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Here's a short little entry before I leave work. Last night at my book club, I took a measure of the room - politically. Here, for your edification, Dear Reader, is the breakdown. Now, bear in mind, we are a group of eight. Six of us were stay-at-home mothers for a number of years. The other two worked part-time and then full-time. Their children went to daycare and after school daycare. (Those are the consistently happy two members I was talking about in my previous entry. They are also almost a decade younger than our oldest member.) One of our members is still at home with children and has no intention of seeking paid employment.
So, politically - how do we look?
Five of us are NDP voters.
Three of us are Liberal voters.
As far as we know, we haven't had a single Conservative member. I thought we had, but it turns out she was an NDP voter, supporter, and member. She was kind of a hard-assed bitch, too. So I just assumed.
Anyway, our book club is what even the most objective observer would call - fairminded. It is also solidly middle-class with a lean to upper. One of our members, a Liberal, is close to being a millionaire, I would guess. The two youngest are the most vociferous NDP supporters. I am in the middle of the pack - smack in the middle. The other two are quiet about their membership in the NDP, but they are actual members. (I'm not actually a member.)
So four NDP actual members, one non-member, and three voting Liberals. The millionaire (almost) is a member of the Liberal party, the other two just vote Liberal.
Not a woman in that room can stand Stephen Harper or the New Conservative Government of Canada.
I don't know. Maybe it's the high level of collective education, the solid middle-class income, or maybe it's the fact that we know - actually know - what it's like to be married and have children, stay at home with them, go back to work, have a divorce or two, in this society that politicians talk about a lot but don't really know much about because they haven't really lived in it.
Not really.
So there you have it. I was surprised, by the way. I honestly was. Five NDPers? Anywhere in a room together that's not the actual NDP Caucus?
Whoo-ee!
Here's what I did after work yesterday before heading out to my monthly book club get together to discuss "The Bell Jar" by Sylvia Plath. I got a ride home from ou81aswell, Sooey's Webmaster, (and not his real name), ran across the street without even looking, went into my apartment and immediately started obsessing over the pictures on my walls and how they are placed, started re-arranging things in spite of a gnawing hunger, ate a huge piece of homemade (by me) key lime pie, changed into a pair of fancy lacey undies (???) that turned out to be picky and too tight, ran to the bus stop, got picked up at the bus station 20 minutes later.
Luckily, the hostess for that evening is married to a fellow who likes to cater in his spare time and I was able to eat a proper meal of tiny perfect hors d'oeurvres before we launched into a discussion of the crazy world of Sylvia Plath - which struck me as not so crazy as my body recovered from the mild cold sweat and sugar shakes I had experienced on the bus ride to the point where I almost - almost - thought I should say something to somebody: "I may look like a normal well-adjusted person to you, but here's what I just did..." in case I fainted or something and people thought it was for a valid reason and panicked instead of just giving me bread and water, which is all I would have deserved by way of treatment, if you really stop and think about it.
I certainly never do until it's too late and I'm well into a cold sweat and sugar shakes.
Anyway, I was well primed for "The Bell Jar" and a discussion about Esther's spiral into depression, something I have been profoundly lucky to have never experienced, although I didn't realize I was an anorexic (not sort of, not kind a - an absolute anorexic with all the attendant symptoms) until I was in middle-age. And now I think about it, I was a mother-at-home with children who really had to force herself every day to leave the house, go for a walk, talk to somebody - not on the phone - face to face. A stranger on the walk ("nice day, eh") qualified as a conversation, then I could allow myself to go back in the house.
My mother used to say during those days (by phone - she lived 500? miles away), "It's the routine that saves you."
Or does it just hide crazy?
But we all have our trials and tribulations and I certainly never experienced the sort of mental illness Esther does, a descent which results in a chilling round of electro-shock therapy. One of our members pointed out her premonition of what was to come with Esther's early on fixation with The Rosenbergs and their deaths by electrocution. Burning to death, essentially, is how she "feels" their official sentences. Condemned to burn to death.
Still, Esther wasn't so crazy that she didn't have an amazingly accurate fix on the world of work for women. For instance, in spite of her mother warning her that she needed to learn how to type to be able to secure employment for herself, Esther refuses because she doesn't want EVER to be a secretary and she knows that if she learns how to type, that's exactly what will happend. Now THAT resonated with me because my mother did the same thing except she had an influence and power over me that Esther's mother never had over her and I learned how to type.
And in spite of an Honours B.A. in History and English from the University of Toronto - I have never been more than a secretary in my entire work life. And I hate being a secretary. I HATE IT.
I. HATE. IT. I've always hated it. Being a secretary is the worst, most degrading job imaginable. There. I've said it. So why do it? Well, "The Bell Jar" answered that for me - because I learned how to type. See? You can think you're saner'n some woman who had electrodes attached to her head and many many volts sent shooting through her brain, but at the end of the day, who learned to type and who didn't. So I asked around my book club and guess what? Out of eight women, six of whom stayed home with kids when they were younger, five of whom went back to work after a few years - only one of them learned to type and only one of them is working as a secretary.
Interesting, eh? But the most interesting response to the whole typing thing came from the one woman among us who has the most education (3 degrees), the highest standard of living (married to the male version of herself), and is a defiant stay-at-home mother (one of her degrees is in law). She said that learning how to type was the workplace equivalent of getting pregnant in high school because you were too stupid to use birth control.
Gulp. I didn't become sexually active (outside of my imagination, at least) until I was in University and even then, well, let's just say I was very lucky. Or not, maybe, since I already knew how to type and would only ever be a secretary, anyway, in spite of my having gone to University for four years.
But I'm always curious about women who seem in control of their lives, who know what they want (left or right, quite frankly) and live that way without letting society (left or right) have any affect on their decisions. Curious is putting it mildly, maybe. I'd like to get inside their souls for just a few minutes and find out HOW they do it. So I asked my fellow book clubber how she manages to stay her course and not get a job, earn her own money, all that stuff that catches up with some of us who think we can stand to live lives financially dependent on better halves and then can't.
She said, "I control all our money. Always have. I move it around, invest it. We wouldn't have any of this if it wasn't for me."
Which, correct me if I'm wrong, Dear Reader, is pretty much like being a broker - isn't it? Anyway, so much for that last thread of hope. She also took/takes copious notes on all our books and provides her insights after we've all hashed it out and exhausted every bit of information about ourselves since our last book club get together because we still have that mother-at-home hangover that compels us to talk, talk, talk while you've got other adults at hand to listen to you.
Oh, one more thing, Esther had major issues with men, we all noticed. Her sexuality scared her, men were off putting to her, professionally they were untrustworthy because they treated her as a non-person. We didn't even get into that discussion, which I only realized later in the car as I was getting a ride home from another book club member whose teenaged daughter got her a job by taking her to the computer, bringing up a job site that had the perfect job for her on it, and showing her how to send off her resume. I mentioned that to her and she said, "We don't have time, anymore." And I said, "You know, we don't seem to be pissed off anymore, either."
And it's true. I remember when we started out and six out of eight of us were mothers-at-home. We were an angry lot. We thought the other two of us weren't as angry because they were younger, but now I think it was because they had part-time jobs and earned their own money. Which was all Esther really wanted, she wanted to make a living as a writer - and she was willing to work to do it, she just didn't want to fall into any traditional female traps along the way. But that was back in the early 60s, I started working in the early 80s, now it's the new millenium and everybody does their own typing because unless you're online, you're out of the loop.
Now, everybody's a secretary.
Grr. I had a whole entry typed up and ready to dazzle and then instead of hitting "submit" I hit something else and lost it. The entry that is. Then I lost it. My mind, this time.
Anyway, it was about marriage and how the divorce rate is already 50% and how we - as in, society - are having a hard time coping with that high rate of divorce and yet if what I predict comes true, soon we'll have a divorce rate as high as 75% with which we'll have an even harder time coping.
In a nutshell, my reasoning for this higher and higher divorce rate is that women no longer want to be wives. Not for any length of time, anyway.
I said a lot more stuff, but I guess that pretty much crystallizes it down to its essence.
The wife is a creature of days gone by, I'm afraid. No longer will she be there, sacrificing herself for her family. She's gone the way of the dodo bird and soon the panda. The whales, the elephants, the polar bears - maybe even the seals.
I'll miss the animals. At least, I'll miss knowing they were there. Somewhere. Living their lives. Surviving against all human odds.
The wife? Not so much. Or not at all even. But then, I was never going to get one, anyway. I'd have to be one, have been one, and never want to be one again. Living your life for someone else, whether he's your husband or your child (and sometimes...), is bullshit. The fact that I can say "bullshit" and not be beaten with a stick no thicker than my husband's thumb proves it.
The wife is dead, to walk among us no more. Only the retro wannabes will call themselves "wife" now. There's no such thing anymore. Alas, with women now able to live independently of men, to raise children independently of men, marriage is pretty much just an affectation and the wife nothing more than a kitschy bauble.
That was pretty much it. I had a lot of bombast and carry on, a few anecdotes, a broad smear of men d'un certain age (but not race or creed - this time). But it seems redundant now and I'm happy to distill the piece down to a Eulogy for the Wife.
Yeah. So instead of hitting "submit" I hit something else and my entry disappeared altogether into the ether. Now that's something that wouldn't have happened if the wife was still around, eh? Back in the day when there were wives, we didn't have entries disappear into the ether. They stayed right where they were, in front of us on our desks. My goodness what a difference technology makes in our lives. I damn near thought my head was going to explode. Then I thought, "What the hell am I freaking out for? It's a blog entry! If I can't remember the gist of it - and it's not like I'm losing money not producing it - then it couldn't have been much worth sending out to thousands of faithful readers, now - could it?!"
Anyway, that was pretty much it - the thing about nobody wanting to be the wife anymore because times have changed to such an extent that she's really just hopelessly out of date. Like a typewriter. Just... you know... I guess we'll all have to get used to losing the odd entry without her... or something...
But I'm right, aren't I. Look around. See those teenaged girls over there? You think they're going to live their lives for their husbands? Do you think they're going to be wives for longer than a two week honeymoon in the Dominican Republic?
No. Not even for as long as it lasts. They'll be wanting to stay up and have fun and he'll want to go to bed and have sex. And unfortunately, she didn't marry him for sex and he didn't marry her for fun. Or the other way around. I'm never sure about that one. But they'll get married in spite of themselves because marriage is like death and taxes in this society. Hey - and it ends in death and taxes, too.
Unless... Unless... Unless the reason why marriages have been failing at an ever increasing rate is BECAUSE of the wife! Hey! Maybe that's it! Maybe marriages have been failing because as soon as women didn't have to be the wife (i.e. financial independence outside of marriage) they didn't WANT to be the wife - they wanted to be a woman.
BUT, if women go into a marriage NOT being the wife, they may not want out of it! At least, not so badly that the divorce rate is a consistent 50% and rising.
Maybe, without the wife, marriage stands a fighting chance! And now, maybe, just maybe, if people were to be pronounced "Partners" instead of "Husband and Wife", it might last longer!
Hey - and maybe, if that "until death do us part" were to be switched to "until one of us no longer wants to be a Partner" - marriage could be like the bees knees because people wouldn't have that pressure hanging over their heads that they HAVE to stay together and so they would actually WANT to stay together!
Otherwise, I really think we're going to have to get used to ever increasing rates of divorce, I really do. And 75% might be low-balling it.
Admit it. It's crossed your mind, hasn't it. Okay. If you won't, then I will.
As soon as I heard the news about the kidnapping of 15 British sailors by Iranian terrorists I thought, "Oh my. That IS convenient." And feared the worst for their lives.
In a way that sent a chill up my spine. Like maybe this whole thing is exactly what it looks like except that the people behind it aren't necessarily the people we're being led to believe are behind it.
Maybe the people behind it are closer to home than even the most conspiratorial among us would want to believe.
I'm just saying.
And I suppose I'm a traitor for thinking such a thing at all, but I can't pretend to not know what I know about the American administration - a.k.a. Bush Inc. The media might have to in order to report the news as objectively as possible, but, adding up the facts of the War on Terror so far - I can't pretend I don't think this international incident is not at all what it seems.
In fact, now I think of it... did I insert "kidnapping" and "terrorist" myself? Did the original news report say "capture" and "authorities"? Or just "kidnapping" and "Iranians"? On account of "Iranians" is loaded enough to set the scene in a way that is meant to justify an invasion - sooner rather than later.
I'm just saying.
We all knew it was coming. A trigger for invasion. Is this it? With just enough time left in the Bush Inc. mandate to get really down and dirty and embedded in Iran? Do I even want to go there knowing there are fifteen lives at stake right now in Iran (I assume) and that all fifteen may be murdered for reasons we may never know because of Official Secrets acts and Patriotism acts and just because the C.I.A. which has seemed to be laying low these past few years may only have seemed to be laying low because it is, in fact, the Government of the United States?
I don't go there often because I find it all pretty terrifying. You know, like how the New York Times must have found it terrifying to realize there were no Weapons of Mass Destruction, that the President of the United States had been lying all along about there being intelligence to prove that there were, that he would have known all along that he was lying, that he deliberately perpetrated a massive fraud on the American people in order to invade Iraq, that the duly elected Leader of the Free World was lying to everybody in it but that he had so whipped up the American people in a frenzy of Patriotism that the most important and influential newspaper in the United States of America was afraid to report the news.
I get scared. I get scared because then I think - they've got more money than they could ever possibly want, these Bush Inc. people. So why are they perpetrating this massive fraud on the rest of the world? Is it, in fact, because they are ideologues? Is it because they truly believe in their Tribe as being of the One True Faith - with Faith being something unique to this mix of the American religious right and Texas oilmen? Is it possible that this is all about their Tribe being seen to take over the world before its term is up?
I'm just saying.
I really don't know what to believe. I know what I don't WANT to believe, but I also know that the first thing, the very first thing, that sprang to my mind when I read about the "kidnappings" was how convenient they were to Bush Inc.'s push for a War on Iran. The next thing I thought was - they'll be killed. Those people will be killed - we just won't ever really know by whom. And their deaths will be used to justify the next step in this War on Terror. Remember? The Axis of Evil? Like a prophesy it will come true.
Look. I don't want to think these things. I really don't. But I can't unthink them, now, can I.
But read this and tell me if you haven't read it all before:
DejaVu All Over Again
I thought there was a lot to say about the Quebec election and the big issue of what Muslim women will be wearing to vote in it, but I've decided there really isn't. After noticing during a smattering of coverage about the three big campaigns by the three little white Christian Frenchmen running that well, everybody and his supporters looked to be white Christian Frenchman up in arms over Muslim women and their damned hijab-wearing/or not - I decided there really isn't much to say beyong - "Gee... I wonder which of the three white Christian Frenchmen the hijab/or not wearing Muslim women will vote for this time?"
Some choice, eh ladies? Whoo-ee. Bigot #1, Bigot #2, or Bigot #3. Your choice. And don't be taking our freedoms lightly. In this country voting is a right you get to exercise, honey.
Gawd. I feel like my ex's Nanna who used to exclaim after every trip of her time spent in Pearson International Airport, "I hardly knew I was in Canada!" You know, on account of all the coloured people. Again.
So I guess it's true and everything old really IS new again so we can just fuhgeddaboudit. Like, for real. I mean, once again, if you don't like the fact that some people come here and don't act Canadian enough for your liking - you can just harass them until they do. Or not. In the meantime, the important thing is that you can harass them to the point where it's all an entire election is about. It's the new Canadian way led by Quebec.
Nevermind that every time I've showed up to vote here in Ontario, my name has been ticked off a list and that's it and that's all. My face has been almost totally irrelevant to the whole thing. No wait, that's an exaggeration - not "almost" totally irrelevant - TOTALLY totally irrelevant. It's all about my name, address, voter's card (or not, depending) and then having an elections volunteer tick my name off his or her list.
In fact, he or she can even be wearing a hijab when he or she does it. It's not about looks. It's about showing up to vote, presenting some form of ID with your name on it, and having that corresponding name ticked off an Elections Canada list.
Done.
So we all know this isn't really about voting or election fraud. It's about power. The same old same old. It's about telling Muslim women that the men who matter in this country, the ones you'd better obey, are white and Christian. Not Muslim. Those guys, if they aren't terrorists already, are oppressors of women and in no way part of the power structure here. Not in this country. In this country it's white CHRISTIAN men.
But aren't you glad that the New Conservative Government of Canada's Prime Minister Stephen Harper already showed his hand and no matter who wins this Quebec election - the moon has been promised and the stars will be delivered to Quebec? I mean, one of these three guys will be Premier of Quebec. Aren't you proud? To be Canadian, I mean? And that the NCGoC's PM owns his ass now? Or the other way around? Like, WHATEVER?
Yes indeed. I'd hardly know I was in Canada. Except how could I have any doubt.
I gather there is going to be a class action lawsuit against the pet food manufacturers responsible for the deaths of several cats recently. From what I understand, a few brands of pet food were contaminated, people bought them, their pets ate them, and several veterinary bills later, the pets died.
Okay. Fair enough. Except what struck me watching the news the other night were the veterinary bills. Some of them were huge. You really have to ask, or at least, I really have to ask - what the hell is going on when vets can get away with charging people the equivalent of a home down payment to treat and ultimately euthanize a cat?
I don't particularly like vets. I know that's a weird thing to hear someone say, but my experience with them has been that they have no understanding of human economics, so devoted are they to the health and well being of our pets.
I'd like to share a little story with you to show why I feel the way I do.
When my ex and I first moved in together, I decided one evening that what we needed to take the edge off living together, was a cat. So we headed down to the Humane Society, picked out a nice grey and white stray several months old, and headed home. She was our primary concern for several years, eventually becoming "just" the family pet, putting up with the usual indignities visited upon the family pet by the family kids.
Sixteen years after bringing her home from the Humane Society, she suddenly began to fail. One minute she was an old cat who slept all day in a cupboard, with me running interference for her every once in a while when the kids remembered they had a cat, the next she was leaving blood spots where I could see them, pooping anywhere but the kitty litter and dragging her hind legs.
To set the coming scene, please bear in mind - I had three little kids, my ex was away on business, the cat appeared to be in serious distress, unable to stay up on all fours. Oh - and we were on a very tight budget. A vert tight budget. One income, mortgage payments, three kids. That's important because what eventually came to pass haunts me to this day. It really and truly does. I have tears welling up in my eyes as I type this.
I decided, unilaterally, that my cat companion who had been with me through sixteen years of adult life, including a change from being a childless couple's main concern to a family of five's pet, would have to be put down, euthanized. I told the kids what I was planning to do, I phoned my ex and told him what I was planning to do, then I phoned the closest clinic to our house and told them what I was planning to do.
Well, let me tell you something, Dear Reader, the wall of resistance I ran up against - and I called five - 5 - clinics to ask about having my sixteen year old ailing cat very obviously in distress - euthanized, was akin to something out of a movie. You'd have thought I was attempting to perpetrate a crime against humanity, so strong was the reaction to my request to have my pet euthanized. In the end I paid a lot of money - a lot - to be told that, indeed, my beloved pet's bladder and kidneys were failing and that she could be kept alive for a little while but the treatment was expensive and, yes, she was dying.
I didn't have the money for expensive. I only had the money to have her euthanized. And now I didn't even have the money to be with her when the veterinary technician put her to sleep. In fact, to be with her when she was euthanized was going to cost twice as much as it would to simply leave her on the counter, have a seat, and wait until a technician came out, took her in the back, and gave her a needle.
To this day I regret that I didn't pay double the price to be with her when she got the needle. But at the time, it was just one more expense I couldn't afford. WE couldn't afford. Instead, I was treated curtly, told that they would look after her, there was no need to stay, and that I should leave.
And so it was that I left my cat behind, sitting in her kennel cab, waiting on the counter. She looked through the screen at me. And I said goodbye. The kids had done with their crying, I had resolved to be as matter of fact as I could, and we left the clinic. My heart felt like it was breaking. For double the price, I could have stayed, seen her through to the end. For double the price I could have stroked her while she passed on. For double the price I wouldn't have thought so many times since of how cruel economics can be.
By the time we had reached the car, I had changed my mind and decided to go back in to the clinic, to spend the extra money and be with her to the end.
"Oh, she's been done already." The woman at the counter said.
It had been five minutes. I left the clinic for the final time, reeling with emotion, disbelieving the uncomprehending cruelty of professional animal lovers for pet owners of limited means.
Anyway, that's what went through my mind when I saw some of those vet bills incurred by people trying to save their pets from dying after they'd eaten tainted pet food. And I'm sorry, but some of those bills, maybe even all of them, are unconscionable. There is no other word for it. I don't blame the pet owners, either. It's easy for any of us watching to say, "Who would spend that much on a cat?" More to the point, "Who couldn't afford to spend that much on a cat?" Indeed, I wonder about the many poor people who simply couldn't afford to pay ANY money to a veterinary clinic to save their beloved pet as its kidneys inevitably failed.
How is it that veterinarians, these animal loving entrepreneurs, have managed to slip under the radar of a society that prides itself on fairness, for so long? Why is that people aren't asking how come it is that the pets of rich people matter more than the pets of poor people? Because clearly, that is the case. There is something terribly Dickensian about one family not being able to be with their pet while she is put to sleep, while another can spend thousands to prolong its life for just a few weeks.
Isn't there?
I didn't pay any attention to the Budget this time around. Is there anything I need to know? Because if there is, I hope someone will be kind enough to let me know about it.
I've never paid much attention to budgets. As a middle class person, I figure I'll get alternately dinged and ticked. It's a fact. A Canadian fact. As the middle of the pack wolves, Betas, we're actually the smarties (the Alphas get killed off and the Omegas well...) so it stands to reason that we form the backbone of the economy and, as such, must do more than our share to keep it all running smoothly for the Alphas and Omegas.
Speaking of Alphas, Conrad and Babs are often described as an Alpha couple. Alas, they seem to be missing a Beta following and are stuck with the Omegas, like Mark Steyn and Christie Blatchford, following them around, singing their praises. I guess that's sort of a natural evolution, though, isn't it. Betas simply don't have the time for either, anymore. We have work to do, I guess.
I wonder, in the wolf world where David Radler would fall. My own feeling is Omega, but I could be wrong. In any case, you heard it here first on SooeySays that David Radler is REALLY working for the defence. He will pay the price for the Media Duo now - and cash in later.
It's true. I've been reading just the barest bit about the comings and goings of the trial of the spring of 2007 and it came to me in a flash: This was all worked out well in advance. There was no way Conrad Black could beat this rap otherwise. I mean - video footage of Himself carting boxes away from the scene of the crime?
Right.
Anyway, I don't like get too involved in the nitty gritty of these things because then I get to thinking how the world economy really just hangs by a thread and we could all be plummetted into anarchy should just one damned butterfly flap its wings too hard or one big crook get caught with his hands in the till (or carting cardboard boxes away from the scene of the crime). But it dawned on me that all this build-up to David Radler's testimony, the straight skinny on his deal with authorities, the painting of him as the mastermind behind Conrad Black's predicament points to one thing: They've cooked up a deal and David Radler is going to do the time for Conrad Black and when he comes out he will be rewarded handsomely.
Eh? Am I right? What do you think? It could be so, couldn't it. I knew it. It came to me this morning, actually. Fun stuff - wot? Because I don't really want to see Conrad Black go to jail. I'd like everybody to know he's a crook, but I don't really want him to go to jail. That's how I'm different from his Omegas. They don't want him to go to jail AND they don't want everybody to know he's a crook.
I'm a Beta so I'm not out for blood, like another Alpha would be - witness Babs calling the other media gal "a slut" (as my Mom would say - you can take the girl out of Hamilton, but you can't take the Hamilton out of the girl) - but I'd like a little justice served. And I guess it has been to a large extent. When you're reduced to Omega coverage (Steyn, Blatchford, Worthington - and who knew he was even still alive?) you're pretty over.
It's just too bad for Conrad and Babs that Anna Nicole Smith can't die again.
Say... this would have been a great time for a wild and crazy budget, though, eh? "And all Canadians get... wait for it... quiet... A BRAND NEW CAR!!!!"
How come THAT never happens? How come we just get to hear about the surplus and how hardworking Canadians are, but even when the rightwing media is off covering Conrad Black's trials and tribulations, our government, which is supposed to represent ALL Canadians, not just the Alphas - does not take the opportunity to reward the Betas, the people who keep it all going, the taxpayers who drive this economy, the citizens who keep their money here, spend it here, AND do all the work here, with - A BRAND NEW CAR!!!! in the spring budget of 2007?
Unless the New Conservative Government of Canada did do that - did it?
Well, let me know. I'm going to look for reaction to my revelation that David Radler is taking the fall for Conrad Black, not the other way around, as his silly Omega followers are claiming. I mean, why not? He's already been nailed. If I were him, I'd do the same. Luckily, I'm not him. I'm a Beta. And Alphas don't do business with Betas.
What a difference American fraud charges make to the measure of a man, eh? I mean, really. I always thought of Conrad Black as a rich brat offspring who went on to bilk elderly widows and grocery store employees out of millions, but now that he's been charged with the standard white collar crime of fraud - by Americans, no less - he's credited with having built an empire to the benefit of all Canadians.
Oh - and being the nicest guy in person you'd ever want to meet. Nevermind how nasty he seems to lower orders like me - my betters tell me every day in the newspapers that I'm wrong about him, that I'd really like him if I met him.
Well, maybe I'll send him a letter some day:
"Dear Mr. Lord Sir Black of Crossharbour,
How is the food in prison?"
All this sympathy comes courtesy our very own Canadian media. Now, I could understand it if we didn't already know what a thoroughly nasty character Conrad Black actually is - but, as I said above - I mean, really. My guess is he's guilty as charged and will be convicted - and should be convicted. It appears to me like he defrauded shareholders. Sorry - but it does. That he labelled the rest of us working stiffs as shirkers, doesn't really enter into my opinion of the man, now. Although I always find it particularly egregious when people who inherited wealth have the temerity to rub our noses in the fact that the rest of us didn't. Whether it's done consciously or not - it's hardly sporting.
But I've been reading the trial coverage - all of it Canadian - and I am astounded by the absolute drivel most columnists are getting away with - and drivel is putting it generously. The coverage of Himself is so unbelievably boot-licking and toadyish, the coverage of His Wife so adoring and fawning, in spite of her columns which would seem to indicate she is one of the most horrible people ever to have lived, and now that the jury has been selected, so condescending and patronizing of the people who must sit in judgement of the crimes with which He is charged - that it is... sad.
I mean, c'mon - I've been reading Barbara Amiel for years. No one even comes close to her remorseless and conscienceless misanthropy. So she's standing by her man. So what? Of course she is. He's rich and powerful and the poster boy for Neo-Con "values" everywhere. She wants him to beat this rap so she can carry on carrying on in the manner to which she became accustomed when they were living large, however questionably. I don't blame her for that - I blame her for pretty much every opinion she's ever spewed forth. And I'd hardly call her The Good Wife. I saw the shoe room in "Citizen Black". I don't even know what you'd call that kind of greed, but I think her hubby is about to pay the price.
And Him. Starting with Upper Canada College, what we know of the man would indicate to me, anyway, that the guy on the street corner had better think twice before asking Conrad Black if he could spare a dime. He might end up with his pockets turned out, instead. So why all the sympathy for a guy who would probably have the entire NDP thrown in prison if he could pull the right strings behind the scenes - or even upfront - to get it done.
Oh.
I get it.
Oh my.
How could I have missed that one. Well, that explains everything, doesn't it. Wow. What a media we have in this country, eh? Ask a simple question in good faith, and there is the answer staring me in the face. All this fawning coverage of his Lordship, the fear of so many columnists that he'll be convicted and made to do the time for his crimes, that he'll be proven a crook, the Neo-Con poster boy - a crook.
Gosh, I wonder. If the media in this country could talk American prosecutors into dropping the charges against their beloved Neo-Con poster boy - would it?
Of course it would.
The Canadian media is showing its true colours, where its true sympathies reside. Contrast the National Post's coverage of The Black/Amiel Duo (and personally - I think she's guilty as not charged - I really do) with its coverage of Svend Robinson, for instance.
He pocketed a ring at an auction sale, in case you live under a rock. Now, without even going into the charges now, what we know of Conrad Black, at the very least, is that he doesn't give a rat's ass about anybody who gets in the way of his desire for money and power and influence.
Call me un-Canadian, but I don't admire people like that and I don't feel sorry for them when they get caught. They're supposed to get caught, aren't they? Or do we have one law for the rich and one law for everybody else? How come nobody in the media felt sorry for Svend Robinson?
Okay. Bad example.
But you know what I mean. Somebody cheats on welfare and Mike Harris goes after her with the full weight of the state, she eventually kills herself, and there's not even a, "Gee... that was probably a little excessive" from the same media that is boohooing over Conrad Black possibly going down for A LOT of fraud.
Interesting that, eh? The media speaking for and defending a figure best know for representing the views and interests of the establishment, the establishment on the right, that is. It can't even pretend not to, it's that desperate. We are seeing it now. Nevermind Bush and Iraq and all that really truly awful dispiriting evidence of corruption and lies, our Canadian media of the right is defending Conrad Black.
Personally, I'm surprised it took this long for the law to catch up with him - but such is the unfairness of life. The rich are different than you and I.
And so is the Canadian media, apparently.
Read this, please:
Old Immigrant Patterns Rool, New Immigrant Patterns Drool
I don't know why I was shocked that the National Post would publish an editorial like that in the year 2007, but I was. Shocked. I think that's an inflammatory editorial, inciting resentment by its readers against the people who are actually immigrating to this country as opposed to the people the editorial board of the National Post would prefer immigrate to this country.
Let's look back a little bit at recent history.
When 9/11 happened, I was shocked - not scared - shocked. Seeing people in New York City jumping out of skyscrapers on live television as the result of a terrorist attack was shocking. A large part of that shock was that it was happening in New York City. If you're a Torontonian - you'll know what I mean. It felt pretty close to home - right? Yeah. I'm right. Toronto is New York City, Canadian-style. As in, a smaller global village roofed over with less of the green stuff. Socially progressive, securely secular - just keep spending that money and we'll keep that arts & culture comin', baby.
What was scary to me, as opposed to shocking, was the reaction to 9/11. I was afraid it would be used as an excuse to start World War III. Yes, indeed. And the newspaper I subscribed to at the time was the Ottawa Citizen, a Canwest publication. I can't begin to describe to you the absurd lengths the newspaper of the nation's capital went to in fanning the flames of fear in this frozen little backwater of a town.
It was, in a word, unconscionable. And when I moved a couple of years later, I did not subscribe to the Ottawa Citizen. In fact, I never read it again. And my life has been immeasurably better for it.
But something struck me last night as I was arguing on the phone with a co-worker. He was insisting to me that I should be afraid, afraid of being burkaed, that the Islamic Menace is real and coming, that it is, in fact, already here. He went on to say that poor, uneducated immigrants are ruining this country, driving up the welfare rolls, adding nothing of value, and that we need to get our white race birthrates up or we'll be outnumbered, undone by immigration.
He reads the Ottawa Citizen regularly. Every day. And he sincerely believes that there is an Islamic Menace determined to take us over and that we must do everything we can to prevent this from happening. He also believes very strongly that western women must somehow be made to breed more to keep our race dominant. He believes that Christianity must stake its rightful claim on our culture and that our British heritage and English language absolutely hold sway.
If any adapting is to be done at all, it is to be done by immigrants to Canada.
Now, I've noticed the National Post very cleverly uses the term "western women". Well, sorry. We all know what "western" means. It means "white". Just because you think you're being clever, editorial boys and girls, doesn't mean you are clever. So essentially, the National Post on Wednesday, March 14th, 2007 told its readers that white women must breed more to prevent poor, uneducated immigrants from taking over our society.
Oh - and "poor, uneducated immigrants" doesn't mean "white". It means the opposite of "white".
Meanwhile, I know for a fact that ALL Canwest newspapers have been banging the Islamic Menace drum for the past five years. So, at what point are we allowed to call systematically demonizing a group of people, labelling them a threat to the safety and security of others, and inciting pro-active vigilance against their numbers increasing to such an extent that they outnumber white westerners - racism?
I'm just asking. I mean, an editorial in 2007 warning Canadians about "what kind of immigrants" are coming to their shores these days and that in order to protect ourselves from being outnumbered by such undesireables women who are here now (read "of european stock") should get breeding?
Sorry - what country am I living in again? Buttstupidland? Iggorantredneckbourg? Racistassholia. I mean, good gawd almighty. I expect this stuff from Mark Steyn - but he doesn't actually believe it, he's just trying to sell freezers to the Inuit. As in, bigotry to rightwingers. So he can live well in New Hampshire.
This is a national newspaper's editorial board saying this stuff.
Am I crazy? Or is that a racist editorial? Feel free to comment.
I'm just doing a little entry today. It's sort of a funny addendum to yesterday's piece. Two funny addendums, actually. First, is this piece linked to by James Woolcott of Vanity Fair. I know nothing about Noam Chomsky. Literally. Nothing. So I thought I'd read this piece. Now I know EVERYTHING about Noam Chomsky, including what a lazy, good-for-nothing bastard he really is:
$5.00?They'rePaying$5.00?What?I'mWholesaleNow?
You have to read the comments to get the full measure of Old Man Chomsky, however. This one is my favourite comment on the piece. Possibly, my favourite comment ever posted on the Internet:
WHEN WILL PEOPLE WAKE UP AN SEE THAT MR. CHOMSKY IS JUST A WOLF IN SHEEPS CLOTHING. (A SHILL FOR THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY)
Posted by: MITCIA : February 6, 2007 6:55 PM
Second is a hilarious misreading of mine concerning that whole 9 year old IRANIAN kid and his family being held in a Texas prison thang, you know, because Stephen Harper and the New Conservative Government of Canada are anti-children. I had, for some bizarre reason, been reading it as ITALIAN. An ITALIAN kid and his family stuck in an American hellhole. So, there I was picturing Mama with her Federico Forquet dress and Sophia Loren hair and Papa with his Da Vinci shirt open to his navel and plenty of gold chains nestled in his thick black chest hair and little Pepe sitting on a stool eating his Chef Boyardi, waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more. And I was wondering... What could it be?... Mafia?.... Why won't Stephen Harper and the New Conservative Government of Canada let this poor Italian family into the country?
It was like being stuck in a really weird Fellini film. For me, I mean.
Oh - and third. Isn't the United States a ridiculous medieval backward shithole of a country? I bet Conrad Black thinks so. Imagine, facing 40 years in prison, or somesuch, for money crimes that really only hurt other rich bastards like yourself. I mean, I'm not saying we're the right way or anything, seeing as we never would have charged him in the first place, being meticulously respectful of rich white crooks, as we are - but still. The prison sentences down there in the good old U.S. of A. are like something straight out of a Monty Python movie.
There. Short and Sweet. Ou81aswell will be happy. AND his tongue won't get sore reading it.
This is what I did yesterday:
At about 3:30, this guy I know and my good self got a ride to the bus station from my British/American co-worker where we bought a couple of return tickets to Montreal. At 4:00 we were on our way to see "The Police".
Cool, eh? And we're just, like, normal/average/ordinary/everyday superwits, too.
The bus ride was relaxing enough at first, although my strategy of sitting not near babies soon failed when the baby parents relocated near us. Gawd. Babies. There otta be a law that once you've had yours nobody else can have any. I mean, really - how many more babies do we need? They're just going to grow up and you never know which one will be a Hitler or a Ted Bundy or even a Stephen Harper.
Quit while you're ahead, everybody else!
Fortunately, the trip from Ottawa to Montreal is only 2 hours and I was able to drown out the baby conversation (they weren't really all babies, they were one baby and a handful of toddlers, but the baby kept saying to one of the toddlers, "You're a baby", so the toddler felt COMPELLED to say back, "No - YOU'RE a baby, I'm not a baby", until the Dad of the toddler tried to help out, "She's just calling YOU a baby because SHE'S a baby", so the baby said, "No, I'm not") with plenty of scintillating discourse on a myriad of topics ranging through me and on to myself and finally over to I.
I'm kidding, eh. I never talk about myself in real life.
Anyway, we got to Montreal, all psyched for "The Police" (a band I have no knowledge of whatsoever and one which I would never in a million years have gone to see were it not for this guy I know and his friend who crapped out on him at the last minute so that he was cornered into tapping last resort me who is always up for whatever now that I'm footloose and fancy free - NOT!) and caught a cab to the Bell Center (Centre Bell).
Once there, I started to worry a bit because the last concert I went to was "Dire Straits" at Varsity Stadium in Toronto in the early 80s. I almost went to a Madonna concert in 1990, but I was pregnant at the time and it was at SkyDome and I just couldn't risk going into premature labour (a couple of months later I wouldn't risk taking an aspirin for labour pain because in spite of several months of pre-natal classes I was afraid I might SLEEP THROUGH LABOUR!!!). So, although I hadn't given it much thought until I saw the crowd and the size of the venue, I was starting to remember why the last and only concert I'd been to had been the "Dire Straits".
So, to avoid stress, I led the guy to a Tim Horton's across the street from the Bell Center (Centre Bell) and we picked up sandwiches and tea. Then we headed over to a park to sit under a tree and have our little picnic before heading inside for the show. While we sat there, I noticed two men smoking a cigar, down the hill from where we were perched, and closer to the sidewalk action. They were wearing semi-tough tee-shirts, black with heavy metal-type stuff on them, identical khaki shorts with pleats and pockets, and the tell-tale glasses that only cops wear.
"Narcs", I said to my fellow picnicker.
"Yeah", he laughed. "The almost, but not quite, identical outfits are a dead giveaway. It's like they can't help but wear a uniform of some kind when they're on the job."
"Well, let's cross over to the other side of the park to spark up this doobie". And I pulled a tiny little tightly rolled joint out of my bi-focals case (I was wearing my contacts because I am so much unbelievably better looking in my contacts, which are single-vision, that's it's totally worth not being able to see properly to be seen WITHOUT my bi-focals wrecking all my chances with rock superstars - but I always bring my glasses along in my knapsack JUST IN CASE!!! of a sleepover or somesuch possibility).
So, feeling cooler'n bitchin' we strolled across the park, sparked up the doobie, had a few tokes (two is my limit or I get that heart thing that feels a bit like grasshoppers in your aorta valve) and, not wanting to take it indoors (where No Smoking is allowed, anyways), we left it on a monument for the taking by loitering teens in the park.
Oh my, what a great idea that was, to be just a little high headed off to see "The Police" in, well, quite frankly - skanky ol' Montreal (if you ask me, anyways - I mean, how many titty bars does one town need before you're pretty much drunken hard-on splooge town).
I panicked a bit, just a tad, at the door when I thought they were going to go through my little pink knapsack with gold embroidery on it and I'd end up strip-searched and left to die of starvation and cold in some Montreal prison by the Surete du Quebec, but then I remembered we'd dropped the joint on one of those dead French guy memorials. And they didn't look to be searching anybody's knapsack, anyways, which, although a tad insulting when I thought about it later, was a relief at the time.
Being a little high, we concentrated all our efforts on finding our seats (first balcony, front row) and once seated, being a little high, never moved until the concert ended some 3 1/2 hours later.
Sting's son opened for "The Police". The show started right on the dot at 7:30, his rich kid garage band played for 1/2 hour (they were pretty good, but once I'd mentally slapped that "rich kid garage band" label on them, it was hard to get too into their set - all I could think about was how jealous all the non-rich kid garage bands would be of their equipment, connections, and state-of-the-art production studios) and then, about fifteen minutes later "The Police" took a sprightly run onto the stage and started up.
It was all so professional and courteous, by gum, it was one of the most pleasant experiences of my life. Not awe-inspiring or life-altering, as the guy I went with noted on our walk home from the Ottawa bus station (we caught the last bus from Montreal to Ottawa - "The Midnighter", we call it) - but fun. I'd say "hip", but I don't want to date myself. And who knew I liked reggae? Not me. But I do. The mellow groove suits me to a tee and while it's a dancey beat, you can do it in your seat. I don't really like the pressure anymore of feeling like I've gotta stand up and dance, I was happier just groovin' in my seat in the front row, first balcony.
Oh, and Sting? Well, I'd say he gives hope to all kids who start out looking like Malcolm McDowell, that's for sure, because apparently, whether you start out looking like Malcolm McDowell or Gordon Summer you'll eventually end up looking like Sting. As in, very good. I just don't know if I was Andy Sumner or the drummer if I'd want to be sharing a great big screen with him at a concert.
Standing beside a superstar rock god can make you look pretty mortal. Luckily, I was wearing my contacts and a super hot see-thru number with built in boobs so when I made eye contact with him on the big screen, he flinched a bit at my awesomeness, although not enough to throw him off his game.
Every breath you take...
Last night I went to Yuk Yuks. It was my first time so I was pretty nervous. My companion and I were also meeting a friend of his who was on his third date with a woman he'd recently met online.
The pressure to laugh/not laugh was pretty intense, made more intense by the fact that when we arrived, the newly dating couple were sitting smack dab in front of the stage, about three fee away from where the comics would be performing, AND they were like... two out of four people in the whole room.
Luckily, the new lady was fun, her date (whom I'd met previously) in fine form and after my attempts to get everybody to move a little further back, over to the left, down a few tables, over more to the left - FAILED! - I settled in with a Cranberry & 7. My companion had a coffee. The newly dating couple had tea and water.
I felt really truly deeply sorry for the upcoming comics. Sober as judges we were, smack dab in front of the stage, one of us an internet stranger.
Normally, I'm an easy laugh. Carrot Top checking his little suitcase has me in stitches every time. But I'm also my own biggest fan. I can be sitting in front of the computer, laughing my head off, and one of the kids will say, "What's so funny, Mom?" And I'll have to tell them, "Well, I'm posting on this forum and I'm deliberately spelling words wrong and this other guy is getting so mad - it's hilarious."
To their credit, they not only laugh but they learn, too. Shortly after that, one of my daughters went on the Canadian Idol forum to ask, "What's Canadian Idol?" Oh my. We howled over that one. Then I showed her one where this guy was going on an on about military history and I posted, "That's not what I heard."
Hilarious.
Anyway, back to Yuk Yuks. It was Newcomer night so the chances were pretty good that some of the acts would suck. The host, who seemed to me to be about 16 years old, had a bit of a lame Saget thing going on except sort of funny looking and in a tee-shirt and baggy pants. He didn't suck, mind you. He has potential. His delivery wasn't too bad. The content wasn't great. But he had a certain confidence in himself that pulled it together. One day, he'll be just what we're all used to in a Comedy Club host.
I've always been interested in stand-up. David Brenner being my original fave. I'd love to give it a whirl, myself. But I wouldn't do it as a lark, I'd be serious. If I get up on that stage it's because I intend to get up on that stage - A LOT. So it's not likely I'll do it at all because the key to stand-up comedy, I noticed last night, seeing it done live for the first time ever in my life - is confidence.
Content takes a back seat to delivery.
Because in order for the audience to ENJOY the routine, it has to trust that the comic is confident of his act.
Now, there was quite a cross section of comics last night - no ladies, Christopher Hitchens would be pleased to note - and two or three or four comics really did suck. They way over-estimated their material, grossly under-estimated the audience, and then lost their nerve on stage when they realized the error of their ways.
It's a terrible feeling to be sitting in the audience when that happens. I felt like kicking a couple of asses after the show: "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!" One of the suckers was a comic from Alabama. Talk about underestimating the audience. He started off with patently false jokes about OUR healthcare system, delivered mumbling into the microphone, made the standard FRENCH joke (hey buddy - WE make fun of the French - not some sadsack from Alabama). Gawd. I was close to shouting out, "HELLO?! This is Ottawa?! Not some frozen backwater of blandness?!" And for sure, one of my favourite comics in the world is from Alabama, so, it wasn't me - it was him. He stunk.
There were a couple of other stinkers, material not strong enough, not properly prepared, again - overestimating their talent and underestimating the audience. It catches you on stage, I'm afraid. Even the lamest brain figures it out shortly into his act and it ain't pretty. Hilariously, one of the stinkers had no idea he stunk and that was largely due to yours truly. He was a Somali Muslim New Canadian and when he started talking, I thought it was a joke, that any minute he'd break into a hard rap, down and dirty, calling the audience up short on its polite, uncomfortable, politically correct chortling.
When he didn't, I laughed harder. Oh my, how he smiled at my laughter. Like he was the funniest guy to ever land on a stage. But what could I do? Go up to him after the show and say, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't believe you were genuine. I thought any minute you were going to be all like, Whoa - prejudiced much? Just because I'm this genial, clued-out New Canadian you think you can patronize me?! And then when you turned out to be a genial, clued-out New Canadian, oh man - now that's funny. I'm just not sure you know HOW funny."
To his credit, he did a bit about haggling for a jacket and when the clerk wouldn't budge from the price, he finally goes home, gets the exact amount of money, comes back - and she's raised the price 15%.
Four of the comics (there were several) were pretty good. Two were really good. But the one who was the best, wasn't my favourite because he was a little bit too edgy for me. And that may be where a bit of a male/female divide comes in - "edge" appreciation. Although, to be honest, my companion felt the same way. Still, to be even more honest, he's pretty sophisticated for a companion.
Now, it may be that the comic we favoured - who was a bit of a performance artist, as well - was actually edgier than the other guy - the really edgy guy - just in a less standard way. For instance, he shouts out "TAXES!" "EH?" "TAXES!" in a way that just had us rolling in the aisles. It was pretty random, out of the blue, wacky stuff - but funny. The other guy, you could see where he was going, but it was so politically incorrect, that, well, it was a bit upsetting.
NOT that I would suggest in a million years he take anything out.
I'm just saying - I'm a woman.
He was the big name. I have no idea what it was but I gather he's had the most success on the circuit. Very funny.
I never want to see his act again.
But, bear in mind, he wears a toque and he's pretty sketchy looking with an anger thing going on, so it might have been that I didn't appreciate as much as another clubber would. An angry male clubber in a toque. And certainly, he got the most laughs, with me laughing hardest, of course.
But yeah, I liked the "TAXES!" guy better.
I may have even liked a couple of the other comics better, too, just because of their delivery. Their material was good, very solid - but their delivery was what pulled it off for me. The one guy had a look of "Aw, crap" on his face during his whole routine that really set up the audience to a tee. I was laughing before he even started his routine. He looked at me too. Practically rolled his eyes. It was hilarious. Ah, the easy laugh. Great. Oh, joy. And she's right in front of the stage. Maybe I should just stand here and forget my act while she amuses herself no end.
And actually, when we all went to see "The Anchorman", the guy behind us started laughing before the movie started. Well, wouldn't you know it, but by the time Steve Whatshisname says, "I like lamp", I was laughing so hard it wasn't until I saw it a second time that I heard Will Ferrell ask, "Are you just listing things you like?" So I could hardly blame the guy for giving me "the look".
He was probably in the audience of "The Anchorman".
But those two comics (the other guy had on a suit and he did some Dad bits and Toronto bites that were really sharp, nice and tight) I liked because they had that comedy circuit look, material, etc - that's comfortable.
I'm not the audience for edgy.
And there were two other comics that I thought were okay. One was a teacher who read a grade nine short story that represented all the grade nine short stories ever written and it was probably the funniest bit of the whole night. Very good. But he was a teacher, so he had a lot of confidence being on stage, and that really helped his act, which was otherwise a B-. There was also an old guy comic who was pretty sure of himself in a really low key pokey way. His ending blew chunks - an Irish drinking song rap - but his routine was very funny. At one point he pulled his little list of notes out of his pocket, held it up to the light and muttered, "Oh. Dick joke comes later".
Well, maybe you had to be there but it was very funny. Picture Tim Conway doing it and you'll know what I mean.
So stand-up. Well, it's not all content. Confidence will get you everywhere. A great delivery is pure joy for an audience. Content is subjective - and I guess I like to laugh at others, more'n I like to laugh at myself.
Who knew?
"TAXES!"
Remember when Bush the Junior told everyone to "go shopping" after 9/11 as our way of letting the terrorists know we meant business? And then he started bombing Afghanistan, only to move on to Iraq shortly thereafter?
Well, I have a friend who worked with me at the NDP but who also has a certain fascination for rightwing thugs (she enjoyed Mike Harris' reign of terror, for instance - mostly because of how apoplectic he made the public sector unions - whom we both so despised anyway, coming from the Sault and Hamilton as we did, and having watched with horror as they stuck ten thousand forks into Bob Rae's term of office) and she said, "He's right, you know."
And went shopping.
But she'd have gone shopping, anyway. She was a working mother with a good income who firmly believed "You are what you buy." She also believed very strongly that shopping - if you could afford it - was a very practical way to deal with "the blues". It was her personal experience that going shopping made her feel better.
Now, I'm an extremely frugal person, almost to the point of being pathological. But I know fully well that I have gone shopping in a somewhat blue mood, and, depending on what I bought, returned home feeling good. Satisfied. Like I'd done something positive.
It's terrible to admit, but I've probably bought items of clothing that gave me the sort of pleasure curing cancer would give to another person. What's even worse to admit is that I've probably bought items of clothing that gave me the sort of pleasure curing cancer wouldn't.
Why is that? Well, I think it has something to do with exercising power. I earn money, therefore I can buy stuff. And depending on what I buy, it can give me quite a fine feeling of accomplishment.
For instance, while I used to get a thrill from buying something nice on sale, something nice to wear, I now get a thrill when I find just the right item of clothing - whether it's on sale or not. Because now, at this age, when I shop I'm actually looking for something specific. I don't care what it costs, so much. And that's saying something coming from me. What I care about is that it's what I want. If I see something not quite right but it's on sale, I resist the impulse to buy it because I know it's not quite what I want.
I'll wait it out now. Time may be money but there's no point in cluttering up your life. I know myself well enough now that the stripe has to be finer, the shade of red has to have a hint of blue, the fabric has to be fine.
Meanwhile, I've always wondered about those women everyone knows about but no one actually knows unless they're one of them, too - the shopping wives.
I figure those women buy stuff because their men derive a sense of power from their shopping habits. Am I right? I mean, those women seem to approach shopping like a professional duty. Maybe it is. Maybe their shopping gives their husbands the confidence they need to go after the big bucks in business. Certainly it would be hard to imagine their relationships having much point otherwise. I mean, how could it possibly be worth it for a man to slog it out in the workplace just so his wife could buy another pair of Manolos if he wasn't getting a kickback.
Do those guys do ANYTHING without a kickback?
I guess, too, it gives the shopping wife a value, a purpose, a point. It would have to. Because it really doesn't seem to me that these women approach their shopping with any less than a strong sense of duty. Shopping isn't frivolous to these women, not at all. It's serious. That they make it look fun is part of the role.
I have a funny story about shopping with one such woman. She was the wife of an old boss of mine and fifteen minutes into meeting me she said, "Let's go." Well, I had a massage, my hair cut and dyed, and a brand new power suit before I could say, "Please Ma'am. No more." But she was right. I got back to work (nevermind I'd been gone all afternoon - I was with the boss' wife) and the boss was pleased as punch.
"Oh my," he exclaimed. "You look very professional." Later, he confided to me, proudly, "She's very good at what she does. People don't realize that about her."
And what she did - was shop.
I still have the suit. It's my only suit, too. I would never think to buy another one. And yet, here I am the working girl, slogging it out, day after day, for just enough money to cover expenses and sock a few bucks into a savings account - and she's the one with the sense to invest in a good suit.
It also meant I put her on a priority list of people I stopped everything for to do whatever it was she wanted me to do.
Not that she needed to buy me a suit for me to know that much. My mother had given me that bit of advice when I first started out in the working world. She had been a teacher and put my father through law school. Once he started practicing, they started a family and she stayed home (of course, you couldn't teach pregnant in those days, anyway). The thing she hated most was having to call him at work about something or other and be told by his secretary that he was busy. She said very pointedly, "Always put the wife through." And so I did.
Ironically, she was also always trying to put her daughters in power suits.
Sometimes, I really wish I'd listened better.
Boy, I bet it's tough being a REAL Liberal these days. Softies on crime, terrorist stooges, batting fly balls to the New Conservatives/Old Reformers on the Environment, despised in Quebec, loathed in Alberta, going nowhere fast in the 905, low lower lowest in the polls.
Haha!
That's what happens when you have a tent big enough to house every mover and shaker and candlestick maker in Canada.
Finally.
But I would say that - wouldn't I. I'm a leftie going lefter with each passing day. There was a time when I would vote Liberal to keep the New Conservatives out of power, but those days are over, Tod. And you can thank Pundits (firstly) and Leadership Race Runners-up (secondly) and Provincial Attorny General, Mike Bryant (thirdly) and a general smattering of highly placed worst sort of weasly corporate lawyers amidst your ranks - mostly.
And by ranks, I DO mean the stinky kind.
Just Call Me Weasel-At-Large
Yup. 'Cause there's a real stink comin' from the Federal Liberal Party of Canada and it isn't even Stephen Harper passing through what's causing it. It's coming from INSIDE THE HOUSE. Oh. And outside the House wafting in. Gawd. A great big powerful offputting stink permeating the Party that brought us panache and style and the Charter of Rights and Freedoms.
Oh, my. How the mighty have fallen and revealed their true colours. Primary, as it turns out. And they have fallen so far that soon they'll be walking with Satan. And his buddy - Stephen Harper.
Haha! I just KNEW those prima donnas wouldn't be able to get past that whole Stephane Dion thing.
Too funny. Brutus, thy name is Liberal.
Anyway, I'm stayin' way clear, Stephen Harper or not, 'cause I just don't wanna get any on me - y' know?
Debbie Melnyk and Rick Caine, the director/producer team who did The Frank Truth and Citizen Black, have done a new documentary on Michael Moore.
It is called "Manufacturing Dissent".
Hm... Gee... I wonder what it's about?
Yes, indeed, the straight skinny, so far, is that Michael Moore is no Conrad Black in terms of his eagerness to talk, to spill, to go on and on. And on and on. And on some more. And some more. More. Again. More.
Cripes, as Rick & Debbie's luck would have it - he's not even Roger Smith. Because, get this - in Manufacturing Dissent, they make the claim that Moore interviewed Smith on camera TWICE. But the scenes were left on the cutting room floor - FOR GREATER DRAMATIC EFFECT.
Well, yeah - where have you two been? What would have been the point of Roger & Me if Michael Moore had actually interviewed Roger Smith?
"So, I went looking for Roger Smith to have a talk with him about what he was doing to Flint, Michigan. I interviewed him and he said, 'Look around, pal. Are you saying *I* did this to Flint, Michigan? I'm just a business man. I don't do urban planning.' And so you have it. Roger Smith is a business man. Not an urban planner."
But here's Rick & Debbie's moment of truth. Be warned, if your name is Pollyanna Sunshine, you probably shouldn't read this next paragraph:
"When we started this project we hoped to have done a documentary that celebrated Michael Moore. We were admirers and fans," said Debbie Melnyk, who made the film with her husband, Rick Caine. "Then we found out certain facts about his documentaries that we hadn't known before. We ended up very disappointed and disillusioned."
Haha! "Disappointed and disillusioned". You two must be REAL lefties! Haha! Wait until you find out Al Gore's energy bill is so high on account of - wait for it - endangered species take longer to cook! And to get just the right flavour - you need to use coal furnaces!
But seriously, and I mean this in all sincerity - the important thing for you to know, Dear Reader, is that I met Rick and Debbie through a mutual friend and extra in "The Frank Truth" (who shall remain nameless for privacy porpoises, as in "NO GROUPIES ALLOWED ON MY BLOG!!!!!"). And since they are 1) a Director and 2) a Producer, it means I have met a Director AND a Producer. In fact, not only have I met a Director and a Producer, but we were V.I.P. guests of theirs (thern?) at the Montreal Film Festival screening of Citizen Black. The Toronto Film Festival took a pass. On account of it didn't want to upset his Lordship, I heard.
Toronto is SO Upper Canada College - isn't it?
What made the screening EXTRA cool was the presence of so many Conrad Black spies in the audience. Whoo-ee. That was some fun! We played "Spot the Spy" for two hours and still didn't get them all.
Anyway, I'm dying to see "Manufacturing Dissent". As a fan of Michael Moore (Madonna grew up in Flint, Michigan, too, dontcha know) AND a leftie (but not a REAL leftie, if you know what I mean) I will enjoy seeing him come across as a right royal asshole on the big screen. I'm Canadian, afterall. As far as I'm concerned - anybody who makes it in this world is just begging to be taken down a notch or two.
Yup. Thank Gawd for those cutting room floor interviews with Roger Smith is all I can say. Who wants to see Michael Moore, little guy schmuck, interviewing Roger Smith - big guy schmuck, anyways?
Not this leftie. I want to see a documentary of a little guy schmuck following a big guy schmuck around for two hours trying to get an interview.
To be honest, the worst parts of Citizen Black were the interviews with his Lordship. I suppose on account of how human he seems. I mean, if you don't believe me - see it. You'll view Conrad Black in a totally different light. No longer will he be just some rich bombastic blowhard up on charges of racketeering and obstruction of justice and Gawd knows what else, wielding his power and influence like a crowbar, bilking little old ladies and employees and shareholders alike out of millions upon millions of dollars.
You'll like him. You'll really like him. You'll even feel sorry for him. A bit. Of course, I'm not a little old lady, or a Dominion store employee, or a Hollinger shareholder, either, so what do I know about Conrad Black.
Anyway, I'm glad Michael Moore has finally been "done". He was fair game to me as soon as he revealed his rosy view of Canada and Canadians. Man, oh man - talk about leftie naivete. Somebody should have tipped off that Dumbfuck Yankee with this list of Canadians to give him a clue:
SaveOurJahbs!Jahbs!Jahbs!SupportConradBlack!
Coming soon, I hope: "Manufacturing Dissent". Another documentary worth seeing by Rick Caine & Debbie Melnyk.
Oh dear... I hope Michael Moore doesn't have friends in high places at the Toronto Film Festival...
I'd ask, "Why?" but what would be the point. Everytime I hear or see the damned phrase I'm reminded of Putty on Seinfeld, his face painted like a devil (as in, New Jersey), chanting, "Support the Team!"
So rather than ask, "Why?", or even better - "How?", I want to ask - Who benefits when we don't speak up and say, "No." Who doesn't benefit when we DO speak up and say, "No."?
"Support the Troops" - Why? How? What do YOU care if I say I support the troops or not. Because whether I actually do or not isn't what you're asking - is it. You just want me to SAY I do.
I don't support the troops.
I don't support any of this political, partisan, oil grabbing, trumped up War on Terror bullshit. It makes me mad that we're involved in it. I think it's a waste. I feel sad for families who have lost kids in this - whatever it is. Mission, war. Thing nobody seems able to define.
Yes. I get it. The Liberals started it. The New Conservatives are continuing it. But the Liberals started Kyoto and the New Conservatives aren't continuing THAT. The Liberals didn't act on Income Trusts, the New Conservatives said they wouldn't either. But NOW they are.
No. The New Conservatives are thrilled we're in Afghanistan. And they want all of us to be thrilled, too.
But I'll tell you something. I'm an adult, in an independent workplace. I'm free to speak my mind. So I can say, "No. I don't support the troops." Not that I ever have said it to someone who has asked, "Don't you support the troops?" And believe me - people have asked. But I can tell by the question that they don't want the answer.
"Of course I support the troops", I say. And they go away all happy and shiny eyed that they've got another person to downgrade their personal politics a little with a lie that makes them feel superiour for having supported the troops first. And louder. And without having to be harassed and bullied into saying it.
Meanwhile, what's going on in our schools, I wonder. Does anybody reading this blog have any kids in school who are noticing a certain conformity when it comes to the "Support the Troops" campaign? Or are students free to speak their minds and say what they really think? Are students free to say in class, "No. I don't support the troops. And here's why."
Well, I can tell you - it depends on the class. So, chances are - no. It'd have to be a real teacher in this climate who allows a student to speak his or her mind - honestly - on this subject. Because Stephen Harper's quest to make our nation a nation of jackboot patriots like our good friends to the south has worked. It's a scary thing in Canada to "Just Say No" to the "Support the Troopers". Because that's what they are. Troopers. Their work is Boosterism.
And they've taken it into the schools.
But I'm not just guessing at this stuff. I know of an actual incident in a bonafide government workplace of an real live employee being centered out by his Trooper boss for refusing to wear red on Fridays. He's from Iran, too. And the Iranians I've known wear red like every day is "I only have red shirts" day. So he REALLY wasn't wearing red. Yes, indeed. A memo went around advising everyone to "Support the Troops" and wear red on Fridays and he didn't say anything. He just didn't wear red on Friday. Which was saying a lot since he wore red every other day.
If that were me, I'd have said something, too. I'd have said, "No. I'm not wearing red on Friday. I don't support the troops." Just to see what the little workplace fascists who dream this crap up would have done.
I'd be wondering - how far will these people go? How far can I take this? Who is this about - really? The troops? Or the Troopers. Knowing of course that it's about the Troopers. All patriot fever is about the Troopers. It's a Republican thing.
Because here it is: Am I actually NOT supporting the troops by not wearing red on Fridays? Am I actually NOT supporting the troops by saying, "No. I don't support the troops."
How? What difference does it make to the troops if I say to the Troopers "I support the troops" and wear red on Fridays.
None.
But it makes a difference to the Troopers. Anyway, I'm not a mind reader, but I'm guessing a lot of students these days are feeling obliged to say they support the troops to please a lot of Troopers. And I'm guessing, too, the odd student who says, "No. I don't support the troops." is really up against it.
And no - I'm not just guessing.
That's not free speech, by the way. That's terrorism. Not being allowed to say what you think, something that doesn't hurt anybody, something that isn't hateful, or fear mongering, or anything except honest. You're not being allowed to say it because the Troopers don't like it.
The Troopers, by the way, are everywhere.
Check under the bed.
Whoa. Muslim girls and women are really taking it on the hijab, eh? My, oh my. First, there's a flurry of "We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore so we're going to take it out on our readers" righteously indignant columns in both our national newspapers (as well as the other national newspaper that people read for its sports section) about Muslim women out shopping in the grocery stores wearing burkas and now there's a follow-up flurry of "We're moderately uncomfortabe and only thinking of what's best for the athletes yaddayadda blahblah" righteously indignant columns about Muslim girls wearing hijabs during soccer tournaments.
Probably the most telling sentence common to the latter group of columns is the one with the supposed "I am NOT a Bigot" disclaimer phrase, "The referee, a Muslim"...
Too funny. Say, "Hello", middle-aged boomer pundits TO YOUR PARENTS!!! Haha! You're not getting older - you're getting bigoted. You can dress it up however you like, but this argument is just another in a long line of "Heavens, you'd hardly know you're living in Canada, anymore, the way things are going!" Because this has nothing to do with the need for Muslim girls and women to adapt to what's comfortable for you and everything to do with your need to get hip with the times, guys and dolls.
Safety in sports? Good one. Especially since the same pundits picking on the latest girl asserting her rights in a free country by wearing, or rather, attempting to wear, her hijab during a soccer tournament are the same columnists who make fun of well-meaning, good-intentioned citizens who would like to see more helmets on toboganners following whatever tragic death has occured because kids DON'T have to wear helmets while toboganning.
Priorities, priorites. But it's not where to start, it's where to end. This focus on Muslim clothing isn't just the turban/kirpan revisited. That, at least, focussed on the men and boys and left the women and girls alone for a change. This latest round of, "Who ARE these people we are letting into OUR country?" is worse than the battle over whether or not women could wear pantsuits to work and girls could wear slacks to school.
BECAUSE IT'S RACIST, TOO!!!
Yup. It is considered reasonable discourse in our nation's newspapers to discuss what women of a certain tribe should and should not be allowed to wear. I don't know how you'd put that, but I'd say that crosses the sexist line and leaps straight into racist terroritory.
Because this isn't about public safety in the case of the burka or sports safety in the case of the hijab. It's about a Conservative, white, Christian society asserting its "time-honoured by virture of birthright" rights over the rights of newcomers, immigrants, non-white non-Christians who have chosen to come here but who choose not to live like "Real Canadians".
Sorry, but the very obvious notion that the Muslim referee can be used as some sort of talisman against accusations that this latest head covering controversy is nothing more'n bigotry, pretty much proves - THAT IT'S NOTHING MORE'N BIGOTRY!
Yes indeedy. Pundits galore are lining up to figuratively throw stones at Muslim girls and women because they don't like the fact that Muslim girls and women seem to be particularly outspoken about their clothing rights in this country. Interesting, isn't it. That clothing some Canadians perceive as oppressive and wrong, that some Canadians think should be legislated against, is the catalyst that has some Muslim girls and women asserting their rights in this country to wear what they want, to speak up about who they are, to insist on being heard and recognized as equal citizens without adapting to... to... what, exactly? Being Canadian? Standing up for your rights no matter your station IS being Canadian.
Hilariously, it's the boomer popular culture in work and play that they're taking on, too. Because women fought and won those legal "what to wear" battles already in this country.
I mean, it really is ironic. History should tell us, that a girl standing up for her rights now, will stand up for her rights later. She's learning that sexism and racism have to be challenged and that Canadians can utter all the platitudes they want to about tolerance and multiculturalism but the fact is - some Canadians are targetting Muslim girls and women for the finger wag exactly because they're visible minorities. And they aren't blending in like you're supposed to according to "The Rules". Worse - they're being lippy about it.
Sure, it's not like anybody's in danger of being lynched or stoned or tarred and feathered, but it's not like Canada ever did any of THOSE THINGS anyway.
Oh nooooo... Not women's lip from MUSLIMS now?! Gud Gawd in Heven. "Murtle? Fetch my ear plugs!"
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