Friday July 25 , 2014

Archive for November, 2012

Blowing in the Wind

According to my Conservative friend, the British Canadian who manages this website, David Warren recently opined that democracy doesn’t work, and a return to monarchy is in order.

Funny how the loudest Conservatives in Canada are so eager to either do business with communist China, or dispense with democracy, so that capitalism can work its magic.

Eh?

By the way, since we know that the Conservative Party of Canada used its CIMS database for the purpose of identifying non-supporters and calling them on election day to misdirect them to erroneous polling stations, doesn’t that mean its leader, Stephen Harper, should fall on his sword.

Or something?

But, of course, I’m increasingly anti-capitalism, so I would say that, wouldn’t I.

Does anybody else think that discount dental floss and plastic wrap were invented by brand name makers of dental floss and plastic wrap?

Because whenever I use discount dental floss, it breaks off in my teeth, causing extreme alarm and mild discomfort. Whenever I use discount plastic wrap, it gums up into a staticky ball before I can even tear it off the roll.

Then I go out an buy a brand name version of dental floss (actually, I buy dental tape, a much superior product) and Saran wrap.

And I won’t buy the Saran wrap at the Dollar Store anymore because they only seem to stock “holiday” Saran wrap.

Carp only knows how toxic red-tinged plastic wrap is.

So my theory is that the same running dogs make both the brand name product and the discount brands, scoring twice, once when the cheap shopper buys the discount product, and twice when the same shopper heads out once more to buy the brand name product.

Look, I’m a capitalist, I really am. But this ain’t it. And the Conservative Party of Canada can call itself conservative, but it ain’t.

I’m conservative. Honest. I live like money really really matters. And I have a lot of respect for entrepreneurs who create products and services that are useful and worthwhile and make life better for all of us.

The Conservative Party of Canada is something else altogether. It’s like the leaf blower and parking authorities and discount brands created by name brands.

Just a whole lot of stupid and nasty and a waste of time and money.

But mostly money. And there’s nothing conservative about wasting money.

Right?

 

Raining News – Updated

Omigawd, is it raining news today or what?

What do you get when you cross Mark Carney with Rob Ford?

A Royal Flush.

I don’t get it yet but I wanted to be the first to post it, anyway.

I never really got the big deal about Mark Carney, though, to tell you the truth. I mean, all he seemed to do was call press conferences to tell us he was holding interest rates steady.

Yeah. Whatever, dude. While we’re paying you to do that, could you make up some jobs for us, please?

And what happens when Stephen Harper appoints an Alberta Conservative as Canada’s “bank” guv’nah, anyway? Won’t he just give all our money to those rapacious tarsands developers?

I nominate Rob Anders. At least he’ll just go to sleep.

I never really got the big deal about Rob Ford, either. The guy’s obviously just the sort of asshat other asshats want to be the mayor – plus on drugs. Meanwhile, there’s all this phony baloney about how David Miller was part of the leftie elite and that’s why a bunch of asshats voted for an asshat to be the mayor as soon as they had the chance.

Well, I met David Miller (he bought me a glass of wine at a fest he stumbled upon when he was running for mayor) and he sure didn’t strike me as part of no leftie elite. Cripes, I was drunker’n a skunk, offering him all kinds of political advice, right down to a series of dance moves from our grade five production of Thoroughly Modern Millie. Guy can’t hold his liquor, though, he was off home before I even finished the Charleston.

Still, very personable. Rob Ford? Cripes, the only woman I’ve ever seen him with he was giving the finger to. If you’re not one of his fancy shmancy Donny Brascos, fuhgeddabouddit.

I just wish I could remember all the secrets David Miller’s aide spilled that night. Secret spilling interspersed with, “Oh no, you’re from Frank magazine aren’t you. I just know it. You’re going to print all this stuff I’m telling you and David’s campaign will be ruined. Please don’t do this to me. I beg you.”

And then he’d tell me about another escapade involving David Miller. Meanwhile, there was a guy from Frank magazine at the fest, but he was off in another part of the bar listening to fans of the magazine complain about its price, style, and content.

Head’s up to political satire magazine publishers: There’s no pleasing your fans, so don’t even try. And either make money or don’t, but my friend who makes lots of money doing social media marketing (I think that’s what she does, anyway, but I’m not really sure) says, “Do a print edition and go on Dragon’s Den”.

There. Don’t ever say I didn’t try to help. And Kevin O’Leary will vote you down because he thinks online is the shit. But he’s wrong, take it from me, Sooey Says. You’re doing Dragon’s Den for buzz, anyway.

And if Kevin O’Leary is so smart, why doesn’t he have his own network, instead of just being on CBC 24/7.

But it would be fun to see what a political satire magazine would make of the news on Monday, November 26, 2012, what with goody two shoes Carney, now known as the Royal Mark Carney, I guess, swanning off to the Jolly Old Bank of England, and Rob Fucking Ford sneaking out the back door of a courthouse, having just been declared slightly less than legitimate by a judge.

Or do you ignore Mark Carney and Rob Ford and make fun of everybody else, both Mark Carney and Rob Ford somehow being beyond parody, at least to me.

How many pictures can you print of Mark Carney, sitting at one of his press conferences (did we pay him extra for those?) talking about holding interest rates down (yeah, whatever, dude – jobs?) and then having a good laugh at politicians for being a bunch of clowns – with a “What, me worry?” caption under them.

I mean, certainly the sight of Jim Flaherty announcing the leave-taking of Mark Carney is hilarious. That’s right, there goes your last shred of credibility, dude. And he’s from Lehman Brothers. Should have put a Royal in front of Bank of Canada. Tsk tsk. Too late now. Bring on more flopsweat. Deficit just ballooned out of the stratosphere, now nobody’s holding down interest rates.

Meanwhile, Marc Weisblott, whom I’ve met in person, I have, does a little sum up of what media pundits were saying about the fate/fortune of Rob Ford. It features the likes of Christie Blatchford, one of my favourite media pundits, saying she voted for him because he seemed authentic.

http://o.canada.com/2012/11/26/pundits-take-what-could-be-their-final-punt-at-assessing-toronto-mayor-rob-ford/

Ah, the authentic politician. No, no, no, Christie. David Miller was the authentic politician. He bought me a glass of wine. And his aide spilled so many beans that if I’d really been from Frank magazine, instead of a fan who often just read the bubbles over the heads of celebrities in the paparazzi section, I probably could have made David Miller the asshat other asshats want to be the mayor, instead of leaving him to go down in infamy as the mayor from the leftie elite.

Authentic. Oh my. Nope the only authentic people in the news today are the visitors from Guatemala, come to Canada to seek justice against our rapacious – literally – mining companies, and the Canadian lawyer who is representing them, pro bono.

It doesn’t often get that authentic in Canada anymore, but yeah, I’d say that’s pretty effin’ authentic.

 

 

Vicarious Mothers

Just realized, my mother isn’t upset that I’m unemployed, she’s upset that we have nothing to talk about now that I’m not complaining about work.

 

Black Friday, The End of Value

While I’m unemployed my thing is to at least be healthy, stay in shape, cook right (drink moderately and smoke pot a lot) and get the house ready to sell at a moment’s notice. She’s a good little row house, but you never know, and while the previous owners kept good care of her (we lucked out with the rarest of homes, one that had been lived in by the same people for years) there’s lots of painting and whatnot to be done.

We don’t renovate, although the upstairs is three small bedrooms that would be so much nicer as one large office/guest room and one small bedroom for us. Back when we lived in an apartment (for the new Sooey Says reader(s), I crammed myself and three kids into a one bedroom apartment in downtown Ottawa for eight years of weekends – my Beau had his own apartment for much of that time, but eventually I crammed him in, too) I would have scoffed at such extravagance, but I guess we expand to our circumstances, or something.

But old habits die hard, and although I don’t really have to, I still shop at thrift shops, sally anns, even value villages (although they tend to be like Walmarts and out of range unless you own a car, which we don’t). While I was working I shopped at a store near work, Tristan’s, that stocked good quality clothes, some even made in Canada. Of course, Le Chateau has lots of made in Canada clothing, too, and I bought a pair of red lined dress pants there that really rock.

Omigawd. That is such a lie. They are the most middle-aged looking pants you can imagine. I may as well have bought them at the Fashion Shop in Sault Ste. Marie, which is still there on Queen Street. I didn’t go in when last I was home, but I did go into a few other stores along Queen Street, all fantastic, and bought a couple of items that are crazily hip. Of course, the Sault is a bit of a fashion hub, it really is (also Italian food – unbelievable) and people living there are as stylish as anyone in Timmins.

Just kidding – Toronto.

I guess it’s the Italian influence, I don’t know. Back in the day, there was a store called “The Cat’s Meow” run by one of three brothers who moved to the Sault and drove up the promiscuity rate considerably. I was pursued by one brother, slept with another, the third, the businessman, was too old for me, but I believe he runs an organic farm up there now.

He was super hot for my older sister, I’m pretty sure. Everybody was, though. Years later when I was at the University of Toronto, I would run into boys who’d known her, so excited to meet a sister of. Alas, her cool I did not have.

And I should have slept with the brother pursuing me and not the one who bargained with me for a ride home. But I was drunk, in the middle of nowhere, and my mom would have had a shit fit if I’d been any later that I was.

Not to make too big a deal of it, but that’s how I lost my virginity, not counting hopping chairs at the circus that broke my hymen. I bargained it away for a ride home. And really, it was worth it, because my mom was such a bitch about being late. May as well lose your virginity as keep it, and have some crazy ol’ bitch ragging on at you for weeks, is my motto.

Don’t tell my mom that’s my motto. She’s till crazy after all these years. And not just bitch crazy, mean crazy – no, I don’t give a shit crazy.

I will not be cut out of the will now when she’s almost… oops. I’ve said too much. Never mind.

But before I was out on the scene, almost popular, I was a hideous and wretched dork, whose older sister bought me a pair of pink corduroy flares from “The Cat’s Meow” that were the shit, as my older daughter would say. That was a magical Christmas. My brother bought me a can of candy, too, that lasted until my older sister couldn’t stand my saving for a rainy day and threw the last of it into a snowbank, the following year.

I laughed about it at the time, it was funny, but it took all of my self-restraint not to retrieve it. Eventually, it was all eaten by our dog, Lucky, who in her old age took to eating candy wherever she could find it, and the snowbank was at the end of our driveway.

I care about clothes, and I have a friend from bookclub (she comments here, so she’ll know who she is) who always looks as pretty as a picture, fantastic fashion flare, who told me, “Sooey, stop being so cheap. You’re old. You have to spend money on clothes to look good.”

And she’s right, of course, and I only ever actually look good when I wear clothes that I’ve purchased from Tristan or Danier or even The Bay, but I still hear the call of the scrooge and will venture into a sally ann to buy a pair of jeans.

That’s where I found myself on Black Friday, yesterday. I pay no attention to such things, except to wonder at the mentality of people who line up to pay for anything except groceries (and why that’s an exception in the global food village is odd, now that I stop and think about it) but was reminded of it when a woman in line behind me (yes, I was in a line-up at a sally ann) joked about sending a picture of the sally ann line-up on Black Friday to the Ottawa Citizen.

Then we both spied a Gene Simmons action figure (what? it has tedious sex on demand with a prostitute?) missing a hand. That got us started on what a 10-year-old boy would make of that until she said, “Wait a minute. What 10-year-old boy would know who Gene Simmons even is?”

So we haggled for a bit with each other over who would buy it until we decided neither of us needed any more junk than we were buying already.

For the record, though, I was just buying a little stool, handmade, to fit between futons in a small bedroom.

But I was reading last weekend in the Ottawa Citizen about the woman who started the annual vintage clothing sale in Ottawa and how it’s all gone to rack and ruin because vintage is now 80s and 90s fashions. She wants no part of it and so this year was her last for the annual vintage clothing sale in Ottawa.

That’s just it, though isn’t it – stuff has no real value anymore because there’s just so much of it. And vintage clothing, real vintage clothing, belongs in museums, not on people. Or, if we’re going to buy and wear it, expect it to disintegrate.

Full disclosure: I inherited my mother’s navy blue jersey wool Junior Vogue wedding dress, which I wore to a Pitfield, Mckay, Ross Christmas party (I’ve blogged already about sitting on Mr. McKays lap to make all the young stockbrokers crazy with jealousy that he would pay so much attention to a courier – that’s why breasts are the shit, boys) that I then washed and dried in an apartment-sized washer and dryer so that its next incarnation was as a shawl.

Nothing lasts that doesn’t really matter, is my point (and you thought I didn’t have one, dear Sooey Says reader(s)) and fashion is something that doesn’t matter.

But it’s fun in the meantime, isn’t it. And means a lot to those who pay attention to it. And those who pay attention to it are often the most unlikely of people, me, for instance, although I’m mostly living fashion vicariously through daughter #1, who is into it. And I’ve bought her a couple of dresses from Ragtime, here in Ottawa, that she hangs onto, although rarely wears, because, of course, what people wore in other decades (the dresses are from the 50s) really don’t translate to now. We know too much, life has too much meaning to be seen caring about what we’re wearing.

Or do we, does it? Are we really any different now than we ever were? Or is there just too much stuff in the world for stuff to have any value?

Of course, I know people who would say fashion isn’t stuff – it’s style. And style is quite different.

So I did an analysis of my closet, and of brand new clothing items that did cost a fair chunk of change, and thrift shop items that didn’t, and thrift shop items that did (because I’ve bought some expensive vintage clothing) and also brand new clothing items that didn’t, and the brand new clothing items that cost a fair chunk of change, and the thrift shop items that didn’t, won out in terms of looks/comfort/wearability/longevity, over the other two.

I don’t know how that works out in terms of either fashion or Black Friday, but I just know there’s a connection and I don’t think Black Friday shoppers will ever look back on anything they purchased as worth it.

 

 

Apologize Apoloshmize

Don’t sweat it, Justin Trudeau, having Ontario Conservative, John Baird, attack you in the House just adds to your appeal for those of us who despise Ontario Conservatives even more that we despise Alberta Conservatives.

They tried to wreck Ontario, which is really Canada to us, and now we have energy thugs committing door-to-door fraud. It’s terrible, but some of the worst offenders are now considered legitimate companies.

And that’s eight years after we finally got rid of them, the Ontario Conservatives, I mean. The energy thugs are still with us. Cripes, I’m an Enbridge AND a Direct Energy customer. And I don’t think Direct Energy even has an office with a doorstep on which to dump a leaky rusting water heater that it has tried to scam unwitting customers into purchasing.

I know, you think Quebec is Canada, but Quebec is just another whiny province to us. Almost as whiny as Alberta, if you can believe it.

Plus, Quebeckers double their whining in a whole ‘nother language that they seem to expect the rest of us to learn so we can understand their double whining.

By the way, I have never, not once, in my entire tiny career in the federal public service (much smaller than the federal public service career of Stephen Harper, Alberta Conservative) required a level of French comprehension beyond grade school in order to do my job.

That’s either because you don’t need an education beyond grade school to work in the public service (and I defy anyone who hasn’t successfully sat through four years of boring university courses to last longer than a day as a policy analyst in the public service) or, more likely, BECAUSE EVERYBODY SPEAKS ENGLISH!

Should Quebeckers have the right to work in French in the federal public service, though?

Sure, who cares. The federal public service is completely dysfunctional, anyway, thanks to years of mismanagement under Alberta Conservatives.

Oh, and, by the way, Justin Trudeau, it’s not your fault, but nobody still likes the LPC, so let me take this opportunity to say, “Eff off, LPC – nobody still likes you!”

But it’s been pretty mind-blowing watching Alberta Conservative MPs go on the offensive for being called out as divisive assholes who have no business being in federal politics because , eh?

“Oh you pieces of shit!” is all I can say (to paraphrase you, who, in my opinion, did a spot on clarification of what we all mean when we refer to Alberta as the asshole of Canada.

We don’t mean you, Albertans who also despise your “elected” political representatives as much as we do, we mean Alberta Conservatives.

I also mean the Albertans who vote for them, but I’m like that about Conservatives everywhere in Canada. Always have been. Can’t stand Conservatives.

Although I do have Conservative friends of whom I’m very fond, so it’s not personal, it’s collective “you”.

I hate you, Conservatives.

Politically speaking, of course.

Look, if it helps, Nepean, Ontario, is worse than the asshole of Canada, it’s like… a polyp on you, because the Ontario Conservatives who live in that riding have re-elected Pierre Poilievre more than once (although given his former galpal – I know, Pierre Poilievre and a real live woman? – ran the last and apparently most fraudulent campaign ever run, by the CPC, at least, and that’s saying something, who knows if they really even did).

To me, that’s worse than the Alberta Conservatives of Calgary West re-electing Rob Anders, who at least sleeps in the House instead of jumping up to deflect legitimate concerns about how his party, the CPC, orchestrated a massive campaign of fraud in order to win a majority government last go ’round.

But what’s weird is the defensiveness. I mean, you can insult Ontario Conservative politicians, Quebec Conservative politicians, Atlantic Canada politicians, to your wild west heart’s content and I won’t give a shit – I promise.

And go to town on Quebec Liberals for that matter. Hell, I’ve worked in close quarters with Liberals from Quebec and I can guarantee you – there’s no way you can despise Quebec Liberal politicians as much as many Liberals from Quebec do.

No way, no how. No offense to Thomas Mulcair (crap, I wish Megan Leslie was leader, though, so she could save the world from OUR tarsands, because they are ours, you know, Albertans – I mean, I can move out to the wild west tomorrow if I want to, and I hear there are plenty of jobs in the service sector for migrant workers now, too, making more money than I’m making out here in good ol’ unemployed Ontari-ari-ari-o) but Liberals from Quebec despise Quebec Liberal politicians so much that they voted for kids from a party they’d never heard of before rather than the LPC.

Seriously, and they refer to it as the NPD (pronounced “En Pay Day”), so I’m not even sure they know it’s actually the NDP. So just in time for everybody else to jump off the French speaking bandwagon, the NDP is jumping on, but that’s for it to figure out.

Hint: Stupid waste of time and money, NDP, but why should you be any different.

So yeah, about this apologizing for telling the truth about Alberta Conservatives, Ontario Conservatives, Quebec Conservatives – stop it. Stop it right now, other politicians. Albertans have no business getting defensive about the corporate troughers they keep sending to Ottawa.

If all Canadians have to suck up the largest deficit in history, the ruination of our international reputation, the gutting of our social programs while an Alberta Conservative prime minister swans about the globe on our dime shilling for the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers, the ever expanding toxic waste dump caused by tarsands development that will increase climate change and cause grabillions of dollars in damage to other industries, not to mention our health and well-being, the insults hurled at us by the very people whose salaries we pay, the spying, the firings of whistle-blowers, the litigation against justice-seekers, the RAMPANT ELECTORAL FRAUD – well, I could go on, but let’s leave it there, shall we.

Apology accepted.