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Ah, Halloween. My second favourite holiday when I was a kid, turned favourite holiday in University, turned second least favourite holiday after having kids.
To get even with society, I went from dressing up as a sexy kitten/mouse/slut-on-wheels (I once wore roller skates with a black slip and fishnet stockings to a party - very awkward for dancing) to dressing up as my Mother, my husband's Mother-in-Law, my kids' distant Grandmother. I focused on her early-70s high school librarian look (as in - 1970s). Mostly because I had in my possession, one of her two wigs from that era. Medium brown, medium curls - totally and frighteningly unnatural looking. It screamed FEMINIST BALL BUSTER!!! even in Halloween lighting.
Today, I'm not dressed up - although I did reflect on my Forum - www.sooeys.com - that I could go as "upside-down-red-turban-girl" on account of I bought a grey skirt and two red sweaters at the Sally Ann yesterday. My idea is to wear the skirt on top, one of the sweaters on bottom, and the other sweater wrapped around my head. A little over-applied lipstick, my drugstore reading glasses worn ascew (sic?) - and Voila! I'll be all set to give out candy at our office - which is in a house and which has more little kids dropping by than does my apartment - which has none.
And speaking of kids, as soon as mine weren't... too little - as in, the last one was in school - they went out Trick or Treating around the townhouse/condo development near our house. ALONE. THREE KIDS. ALONE. Filling their little plastic "Halloween Cat" bags with candy. One trip around the condos and the bags were full. Which worked well because my kids could make three chocolate bars last a year. And if there's one thing I can't stand, it's Halloween candy left over from last Halloween being added to this year's haul.
Heavens! I can only steal so much of their candy before I get a canker! Bratty kids...
Meanwhile, updating things a few years - I was just at a bookclub night (we reviewed "The Mermaid Chair" - stock "Ya Ya Sisterhood" female characters, stock "Harlequin" dialoge, unbelievably well written passages detailing the emotions felt by the husband and lover - both - as the main character had an affair/attempted to leave her marriage) and one of our members said, "Should I let my son Trick or Treat alone this Halloween?"
"How old is he, now?" I asked (thinking... hm... he's STILL going out for Halloween...?)
"He's 12", she replied (straight-faced).
Okay. I know. Weird. But what's weirder is that another member actually said, "Well, I don't know. Is he going with more than one friend? Because I won't let my son go out without his Dad keeping watch unless he goes with TWO friends. Just one friend isn't enough."
Granted, this is out in the 'burbs where all the paedophiles lurk, but still. 12?! I'd worry more that my son would start fantasizing about killing the old man so he wouldn't be trailing him around to Halloween frat parties while he's at University than that he was going to be lured into a passing car by a stranger offering actual chocolate bars - as opposed to the mini ones everybody hands out every year.
Uh... if you're a paedophile, you didn't get that "actual chocolate bars" tip from me...
I mean, I hate to be one of those "back in my day" tail-end boomers, but - GEEZ LOUISE!! Back in my day, as soon as you were in Kindergarten - you were on your own come Halloween. If that meant you didn't dare go past the neighbours on each side for fear of big kids stealing your candy - so be it. Pretty much the last thing anyone expected to see was someone's Dad standing on the corner while some kid Trick or Treated. In fact, I bet such a Dad would have been beaten to death by the other Dads - just on principle. Maybe even by the neighbourhood Moms. Who knows?
He certainly wouldn't have been invited to drive over sometime for a few drinks, that much is for sure. And I doubt any of the neighbourhood dads would have sent his kid out with us to the corner store to buy smokes, either.
But nowadays, the Dads hanging back at the sidewalk while their sons and daughters (and I've had girls as old as, I dunno, 35?! - dressed as Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera Trick or Treating at my door with their Dads - at least, I *think* they're their Dads - hanging back at the sidewalk) Trick or Treat are as common a sight as ghosts and witches and Jasons.
I dunno. Our kids are gonna have some pretty warped memories of Halloween, if you ask me.
Hilariously, they'll probably be of their Dads hanging back at the sidewalk while they Trick or Treated their way through high school...
Do you hear it? That low, steady whining sound?
It's men. Angry white men of the Right. Why are they angry? They're white. And they're men. Of the Right. Angry white men of the Right. Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore.
Take what, you ask?
Human rights for others. That's right. Oh, no. There's been no eroding of THEIR rights. No, no. But there HAS been, over the years, thanks to Feminism (i.e. - Women's Lip) - an elevation in the rights of others. Apparently, THAT is very threatening to the angry white men of the Right.
VERY THREATENING. And bad. Bad for civilization as we know it. Or - as our forebears knew it, at least.
Now, I hate to tie everything in with the War on Terror, but I've noticed the same pundits who blame Feminism for all that is wrong in the West, are also big supporters of the War on Terror. It seems like a bit of a contradiction to me - supposedly wanting to bring to the Muslim world that same freedom what destroyed your own. Unless, of course, that isn't what the War on Terror is about at all. And, as most of us know, it isn't.
OR - unless that is the hidden genius of the War on Terror. Exporting Feminism to destroy the Muslim world. "Take Our Freedom - please!"
But what's funny to me is that these angry white men of the Right can't see that it's not the fault of Feminism that their centuries of privilege, years of being the only people in society with unassailable rights, made them weak. These things happen over time. Others (i.e. Women) had to fight for THEIR rights. They weren't just handed to them by birthright. And it was a long hard struggle. We became wily, devious, sneaky. And better arguers. We had to become all that or we'd still be at the mercy of the dullwitted, brutal, fascist Patriarchy.
I mean, what is it about a level playing field that is so threatening to angry white men on the Right? Cripes, I bet if women way back when had known that's all it would take - a level playing field - to reduce angry white men of the Right to an impotent rage, they wouldn't have tried so hard to win equal rights under the law in the first place.
But they did. And we're here now. The clock isn't turning back. My suggestion to the angry white men of the Right?
Get over it, Girlfriend.
I try not to involve myself in my children's lives. I know, I know. I'm supposed to attend school council meetings and meet the teacher nights and comment back on their computer generated report cards.
But I don't do any of that.
Anymore.
When I was a homemaker and they were in elementary school - which only went up to grade five in our neighbourhood - I went to school council meetings. But only because we were constantly fighting a school closure battle with the Ottawa Carleton District School Board and the meetings were fun. I wrote whole articles on the subject for the Ottawa Citizen - netting probably close to $500.00 for my efforts.
Ah, school closures - those were the days. Back when Mike Harris was Premier of Ontario and busily racking up a huge deficit while his supporters (the idiots who had voted for him) would gormlessly stick to the mantra, "Well. At least he did what he said he was going to do."
Oh. Really? I don't recall him campaigning on the promise that he would rack up a huge deficit while simultaneously raiding the public treasury to dole out gobs of cash to his buddies. But it's true. I do forget things. Yesterday I even forgot my home phone number.
Anyway, back to school. Two of my kids, the girl kids, are doing badly in math. Neither of them should be. In fact, one of them should be doing extremely well. So, in spite of my best intentions, I ended up having to phone a math teacher. A high school math teacher. Male AND French. (Not to imply that the "white niggers of North America" - oh, i forgot, "male and French AND a separatiste" - are not my favourite people to have to deal with in solving a problem of what should be of mutual concern but what soon proved to be of a pretty one-sided concern, as in - only I was concerned - he was completely indifferent to the point of arrogance and rudeness.)
You may not know this, but in today's condensed high school curriculum, students are expected to know math already. Because the teacher really doesn't have time to cover the curriculum for the students who already know math AND teach it to the students who don't.
That, apparently, is what tutoring is for. Tutoring, I was informed, being that thing people pay for in order that their children learn math because the teacher doesn't have time to teach it to them himself. But perhaps I can better explain it by just typing out our phone conversation here:
"Madame, you daughter's mark is low because she does not know how to do math."
"Yes. I'm not concerned about her mark, though. I'm concerned that she doesn't know any math."
"Madame, I have to cover the curriculum. I have no time."
"You... mean... you have no time to *teach* the math."
"Madame, I post the test. All the answers are there. I do not know why your daughter did not get a good mark."
And so on and so forth and more of the same etc etc including an observation by the teacher that OTHER students, students who were GOOD in math, were doing WELL in math. Not being very good in math, myself, I neglected to point out that THOSE students probably accounted for his soaringly high class average of 70%.
In any case, I find myself still reluctant to get too involved in all of this, my point being that learning to deal with assholes is an important part of life and if my daughter is going to be the best lawyer in the country...
Also, I'm pretty sure it's the legal secretary who handles all the billing.
Once again with feeling - "Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be secretaries..."
I read this article today:
SHEIKH!
Now, we've all read a thousand or so articles just like this one in the past few years, but today I thought, "Why?"
Why are we always reading articles about the silly things Muslim Clerics say?
I mean, surely Muslim Clerics have always been there saying this and that. Cripes, they talk sometimes as if they pre-date Sister Time, herself. So why do I find myself in a constant state of irritation having just read the latest opinions by a Muslim Cleric on how women should have to live their lives? I know, I know - 9/11 happened. But so what? Why does the fact that 9/11 happened mean that every Muslim Cleric who has some Koranical view of how women should have to live their lives - get to have his crazy backward views delivered to me here in Ottawa?
It's not as if this isn't practically a daily thing, either. So, okay. Enough already. We know what Muslim Clerics think. Why do I have to re-read their thoughts every Gawddamned Day.
Still, it's crossed my mind that even the Muslim Clerics are a little surprised at all the media attention they are garnering. Afterall, I'm sure they used to say much more backward things than they're even saying now. It's just that no one knew or cared that they were saying them.
No one Non-Muslim, anyway. And probably a goodly number of Muslims living in North America, too. Or right under their noses, even. When was the last time we heard from "the average... Mohammed"? Never? Because I talk to the odd Muslim right here in Ottawa and, so far, I've only heard back, "So... that'll be $7.50..."
I'll cut to the chase. I think we're hearing from these Muslim Clerics because it's in the interests of the media to keep this whole War on Terror party going and there's nothing better'n a Muslim Cleric to get everybody up dancing. What better way to keep people engaged than to report the outrageously sexist and mind-blowingly anti-democratic utterances of guys wearing black hats? Eh? I ask you? BLACK HATS!! Doesn't your blood boil just a bit every time you read the latest "veiled threat" made by a Muslim Cleric wearing a BLACK HAT?! Doesn't it make you think, "Gawd. The War on Terrorers are right. These guys do hate our freedoms. Look at all those BLACK HATS!!"
And I guess they do. Hate our freedoms. Although, certainly not the freedom to access our media every frickin' day to say the same gawddamned thing they said the day before. I mean, I can't even get a letter to the editor published - me, a fifth generation Canadian (white, too - although... a white WOMAN... on the left...) - and these guys, cripes, these guys can say anything and get a whole page of ink and several issues of follow-up outrage.
Oh yes, the chase. Well, here it is. I think if we heard as much from Christian Fundamentalist Clerics and Orthodox Jewish Clerics and Wiccan Clerics - our blood would boil right over and it would be hard to focus on the real enemy - the Muslim Clerics. And the War on Terror would spiral right out of control back onto US. (Isn't it weird how US is just U.S. without periods? You've got to wonder if the Four Fodders did that on porpoise.)
So I wonder. Say the media closed its doors to Muslim Clerics. Would the Islamic Fundamentalist menace just disappear? You know, like, if a tree falls in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it - does it make a sound?
'Cause like I say - I wonder.
Anyway, I'm not reading any more Muslim Cleric utterances. I know the drill. But there is a Christian Evangelical leading the free world and a Christian Evangelical picking up after him so I'll take that extra mind space and worry more about their utterances. They're just more relevant to me, I guess. And you, too, I expect.
Even if you're a Muslim Cleric.
I read bits of the Globe & Mail (Canada's leading newspaper, as it calls itself, for all my international readers) this past weekend and, as per usual in these times of terror, there were a few articles about The Muslim Menace. The weren't titled "The Muslim Menace", of course. But they may as well have been. I mean, really. If there isn't a Muslim Menace out there - why the hell are we in a War on Terror?
Anyway, since it's sort of, kind of, politically incorrect to go on and on about the ongoing and neverending threat of Islamic Fundamentalism perched on the other side of the world, its tentacles reaching out across the miles to deposit pods of evil everywhere amongst us here in the socially progressive, peace loving West - the Globe was focusing this past weekend on The Burka.
Now, I've read articles by men (always men) on the right of our political spectrum (some might say on the right of Attila the Hun's political spectrum) and although these men believe in modest apparel for White Western Women (one of them even seeming to believe that modest apparel on girls will prevent homicidal paedophiles from commiting rape/murder) - they are offended, nay - frightened - by The Burka.
I'm not afraid of The Burka, myself. Although, I am afraid of some of these rightwing scaredycats having their way on uniforms and I'll end up having to pay for my kids to wear some Japanese animator's dream come true of an outfit while they sit in class wondering why they should have to learn math when the President of Harvard says there's no point in trying because only boys can learn enough math to become President of Anything.
When I see a woman wearing a Burka - and she is inevitably wearing it while shopping in the grocery store - I think, "I wonder if she's wearing that Burka by choice..." and continue shopping. Like Michael Ignatieff and the Lebanese civilians killed in that whole war crime episode - I don't lose any sleep over it. And I certainly don't lose any sleep over it because *I'm* afraid. I worry - a bit - about what this other woman's life is like and whether or not she's aware of her right here in Canada to NOT wear The Burka. But I don't lay awake at night worrying about her, either.
Now, I don't for a minute buy the Muslim argument that The Burka is anything other than oppressive. Even their denials are proof of oppression because the reasons for women wearing The Burka come out of The Koran. And The Koran, like The Bible, is patriarchal. In the extreme. Both Holy Books are patriarchal. Women do NOT do well by religious texts. They just don't. The Burka being the least of the oppression.
But this past weekend I read an article that contained this passage:
"Chapter 34, Verse 30 of the Koran reads, "believing women should lower their gaze and guard their modesty; they should not display their ornaments except as normal." According to Hamida Ghafour, The dispute among Muslims ever since is the question of what "except as normal" means."
Uh... okayyyyyy. What about a dispute over what "display their ornaments" means? 'Cause that's what I want to know. What the hell does "disply their ornaments" mean? If "ornaments" mean what *I* think they probably meant back when men were men and women gave birth in stables - isn't The Koran talking about... boobs? I mean, I'm just asking. It seems to me "display their ornaments" is the key phrase here. Not "except as normal". Or am I just being an infidel whore? Again...
In any case, if that passage is what all this fuss is about "except as normal" when "display their ornaments" is hanging right out there, too, so to speak - we've got a long way to go, BurkaBaby.
Okay. I don't care what Belinda Stronach was doing when she wasn't warming her seat in the Old Boy's Club that is the Canadian House of Commons (the Senate, I guess, being the Even Older Boy's Club...), BUT - imagine yourself (and you're a hard-working single-mother - BLACK, too - CRIPPLED, maybe - even... FAT!) absent at a general staff meeting and you're referred to by a male co-worker from your former department as "The Missing Cunt". Because THIS GUY - the boss's second-in-command, who is, for no good reason, not only envious of a popular project you've been busting a hump over lately, but still - STILL - bruising from a one-night stand you had with him while on a road trip together back before you jumped ship to another department - figures he can get away with it.
And yeah - lo and behold - he can! Because the boss likes him better'n you on account of you bailed to another department when he became boss and he's never really forgiven you for it.
Oh - and also - HE HATES WOMEN!!! Oh - and he's an Islamic Fundamentalist. Oh - and your former co-worker is a SOCIALIST!
So yeah, in your absence (while you're off doing, er, working on your new popular project) your jealous former co-worker takes the opportunity to humiliate you in your absence (i.e. - behind your back) by pointing to your empty chair at the meeting and smirking, "Hey look - it's The Missing Cunt. Again. I wonder who, I mean, what she could be DOING that's more important than this meeting." AND, for whatever reason - but probably because HE HATES WOMEN!!! - your old boss let's him away with it. Or maybe says, "I'd say whore or ho. Cunt is pretty rude." Because, like, it's no secret that you're not a virgin AND your old boss is an Islamic Fundamentalist... TERRORIST! probably, too.
So yeah. The former co-worker whose cock you once sucked, or sucked once...
AHA! That's it! How could we all have been so blind! Peter Mackay, the Not-So-Honourable-Anymore-Eh?, is mad because not only is Belinda Stronach no longer SUCKING HIS COCK!!! but he has to sit across from her while she doesn't SUCK HIS COCK!!!, knowing full well that she's SUCKING SOME OTHER GUY'S COCK!!!!!
And there you go. You can dress it up. You can take it out. But bitter's bitter. And, let's face it. What were Belinda Stronach and Peter Mackay doing that so enraged the CURRENT Minister of Foreign Affairs in the NEW Conservative Government of Canada that he would call his Ex-Girlfriend - essentially a nobody even in Opposition - A DOG? Well... HE'S STILL BITTER!!! And - BECAUSE HE CAN!!!
And that's what's weird in all this - it's the reaction, er, I mean - NON-REACTION! - of his boss to the carryon. Instead of the Prime Minister offering some bosserly advice, like, say, "The blow jobs have moved on, my friend. The blow jobs have moved on. Get over it. Stop being bitter. Look at me. I've never even HAD a blow job." He kind of, well didn't do anything. Just let him - carryon...
Still, let's face it - we've all been there. Even if the Prime Minister never has. But we haven't been there on camera in the House. And that's the difference between us and Peter Mackay. And isn't that just too bad. Not to mention - so sad.
So, don't even bother apologizing now, Foreign Affairs dude. Let us who've been there (albeit not on camera in the House, as I like to say - over and over and over) at the very least NOW enjoy the slow agonizing death of the privileged son of a... well... let's just say... another slightly-less-than-legitimate Member of a Conservative Government. Not the New one, of course. The Old one. Where at least the old boss...
Okay, okay. I won't go there. (Italian whores, Italian whores, Italian whores...)
By the way, is the old ex-ball-and-chain (as in, the dog in question) an advocate for MY rights? Well... no worse than nothing - ye auld New Conservative Government of Canada.
Yup. She's no worse than nothing.
MR. PRIME MINISTER!!!
I read an interesting article today.
Link
At least, I think it was an interesting article. Certainly, my co-worker SUGGESTED to me that it was an interesting article...
Anyway, I was going to blog about a funny thing one of the contributors to my forum - sooeys.com - posted this morning. His internut name is "idler" and he posted (somewhat inexplicably, I thought - but who knows what perversions drive these outbursts) "Sex = Victory". But then I spotted the above article. A few minutes later, of course, I thought, "Hey, if women are that suggestible - why don't men just tell us (over and over and over) that Sex = Victory?"
Heheh - because men aren't very good at communicating - that's why...
But back to the article (although I really think the whole Sex = Victory sub-entry-idea ties in nicely with the Math = Hard If You're A Girl subterfuge that is apparently going on in our society).
You really only need to read the first paragraph of the article to get the gist of the argument, so here it is:
"Simply overhearing that men have genes that make them better at math is enough to make women stumble on math tests, according to a Canadian study that shows the mind-bending power of genetic information."
Now, I'd say it seems to prove EVEN MORE the mind-bending power of SUGGESTION. But... I'm not a scientist. I'm a woman. A left-handed woman. Cripes, with my genetic make-up, I'm lucky I can even dial a phone. Luckily, my genetics, in turn, make it easier for me to decipher an article about how women can hear something from men and then think it's true because, as everybody knows, men are bigger than women.
Because that's really what this is all about. Size. And even though you may have heard, "Size doesn't matter" - it does. Oh - not THAT kind of size. Not PENIS size. PENIS size doesn't matter. As long as you pack a big wallet, anyway (nudgenudgewinkwink). Yup. Even if you have a really teeny tiny penis and GIVE ME MONEY - just outright, no questions asked, just the money, and lots of it - your teeny tiny penis will suddenly grow ten times in length AND width.
It's true. Give me money and your penis will grow. Not only that, but you'll feel better about yourself. And it won't be just because you'll have a bigger penis. It'll be because you're a better man. A better man for giving a woman money. Men are supposed to give women money. Why? Because women have to work twice as hard as you do to make up for all the powers of suggestion holding her back. YOUR powers of suggestion.
By the way, did you notice the spelling of the last name of one of the psychologists responsible for this study? D-a-r-N-i-m-r-o-d. I mean... I couldn't help but notice... So... Seriously... If the power of suggestion is THAT strong, and you're a psychologist authoring a study about the power of suggestion, and your last name has NIMROD in it... Okay. I know I'm a woman. And, as such, dependent on the kindness of strangers to point out that - not only am I already not as good at math as men, but all they have to do is tell me I'm not as good at math as them, and I suddenly become even worse - but... - NIMROD?!
Geez Louise.
You know, there's not much any one of us can do about a lot of things, but there's no reason/excuse for any of us to tolerate leaf blowers. And no - I don't mean the puck bunny kind. Besides, somebody has to be attracted to hockey players. I mean the A.W.O.L. looking types who come around with those gas-powered noise-makers and blow leaves from private to public property. Or, in some cases, from private to private property.
They're a menace. Some kind of workfare scam, I'm sure. And in a sane universe, they wouldn't exist.
Anyway, not to get to wrought up but it makes me want to eliminate every Goddamned Idiot Stupid Fuckfaced Moron who ever said anything even remotely like, "Oh. Well." in response to my fear and loathing of leaf blowers.
And yes - it's personal.
I work in a house office. That is to say, my office is in a house that is shared with another company. I am a secretary. The other company is a partnership of computer guyz. They are all men. I am a woman. They are all bosses. I am, as I said, a woman. I mean, a secretary. I work for one of their investors, one of their fellow bosses.
Anyway, because we're in a house, we have some property upkeep responsibilities, one of which - apparently - and there is no way around this - none - nothing that can be done about it - nothing - involves paying a couple of goons to come over and blow leaves into a pile using gas-powered noise-makers. Now, I'm here at the time of day these fellows show up. And as happened the other day, they showed up when I was taking dictation over the phone. So, I went outside and said, "Say, do you fellows have a rake? Because I'd prefer you use it rather than those machines. I can't hear myself on the phone. Let alone the person I'm supposed to be listening to. And it's my boss, so, like, yeah."
Well, apparently, some people have never heard of a rake. I mean, these guys come in a decent-sized truck with a company name on the side, but... nope. No rake. I'm not kidding. They were actually looking at me with a fair degree of confusion. "What's wrong with using these?" they asked. Plaintively. "Well, those are gas-powered noise-makers that blow leaves around. A rake is a tool that rakes. Leaves. Quietly. And without causing a powerful chemical smell right outside my window that actually makes my eyes water." (Bear in mind, dear reader, that I am from Sault Ste. Marie. I am NOT sensitive to pollution.)
They left. Not in a huff. Not having thought they'd been fired (as they claimed to one of the computer guyz who had hired them and was left to pay extra for their return later to blow leaves with their gas-powered noise-makers) but because they didn't have a rake. Which meant they couldn't mow the lawn apparently, either. All of this being my fault for being intolerant of gas-powered noise-makers. Or - a woman, as it were.
So here's the thing. When I stood my ground on the leaf blowers with the men of the house, I was told it wasn't my place to interfere in how the leaf blowers did their job because I wasn't actually responsible for maintaining the property. I'm just a secretary. The men of the office are all bosses. They hired the leaf blowers. And they don't care about how the leaves are dealt with - just that they are dealt with.
And I guess that's the way it is. Except that now I'm really mad. Not at the leaf blowers anymore, but at the bosses who hire the leaf blowers - just because they can. And who pull rank on secretaries - just because they can.
It's an unjust world, sure. But it's no wonder with such stupid and lazy people running it. Harsh? At this point, being fired would probably be just the thing I need to live my life free of stupid and lazy people.
Yes. I'm in a bad mood. And I know the motto is, "Don't get mad - get even." But I'm not the getting even type. I'm the getting mad, thinking hard about why I'm mad, who I'm mad at, and coming 'round full circle to me type. I'm mad at me. Because I was powerless to do anything about the leaf blowers. Not because I'm a woman, necessarily - but because I'm just a secretary. And you can call it whatever kind of officey/administrativey thing you want, but at the end of the day - it's still a drag.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be secretaries.
My beau rented a movie last night, "Thank You For Smoking". It was good. The senator was a little predictable (there must be machine somewhere in Hollywood that the Director can just pop a previously-stereotyped-by-Hollywood job title into: "Reporter with Moxy, Conflicted Mafia Killer, Senator With An Agenda" - and just say to whichever "Almost It Girl" actress, Italian actor, or William H. Macy is playing the role: " I want this with a little extra - or a little less - that's your range"), as was the boss, the reporter, the wife, the wife's boyfriend, the son, the teacher - but the main character was pleasantly not your typical conscienceless lobbyist, as we know real-life lobbyists to be, but the kind of lobbyist you could actually like. Maybe even respect a bit. And his lobbyist friends were okay, too. Fictional Americans as Real Americans were meant to be. Uh... portrayed. Um... by Hollywood.
Anyway, the movie ended and because the techno-lobe of my brain is smaller than a grain of sand, the television then came on unexpectedly and extra super loudly (the DVD player won't work unless there's a tape in the VCR and the television can suddenly take over the unholy trinity and assert itself as the boss of the brains of the other two) and there was George W. Bush saying, "All ah know is these are bad guys."
"All ah know is these are bad guys."
So, I turned to my beau and said, "He's either a moron or he thinks Americans are morons. Which is it, do you think?"
(I ask these questions, not always expecting an answer. Truth be told, I'm not sure I even asked this one out loud. I know I had a mini stroke when the tv flared/blared unexpectedly, so perhaps I only remember asking the question without having actually done it.)
Because, in my opinion, only either a genuine real life moron would say something so... so... moronic OR a guy who thinks everybody listening to him is a moron. You know, so he has to SOUND like a moron so their moron brains will understand he's talking to them in their own moron tongue.
Now, I don't think George W. Bush is a moron. I think he's a psychopath. But I don't think he's a moron. So. Why does he talk like a moron? Well, and let me write this very slowly in case any moron American supporters of George W. Bush are reading it - he talks like a moron because he knows his supporters are morons.
I know I'm right about this, but there's no point in being right if nobody who matters doesn't follow through on your rightness. So here's what I think the Democrats should do. They should tell George W. Bush's supporters that the President thinks they are a bunch of morons. And the Democrats should be very specific as to why they are telling them that (lest they get confused and think the Democrats are calling them morons - or worse - Mormons...) and play a tape of the President saying, "All ah know is these are bad guys."
I mean, it doesn't get any plainer'n that. I suppose the President could say, "You people are so moronic, you actually voted for me! Twice! Thanks! Morons!" But he's not a moron so he's not going to say that - is he?
Now get out there, you Democrats, and tell the President's supporters what you know to be true - that he thinks they are morons. Maybe even follow it up with, "But here's the thing. We DON'T think you're morons - or even Mormons. Unless you are... Vote Democrat this November."
Who knows?
For anybody who follows Canadian politics - GET A LIFE!!! For anybody who doesn't - a few days (weeks? months??) ago Stephen Harper (the Prime Minister of the New Conservative Government of Canada) called Michael Ignatieff, one of the leadership candidates for the (New) Liberal Party of Canada (and I say "New" because he's new to Canada, the second runner-up is new to the Liberal Party of Canada, the third runner-up is new to Canadian Federal politics, while Miss Congeniality is supposed to possess a certain amount of integrity, etc., and is French and from Quebec - without being in the Mafia) "Anti-Israel" and all the other Liberal leadership candidates "Anti-Israel" because... well... I don't know, exactly. But he did. And I'm sure he has his reasons. None of them sincere.
Now, in my opinion, the aspiring leaders should sue the pants off the Prime Minister - instead of trying to "Beat the pants off him" as Bob Rae publicly and without shame claimed he wanted to do. And I say this because we all know what "Anti-Israel" means. And it doesn't mean "Anti-Israel". It means "You aren't a Bush Inc arse-licking toady like me, so I'm going to call you "Anti-Israel" because there isn't a body out there who doesn't know what that means and who isn't going to be repelled and disgusted by you from now on and forever. And since you're a politican - say goodbye to your career - Jean Chretien notwithstanding."
Sadly, the Liberal leadership candidates are a bunch of desperate Nancy Boys who are so fearful of losing to Buddy Iggy (the Silly Rabbit who I believe was smeared with the "Anti-Israel" slur by the Wiily Coyote Harper on account of he said - OUT LOUD!! - that he thought what happened at "Qana" was a War Crime) that they turtled - only to emerge during a leadership debate later to snap at each other. And boy, do they know how to snap at each other. Poor Michael Ignatieff, who thought he was Bob Rae's friend (not realizing, of course, since he's not really a politician, that politicians don't have friends) was shocked by Bob Rae accusing him of changing his mind. A lot. Ouch, baby. I haven't witnessed catty bitching like that since Beverly Hills 90210 went off the air.
Anyway, I don't really care what he said. I like his "Sayitedness". His honesty. His naive: "What? What'd I say?? Why's everybody looking at me like that???" In fact, I think that's what everybody is reacting to - his genuiness. That they're reacting in a vicious and blind panic is pretty telling, though, I must say: "What? What did he just say? SOMETHING?!"
"DESTROY HIM!!"
He said "something". He expressed his opinion. I don't pay enough attention to Middle East wars to know if he was right or not but Gawdammit - I defend his right to say it and I want him to say more of it. Heavens. He had B'nai Brith and the Canadian Jewish Congress and even Irwin Cotler's wife mad at him for saying "SOMETHING". Good for him. Keep doing it, Iggy. We need more politicians saying "SOMETHING" and standing by whatever it was they said and even saying it louder and more often next time. Enough of polite muteness. Not to mention - scaredy cat backstabbing running mates - but that's a different entry, I suppose...
As Nellie McClung so famously said, "Get It Done and Let 'em Howl". Although, I guess Nellie was a bit of a rascist, too, on occasion... (that being the style in those days, of course). Okay... how about as Mr. T. maybe would have said if he'd thought of it, "Missa T sue tha fooh Harper call me Anti-Israel".
I read a great piece in the New Yorker on the weekend. It was called "He Knew He Was Right" and it was penned by a certain Ian Parker.
???
I mean, it was one of the best celebrity pieces I've ever read and I've never even heard of Ian Parker. And yes - I think of Christopher Hitchens as a celebrity - the Madonna of the writing set. Remember how Madonna would re-invent herself every time she felt a sag in her bosom? Well, I think Christopher Hitchens is THAT clever, too. When the masses are taking you for granted - come up with a grand, brand, new entrance.
Don't believe me? What do you think the Pope was getting up to with that Byzantine Emperor quote? Eh? Well? The Pope's no publicity fool, either, you know. Although, if you're Catholic, you probably don't know. Catholics, it seems to me, are always the last to know what the Pope is really up to when he makes a public statement. Or private statement, for that matter. Gawd. If it weren't for Catholics, the Pope would have to look to the Muslim world for his ignorant masses, I guess.
But back to Christopher Hitchens. I always knew he was a rightwinger trying to break out of a lefty straitjacket - a jacket he'd strapped on himself the moment he realized the financial benefits of attention whoring in print. The thing is - he didn't even bother to suck in his gut when he did it. Who, let me ask you, dear reader, did not always see the rightwinger peeking out from behind the curtain of his lefty prose? I haven't even read that much Hitchens and I certainly knew the man was no lefty. Not for a second. And not just because he's a British boy NOT to the manor born who must have really resented every upper-class twit he encountered at public school and beyond but who, like our own Lord Crossharbour, would have sold his soul for acceptance by his betters. And who was, at heart, an upper-class twit, himself. I mean - who but the British think these class distinctions are real and matter, anyway? Certainly a middle-class girl from the colony of Canada looking across the pond would be hard pressed to tell one British twit from another - regardless of class.
But enough about girls. Sort of...
Interestingly, the piece reads like a bit of a psychological study. It's not at all difficult to see the source of his drive. It's Mommy. His deepseated love/hate for his Glorious, but ultimately Bad, Mommy. I expect it is the common theme of the rightwing pundit, actually. Gloriously Bad Mommies. As a gloriously bad mommy (note the lack of capitals), myself, I guess I could tell them that the love/hate is quite unrequited. That once a child reaches his/her teen years, the gloriously bad mommy has pretty much let go of their affections and moved on to fulfilling her own. It's terrible, I know, but children who go on in life to NOT be rightwing pundits happily accept this reality and sally forth, not just not caring if mommy is watching, but actively not wanting mommy to be watching.
That is where our rightwing pundits come from - the damaged psyches of poor little boys in short pants abandoned by their Gloriously Bad Mommies.
It's mean, really, to keep this revelatory information from the rightwing pundit, but I'd hate to not have them around to keep on writing what I so love to read. Because that was my other realization after reading the piece by Mr. Parker - that almost all that I know of history has been gleaned from reading the columns of the rightwing pundits in my life.
That I nevertheless despise their arguments so fully is what, I suppose, makes me feel so vastly superiour to them all, too...
Heheh - that and the fact that I am a gloriously bad mommy who knows something about them that'll they'll never ever know about themselves.
Anyway, I don't want to leave off Hitchens without making one of my famous predictions (you didn't know that, perhaps, but I make famous predictions). Apparently he has just finished a book about God. To the effect, essentially, that he doesn't believe in Her. Now, it was noted in the Parker article by Mr. Hitchens himself that he doesn't like to go to sleep. As a gloriously bad mommy, I know that he's really just afraid of missing something. Something about himself, of course. And also that he's afraid that, because he is a deliberately cruel creature, God might not let him wake up.
So here it is - Christopher Hitchens will decide he deserves a good night's sleep and will convert to Catholicism to be forgiven his deliberate cruelty by a Christopher Hitchens loving God. It'll happen either this year or next. Publication date and book sales depending.
I went to a book reading by an Environment Canada scientist named Mark Tushingham - a waste of a damn good porn star name, if you ask me - last night at the library. His book is called "Hotter Than Hell" and it's a novel set 50 years in the future - where it's "hotter than hell".
Gawd. Scientists. Even the Pope says Hell isn't real.
Anyway, I'm not much interested in science - or anything, really - but my beau is interested in all sorts of things and so we ended up attending the reading.
Did you know that climate change is real? And that it is essentially man-made? Which - and Mr. Tushingham didn't say this, exactly, scientists not being known for their great faith in unscientists - means that it can be man-unmade?
Okay. Enough about climate change. The fact that I now know what it is and that it is real is all you need to know for the purposes of this blog entry because on the walk home I had a great idea on how to make climate change real and understandable for lots of people. (Trust me - if someone can help left-handed me understand and accept the reality of a complicated scientific discovery like climate change in just over 1/2 an hour - this can be done on a vast scale in probably... say... half that - 25 minutes.)
The weatherman. Yes, that's right. You know - that slap happy punch drunk dork who delivers the weather "news" every night? Well, what's with the roundheaded circlefaced delivery of what should be an informative and detailed scientific rundown of what's going on with the weather? I mean, they're weathermen, dammit. They must know about climate change. And if they know about climate change, they know about our impending doom if we don't do something about it. Now! Gawd. Information non-disseminating bastards.
So, here's where you come in. I have this wild and crazy idea that maybe viewers could start demanding (write-in, phone-up, stand outside stations with placards) that the job of weatherman be tweaked A LOT to include daily bits of climate change info until VOTERS finally catch on that climate change is real - so real that there's a whole segment of news what used to be a dog and pony show that is now a serious and purposeful part of the daily newscast.
That way, maybe even Canada's New Conservative Environment Minister, Rona Ambrose, might realize, too, that climate change is real and that it is her responsibility to take legislative action to deal with it. Although, lest poor Mark Tushingham end up in a gulag somewhere up North, she needs also to realize that "Hotter Than Hell" is a novel. And a novel is a work of fiction: http://www.cbc.ca/arts/story/2006/04/13/ambrose-climate.html
So, yah. Tomorrow's entry? "Who Elected the Goon Squad?"
I'm not afraid of dying. Sure, I have random existential panic attacks a couple of times a day, but I've learned to reason my way out of them by staring at my hand with total concentration for as long as it takes to keep my heart from flying out my ear.
I'm afraid of living.
It's true. I came to that realization in the middle of one of the aforementioned panic attacks. It was truly a miracle. One minute I was in a complete panic about the inevitability of death and the infinite non-existence thereafter - the next I was awakening to the knowledge that living is even scarier.
To say it was freeing would be an understatement.
Imagine being a play-it-safe-take-the-clerical-job kind of gal suddenly wondering what it would be like to do for money something I actually like doing. Something I want to do. Something that would give me pleasure. Would that make me an entirely different person? I doubt it. Happier, maybe. So if it's going to make me happier (maybe) to get out there and hustle for the kind of work I want to do for money, what's holding me back?
Fear.
Fear of doing what I want. I know it's a cliche by now about women doing what they are told, but I guess it's a cliche because it's true. Sure, lots of people do jobs they'd rather not have to do, but I have talents and skills that I could parlay into an actual fun career and I'm not doing it. Why not? Because I was always told, "Learn to type. You'll always be able to find work if you can type." And that was by my feminist mother. "Learn to type." Well, I did learn to type. In grade nine. And I've been typing ever since - in spite of having a university degree and a certain talent for writing. Funny, that. Funny - not haha, though.
So. My plan is to re-invent myself. Now that I realize all that's stopping me from doing what I want is a fear of living , or, in other words - a fear of doing what I want, I'm going to concentrate all my efforts on going after opportunities, long shots - whatever comes up that I think will be a fun challenge. Whatever will make me happy. Enough of the safe and narrow. Hollywood - here I come!
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