Just torturing myself watching 'George Stroumboulopoulis'. He is sooooooooo phony, but appears to be so sincere and interested in his guest. As if. He has Alice Cooper on at the moment -- a performer I saw in Toronto a thousand years ago. Hey, Alice is a completely genuine guy, but George's smarminess is tooooo much to bear. That, plus the fact that he is about 12 years old, makes him a totally self-absorbed pain in the a--.
Nothing else to say, except I can't abide George.
Tomorrow is my last day here in Vancouver. What a great visit! Being with daughter Susanne has been such a great gift. You give birth to a beautiful daughter in one place on the earth, but never think that when she grows up will move thousands of miles away and be gone! Ah well, that's one way to get to know our wonderful country.
Talk soon from back in Ottawa.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Still the place to sit.......
When I was younger, travelling alone with my various jobs and regularly hit upon, I used to make it a practice to sit at the bar and ask the bartender to "protect" me from unwanted approaches by men who assumed I was a prostitute. Seriously, a woman in her twenties in a bar alone in the seventies was automatically a hooker. Anyway........
.....I was alone tonight for dinner (daughter ill). So, I wandered up the street to a local restaurant, went in and sat at the bar. What a safe and facinating place the barstool remains. First, the tv was on and that sparked an interesting conversation with the guys seated beside me. No one wanted to watch mixed martial arts, so we changed the channel and watched 'The Rocket'. Imagine their incredulity when I told them I used to watch Maurice Richard and "The Habs" on tv when I was a kid...the real "rocket". I think they thought they were chatting with their grandmother.
I learned these guys played jazz in the bar, learned that the drummer had acquired his trade in the armed forces, learned he had forgotten he was on tonight and missed his daughter's sixth birthday. When I told him my husband had actually played drums with The Beatles one night in England back in the day, he was very impressed. (That's a true story, by the way. B did play drums one night when Pete Best was too drunk to go on, before they became famous. Hmmmm....come to think of it, what if B had forgone his studies and become Ringo??) Anyway, they had to get up and sing for their supper and another guy sat down.
I remained fixated on the tv, in case someone thought I was some kind of desperate old bag with no life who hung out in bars accosting strangers. (Thank God I hadn't plastered too much harridan make up on.) But this young man promptly introduced himself to me. I detected a french accent and learned he was from Montreal. Chat, chat, chat.........what a charmer. He was in the movie business and made a ton of dough when Hollywood productions came to town. But, guess what? He has had rotten luck with women and now can't be bothered. "You can't even talk to women, they think you're harassing them," he lamented. Yes ladies, we've reduced ourselves to victims of harassment. At 41 years old, this charming, clean cut, well-heeled professional man can no longer be bothered to try and convince a woman he's not a stalker, a ripper or just a common garden variety male chauvinist pig.
Naturally, I offered my take on today's modern woman: "We've given away all our power by trying to be men," I said. "And guess what, we're still not men. We've just pissed off half the population by trying to work both sides of the street." He looked at me in amazement. "Why is that?" Beats me, I added, but they'll figure it out one day.
Vancouver is full of smarty pants, in charge young women holding forth in restaurants and bars. Just look around, I said. As I was leaving, I told him to wander down the street to the local church in the morning, if he wanted to find a young woman interested in building a family. He stood up, shook my hand and very politely thanked me for the conversation. Maybe I'll see him in Mass today?
.....I was alone tonight for dinner (daughter ill). So, I wandered up the street to a local restaurant, went in and sat at the bar. What a safe and facinating place the barstool remains. First, the tv was on and that sparked an interesting conversation with the guys seated beside me. No one wanted to watch mixed martial arts, so we changed the channel and watched 'The Rocket'. Imagine their incredulity when I told them I used to watch Maurice Richard and "The Habs" on tv when I was a kid...the real "rocket". I think they thought they were chatting with their grandmother.
I learned these guys played jazz in the bar, learned that the drummer had acquired his trade in the armed forces, learned he had forgotten he was on tonight and missed his daughter's sixth birthday. When I told him my husband had actually played drums with The Beatles one night in England back in the day, he was very impressed. (That's a true story, by the way. B did play drums one night when Pete Best was too drunk to go on, before they became famous. Hmmmm....come to think of it, what if B had forgone his studies and become Ringo??) Anyway, they had to get up and sing for their supper and another guy sat down.
I remained fixated on the tv, in case someone thought I was some kind of desperate old bag with no life who hung out in bars accosting strangers. (Thank God I hadn't plastered too much harridan make up on.) But this young man promptly introduced himself to me. I detected a french accent and learned he was from Montreal. Chat, chat, chat.........what a charmer. He was in the movie business and made a ton of dough when Hollywood productions came to town. But, guess what? He has had rotten luck with women and now can't be bothered. "You can't even talk to women, they think you're harassing them," he lamented. Yes ladies, we've reduced ourselves to victims of harassment. At 41 years old, this charming, clean cut, well-heeled professional man can no longer be bothered to try and convince a woman he's not a stalker, a ripper or just a common garden variety male chauvinist pig.
Naturally, I offered my take on today's modern woman: "We've given away all our power by trying to be men," I said. "And guess what, we're still not men. We've just pissed off half the population by trying to work both sides of the street." He looked at me in amazement. "Why is that?" Beats me, I added, but they'll figure it out one day.
Vancouver is full of smarty pants, in charge young women holding forth in restaurants and bars. Just look around, I said. As I was leaving, I told him to wander down the street to the local church in the morning, if he wanted to find a young woman interested in building a family. He stood up, shook my hand and very politely thanked me for the conversation. Maybe I'll see him in Mass today?
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Hands up....
...if you're sick of the Oprah hoopla. I mean, you'd think Aristotle or Socrates were retiring, that all human intelligence was about to be lost forever, that people were about to sink into a black morass out of which they would never be able to climb. Come on, she was a weather/traffic girl who morphed into a talk show host. Maybe I was too busy with my own life as a multi-tasking working mother to notice, but I never got her.
She was also archetypically American -- another reason I did not relate. That, plus the fact that she was a black woman who had dug herself out of the proverbial urban ghetto. I was a middle-class white one surfing and sliding despairingly along the professional working ghetto, just trying to keep from drowning in everyday BS. (OK, that last part we have in common.) But the millions of Canadian women who have wept and wailed on the public airwaves about not being able to tune into her every day amaze me. There are apparently scores, rafts and scads of them who will simply be unable to cope without regular fixes of her "wisdom". It is to be slack-jawed.
Maybe watching too much Oprah is the reason the school board in Middlesex England has now banned parents from showing up in pyjamas when they visit their kids' schools. And that includes wearing jammies to parent-teacher interviews. Yes folks, it's pathetically true. You could not make this up! If Oprah is on, the responsible parent has a sacred obligation to tune in -- no time to get dressed, you might miss Tom Cruise or Jenny Macarthy imparting a critical pearl of parental wisdom.
And speaking of inane tv, just switch to 'The Bachelorette'. Now there's a freak show. We no longer have Barnum and Bailey, but luckily we have this side show in which to indulge our naked voyeurism. Watched it for the first time last evening. Here we have one woman -- of course she's named "Ashley" -- whose affections 25 guys are desperately and mysteriously competing for. And she's not in the least sexy. She's attractive in a cupcake, 'Seventeen' magazine way, but not in the way that grabs you and says, "Sophia Loren"......or someone on that wow level. I can't even get into it. The whole time I was hiding under the sofa suffering cringe moment after cringe moment. But I could not tear myself away 'cause you could not predict what stupid thing someone would next say or do. Naturally, she bypassed the 24 nice guys and went right for the bad boy.
Seems nothing has changed.
She was also archetypically American -- another reason I did not relate. That, plus the fact that she was a black woman who had dug herself out of the proverbial urban ghetto. I was a middle-class white one surfing and sliding despairingly along the professional working ghetto, just trying to keep from drowning in everyday BS. (OK, that last part we have in common.) But the millions of Canadian women who have wept and wailed on the public airwaves about not being able to tune into her every day amaze me. There are apparently scores, rafts and scads of them who will simply be unable to cope without regular fixes of her "wisdom". It is to be slack-jawed.
Maybe watching too much Oprah is the reason the school board in Middlesex England has now banned parents from showing up in pyjamas when they visit their kids' schools. And that includes wearing jammies to parent-teacher interviews. Yes folks, it's pathetically true. You could not make this up! If Oprah is on, the responsible parent has a sacred obligation to tune in -- no time to get dressed, you might miss Tom Cruise or Jenny Macarthy imparting a critical pearl of parental wisdom.
And speaking of inane tv, just switch to 'The Bachelorette'. Now there's a freak show. We no longer have Barnum and Bailey, but luckily we have this side show in which to indulge our naked voyeurism. Watched it for the first time last evening. Here we have one woman -- of course she's named "Ashley" -- whose affections 25 guys are desperately and mysteriously competing for. And she's not in the least sexy. She's attractive in a cupcake, 'Seventeen' magazine way, but not in the way that grabs you and says, "Sophia Loren"......or someone on that wow level. I can't even get into it. The whole time I was hiding under the sofa suffering cringe moment after cringe moment. But I could not tear myself away 'cause you could not predict what stupid thing someone would next say or do. Naturally, she bypassed the 24 nice guys and went right for the bad boy.
Seems nothing has changed.
Monday, May 23, 2011
This and That from Vancouver
1. Missing my dishwasher. Daughter does not have one and hand dishes are still the everlasting pits. While slogging through yet another set a few minutes ago, I wondered about kids who grow up without a dishwasher. How do they even know how to do hand dishes? The first questions is, where do you start? Grew up with no dishwasher and hand dishes were the norm, so I developed a system, based on my mother's. I mean, you have to attack a kitchen in chaos and this means overriding the mess with order. First, I would clear and scrape, then do the silverware, next the glasses, then plates, then pots and pans. In between I drained the water a couple of times and added more detergent and rinsed, rinsed, rinsed!
If you are like me and can't stand a messy kitchen, you would be out here in Vancouver doing hand dishes at least three times a day. When I was first married, I had to decide whether to get a dishwasher or a washer -- not enough $$ for both. After answering the question of what I had to do every day, I bought the dishwasher.
2. Bacon bits. That was part of the inscription on the commemorative bench on which I sat at Jericho Beach the other day while the dog romped with Susanne. The plaque read:
"Allan Chek Yin Lamb, 1978 - 2007. Friends are the bacon bits in the salad bowl of life. Live, love, eat, laugh, chillex."
The guy was only 29. This being Vancouver, I immediately thought of aids. (No idea what "chillex" means, but his friends must.) All the benches have such plaques and all are an intriguing mystery. Read a few others, but they just said, "In memory of Irene and Bill Rose, who love the sunsets", or "In honour of my parents...." But Allan's told a story. What was it?
3. Babies. Wandered through Babies R Us today because daughter and son-in-law are "expecting". Remember that one? No one was ever "pregnant". God no! That was too graphic. And people never died, they "entered into rest", or "passed away".
But back to the store. Can you believe that cloth diapers cost....wait for it....sit down....calm down.....$50 for five!!!!! When I had kids, you bought a pack of diapers for a few bucks; now they are gold. I was actually going to make a few cloth diapers, but they are so complicated, buying them was cheaper. The fact is that disposables cost more than $3,000 over the life of the pooping toddler, while the cloth variety cost about $1,000. If I had my way, I would buy the fabric and make a pile for $20, but that is not acceptable today.
Oh my, how old I am.........
If you are like me and can't stand a messy kitchen, you would be out here in Vancouver doing hand dishes at least three times a day. When I was first married, I had to decide whether to get a dishwasher or a washer -- not enough $$ for both. After answering the question of what I had to do every day, I bought the dishwasher.
2. Bacon bits. That was part of the inscription on the commemorative bench on which I sat at Jericho Beach the other day while the dog romped with Susanne. The plaque read:
"Allan Chek Yin Lamb, 1978 - 2007. Friends are the bacon bits in the salad bowl of life. Live, love, eat, laugh, chillex."
The guy was only 29. This being Vancouver, I immediately thought of aids. (No idea what "chillex" means, but his friends must.) All the benches have such plaques and all are an intriguing mystery. Read a few others, but they just said, "In memory of Irene and Bill Rose, who love the sunsets", or "In honour of my parents...." But Allan's told a story. What was it?
3. Babies. Wandered through Babies R Us today because daughter and son-in-law are "expecting". Remember that one? No one was ever "pregnant". God no! That was too graphic. And people never died, they "entered into rest", or "passed away".
But back to the store. Can you believe that cloth diapers cost....wait for it....sit down....calm down.....$50 for five!!!!! When I had kids, you bought a pack of diapers for a few bucks; now they are gold. I was actually going to make a few cloth diapers, but they are so complicated, buying them was cheaper. The fact is that disposables cost more than $3,000 over the life of the pooping toddler, while the cloth variety cost about $1,000. If I had my way, I would buy the fabric and make a pile for $20, but that is not acceptable today.
Oh my, how old I am.........
Friday, May 20, 2011
Even Bruce Cockburn....
...has a comb-over. Kind'a sad. Was watching him on 'George Stroumboulopoulis' and he is now covering the bald parts with bangs. A guy that talented need not do that, but hey, we all have our "things". Started me thinking about the music scene in Ottawa when I was at Carleton. Man, was it rich!
I knew Bruce back then. I was mildly dabbling in being a hippie and waitressed at Le Hibou coffee house on Sussex for a while. Remember that legendary hangout? The hippie part didn't take, I was more of a Hull-rock-band-bar girl and hated the long, stringy, hippie hair deal. With such curly hair, I had to lay it out on the ironing board and pound it with a hot iron every day to straighten it. Trust me, that ordeal didn't endure and I cut it all off one morning in an epiphany (or is it epiphanous?) fit of "being me".
Anyway, lots of great acts passed through Le Hibou and I remember Bruce. He certainly was not yet a star, but he was very talented. He had just come back from New York, where he had been studying at Julliard and he used to go out back in the alley and play and practice. We all kind of ignored him, but wished him well. Now there was a hippie.
Ian and Sylvia played at Le Hibou regularly, so did Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee and all sorts of other folk acts. I think by then Gordon Lightfoot was too big, but I recall him coming in. Then there was Valdy. I grew up with Valdy and he used to bring his guitar to parties all the time where we used to sigh and say, "give it a rest Valdy." For some reason, the music scene in the sixties in Ottawa was very prolific. We had a ton of fun.
I knew Bruce back then. I was mildly dabbling in being a hippie and waitressed at Le Hibou coffee house on Sussex for a while. Remember that legendary hangout? The hippie part didn't take, I was more of a Hull-rock-band-bar girl and hated the long, stringy, hippie hair deal. With such curly hair, I had to lay it out on the ironing board and pound it with a hot iron every day to straighten it. Trust me, that ordeal didn't endure and I cut it all off one morning in an epiphany (or is it epiphanous?) fit of "being me".
Anyway, lots of great acts passed through Le Hibou and I remember Bruce. He certainly was not yet a star, but he was very talented. He had just come back from New York, where he had been studying at Julliard and he used to go out back in the alley and play and practice. We all kind of ignored him, but wished him well. Now there was a hippie.
Ian and Sylvia played at Le Hibou regularly, so did Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee and all sorts of other folk acts. I think by then Gordon Lightfoot was too big, but I recall him coming in. Then there was Valdy. I grew up with Valdy and he used to bring his guitar to parties all the time where we used to sigh and say, "give it a rest Valdy." For some reason, the music scene in the sixties in Ottawa was very prolific. We had a ton of fun.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Suckered
That's the way many are feeling since Harper installed three losing candidates back in as senators. It's not an unelected senate, but a defeated-at-election senate. Yes folks, politics is shameless. Bev Oda and the three amigos are a smack-in-your-face move, in case you thought anything would change. Remember, he plunked David Emmerson in in 2006 the same way and and the lazy press gallery only screamed about it for two minutes. (As an ex-journalist, I can tell you they are idle and dilatory, with a very short attention span.)
The PM has your votes and your money and won't be held to account by anyone. With a majority, he can at last bask openly in an unfettered dictatorship. Makes you wonder how much more heavily his hand would come down if he ruled, say, in Africa? Or Communist China? Or Haiti? Or Saudi Arabia? As I earlier blogged, Jack Layton and his teanaged sidekicks, the ragtag scattering of Liberals, four shell-shocked Blocquists and (especially) Liz May are completely irrelevant -- however triumphantly they screamed and smiled on election night. May they rest in peace.
I think he will push his agenda hard and get turfed out in four years. But he is such an elegant and breathtaking chess player that I wonder...? Thank God we have an entrenched Parliamentary democracy to withstand this boorish assault on Upper and Lower Canadian values. Elections will come 'round and Canadians will speak.
This particular Tammany Hall will crumble.
The PM has your votes and your money and won't be held to account by anyone. With a majority, he can at last bask openly in an unfettered dictatorship. Makes you wonder how much more heavily his hand would come down if he ruled, say, in Africa? Or Communist China? Or Haiti? Or Saudi Arabia? As I earlier blogged, Jack Layton and his teanaged sidekicks, the ragtag scattering of Liberals, four shell-shocked Blocquists and (especially) Liz May are completely irrelevant -- however triumphantly they screamed and smiled on election night. May they rest in peace.
I think he will push his agenda hard and get turfed out in four years. But he is such an elegant and breathtaking chess player that I wonder...? Thank God we have an entrenched Parliamentary democracy to withstand this boorish assault on Upper and Lower Canadian values. Elections will come 'round and Canadians will speak.
This particular Tammany Hall will crumble.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Pimping out your eight-year-old
I am cringing in horror as I listen to a CBC feature about plastic surgery and babies. The worst is an eight-year-old who's mother is giving her regular botox injections. I know I rave and bang on, but it just gets more and more hideous and abhorant. Of course, this baby competes in beauty pageants and interviewed, the mother says, "Well, I'm certainly not the only one getting this done. You have to compete and have that advantage. They can't have wrinkles when they smile for the judges." How many times have I called this sick.
Then there was the interview with a 14-year-old who had had a nose and chin job, as well as liposuction. Whaaaaaaaaa?!?!?!??!!
Another expert on the show is talking about the increasing sexualization of children, about how three-year-old toddlers are saying they need to go on diets, about how six-year-olds run around crying in playgrounds because they can't get a boyfriend because other girls are thinner. Man, you could not make this up!
Apparently 39,000 US teens and pre-teens are getting purely cosmetic surgery. Probably translates into about 5,000 here. That's a lot of parents who need to be pretty much jailed. And what about the surgeons who perform this mutilation? Other than money, what are they thinking? One surgeon is saying he only does it to help improve self esteem and reduce bullying...plus the $20,000 I pocket in my noble effort. Yeah, right. How can a three-year-old know what "self esteem" is? How can an eight-year-old know what wrinkles are?
Get your girls into sports and keep them there.
Then there was the interview with a 14-year-old who had had a nose and chin job, as well as liposuction. Whaaaaaaaaa?!?!?!??!!
Another expert on the show is talking about the increasing sexualization of children, about how three-year-old toddlers are saying they need to go on diets, about how six-year-olds run around crying in playgrounds because they can't get a boyfriend because other girls are thinner. Man, you could not make this up!
Apparently 39,000 US teens and pre-teens are getting purely cosmetic surgery. Probably translates into about 5,000 here. That's a lot of parents who need to be pretty much jailed. And what about the surgeons who perform this mutilation? Other than money, what are they thinking? One surgeon is saying he only does it to help improve self esteem and reduce bullying...plus the $20,000 I pocket in my noble effort. Yeah, right. How can a three-year-old know what "self esteem" is? How can an eight-year-old know what wrinkles are?
Get your girls into sports and keep them there.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Vancouver
It's funny driving around Vancouver and reading all the very English names on everything. There's Lord Byng High School, Sir Charles Tupper Secondary School, The Kingsway, King Edward, Trafalgar, Victoria, Prince Albert, Windsor, Dunkirk, Blenheim, Duchess, Rhodes, Gladstone....and many others. Yet the population here is so ethnic. I'm sure most people here have never heard of these folks. Yes, Vancouver has changed dramatically. It's a vibrant, busy place -- sort of reminds me of London.
I'm getting used to daughter Susanne's dog, Pearl. A springer spaniel, she is very head-strong, but so am I, so we are meeting in the middle. I have to walk her twice a day and that doesn't always go so well because she is used to Susanne taking her to a big dog run and letting her loose. With me, she has to heel and behave herself. Today she started to get the difference and we managed pretty well.
Determined to keep up with my swimming, I have gone to the Vancouver Aquatic Centre twice. You know those parking machines, where you have to get a tag and put it on your windshield? I can never figure those out. I mean, you have to have several university degrees to get the blinking tag! Today it kept saying my card had been declined. Dread seized me because every time I visit Vancouver I either have my pocket picked or my card "compromised". Had it happened again? While standing there, looking panicked and lost, a young man came along and wanted to get his tag. Unfortunately, I was still frigging around, trying to get mine. In frustration he offered to help and inserted my card. "Declined" came up again. "Oh, there's something wrong with your card," he said, assuming I was some old bag who couldn't keep track of her account. I protested that there was no way, I always paid my card off and practically spilled out my entire life story in the parking lot. Yeah, yeah, he thought. Then he produced coins from his own pocket and paid for me. I was floored! I offered him $5 and he refused. Every now and then, humanity surprises me. But, as I said, he probably saw me an a helpless old bag. Hey, today that worked.
Now this pool is 50 metres long. So, I am doing many more lengths and pushing myself harder to hold onto the right to stay in the "medium" lane and not be kicked into the "slow". It's become a matter of pride, I have to keep up the prescribed pace or I get dirty looks from people gaining on me. Guess what, I'm hanging in there and not letting the "old bag" side down.....so far.
I'm getting used to daughter Susanne's dog, Pearl. A springer spaniel, she is very head-strong, but so am I, so we are meeting in the middle. I have to walk her twice a day and that doesn't always go so well because she is used to Susanne taking her to a big dog run and letting her loose. With me, she has to heel and behave herself. Today she started to get the difference and we managed pretty well.
Determined to keep up with my swimming, I have gone to the Vancouver Aquatic Centre twice. You know those parking machines, where you have to get a tag and put it on your windshield? I can never figure those out. I mean, you have to have several university degrees to get the blinking tag! Today it kept saying my card had been declined. Dread seized me because every time I visit Vancouver I either have my pocket picked or my card "compromised". Had it happened again? While standing there, looking panicked and lost, a young man came along and wanted to get his tag. Unfortunately, I was still frigging around, trying to get mine. In frustration he offered to help and inserted my card. "Declined" came up again. "Oh, there's something wrong with your card," he said, assuming I was some old bag who couldn't keep track of her account. I protested that there was no way, I always paid my card off and practically spilled out my entire life story in the parking lot. Yeah, yeah, he thought. Then he produced coins from his own pocket and paid for me. I was floored! I offered him $5 and he refused. Every now and then, humanity surprises me. But, as I said, he probably saw me an a helpless old bag. Hey, today that worked.
Now this pool is 50 metres long. So, I am doing many more lengths and pushing myself harder to hold onto the right to stay in the "medium" lane and not be kicked into the "slow". It's become a matter of pride, I have to keep up the prescribed pace or I get dirty looks from people gaining on me. Guess what, I'm hanging in there and not letting the "old bag" side down.....so far.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Women's Glib
The kerfufle surrounding the re-naming of a public library here after our first woman mayor, the indomitable Charlotte Whitton, floors me. Proposed by our current mayor, it has been forcefully nixed by the influencial local jewish community because they claim Mayor Whitton was anti-semitic. She has been accused of rejecting jewish refugees during the second world war. While unacceptable and abhorrent, anti-jewish sentiment back then was fairly common. That's just an unpleasant fact. And it seems that even the jewish community accepted it in a warped way because B'Naith Brith named Whitton its Woman of the Year back in the '50s. Not only that, they named a prominent local jewish building after Mayor Whitton. Now she's to be trashed and all her other remarkable achievements trampled underfoot. Go figure?! How can Charlotte have been a heroine to the jewish community back then and a pariah now?
Here's another rhetorical question: Why is there is no problem accepting the foibles, salacious conduct and pecadillos of other mayors and public figures? Like the womanizing of one, the soliciting of prostitutes of another, the blatant criminal behaviour of yet another. I could go on, but you get it. Oh yeah, silly me. I forgot for a moment that these excesses and criminal acts were committed by men. And why is the sisterhood not defending Charlotte? Why indeed. Where is the movement when we need it? Where indeed.
Charlotte Whitton was a great mayor. She lived down the street from us when she was mayor and I was growing up. We always stopped what we were doing to gawk in awe when Her Worship drove by. And it was a real thrill to be chosen to canvass her apartment when we sold Girl Guide cookies. Barely five feet tall, she could hardly see over the steering wheel, but she was as tough as they came. She stood up to the big developers like Bob Campeau, remember him? Man, Bob makes the Greenbergs and Minto look like little tabby cats. Our current mayor is kowing and towing to the developers by reversing his decision to name the library after Her Worship. It's really too bad. Charlotte was the first woman I can remember who wasn't a "woman". She played with the big boys in the big leagues. She was the one who said, "To be thought half as good as a man, a woman has to be twice as smart. Luckily, this isn't difficult."
She was a corker.
Here's another rhetorical question: Why is there is no problem accepting the foibles, salacious conduct and pecadillos of other mayors and public figures? Like the womanizing of one, the soliciting of prostitutes of another, the blatant criminal behaviour of yet another. I could go on, but you get it. Oh yeah, silly me. I forgot for a moment that these excesses and criminal acts were committed by men. And why is the sisterhood not defending Charlotte? Why indeed. Where is the movement when we need it? Where indeed.
Charlotte Whitton was a great mayor. She lived down the street from us when she was mayor and I was growing up. We always stopped what we were doing to gawk in awe when Her Worship drove by. And it was a real thrill to be chosen to canvass her apartment when we sold Girl Guide cookies. Barely five feet tall, she could hardly see over the steering wheel, but she was as tough as they came. She stood up to the big developers like Bob Campeau, remember him? Man, Bob makes the Greenbergs and Minto look like little tabby cats. Our current mayor is kowing and towing to the developers by reversing his decision to name the library after Her Worship. It's really too bad. Charlotte was the first woman I can remember who wasn't a "woman". She played with the big boys in the big leagues. She was the one who said, "To be thought half as good as a man, a woman has to be twice as smart. Luckily, this isn't difficult."
She was a corker.
I'm sick of the Glebe
Now Glebe residents are objecting to a couple of buses being re-routed while construction is underway on Bank Street. I am so sick of "Glebites". They object to everything. Like the re-development of Landsdowne. They have objected to EVERY SINGLE PROPOSAL for the past 20 years! Nothing is good enough in that neighbourhood. And excuse me, they can never be inconvenienced. Talk about NIMBY.
When I was a kid, except for Clemow and Monkland, the Glebe was a dump. Sort of like the Burgh -- now called "New Edinburgh". Please. Both neighbourhoods are still lipstick-on-a-pig enclaves. I remember when the Burgh was pretty much a slum, with cheek-by-jowel houses smacked up against grubby gas stations and seedy corner stores. Ugly. Same with the Glebe -- very working class and down-at-the-heels.
And another thing. What is "anti poverty" anyway? Does anyone really think we can eliminate poverty? Please again.
When I was a kid, except for Clemow and Monkland, the Glebe was a dump. Sort of like the Burgh -- now called "New Edinburgh". Please. Both neighbourhoods are still lipstick-on-a-pig enclaves. I remember when the Burgh was pretty much a slum, with cheek-by-jowel houses smacked up against grubby gas stations and seedy corner stores. Ugly. Same with the Glebe -- very working class and down-at-the-heels.
And another thing. What is "anti poverty" anyway? Does anyone really think we can eliminate poverty? Please again.
Friday, May 6, 2011
A dog barking
When I was having problems with an ex-wife many years ago, I resorted in complete frustration to what turned out to be only one chat with a "professional". She said, "this is just a dog barking". Wow, the lights went on and it was smooth sailing after that. (Well, not exactly smooth, but I didn't have to take the endless and pointless self-pity and plaints seriously anymore, which helped enormously.)
Thought of this diagnosis when the results of the election rolled in. I have news for Jack Layton: he will be a dog barking. With Harper's seats outnumbering all those of the opposition combined, Jack will pretty much have no influence. In fact, the way I see it, he will have much less influence than when Harper ran a minority government. Back then, Harper had to adjust his agenda to stay in power. Now he won't. Now the only brakes on him will be the Charter. In some cases I will be delighted we have the Charter, in others I am sure I will be annoyed. But at least we have it.
It was patently ridiculous seeing Jack elatedly bounding up on stage as if he had just been declared prime minister. Bulletin, bulletin, bulletin Jack: you are now pretty much irrelevant. You are part of the 141 to his 167, so Harper will do what he wants.
The way I see it, the NDP took the Liberal and Bloc votes, plain and simple. Nobody in their right mind votes NDP because they think an NDP leader would make a good prime minister. (Remember Bob Rae as premier of Ontario and weep.) No, Canadians vote NDP because they just cannot stomach voting for any of the alternatives -- especially in fickle Quebec where political fortunes turn whimsically on who promises them (usually falsely) the most $$$$$$$$$$$. Patriotic Canadians most Quebeckers are not. Don't panic, I said "most".
If Harper decides to implement his agenda full-on (minus the stuff the Charter will not permit) he will be turfed out in four years. If he wants to be re-elected, he will have to put water in his wine and listen to the NDP. It's his choice.
Thought of this diagnosis when the results of the election rolled in. I have news for Jack Layton: he will be a dog barking. With Harper's seats outnumbering all those of the opposition combined, Jack will pretty much have no influence. In fact, the way I see it, he will have much less influence than when Harper ran a minority government. Back then, Harper had to adjust his agenda to stay in power. Now he won't. Now the only brakes on him will be the Charter. In some cases I will be delighted we have the Charter, in others I am sure I will be annoyed. But at least we have it.
It was patently ridiculous seeing Jack elatedly bounding up on stage as if he had just been declared prime minister. Bulletin, bulletin, bulletin Jack: you are now pretty much irrelevant. You are part of the 141 to his 167, so Harper will do what he wants.
The way I see it, the NDP took the Liberal and Bloc votes, plain and simple. Nobody in their right mind votes NDP because they think an NDP leader would make a good prime minister. (Remember Bob Rae as premier of Ontario and weep.) No, Canadians vote NDP because they just cannot stomach voting for any of the alternatives -- especially in fickle Quebec where political fortunes turn whimsically on who promises them (usually falsely) the most $$$$$$$$$$$. Patriotic Canadians most Quebeckers are not. Don't panic, I said "most".
If Harper decides to implement his agenda full-on (minus the stuff the Charter will not permit) he will be turfed out in four years. If he wants to be re-elected, he will have to put water in his wine and listen to the NDP. It's his choice.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Four-letter words
Isn't it interesting or weird or facinating that words carrying great meaning are usually four-letter ones. It occured to me this afternoon watching a not bad movie, 'Country Strong' starring Gynneth Paltrow. She was belting out a song about "home" and I started running through all the emotionally-charged words of only four letters, like:
love
hate
feel
evil
true
loss
fair
hell
hope
heal
good
soul
soft
kind
mean
give
kiss
pain
hard
hurt
kill
live
fear
help
best
gone
save..........add to the list........it's endless. Three letters have even stronger meaning, like "hot" "sad" "yes" and "bad", for instance. And then there are the two-letter variety, how about "no!"
Why is that? Why did our language develop this way? Maybe so it would be easy for children to learn these concepts young and understand what they mean, so they would be grounded in good and evil at a very early age. "Autrocious" or "malevolent" or "generous" or "munificent" would be a little difficult for a two-year-old to grasp. No, kids learn that things are good or evil as parents rear them from the cradle. Must have been thinking about this because we just returned from our grandaughter's baptism in Houston and baptism is all about protecting babies from evil. And trust me, I am a firm believer in the reality of evil. It's all around us, it's real, it's in many people.......we all know a few, sadly.
How beautiful to protect babies from the omnipresent devil.
love
hate
feel
evil
true
loss
fair
hell
hope
heal
good
soul
soft
kind
mean
give
kiss
pain
hard
hurt
kill
live
fear
help
best
gone
save..........add to the list........it's endless. Three letters have even stronger meaning, like "hot" "sad" "yes" and "bad", for instance. And then there are the two-letter variety, how about "no!"
Why is that? Why did our language develop this way? Maybe so it would be easy for children to learn these concepts young and understand what they mean, so they would be grounded in good and evil at a very early age. "Autrocious" or "malevolent" or "generous" or "munificent" would be a little difficult for a two-year-old to grasp. No, kids learn that things are good or evil as parents rear them from the cradle. Must have been thinking about this because we just returned from our grandaughter's baptism in Houston and baptism is all about protecting babies from evil. And trust me, I am a firm believer in the reality of evil. It's all around us, it's real, it's in many people.......we all know a few, sadly.
How beautiful to protect babies from the omnipresent devil.
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