something to cry about!”, which, for some reason, all those pundits who write about the good old days and how much happier women were being mothers and wives, seem not to have heard (or are so traumatized by childhood that they’ve completely forgotten it and now write completely made-up columns without even knowing that they’re doing it – or they’re men and/or retarded).
Even more famous, for those of us with over-achieving complexes, “99%? What happened to the other 1%?” (And by us I mean daughters, of course, not sons. Sons for the most part could screw up ad nauseum and still grow up to be doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs.)
And don’t get me wrong, here, either. Because my Mom was the happiest Mom on my street, of my elementary school, my high school, my university. You get the idea. She had more freedom than almost any Mom I know (more, really, than I did, but, well, like (there’s no nice way to put this but I don’t mean it the way it reads), my husband didn’t die. Although, now that we’re separated I don’t need him to – I can make choices unhindered again.
And as I tell my kids now that they’re old enough to hear it, not only were they wanted, they made an otherwise stupid marriage worth it. In fact, were it not for that stupid marriage, they wouldn’t be here at all. Because, while I thought I had no choice in the marriage (having chosen it, which meant that I must lie in it), I had every choice when it came to whether or not to have kids (although, I had to be tricky about it – men d’un certain age have very perceptive radar when it comes to women who might just be having sex with them for the purposes of conception – an amazing kind of evolution, really, when you stop and think about it). And, as I tell my kids, there was no way I was going to be married to their dad and not come out of it with SOMETHING.
Oops. I just became my Mom, didn’t I. On the upside, my kids will be able to look back and laugh about how they came to be. Because lord knows where the next generation of comedians is going to come from what with all these well-adjusted “I Love Me” Generation Ws or whatever letter we’re at now soon to be roaming the corridors of power.
Oh, who am I kidding. Generation W has too much self-esteem to think that Mom was anything but the best, doesn’t it.
Tiger Mom meet choice.
And the end of comedy.
We’re All F*ggot N*ggers Now
Oh, except women, of course. We’re “chicks for free”. “Bitches” and “ho’s” and whatever other objectifying slur men can come up with to justify their need to put women back in their place, behind men, raising them up so that men can continue to dominate both business AND the arts, while simultaneously holding us back by hiding the magic decoder rings on higher and higher shelves.
But omigawd it was funny watching a two-person panel on CBC the other night spilling “faggot” like a couple of broken faucets while referring prudishly to the “n” word – like a couple of total white fags. Which I sincerely hope they are because, otherwise – leave other people’s words alone!
I mean, ferchrissakes, do straight white men and a handful of lesbians have to own EVERYTHING?!
Although, it’s probably only a matter of time before lesbians do run the world. Imagine being smart like a woman – with another smart woman behind you! And not, you know, just so she can get a good look at your ass if you happen to bend over.
Ooh – Maybe it’ll even be the cute fun kind of lesbians running the world, too!
Haha – as if there are any cute fun lesbians. Dream on, boys.
Speaking of breaking through barriers – NOT – did Michelle Obama really suggest that obesity was a national security issue because if poor American kids got any fatter they wouldn’t be eligible to sign up for duty and die in one of America’s insane wars on foreign soil that serve only to make the poor poorer and the rich richer and America further in debt to better-at-capitalism Communist China?