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In case you aren't aware of "The Beaver", it's a Canadian historical magazine that recently conducted an online poll to determine who is considered by Canadians to be the Worst Canadian. Here is the link to "The Beaver":
I Knew "The Beaver" And You Sir Are No "The Beaver"
And here is a link or two to some relevant bumfphgh:
The Other Canadian Historical Beaver
Ron MacLean! Ron MacLean!
Alas, according to "The PartyPoopers", mischief was made of the online poll and now SOME people are saying it was "unscientific" (see above) while OTHER people are so suspiciously happy with the results one can't help wondering if they voted twice:
Mommy? What's A Gagortion?
And, for added hilarity:
CrushKillDestroyCrushKillDestroyCrushKillDestroy
Well, far be it from me to question the results of an online poll to determine just who is Canada's worst Canadian, which are as follows:
1. Truedope (the man who ruined Canada by letting the rest of the world know we were here)
2. Some Punk (yeah, yeah - the Queen, fuckin' hate, and so on and so forth and more of the same etc etc all over again)
3. St. Henry Morgenthaler of Abortions (why anti-choicers hate St. Henry so much I'll never know)
4. Brian Mulroney (yeah, okay)
5. The Bernardos (ew and ewer, but yeah - not as bad as Mulroney, I guess)
6. Leader of the New Conservative Government of Canada (well sure, he's fat, but Geez Louise - Clifford Olsen's fatter)
7. Our Petite Scarecrow, Celine Dion (at least she can sing, ya dumb mooks)
8. The Old Monster
9. Clifford Olsen (annoying and fatter'n Stephen Harper serial killer)
10. Connie Con Conrad (Black with a Capital B)
Reaction was swift:
PunkRools!RapDrools!!
Heheheh
I Hate the Fuckin' Queen to Infinity Squared!
So. Yeah. Online polls. But google "The Beaver - Worst Canadian Online Poll". Every news outlet has covered this story as if it is one. It's hilarious. The CBC, CTV, CanWest, Reuters - all are on the bandwagon in one way or another, actually calling the online poll "unscientific".
Oh. Really? An online poll asking Internutters to vote for who they think is Canada's Worst Canadian and I wasn't even aware of it in spite of my ginormous Internet reputation as an authority on pretty much everything? Unscientific? Since when?
Why, of course it's scientific. "The Beaver" is a legitimate historical magazine with a Board of Directors AND a staff:
Chairman of the Bored
History Is Fun
However, for the record, if I'd known there was a Canadian historical magazine called "The Beaver" conducting an online poll to determine who is Canada's worst Canadian, I would have voted and maybe, just maybe, that preachy four-eyes from the Prairies would have won and it would have been even scientificker.
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...
Okay, okay. If it makes all you Canadian Conrad Black supporters in the media feel any better, We The People are not gloating because Conrad Black, the individual, was convicted of fraud, etc. We're gloating because your Neo-Con guru and the ideological inspiration behind a new and awful partisan media in which most of you are still employed was convicted of fraud, etc. The fact that it was by an American jury (and sorry, eh - but we KNOW how much you just lurve EVERYTHING American because you keep TELLING us over and over and over that AMERICANS are WAY better'n Canadians) makes it that much sweeter'n if it was just by a plain old Canuckistani jury. It's beauty for us that your Great Leader has been completely discredited by the very system he trumpeted because it denudes you all so completely and makes you look like the utter tools you are.
It's YOU we're gloating about, not Conrad Black.
YOU.
Okay. Call me crazy, but last night I got to thinking about Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton and "all that" and here's what happened - a ginormous cerebral fizzphrap:
Monica Lewinsky - Victim? Or calculating perpetrator of the greatest political "Gotcha!" in the 21st century?
Eh? Eh? Because my companion and I were discussing government and media and whether or not there was even a need for the "and" between government and media and one thing led to another and we got to discussing Harlem and whether or not Harlem was ever really Harlem or if Harlem was just a media invention and safer'n Toronto with blacks and whites living side by side and then I mentioned that Bill Clinton had an office in Harlem now and we got to joking about Bill Clinton getting away with just a couple of affairs when it's pretty obvious there were probably millions of women who blew him over the years (there are probably at least five women blowing him right now) and then it came to me, just like that - Monica Lewinsky set up Bill Clinton for the fall of a lifetime.
Now, don't get me wrong. I don't think that's what she set out to do, I just think that's what she ended up doing when she realized she'd been casually tossed aside by, well, a sexualpath or whatever men like Bill Clinton would be called if we gave "path" names to men who have sex with women the way the rest of us... uh... don't.
And I like Monica Lewinsky, I do. I admire how she was able to suck up the aspersions cast on her character (as if a 21 year old intern having sex with a politician was the equivalent of Eve giving Adam that apple God kept going on and on about in the Garden of Eden like some big ol' cocktease, "Whatever you do, Eve, don't tempt Adam with a nice big juicy red apple from the Forbidden Tree of Knowledge or he'll like you better'n me and THEN you'll be sorry") and go on to parlay the whole romp into a kitschy business (me and kitsch go together like green eggs and ham, I'm telling you) of berets and handbags and Tom Green.
Not to mention the overlooked fact that she gave hope to sister and brother interns everywhere that all those "roadies" might not be in vain and that one day they, too, might get to blow the "lead singer".
But last night, as I cast my mind back, I thought, "Hm... she said many times that she was a fat girl from Beverly Hills..." and I realized - a fat girl from Beverly Hills probably has to use every bit of chutzpah she can lay her chubby fingers on and it wouldn't take a neuropath to figure out that no one woman meant very much to Bill Clinton and that she'd fallen for his empathy schtick like a sack of wet socks. (Ah similes...)
So, she did what any spurned 21 year old fat girl intern from Beverly Hills who'd blown her way into the Oval Office would do - she told Linda Tripp EVERYTHING.
Because that was always the rub for me. Why Linda Tripp? I mean, she'd kept BLOWING THE PRESIDENT!!! secret for more than 24 hours and for some reason decides to - later - much later - confide in Linda Tripp?
Uh unh. It don't add up is what I'm sayin'. Monica Lewinsky used Linda Tripp, not the other way around. She told Linda Tripp all she needed to hear to get the word out and pretty much take whatever shine off Bill Clinton that she could.
Take that, asshole. Nobody messes with a fat girl from Beverly Hills who made it all the way into the Oval Office to blow the President of the United States.
Nooooooooooooooooobody.
Anyway, that's my theory and I'm sticking to it because that's just the kind of blogger I am. Feel free to pass it along. Because that's also the kind of blogger I am.
Oh - and my companion, who is always t'inkin' - just like me - said, "Yabbut, it's not like she came out of it set for life, or anything".
"But that wasn't what she was after", I countered. "She wanted revenge. Revenge is sweet. Money? Her Dad's a doctor or something. In Beverly Hills. She doesn't need money. She'd worked her way up the food chain, blown the President and after giving it some thought decided it was only worth it if the whole world knew about it."
And that, Dear Reader, is something EVERY blogger understands.
Ha Ha!
Stephane Dion thought Arthur Lee was the first Chinese Member of Parliament in 1974 when it turns out it was Douglas Jung in 1957!
Me,Liberal.French
And Steve Janke thinks Stephane Dion was screwed up on the facts because Douglas Jung was a Progressive Conservative - and not because Douglas Jung was Chinese!
Me,Conservative.NotTooBright
Ha Ha!
Liberals and Conservatives are so funny!
Wow. I woke up this morning and realized there are certain people I'm sick to death of already and I'm only halfway through my life.
What am I going to do?!
Man, Richard Branson, eh? I mean, take off already. Figuratively. There's boyish super rich wunderkind, and then there's ubiquitous dumbassed fuckface. (And by the way, if you google "Wunderkind" for the correct spelling, 4 items down you get this link: RabbitEars. I have no idea what it's about - I just thought I'd pass that little tidbit along to prop up my developing theory that nothing has anything to do with everything.)
Yes, indeed. I am so totally sick of watching Richard Branson live his life, that I've even stopped wishing the hot air balloon, or whatever the latest "around the world" conveyance is this week, would just pop a slow but deadly leak because I don't think I could take the inevitable retrospective:
"Oh yes. He was such an unusual billionaire in that he made so much money and yet did all sorts of self-indulgent things with it. One never knew, for instance, whether he would try to break the world record for circumnavigating the world by air - or by land - or by sea. He was like a fantastical voyageur of mystery."
"Please, Gawd of Mean Wish Granting. Let Richard Branson get an inner life. Yours in Bile. Sooey."
Next on my list is Conrad Black - and I'm placing him second on purpose. It's my extra mean streak what does it. The bigger the crook, the more likely I'll put you second on my list of people who annoy me greatly. Because it's not even enough that he's a crook, is it, and got away with it in his country of birth and ripoffery, all the while dissing us as second-rate Brits and third-rate Americans until finally he could very publicly take no more of our ilk: "Revoke my citizenship, please, for I can no longer abide these no account Canadian savages". He has to be pompous and blowhardy about it, and then, when he FINALLY gets caught by his beloved Yankee Overlords - we end up feeling sorry for him! I mean, haven't you noticed how, even though he's treated people like us (and there's a great book by Dominick Dunne - who I think Mark Steyn was attempting to emulate in his scribblings from the front, except from the defence side as opposed to the prosecution side - which would, at least, have had some merit: "I glanced up from my notes to make discreet eye contact with Barbara. She has the most expressive of eyebrows. Once, at a party at their lavish home in Palm Beach I saw her disembowell a caterer with just the slightest cock. We laugh about it now but at the time I remember putting my hand protectively in front of my trousers" - called "People Like Us" that should be on every high school curriculum reading list) with the most studied disdain imaginable - we, like, well - FEEL SORRY FOR HIM NOW!
Yup. I gotta admit - I feel sorry for him and wish that, rather than doing time of any significance in an American prison, he would be re-patriated to Canada and paroled after a couple of months at Montebello (in the off season) or somesuch resort that would be hard enough for any of our rich citizens to endure (unless they're at a paid for by taxpayers summit with lots of international rich citizens to mitigate the circumstances), but which would leave a lasting, yet harmless, scar on Lord Black of Crossharbour.
Number three, natch, is the old golddigging ball and chain, Babs Amiel. I mean, c'mon. That poppycock about looking for a place near the likely prison he's sentenced to is about as likely a story as her adopting a baby from Africa.
Although, her adopting a baby from Monaco isn't such a stretch. Especially if its last name was Grimaldi and it had been left outside the palace gates with a gold gilt sign around its neck: "Free to Golddigger at Loose Ends". And I suppose it would be just like her to re-invent herself with a campaign to end reverse discrimination against wealthy white westerners with teary commercials paid for by the National Review: "Ordinary, average, inconsequential people need to understand that it was for their own good that we spent shareholder riches lavishly. They didn't deserve it, indeed - they weren't even aware of it - and yet, we shared with them out of a spirit of benevolence and charity. Maids, chauffeurs, pilots, flower arrangers, wardrobe managers - all of these people benefitted from our largesse. If mistakes were made, they were made in the interests of the lower orders - those same vermin who would gladly see us stripped of even our home in Palm Beach as if they weren't the reason we bought it in the first place."
Fourth on my list are all the "Support the Troopers" who seem to think that Stephen Harper's choice of Gordon O'Connor as Minister of Defence means something other than that he doesn't really give much of a rat's ass about the troops himself. Actually, just leave it at "Support the Troopers". They can all go blow it out their asses, as far as I'm concerned. Yesterday, I saw one of those bright yellow ribbons on the back of a big black SUV containing a party of one small middle-aged woman. Those are some bright yellow ribbons, I'll tell you. At least, they're hard to miss when you're stuck on the road behind one of those wide-assed black SUVs you can't see around to pass in your little rented cobalt that's surprisingly good on gas. So you get to stare at them for hours and think about how huge the disconnect between "Support the Troopers" and Afghanistan really is and after a while you get to thinking that, while those people get the government they deserve, the rest of us are being penalized by their existence on earth and pretty soon you're in a place you shouldn't be and you have to pull back and repeat "Serenity now, serenity now, serenity now" until you get home and turn on the evening news to find out that the last king of Afghanistan is dead at 92 and you think "Wow. The kings of Afghanistan have really long lifespans compared to the Roadside Bombers, Warlords, and Poppy Farmers of Afghanistan."
And fifth is that nutso facto group of Israel firsters ("Let's Party Like It's Still 1948 - Because For Us, It'll ALWAYS be 1948!") who seem to think the rest of us have to send {{HUGS}} to Israel to make up for a bunch of despotic Arab theocracies that want to wipe it off the map. Sorry, eh. But I don't have to compare Israel to Iran to say I don't care for how it practices diplomacy. I don't care for Israeli diplomacy all on its own. I think its rightwing government blows chunks, too. So if y'all love Israel so much, buy Israel bonds. Move there. Join the army. Whatever. Hey - in fact, lots of Sudanese are moving there right now. Go join them. In fact, Israel's Foreign Minister was just on CBC saying the government there is going to have to come up with some sort of policy for dealing with refugees because, of course, Israel has no experience of dealing with an influx of refugees on account of, well, uh, like, um - refugees are usually white - aren't they? So yeah - you could probably emigrate - no problem. Fast track it right past the special prison the Israeli government is housing the Sudanese refugees in while it works on a refugee policy.
Okay, okay. Israel's Foreign Minister didn't exactly say that about refugees to Israel usually being whiter'n Sudanese. But he said something. And then he split without allowing any questions because even he could smell his own bullshit, I'm pretty sure. He had that "I smell a turd" look on his face, anyways.
Oops:
{{HUGS}} And, "I wuv u, Israel!"
Oh -and, also:
"Support the Troops!"
To put it logically - aren't we essentially attempting to liberate Afghani women from Afghani men?
There's a debate going on in the blogosphere that a smarter person would just steer clear of, but there's never a smarter person around when you need one unless it's the smarter person who said just moments before you started blogging, "Don't get involved" and you took it as a dare to jump in with both feet.
So, here goes.
A mother whose soldier son was killed by a roadside bomb in Afghanistan has been quoted as saying:
"We don't want any family to experience the terrible pain of losing their son or daughter, but if Canada and NATO abandon the Afghan people, the sacrifices Lane, our family and others have made will be for nothing,'" Watkins said Monday. "They deserve your respect. In supporting them, you'll make our loss much easier to bear.''
Okay. Putting aside for the moment the all too real fact that Ms. Watkins is in a state of grief over the loss of her son, that's a fair enough thing for any supporter of the mission in Afghanistan to say. It's also something I've read many times by pundits on the Right.
It's a very clear political statement that would only be the worst kind of manipulative war propaganda if it were to turn out this is something the New Conservative Government of Canada is behind and not simply the words of a grieving mother who is being quoted by partisans on the Internet.
Still, the sad fact to many of us is that Ms. Watkins' son's death by a roadside bomb WAS in vain. All such deaths are in vain. He was killed by a roadside bomb put there by supporters of the very people from whom we are trying to save the Afghani people - which is to say, other Afghani people. To pretend that many of our soldiers' deaths aren't in vain is absolutely the wrong thing for those of us "on the homefront" (or more accurately - back home, not involved at all, making no sacrifices whatsoever whether you support the mission or not) to do, if you ask me - which, by the way - nobody did. The Liberals made the call to go to Afghanistan without my advice. Such is the nature of most calls to war these days - they are made without my advice.
But, at least, these days, no one is forced to join the army, either. That should mean a lot to all of us. We hear so often - again, "these days" - about the Great Wars and the sacrifices people made to win them, but many of those sacrifices were in vain, too. We know that now because we have hindsight. Whole battles were orgies of sacrifices in vain. I'm thinking of almost every battle in WWI and several in WWII. In fact, many of those sacrifices in vain were made with one class of people (those in charge of the war) sending out another class of people (those who were sacrificed) knowing they were being made in vain.
The mission in Afghanistan isn't a great war. It's a questionable endeavour at best. Maybe worth it, maybe not. We don't know, really, or most of us would support it. And if we decide afterall that the sacrifices in vain haven't been worth it, the real test of how much we are willing to sacrifice will come in how well we manage the decision to cut our losses and yes - abandon the mission.
In any case, the Internet debate has slipped off the rails ("Wha...?" you say) to focus on a smart and smarting Canadian Cynic who said on the Internet in answer to Ms. Watkins' quoted speech above:
"With all due respect, Wanda, fuck you and your grief. It's not the job of the rest of Canada to continue to let its soldiers die just so you can sleep better at night. At this point, I don't give a rat's ass about making you feel better for your loss now that I know that the price is other peoples' lives. Fuck you and the politically-motivated, neo-con propaganda train you rode in on."
Well, fair enough, too. Although, it's hard enough to win a debate on the Internet with your average politically-motivated, neo-con propaganda train (with the support of the government and much of the media behind them) - but to try it against a grieving mother...
Hm..
I dunno...
But (and here's where I probably should have taken the advice of the smarter person) where some fainter onlooking hearts say the harsh words are a low point, I am more inclined to say they are THE point.
One thing we all know is that it's a tragic loss of life we are witnessing. I feel as badly for Ms. Watkins as I do for all of the other grieving mothers of soldiers who have died in Afghanistan. Everyone does. That's the reason, really, why these debates on the Internet are happening and why they've become so emotionally charged.
Delicate sensibilities be damned.
Antonia Zerbisias had this column in the Toronto Star the other day. It was linked to on my forum (where SooeySays readers can feel free to register and comment):
Menstruation?What Am I? 12? Is That Friggin' War on Terror Still On?
It's the accompanying picture to the article that caught my attention, though, because I seem to recall (and I'm about 100 years younger than Ms. Zerbisias - in work years, anyway) seeing the same cartoon woman on the menstruation pamphlet they gave out to us in grades five and six (I was in a split class).
Inside the pamphlet, the woman was waltzing with her partner, a man in a suit, and underneath the cartoon couple it advised, "You can do this..." and then on the next page there was the same woman but she was jiving with a different partner in a way jazzier suit and the caption underneath them warned, "But not this."
The pamphlet was about menstruation, as I've said, except it referred to it as "that time of the month when a girl experiences the first joys of womanhood" or somesuch. I can't quite remember. All I remember is how deranged it looked to us and one of the "savvier" girls reading it aloud in a blowsy accent to some grade eight boys who were being super extra ruder and stupider than usual and acting like they were total sex machines who did it with hot babes ten times a day and not just a bunch of eedjit morons who'd had sex with her maybe 1/2 of once before she moved on to high school boys.
We less experienced girls laughed uproariously at the cartoons and captions, one of us even thinking to draw a stream of blood from the crotch of the jiving woman to the guy's head to explain to another one of us the real reason why one shouldn't jive while menstruating. Within no time at all, the couples in the drawings were mutilated beyond recognition with so many alterations to the captions that it was impossible to make out the original Modess cartoon models.
Or were they Kotex cartoon models by then...
In any case, I remember it all so well because the contrast between the propaganda and our reality was so great, that the propaganda could only backfire on itself. Probably half of my grade 5/6 split had already had sex (the girl half, anyway), a few had been molested by "funny uncles" (our grade eight teacher is currently serving 12 years for sexually molesting girls in grade six - grade eights being too old for him, apparently), and a couple were actually turning tricks - for money. The few of us who were shy of real boys and preferred to daydream of making it with David Cassidy, or in my case - Gene Hackman, could see well enough that sex at an early age probably wasn't a good thing - for the girl, anyway - but we were still in awe of our classmates who talked about doing it with Mikey Butthead in Joe Smelly's shed that time they skipped school - yesterday. We were in awe of their ability to withstand the supreme ick factor of sex with anyone we actually knew AND because they were the only source of sex education information we could trust not to be totally bullshitting us.
When I finally did have sex, several years later, I realized I probably shouldn't have trusted them, either. It was NOT the best thing ever. It is NOW. But I'm practically menopausal, too.
Anyway, it sounds kind of sad, I know, about the girls having sex in grades five and six, but these were tough kids who didn't really have much adult supervision, teachers and principals viewed them as nothing but trouble, and it was Northern Ontario in the 70s. Interestingly, I remember that pamphlet as being one of those things that crossed all divides in our class, too. It was uniformly hilarious to all of us. I even attracted the attention of one of my classmates, a girl who went on to wet tee-shirt contests and motorcycle gangs in high school, over the pamphlet when I drew a huge penis on the jiving guy and added a maniacal grin to his face, "I luvvvvv jiving with girls on their periods!" She thought it was funny and from then on I pretty much had my own bodyguard.
Unfortunately, I was in way over my head. Until then, I could pretty much count on being unpopular to keep me out of jams. After that, it was a full time job just keeping my stories straight with my Mom, who was constantly on the lookout for anybody thinking she was too big for her britches and whose standard two questions when she came upon you just hanging out not doing anything at all was, "What the hell do you think YOU'RE doing?" And "Just who the hell do you think you ARE, young lady?"
I was a nervous wreck within a few weeks and I wasn't even doing anything, OR thinking I was anybody.
Luckily, high school came soon enough and after a few weeks of extreme popularity with a couple of majorly cool girls, they moved on to boys and I was once again left in the dust, still wearing menstrual pads while they'd graduated to tampons, because as was the wisdom at the time, if you had sex, you'd be able to wear tampons.
Everybody wanted to be able to wear tampons, too, although actually inserting them was something that just seemed so wrong to me that, even though I'd busted my hymen hopping chairs at the circus when I was about 5 or 6 (my older sister was there to explain that the blood was a good thing because it meant I'd be able to wear tampons as soon as I started menstruating, so quit crying or she'd punch me in the stomach) - I insisted on wearing pads until even my Grandmother was rolling her eyes. Vindicated, was I, when the first Toxic Shock Syndrome case happened, however - although I draw the line at cotton pads as recommended by a woman from La Leche League at a drop-in I used to frequent with my first born where I felt compelled to pretend I was still breastfeeding her long after she'd been weaned.
But misinformation and no information was everywhere in those growing up years. I remember an episode of Marcus Welby that featured a girl who got pregnant because she had slept with her boyfriend. This worried me incredibly because I had slept with my brother a few times down at our farm after we'd scared ourselves silly pretending our grandmother was the psycho axe murderer who'd escaped from the North Bay loony bin and was living in the woods somewhere around Sault Ste. Marie - you know, the one the cops were always looking for - and I'd crawled into bed with him after he was asleep so at least he'd get axed, too, if my grandmother came up the stairs in the middle of the night. My sister considered my question, which I'd asked in a frantic panic upstairs after my Mom had gone out, "Could a girl get pregnant if she slept with her brother?" with much deliberation before answering decidedly, "Gross. Not only could she get pregnant, but the baby would be a total freak."
Seriously, I was 8 years old and it was another two years before I could stop worrying about whether or not I was pregnant with a freak baby because I'd slept with my brother under extreme and extenuating circumstances.
Not that there was anything in the pamphlet about sex, it's just that I'd finally figured out through some kind of osmosis - thank Gawd for osmosis learning - that "slept with" meant something else. I wasn't quite sure what, but I knew enough to know I hadn't done it.
NOT with my brother, anyway...
Girls today have no idea how good they've got it.
But I guess that's a good thing. An even better thing would be for schools to do a retro-sex-ed day so girls (and boys) today could see what used to pass for education in the good old days they hear so much about but cannot possibly imagine.
So I guess anybody who wanted to vote Green but didn't really think of it as a bonafide Party can rest assured that it is now.
Yes indeed. A former leadership candidate and the current Not Leader of the Green Party, David Chernushenko, is resigning from his post:
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David Chernushenko, who twice carried the Green banner in Ottawa Centre, says he is leaving for his own business and environmental interests, but hinted in an interview he believes Ms. May is shouldering too great a workload in the party and should also share the public spotlight with other party members.
"I would certainly encourage her, for her own health, to try to share the load more," Mr. Chernushenko said yesterday.
Mr. Chernushenko said he voluntarily gave up a $48,000-a-year salary as senior deputy to the leader at the end of May because the party was in debt and had laid off several other staff. He said he may seek the candidacy again for the next election if it is open at the time.
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WHOA, EH? I mean, I hope Elizabeth May isn't going to take THAT diss lying down (because she's so tired she can't get up):
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Ms. May, reached in Nova Scotia where she is challenging Foreign Affairs Minister Peter MacKay in his Central Nova riding for the next election, reacted calmly to Mr. Chernushenko's comments. She acknowledged she does play a large role in the party, but insisted it is not affecting her health. She acknowledged she has dominated news coverage, but added the Green party has "a strong team," and sharing media attention is "always the struggle when you have a high-profile leader." Ms. May confirmed in June she had raised the possibility of resigning as leader during an internal dispute over her membership on the party's budget committee. At the time, she said she had a heavy workload and was being paid only $50,000 a year.
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Uh oh. Somebody's being a M-A-R-T-Y-R instead of a L-E-A-D-E-R, it seems to me. Okay, Elizabeth May, you're not paying me for this advice, so I'll have to give it to you for free. When you win the leadership, you immediately start calling the guy who didn't win but who's making only $2,000 less than you, "No. 2". Loud and clear. And you say things like, "I'm too busy being Leader of this stupid fucked up Party, I mean, fucked up by MEN Party, to do that. Get my No. 2 to do it. He's not doing anything."
You know, crap like that. Otherwise, people will think you're just a woman.
Trust me, Elizabeth May. Sooey knows.
I don't know if this is an original or not but I'm blogging it here for all and sundry because I'm hoping to get it out there into the parlours of the nation. Naturally, it was inspired by me, but actually comes from someone close to me. At least, he was standing close to me when I overheard it.
Are you ready? Sitting down? Here it is:
Instead of "I do" at the alter, the bride and groom should say to each other, "You'll do".
Now, although that doesn't sound very romantic at first blush, I think it's brilliant. It totally lowers martial expectations while acknowledging acceptance on the way into marriage. "You'll do" says, "I've been around the block, I've done the legwork, I've seen what's out there. I'm choosing you over all that."
It doesn't necessarily imply "all that crap", either. "You'll do" works in all manner of ways because it also implies a certain doneness with fun. As in, "I'm done having fun, I want to settle down with someone, and I think you're as good a bet as anyone."
I dunno. Maybe it's just me, but I'm always looking for ways to rationalize marriage - and weddings. Gawd. Weddings, eh? I mean, I live in fear now of being invited to one. Who can afford it? And it's almost like the bigger the extravanganza, the more likely you are to take a good look at the couple of the hour and think, "Who are they kidding?"
The other day, I stopped into a store looking for some herbal stress medication and I overheard the youngish man behind the counter saying to his youngish woman co-worker, "I have to work the holiday because that way I get time and a half and if I work every weekend until the end of August, I can afford to take a couple of days off and go to my friend's wedding. So far, it's cost me $1,000 dollars, but I'm in the wedding party so I have to be pretty involved. Do you have any shifts you can give up? Because I'll work them if you want to take a couple of holidays or something."
In the end, I had to leave the store without asking for the medication because I was afraid I was going to slap some sense into him instead.
Seriously, how high do divorces rates have to get before people mitigate the wedding a bit with a touch of sanity? Because all of these couples are saying, "You'll do". They just aren't saying what should probably follow, "You'll do". Which is, "for now".
Unless you're a lesbian couple, I guess. Which reminds me of a joke I overheard in the same conversation:
Q: What does a gay man bring on the second date?
A: What second date?
Q: What does a lesbian bring on the second date?
A: A U-haul.
Oh - and for all you politically correct joke police who read Sooey's, I can tell that joke because I'm not gay, myself, and must therefore rely on stereotypes to make fun of gay people.
... From my sister, no less, too. We were discussing the recent Conrad Black trial and verdict and the reaction to it by his friends in the media and as I was going on about how quintessentially Canadian Conrad Black actually is (as far as I am concerned - one of our original rich old families, Upper Canada College brat, startup newspaper about how much we suck because we aren't Americans) she said, "Well, it's like Martha Stewart in the United States. The difference between most Canadians and Conrad Black is that most Canadians aren't criminals."
And that really says it all, doesn't it.
Since I burst onto the Internet a few years ago, I've collected many fans of various types. Unfortunately, being a woman of some modest blogging success has meant attracting the sort of male fans one would rather live without and so, for now, I'm turning off my blog comments. I will also no longer comment on the blogs of others, which is not to say I am any less of a fan.
In any case, I have no control over what is said about me, personally, in and around the Internet, but for the record there are a couple/few tales out there that do cause me offence, both personally and professionally, and I will set them straight here for those who are in any way interested:
1) This is the most important clarification for me, personally, to make. I find it unnerving that I have to make it, but there you go - I will not let the slander stand. I am, by any stretch of what is a ridiculous term, but the only one available in what has become a polarized Internet debate - Pro-Israel. That's a full stop for me.
2) I have absolutely nothing to do with Frank Magazine other than being a reader and fan. I have never contributed to it, I am not privy to any of what goes in it, and I have nothing to do with its production.
3) Although I have an unbelievably fabulous personal life, I must sadly inform anybody who thinks I'm somebody - professionally - that they are mistaken. There is nobody more nobody than me, no one could possibly be more nowhere - professionally - than me.
And that's really it, I guess. Oh - and in spite of the endless misogynistic renderings of my physical person, I am really quite the looker, although my mirror does have a goodly coating of vaseline on it and I do need bi-focals.
Thanks for your time and happy blogging!
It's interesting, isn't it, the wallowing degree to which the Canadian media is now willing to go to show us all how inhuman/e American prisons are. It's as if, suddenly - it matters.
Well, it always mattered (to me, anyway), but now one of their own is facing several years in one, so suddenly - and this is the good news - American justice isn't so grand.
It's shabby. Medieval. Archaic. Terrible. Indeed - it is all that and worse. But none of our Neo-Con media cared much about that before Conrad Black was convicted on American charges by an American jury - did s/he?
No. S/he did not. Much of our Canadian media, these days, in fact, is made up of the type of people who have spent much of their media lives championing all things American - including American justice. Once their Lord and employment master, Conrad Black, was charged, however - all that changed like so many leopard spots.
Oh wait - a leopard can't change its spots - can it... So... really... all those media pundits on the Right just thought poor people should be subjected to draconian justice - didn't they - and that rich people shouldn't?
And THAT, Dear Reader, is what we should have been paying attention to all along. Conrad Black, himself, introduced many of these pundits to us. He paid them very well to promote an ideology that is at odds with decency and humaneness and they are still among us - most notably championing all that George W. Bush has done to erode civil liberties in the United States and urging Canadians to endorse a government here that would very much like to do the same.
Personally, I can't help but feel a pang for Conrad Black. He was to the manor born and for the first 60 years of his life he got away with the Church funds in full view of his friends and family. Had he been content with his lot in Canada, he would still be getting away with it, too. Alas, the Wild West (that which never really was - the government essentially settled it, doncha no) every once in a while rides into American cities and the boom is lowered.
Even the daily reports on the trial by his friends (all in his employ, of course, at one time or another - and very, very dependent on his largesse, which, I guess, was pretty much stolen...) all indicated guilt to even the most unschooled Canadian reader (they had no idea, so lost up their own asses they are, that it was really the only impression their columns ever gave - guiltier'n all geddout). But they seemed astounded that he got caught by America the Great, Their America, the one that takes from the poor and gives to the rich.
It says a lot, doesn't it. That they simply could not believe America the Free Market for the Rich, their Wonderful America for Anyone with Loot, the Glorious Land of the Free and the Brave with Lots of Money, the Country From Where Dragonslayers are Sent Out by the Wealthy to Take on the Big Bad World of Terror - was the one to net Lord Black.
Maybe now, they will shift their focus to how most people are REALLY treated in America. How prisoners are abused and tortured, how poor people are denied the same rights as rich people, how sickeningly medieval the system is for so many of its citizens.
I doubt it, but maybe. It would be a nice thing for all those other people of lesser means who have suffered through it to have some powerful voices in the media speak out on their behalf: "Stop the Insanity!"
Because it doesn't matter why they do it - just that they do it. Redemption and all that rot, you know.
Everybody's a white male:
It's A White Man's News World Today
All the rightwing worrywarts should take a good look at the news today, eh? White men making money as far as the news can reach.
It's almost like the Daily News is a Good News Bible - for White Men. My, oh my. It's raining money for white men, today, isn't it?
Although, not all white men, I guess. I passed a dude today who was white, but homeless. As I walked by in my new skirt I bought from a vintage store yesterday, he commented, "Nice teacups". True enough, my skirt does have teacups on it, and they are nice, but I ignored him because I'm tired of pretending homeless dudes aren't just as sexist as non-homeless dudes - when they're being sexist, anyway.
And dammit - he's a smug bastard. I mean, he's got a beautiful, well-trained dog and whaddueye got? A crazy sheltie/beagle cross that lunges at those little poofy white dogs gay men... (er, stereotype alert) are always prancing around town "walking".
By the way - lesbian dogs? Chihuahuas. You heard it hear first. Lesbians are scaling down from big old drooly labs that I guess remind them of their... fathers? (I don't know much about fathers - I'm a fatherless girl - the ones I've seen look big old and drooly, though) to little Paris Hilton-type dogs. Soon we'll be hearing, "that's hot" about buzzcuts and hairy armpits.
But hey - "big old drooly" reminds me of a post I made about Christians the other day. Some nutter had posted something about "average" Christians, so I asked, "What the living hellfuck are "average" Christians?" And he responded that he was using the word "average" to differentiate most Christians from their "radical" bretheren (a term used by a previous poster). So I responded, "Oh, I thought you meant "average" like in the big old drooly kind of Christians way."
He didn't respond. Fuck him. Spoil sport. Christians totally blow on the humour front. Although they have absolutely infinite mockworth. I mean, get a load of the Pope going on about Catholicism as the One True Faith. Yeah. We get it. But ya gotta wonder why most of us aren't, then, eh Pope? It's because we'd rather burn in hell for all eternity than hang out with you dickweeds for the dot of time we're here on Earth.
Ooh, men in muumuus hanging together to pray - "that's hot". And you're different from Muslims... how, exactly?
Anyway, back to the homeless white guy. I can't help it but for some reason, I always feel like homeless white guys are looking down on me. Is it because I'm a woman? Or because I have a home? Seriously, do you ever pick up attitude from some of those dudes? Like YOU'RE the one living like an idiot? I mean, really. Can I help it if I suffer from moral rectitude? Who's really oppressed here, anyway?
Which brings me to my point, I guess - why the hell am I wearing a skirt with teacups on it? I mean, just look at the news day. Not a single skirt with teacups on it anywhere to be seen.
Seriously, why are we subjected to debates in the Western media regarding the merits of Christianity versus the merits of Islam? I mean, how backward are we going to allow ourselves to become before this crazy, out-of-control War on Terror is dragged kicking and screaming into the Age of Diplomacy?
Really. People who believe in the supremacy of God vis a vis humanity are in agreement and their view of reality runs counter to reason. All there is to say to any of them is, "Good. Good for you. You believe in God/Allah/Zeus/Jupiter." There is no reason - none - to pretend that Christians are any different than Muslims. Because they aren't any different. Not in any way that matters. Both believe that the afterlife is more important than life here on planet earth and that, although the realm of the unknown is unknowable, it is nevertheless what they believe reigns supreme over all of us.
Now, obviously, more Muslims than Christians take it that one wild and crazy step further and are willing to fight to the death - theirs and ours - for their beliefs. But in a sense - isn't that just being more religious, better believers than Christians tend to be these days? Aren't they just being better servants of God instead of mere Sunday Church-goers?
Of course, anybody can realize that it's because they live in theocracies (more or less) that Muslims do take it that one wild and crazy step further. The propaganda they are fed is such that dying for Allah is an honour and a sacrifice worth making for your beliefs. Crazy, sure. Or maybe there are just that many more stupid Muslims than there are stupid Christians. At any rate, we don't live in a theocracy.
So, why are we responding as if we do? Would we be responding in this fashion to Islamic fundamentalism if we were a more secular society? I don't think so. I think, if we were a more secular society, we would be responding to Islamic fundamentalism as if we lived now and not when people were afraid and superstitious.
Anyway, it struck me that if we were any more civilized than the countries we claim are living in the Stone Age (if only) then it would follow that people who put their religious beliefs out there in public, in any kind of political context, would be vigorously shunned - as opposed to elected by a majority of the people to govern over us accordingly.
Because, in my rational opinion, Believers are all just Believers and should have no more status in democracies than Non-Believers do in theocracies.
In my travels around the Internet, I've become accustomed to reading rightwing blogs/columns/forums blame dissent here at home (by many Canadians - across the political spectrum, in fact) for the way the mission in Afghanistan is going - um, for the way the mission in Afghanistan is going. Which is to say - badly. Certainly, at least, for the dead and injured and their families and friends and the rest of us who can see now that there may not be an end to this attempt to save Afghanistan from, well, who knows anymore, really - the Taliban, war lords, poppies, and eventually, maybe even - Karzai.
I do, however, get it, that in spite of everything, the soldiers are there because they want to be. It is doubtful a soldier headed to Afghanistan these days is unaware of the risk s/he is taking in going. But I'm not sure what or whose purpose is served (other than the current government's) for those of us who do not support the mission and therefore do not support sending soldiers to Afghanistan to pretend that we do.
And I won't do it anyway. Although I probably would if I was an American because I'm just not that brave.
Is our country really that... fragile? I mean, this IS a democracy... riiiiight? And it's not like the history of Afghanistan isn't telling us something about its likely future - is it? Not that things can't change. We managed to unelect a bad government to elect a worse one. Maybe the Afghanis can do the reverse.
Anyway, I'm writing this entry because I am recently returned from reading this column:
>TheCoynester
I was going to leave an insightful comment that would have left The Coynester looking quite the doofus but then thought, "Screw that buttface" (I'm unnecessarily rude when I talk to myself) - "I'm going to blog my comment, instead!"
Read the whole thing (i.e. "choke it down, soldier") but this is the bit that really stuck in my craw (which is that spot on your head where crows land to caw):
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The Taliban read the western press. They are looking for the weak link in the NATO chain, and having found it, they will exploit it -- by killing as many soldiers from that country as they can. If critics of the war should not be accused of supporting the Taliban, neither should critics of the critics be accused of suppressing debate if they point out that there are consequences to their fecklessness. The Prime Minister has invited them to grow up. They should accept.
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Oh. Really. Well, I think it shows an almost unbelievable level of ignorance of what's actually going on in Afghanistan to blame dissent (by many Canadians regarding the current operation - which is quite an escalation/augmentation of the original mission) for the deaths of soldiers by random roadside bombs. I mean, do these pundits even read themselves?
And I would suggest that if the Taliban is indeed reading the Western press, they'll be getting a good kick out of our rightwing pundits' take on things. Seriously. I'm no military expert, or rather - guerilla warfare expert - but I highly doubt a rallying around the flag for the mission would reduce the number of deaths of our soldiers by civilian/Taliban/civilian Taliban planted roadside bombs one bit. Dare I say - it might even increase them. Who's to know? Certainly not some New Conservative pundit who thinks there is any reason whatsoever for a population to pretend it is in lockstep with its government on something it isn't - for the sake of appearances to the enemy.
By the way, if the Taliban is reading this? It's the rightwingers (our version of you assholes) who are calling a member of the Opposition "Taliban Jack" because I guess they want to send the message to you that you have a lot of support from people who vote NDP. Haha - well the joke's on you because you don't. They just aren't very good at homefront strategizing and are so busy pointing fingers at their fellow citizens instead of at their government - the dumbfucks actually in charge of this mess - that they aren't even useful idiots. They're just idiots.
I know, I know. You stopped reading at the link.
I recently bought an issue of Oprah's magazine. It's called "O, The Oprah Magazine", if you had any doubts as to Ms. Winfrey's great love for branding. I bought it because someone had brought it to our bookclub meeting in June - which was an overnighter at a cottage out in the middle of nowhere.
Let me tell you - pot does wonders for a book discussion. I just don't recommend you discuss "The Corrections". 600 pages is simply too much to keep track of under the influence. Oh - I also don't recommend you smoke pot with your bookclub at a cottage out in the middle of nowhere.
Er, just in case any educators from Wawota, Saskatchewan are reading this entry.
But "The Corrections" was the reason for the "O" magazine being in attendance at the meeting. Because in case you live in a cave (or Wawota, Saskatchewan), Jonathan Franzen, the author of "The Corrections", famously snubbed Oprah by not appearing on her show when summoned, believing as he did that Oprah was just a talk show host. Then he tucked his little writer dick between his legs (as all men - including Dr. Phil - do before appearing on Oprah's show) and did his duty.
I could have told him that would happen.
I just can't imagine what he was thinking to suppose it wouldn't. But I can certainly hear what his publisher must have said to him, "You what?! What are you - an idiot?! You DECLINED an appearance on Oprah?! This is a 600 page book I'm flogging here! Now tuck your little writer dick between your legs and DO YOUR DUTY!"
You know what they say, the longer the book...
The whole thing reminded me a little bit of the two guys who didn't sign Madonna just before someone else did. They do a joke about it now. The one guy says, "We didn't think anybody would know about her outside of New York." And then the other guy cuts in, "Yeah. We meant New York - PLUTO!"
Anyway, I didn't get a chance to read it up at the cottage, but my curiosity was piqued so I bought another copy when I got back to Ottawa. Also, I'm boycotting Vanity Fair until this whole Africa craze is over and I like to have a topical magazine with a bit/lot of fashion ads to flip through when I'm in the mood for something lite.
Gawd. Talk about inspirational. Enough already. With all that spiritual growth and personal empowerment (as described in poorly written, banal articles that are mercifully short) you'd think America wouldn't be, well, kind of the armpit that it is.
Eh?
Or am I missing something? Like a totally different America than the all consuming one that is perched right next to us ready to snag a big bite out of our ass the very second we turn our back forgetting we can't trust them not to.
But worse than all the inspiration, was the fact that there WAS a piece on Africa in the issue, with lots of pieces on Africa buried within the banal inspirational pieces.
Africa, Africa, Africa. Now, is it me? Or is there something so supremely cynical and beyond jaded that big glossy American magazines dependent on fashion and beauty ads for revenue think THEY should speak to "The Africa Problem". I mean, really. At what point will Americans take a step back from trying to solve the problems of the world - problems they have had a BIG hand in causing - and take a good look inward to realize that they do NOT have the answers.
What is it about Us (Us = U.S. + us) that makes Us think we have solutions to offer up to Africans? Seriously. The United States, for instance, has the third world living right within its borders. We saw that when Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. We see it on death row in all those Texas prisons. We saw it just the other day with a Presidential pardon for Scooter Libby by a President whose election was marred by voting irregularities, such that many Americans believe him to be unduly elected.
There seems to be an almost total disconnect between the effect Americans think they are having on the world, and the effect they are actually having on it. I mean, one of the main features in "O" was a new fashion line by Sarah Jessica Parker. What's new about it? Well, it's super cheap and made for big ladies, too. Well, gee. If it's cheap, I guess it's not manufactured in the United States, then - is it? And if it's made for big ladies, well, I guess that fits right in with the McDonald's advertising that helps fund/fill the magazine.
Not to be Judge Mental presiding, but - since when do Americans need MORE cheap clothing, anyways? Cheap clothing is a dime a dozen. There is absolutely no need for more cheap clothing for Americans. None. It has stretched beyond unnecessary and reached sinful. And if I told you the McDonald's ad features a kid wearing a tee-shirt that says, "Who cares even more about your child's nutrition than you? We do." - would you even believe me?
No. No you wouldn't. Because such an ad would be an abomination to humanity, proof that the Devil really is in the details. And yet, Dear Reader, I speak the truth. There is such an ad. And it's in "O" magazine. In amongst many earnest and and inspirational messages to readers about how we must do something about/for Africa.
In fact, you know, we are. We are doing something about Africa. In many inspiring ways that you can read about in "O" magazine.
It is to laugh, really. That the most consuming society in the world, on the planet, is suddenly consumed with the idea that it can/should/will do something about/for (I can never decide which is more accurate - about? or for? Or is it "to"...) Africa, with no seeming realization of the inherent contradiction in that mission. The fact that the proselytizing is coming from a big glossy American magazine ALL ABOUT CONSUMING clearly hasn't dawned on the editor of Vanity Fair, so it stands to reason that it wouldn't dawn on the editor of "O".
I mean, there has to be a starting point to credibility - right? Or am I just being a typical downer lefty here. What is it about us that we assume this lifestyle superiority when in fact we're the fattest people around the globe with the highest greenhouse gas emissions and a long and largely unnecessary litany of woes within our own borders that we could do something about if we weren't the fat polluting pigs that we are?
Africa? AFRICA? Geez Louise. Maybe start with, say, I dunno - Little Rock, Arkansas - and move out from there and if you get to Africa with a kit full of good intentions - still, well... good. Good for you.
Because I can't imagine that a country as fucked up as the United States really has the moral authority - yet - to take on a project as big as Africa. It's bullshit, is what it is. You can't live the way Americans insist on living and tell anybody else in the world that they're doing it wrong. You just can't. Or rather, shouldn't.
Yes, indeed. When it's the year 2007 and you're driving your air conditioned SUV around with the Bible around in one pocket and a VISA card in the other and you have more more money and more leisure time than your ancestors could ever have thought to pray for and you're chowing down on fast food on your way to the gym listening to geriatric rock & rollers and worrying about how you're going to max out your RRSPs to save on taxes and whether or not you should upgrade to a bigger house with maybe a three car garage further out in the suburbs - you should probably just help out Africa by staying as far away from it as possible.
Seriously, is any of this REALLY about Africa?
I didn't think so.
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