There was the great Guy Lafleur -- aka "The Flower" and "Le Demon Blond" -- hawking leg circulation boosters. Not quite as bad as Quincy Jones flogging denture cream, but nonetheless............
Lafleur played for 17 seasons between 1971 and 1991 and won five Stanley Cups. With his flowing blonde locks, he was idolized and adored by the Habs fans. I can barely watch him now with his bony feet stuck into the electric booster.
Speaking of other bad spokesmen for products, why in the world would 'Wendy's' feature Wendy Thomas?! OK, I know, she's the late founder's daughter and restaurant's namesake, but the woman is huge! Why remind everyone what eating at Wendy's does to your backside? Some people's egos!
On the other hand, if you're noshing at Wendy's you probably don't care about your health -- especially if you go for the Baconator. That puppy clocks in at 1,360 calories, three patties, nine strips of bacon, three slices of cheese and of course, all that mayo and ketchup. G-d help us!
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Canadian cold
Bred maternally and paternally in families acclimatized to the heat of India during the 250 years they were The Raj, B is finding Calgary's weather a little much. Today it was -38 (Celsius, my American friends). That's pretty brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
We had grandson today and didn't venture out the door! Personally, I think it feels like -100 C -- might as well be. Heard more tales today of B's grandparents, who were his guardians, and how they hated the Canadian cold....and boots....and hats.....and mufflers (scarves to the unitiated). Never ones to complain, however, Walter and Ivy mucked in, after having been kicked out of post-Ghandi India, ending up in England and finally arriving in Montreal as penniless refugees.
"I never once heard my grandparents complain," said B. Were it me, I would have bitched for the next 40 years! They had lived in the "lap of", with 25 servants and yet had to cope in Canada as poor immigrants. Me? I have always lived a privileged life and yet still bitch!
B shares a wide circle of descendents from The Raj. Some live in Canada, others in Scotland, one in Dubai, some in the Bahamas, one in the US. Most have no idea about their wonderful heritage; I know because I am in touch with them. As an adoptee, I am always the one who cherishes the history, the lineage, the family stories. Fortunately, I do know about my birth mother and her family -- although I am very glad they didn't raise me.
Families.........everything.
We had grandson today and didn't venture out the door! Personally, I think it feels like -100 C -- might as well be. Heard more tales today of B's grandparents, who were his guardians, and how they hated the Canadian cold....and boots....and hats.....and mufflers (scarves to the unitiated). Never ones to complain, however, Walter and Ivy mucked in, after having been kicked out of post-Ghandi India, ending up in England and finally arriving in Montreal as penniless refugees.
"I never once heard my grandparents complain," said B. Were it me, I would have bitched for the next 40 years! They had lived in the "lap of", with 25 servants and yet had to cope in Canada as poor immigrants. Me? I have always lived a privileged life and yet still bitch!
B shares a wide circle of descendents from The Raj. Some live in Canada, others in Scotland, one in Dubai, some in the Bahamas, one in the US. Most have no idea about their wonderful heritage; I know because I am in touch with them. As an adoptee, I am always the one who cherishes the history, the lineage, the family stories. Fortunately, I do know about my birth mother and her family -- although I am very glad they didn't raise me.
Families.........everything.
Monday, January 28, 2013
The poor guy
Watching Tiger on the big screen at lunch today in our local pub, I felt sorry for the guy. He was playing and winning big in some Farmer's Insurance tournament or other somewhere, sinking everything, hitting the green from the tee off, almost scoring holes-in-one. The guy definitely has his groove back on the golf course....but..........but..........he's completely b-ggered.
He now has no life -- at least not a romantic one, his every move watched by everyone everywhere. His wife has divorced him, his kids are with him only during court-appointed times and he can't even date or get...you know....ahem. The paparazzi ensure celibacy.
So much for his money. Ain't helping him at the moment. And you could see it in his face -- resolute, driven, hard and a tad full of hate. I guess that's how he wins, but at least before he was having a little fun.
Were I his PR person (a job I have done in past careers in both the private and public sectors), I would advise him to bring his kids to every tournament and have them front and centre with "daddy". That would go a long way towards rehabilitating him. Then, gradually, if he meets someone, introduce her now and then at the odd event with the kidlets -- but not for at least a year, maybe longer. He has to undo the holier-than-thou his ex has elevated herself to. He has to be a hands-on daddy. So far he hasn't been one in public.
That's the only way Tiger is going to get back to normal.
He now has no life -- at least not a romantic one, his every move watched by everyone everywhere. His wife has divorced him, his kids are with him only during court-appointed times and he can't even date or get...you know....ahem. The paparazzi ensure celibacy.
So much for his money. Ain't helping him at the moment. And you could see it in his face -- resolute, driven, hard and a tad full of hate. I guess that's how he wins, but at least before he was having a little fun.
Were I his PR person (a job I have done in past careers in both the private and public sectors), I would advise him to bring his kids to every tournament and have them front and centre with "daddy". That would go a long way towards rehabilitating him. Then, gradually, if he meets someone, introduce her now and then at the odd event with the kidlets -- but not for at least a year, maybe longer. He has to undo the holier-than-thou his ex has elevated herself to. He has to be a hands-on daddy. So far he hasn't been one in public.
That's the only way Tiger is going to get back to normal.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Memos from the dead
"I am very concerned about the increasing number of conflicts between "ad hoc" meetings requiring my presence and certain of my long-standing commitments -- especially my French lessons.
"In an attempt to resolve this situation somewhat, I have advised my staff, that from now on, they are not to schedule any meetings for me on Fridays. I have discussed this arrangement with both the Chairman and Commissioner Lacombe (Long dead). Mondays will also be set aside except for meetings called by the Chairman.
"I would be grateful if you would advise your staff accordingly.. Thanks for your coopeation."
Signed, Jennifer R. McQueen, Commissioner of the Public Service Commission, December 5, 1983.
Sad to admit, but I worked for the PSC for five years. I was sent a copy of that memo and for some reason kept it (?) Found it today while cleaning out a drawer. It was addressed to:
Winston Wells, Director General, Executive Secretariat (dead now about 20 years)
From: Jennifer R. McQueen (also dead)
Copied to Ken A. Sinclair (my upper boss at the time), (dead about 15 years)
Sent to my boss at the time, Charles Jeffrey (still alive and well).
It's all so surreal. Here was the late Jennifer, telling the late Winston, copying the late Ken, that she would not work Friday's or Monday's. What???!!! When I first moved to Ottawa, I was interviewed by Jennifer for a job. She didn't hire me. Coincidentally, B also worked for her in FPRO in the early 70s, before I ended up working for her several years later at the Commission. Yes, Ottawa is an ingrown toenail. Jennifer didn't work Fridays then either and was enraged to learn that the Clerk had sent B to a Cabinet meeting because he couldn't find Jennifer (she was getting her hair done and could not be disturbed). Ah women, we do it to ourselves.
Another anecdote about the woman: B went to Toronto on a business trip with her and standing in the lobby was none other than Sir John Gielgud. "Look, Jennifer, that's Sir John Gielgud," exclaimed B. "That's not him," she retorted. Just then the bell boy approached, "May I take your bags Sir John?" Without missing a beat Jennifer said, "That's another Sir John."
She could never be wrong.
But back to the memo. I dated the handsome and charming Mr. Wells and was shocked to learn he died so young. The most professional man I ever worked for was the late Ken Sinclair. All along I thought I was doing a bad job, but when it came time for my appraisal, I was sterling. Who knew! Then, when I worked for Chuck Jeffrey, I learned how to conduct a meeting with rigor. Hey, how about an agenda!?
As for Commissioner Treffle Lacombe, he went to Sir George with B. Talk about "no couth". I had to travel with him and at breakfast he actually put his knife in his mouth. Another time I was playing tennis and he walked onto my court in the middle of a match to ask me a question about something or other. Yes, Treffle is long dead.
Just called my old boss Chuck, who lost his wife a couple of months ago. Read him that memo. He remembered it. It even has his beautiful script on it....."Circulate to PAD Management Committee, CLJ, 83-12-07", it reads.
There was a professionalism in the public service in them thar days.
"In an attempt to resolve this situation somewhat, I have advised my staff, that from now on, they are not to schedule any meetings for me on Fridays. I have discussed this arrangement with both the Chairman and Commissioner Lacombe (Long dead). Mondays will also be set aside except for meetings called by the Chairman.
"I would be grateful if you would advise your staff accordingly.. Thanks for your coopeation."
Signed, Jennifer R. McQueen, Commissioner of the Public Service Commission, December 5, 1983.
Sad to admit, but I worked for the PSC for five years. I was sent a copy of that memo and for some reason kept it (?) Found it today while cleaning out a drawer. It was addressed to:
Winston Wells, Director General, Executive Secretariat (dead now about 20 years)
From: Jennifer R. McQueen (also dead)
Copied to Ken A. Sinclair (my upper boss at the time), (dead about 15 years)
Sent to my boss at the time, Charles Jeffrey (still alive and well).
It's all so surreal. Here was the late Jennifer, telling the late Winston, copying the late Ken, that she would not work Friday's or Monday's. What???!!! When I first moved to Ottawa, I was interviewed by Jennifer for a job. She didn't hire me. Coincidentally, B also worked for her in FPRO in the early 70s, before I ended up working for her several years later at the Commission. Yes, Ottawa is an ingrown toenail. Jennifer didn't work Fridays then either and was enraged to learn that the Clerk had sent B to a Cabinet meeting because he couldn't find Jennifer (she was getting her hair done and could not be disturbed). Ah women, we do it to ourselves.
Another anecdote about the woman: B went to Toronto on a business trip with her and standing in the lobby was none other than Sir John Gielgud. "Look, Jennifer, that's Sir John Gielgud," exclaimed B. "That's not him," she retorted. Just then the bell boy approached, "May I take your bags Sir John?" Without missing a beat Jennifer said, "That's another Sir John."
She could never be wrong.
But back to the memo. I dated the handsome and charming Mr. Wells and was shocked to learn he died so young. The most professional man I ever worked for was the late Ken Sinclair. All along I thought I was doing a bad job, but when it came time for my appraisal, I was sterling. Who knew! Then, when I worked for Chuck Jeffrey, I learned how to conduct a meeting with rigor. Hey, how about an agenda!?
As for Commissioner Treffle Lacombe, he went to Sir George with B. Talk about "no couth". I had to travel with him and at breakfast he actually put his knife in his mouth. Another time I was playing tennis and he walked onto my court in the middle of a match to ask me a question about something or other. Yes, Treffle is long dead.
Just called my old boss Chuck, who lost his wife a couple of months ago. Read him that memo. He remembered it. It even has his beautiful script on it....."Circulate to PAD Management Committee, CLJ, 83-12-07", it reads.
There was a professionalism in the public service in them thar days.
Is Ontario ready?
Is Ontario ready for a gay premier? Maybe, maybe not. It's not the female part (there are several other women premiers now), it's the gay part. Just as it was not ready for a Jewish premier when Larry Grossman ran for the Conservatives in 1987, it may not be ready for a gay premier. Having lived in a number of small towns in that province, I can say with some authority that Ontario is still, well, Ontario.
Look under any rock in any town in that huge province and you'll find a little old Upper Canadian Ontarian lady. I'm not talking about Toronto or Ottawa, where anything and everything goes and where the media are blissfully unaware of what the burghers of Kapuskasing, Sturgeon Falls and Porcupine think. I'm talking about the grassroots and guts of that most provincial of provinces.
I hope I'm wrong because listening to Kathleen Wynne after her victory, I was very impressed. She is intelligent and insightful.
We'll see, but anyone would be a vast improvement over that coward McGinty.
Look under any rock in any town in that huge province and you'll find a little old Upper Canadian Ontarian lady. I'm not talking about Toronto or Ottawa, where anything and everything goes and where the media are blissfully unaware of what the burghers of Kapuskasing, Sturgeon Falls and Porcupine think. I'm talking about the grassroots and guts of that most provincial of provinces.
I hope I'm wrong because listening to Kathleen Wynne after her victory, I was very impressed. She is intelligent and insightful.
We'll see, but anyone would be a vast improvement over that coward McGinty.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
It's Hard to Make it in America
"How the United States Stopped Being the Land of Opportunity." That is the title of a depressing article in the November/December issue of 'Foreign Affairs', by Lane Kenworthy, professor of sociology and political science at the University of Arizona. It chronicles the demise of the middle class, the emergence of low-income families and the havoc the latter has reaped.
The biggest problem seems to be the lack of resources given low-income families in the US.
"In Canada, for instance, a family with two children receives an annual allowance of around $3,000, and low-income families with two children might receive more than $6,000. The United States has only a weaker version of the benefit, the Child Tax Credit, which doles out a maximum of just $1,000 a year per child.
Oh, I forgot, we're communists. Supporting the poor and our "free" health-care system prove it.
"Fewer children in the United States grow up with both biological parents than in any other affluent country. Given the difficulties of altering home life, improving schools remains the United States' main tool for assisting less-advantaged children. During summer vacation, the cognitive abilites of children in low-income families tend to regress, relative to those of their more advantaged peers. In other words, these children would lag even further behind if they never attended school."
Left unsaid is the fact that Black Americans skew the statistics. Canada does not have a "black" reality. While we share many cultural values, we have very different societies.
The biggest problem seems to be the lack of resources given low-income families in the US.
"In Canada, for instance, a family with two children receives an annual allowance of around $3,000, and low-income families with two children might receive more than $6,000. The United States has only a weaker version of the benefit, the Child Tax Credit, which doles out a maximum of just $1,000 a year per child.
Oh, I forgot, we're communists. Supporting the poor and our "free" health-care system prove it.
"Fewer children in the United States grow up with both biological parents than in any other affluent country. Given the difficulties of altering home life, improving schools remains the United States' main tool for assisting less-advantaged children. During summer vacation, the cognitive abilites of children in low-income families tend to regress, relative to those of their more advantaged peers. In other words, these children would lag even further behind if they never attended school."
Left unsaid is the fact that Black Americans skew the statistics. Canada does not have a "black" reality. While we share many cultural values, we have very different societies.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Severely unaffordable and grossly over-valued
That's the description of Vancouver's housing market, according to a recent worldwide survey. Vancouver now ranks second behind only Hong Kong in the entire world. That's both scary and sad for Canadians who'd like to live in that beautiful city.
How do you spell "disenfranchised"? They can't.
Ironically, it's the Hong Kong Chinese who have amped up prices in their quest to hedge their bets and ensure a safe harbour in case China clamps down on the Hong Kong lifestyle. Heard a radio emission out of Vancouver a few months ago which outlined how the market became so out-of-reach in Vancouver. Over the years, wealthy Chinese nationals have hired agents in Vancouver to scout properties -- on the market or not -- and offer the owners considerably more than either they are asking, or the property is worth. The vendors accept the offer and then the foreign owners often move their kids into the properties.
So, up went the market until it was beyond the reach of the average -- or even well-to-do -- Canadian. "In affordable and normal housing markets, house prices do not exceed three times annual household incomes," the report reads. "If they do exceed this standard, it indicates that there are political and regulatory impediments to the supply of new housing that need to be dealt with.
"Vancouver's score was high enough to rank it second on the list worldwide; Sydney, Australia, was third," the report noted. Happily, but probably too late, the Canadian government is clamping down on bogus immigrants who buy housing through off-shore agents, but who haven't set foot in Canada and don't intend to unless conditions in their own countries force them.
Footnote: Personally, I have benefited from this situation because daughter and son-in-law left Vancouver, allowing us to move to Calgary and be hands-on grandparents.
How do you spell "disenfranchised"? They can't.
Ironically, it's the Hong Kong Chinese who have amped up prices in their quest to hedge their bets and ensure a safe harbour in case China clamps down on the Hong Kong lifestyle. Heard a radio emission out of Vancouver a few months ago which outlined how the market became so out-of-reach in Vancouver. Over the years, wealthy Chinese nationals have hired agents in Vancouver to scout properties -- on the market or not -- and offer the owners considerably more than either they are asking, or the property is worth. The vendors accept the offer and then the foreign owners often move their kids into the properties.
So, up went the market until it was beyond the reach of the average -- or even well-to-do -- Canadian. "In affordable and normal housing markets, house prices do not exceed three times annual household incomes," the report reads. "If they do exceed this standard, it indicates that there are political and regulatory impediments to the supply of new housing that need to be dealt with.
"Vancouver's score was high enough to rank it second on the list worldwide; Sydney, Australia, was third," the report noted. Happily, but probably too late, the Canadian government is clamping down on bogus immigrants who buy housing through off-shore agents, but who haven't set foot in Canada and don't intend to unless conditions in their own countries force them.
Footnote: Personally, I have benefited from this situation because daughter and son-in-law left Vancouver, allowing us to move to Calgary and be hands-on grandparents.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
I have never got it
"I’ve never understood the cult of Oprah. As with many things, I attribute this to my
80-year-old mother, who said she'd never watched the program in her entire life. Me neither, which I take pride in.
Surely there must be more to cover in Calgary and Alberta than an overweight American talk show host?! It's sad. The quotes and gushing from women who went to the show are pathetic. And yes, 99% of the audience was female.
So much for independent, thoughtful women. It's all so segregated, cringe-inducing and hideous.
"I rarely thought about Oprah, except on occasions
when she was giving stuff to her audience. I know that at least one time, each
person in the crowd got a car. I could sit through an Oprah taping if the pay
off was a car." So said a great column by Tom Olsen in The Calgary Herald today.
I too don't get Oprah. The Herald has been full of coverage of her Edmonton visit for days and days on end. The other day the entire front page was given over to a HUGE photo of her. Turning to the next section, there was her mug again. Today, it's all-encompassing coverage of her "fabulous" show and "brilliant" advice. Olsen goes on:
"Oprah’s raising my children. And she’s happy to
raise my grandchildren. Here’s the direct quote: 'I have a bunch of
children in Edmonton that I have raised. Now you have children and I’m raising
your children.'
"Huh? The pomposity of this woman is stunning," adds Olsen.
Monday, January 21, 2013
What??!!
Obama is chewing gum at his inauguration. Chewing gum. Can it be possible? To me that says all there is to say.
Awful.
Awful.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Sadness
"Oh my G-d, Nancy, it's you!" said John when he opened the door in 1980 to meet B's new girlfriend. Yep, it was me.
Our marriages had broken up and we had just started dating. "I want you to meet a good friend and a great guy," B said. "His name is John M." "John M," I exclaimed. "I went to Carleton with him and know him very well. What a riot."
Thus it was that when John opened his door that Friday evening 32 years ago, he found me standing there. To say he was shocked would be an understatement because B had not told him who he was dating. The best part of the deal was that I met his new wife, "H". What a corker! An Air Canada stewardess, she was absolutely gorgeous. She also had the biggest personality and most dazzling smile I had ever encountered. But the perfect part about H was her absolutely "no bulls-it" attitude to everyone and everything; I immediately fell in love with her.
In 1982, B and I went to Mexico. Lying on a chaise lounge beside the pool, I glanced up to see a chap with a familiar face walk by. "B, that's John M!" I shrieked. Sure enough, he and H were staying at the same hotel. What a treat! Needless to say, the four of us had a ball for 10 glorious days. We continued to socialize for the next couple of decades, until John's death about seven years ago.
I kept in touch with H, but it wasn't the same. Every time the three of us got together, all we could think and talk about was John.
"Hey, you stupid b-tch, you actually got out of bed and called," said H this morning when I phoned her in Ottawa. She sounded like a little old woman, but the attitude was still there, as was the raucous laugh. She has terminal cancer and it is just so sad. "How are you," I asked. "Dying, but what the f-ck," she laughed. Typical H. Irreverant to the very end. Only 62, she is way too young. "Geez," I said, "I always thought I looked so much younger than you and I'm four years older." She roared.
We talked about everything -- the "good" friends who never call or visit, friends she lavished her considerable wealth upon. We talked about John, her stepchildren, who never call or visit -- in spite of the thousands and thousands she has given them over many years.
After about 10 minutes, she began a coughing fit and had to hang up. H, it is so, so sad to think of you slipping away. You are an original, one of the best broads I have ever known.
Our marriages had broken up and we had just started dating. "I want you to meet a good friend and a great guy," B said. "His name is John M." "John M," I exclaimed. "I went to Carleton with him and know him very well. What a riot."
Thus it was that when John opened his door that Friday evening 32 years ago, he found me standing there. To say he was shocked would be an understatement because B had not told him who he was dating. The best part of the deal was that I met his new wife, "H". What a corker! An Air Canada stewardess, she was absolutely gorgeous. She also had the biggest personality and most dazzling smile I had ever encountered. But the perfect part about H was her absolutely "no bulls-it" attitude to everyone and everything; I immediately fell in love with her.
In 1982, B and I went to Mexico. Lying on a chaise lounge beside the pool, I glanced up to see a chap with a familiar face walk by. "B, that's John M!" I shrieked. Sure enough, he and H were staying at the same hotel. What a treat! Needless to say, the four of us had a ball for 10 glorious days. We continued to socialize for the next couple of decades, until John's death about seven years ago.
I kept in touch with H, but it wasn't the same. Every time the three of us got together, all we could think and talk about was John.
"Hey, you stupid b-tch, you actually got out of bed and called," said H this morning when I phoned her in Ottawa. She sounded like a little old woman, but the attitude was still there, as was the raucous laugh. She has terminal cancer and it is just so sad. "How are you," I asked. "Dying, but what the f-ck," she laughed. Typical H. Irreverant to the very end. Only 62, she is way too young. "Geez," I said, "I always thought I looked so much younger than you and I'm four years older." She roared.
We talked about everything -- the "good" friends who never call or visit, friends she lavished her considerable wealth upon. We talked about John, her stepchildren, who never call or visit -- in spite of the thousands and thousands she has given them over many years.
After about 10 minutes, she began a coughing fit and had to hang up. H, it is so, so sad to think of you slipping away. You are an original, one of the best broads I have ever known.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Is there any difference............
...........between 'Here Comes Honey Boo Boo' and 'The Real Housewives of.....'? Both hideous shows feature moronic antics and conversations among offensive, uncouth and downright smutty people.
This occured to me when I was watching the 'New York' version of that dumb program. OK, OK, why do I watch? Good question. Probably to see what ridiculous issue they will light upon next. I guess the main difference is age of the main characters, Honey Boo Boo being quite a bit younger -- but just about as unintelligent.
The other thing that sets them apart is that the 'Housewives' are always drunk, all the time. American reality TV, pretty bad.
This occured to me when I was watching the 'New York' version of that dumb program. OK, OK, why do I watch? Good question. Probably to see what ridiculous issue they will light upon next. I guess the main difference is age of the main characters, Honey Boo Boo being quite a bit younger -- but just about as unintelligent.
The other thing that sets them apart is that the 'Housewives' are always drunk, all the time. American reality TV, pretty bad.
Great writing
Just when I think I might be a pretty decent writer, I read this:
"The artist, painter, poet, or musician, by his decoration, sublime or beautiful, satisfies the aesthic sense; but that is akin to the sexual instinct, and shares its barbarity: he lays before you the greater gift of himself. To pursue his secret has something of the fascination of a detective story. It is a riddle which shares with the universe the merit of having no answer."
Penned by W. Somerset Maugham, it is found on page one of 'The Moon and Sixpence', written in 1933. Who writes like that? I just popped an anthology of his novels open to a random page and there was that perfect passage. Here's another:
"I was in a rut. I was exasperated by the quiet and orderly life I had been living. I had had enough of the week-end visits to the houses of the rich and the grand and interminable dinner-parties in Mayfair to which I was bidden.....I determined to cut myself adrift from the agreeable friends and the monotonous pleasures that were wasting me." (Personally, the editor in me would have eliminated the words "that were", but I am nit-picking.)
The above is his description of the mood he was in when he decided to write that novel. I ask again, who writes like that?
From 'The Razor's Edge': "For ten years after this I saw neither Isabel nor Larry. I continued to see Elliott, and indeed, for a reason that I shall tell later, more frequently than before, and from time to time I learnt from him what was happening to Isabel. But of Larry he could tell me nothing."
The perfection of the punctuation permits the second sentence to run that long.; few people have any clue today about the importance of punctuation.
Maugham, born in 1874 in Paris, was reared by an uncle in an austere household. I didn't know he worked as a secret agent in the British Intelligence Service during WWI. "His output was enormous and he died in 1965, having watched with wry detachment the gradual collapse of his literary and moral critics to whom, in any case, he had always been indifferent." So says the dust jacket.
He is one of my favourite writers; the other is American Edith Wharton. I took an on-line short story course a few years ago and we were asked to share our favourite writers. Almost everyone raved about Stephen King. Please. He cannot hold a candle.
"The artist, painter, poet, or musician, by his decoration, sublime or beautiful, satisfies the aesthic sense; but that is akin to the sexual instinct, and shares its barbarity: he lays before you the greater gift of himself. To pursue his secret has something of the fascination of a detective story. It is a riddle which shares with the universe the merit of having no answer."
Penned by W. Somerset Maugham, it is found on page one of 'The Moon and Sixpence', written in 1933. Who writes like that? I just popped an anthology of his novels open to a random page and there was that perfect passage. Here's another:
"I was in a rut. I was exasperated by the quiet and orderly life I had been living. I had had enough of the week-end visits to the houses of the rich and the grand and interminable dinner-parties in Mayfair to which I was bidden.....I determined to cut myself adrift from the agreeable friends and the monotonous pleasures that were wasting me." (Personally, the editor in me would have eliminated the words "that were", but I am nit-picking.)
The above is his description of the mood he was in when he decided to write that novel. I ask again, who writes like that?
From 'The Razor's Edge': "For ten years after this I saw neither Isabel nor Larry. I continued to see Elliott, and indeed, for a reason that I shall tell later, more frequently than before, and from time to time I learnt from him what was happening to Isabel. But of Larry he could tell me nothing."
The perfection of the punctuation permits the second sentence to run that long.; few people have any clue today about the importance of punctuation.
Maugham, born in 1874 in Paris, was reared by an uncle in an austere household. I didn't know he worked as a secret agent in the British Intelligence Service during WWI. "His output was enormous and he died in 1965, having watched with wry detachment the gradual collapse of his literary and moral critics to whom, in any case, he had always been indifferent." So says the dust jacket.
He is one of my favourite writers; the other is American Edith Wharton. I took an on-line short story course a few years ago and we were asked to share our favourite writers. Almost everyone raved about Stephen King. Please. He cannot hold a candle.
Friday, January 18, 2013
These numbers say it all..........
These figures are from the Canadian Taxpayers' Federation website...........shocking.................
New jaw-dropping reserve pay numbers
Approx. 50 reserve politicians
paid more than prime minister in 2008-09
Approx. 160 reserve
politicians paid more than their respective premiers in 2008-09
Over 600 received an income
that is equivalent to over $100,000 off reserve
One Atlantic Canada reserve
politician paid $978,468 tax free in 2008-09 (equivalent to about $1.8 million
off reserve)
Reserve Politicians' Pay
Highlights
|
Region
|
Avg. Reserve Population
|
Politicians with pay greater than Prime Minister
|
Politicians with pay greater than Premier
|
Politicians with pay greater than $100,000
(taxable equivalent)
|
|
BC
|
639
|
1
|
3
|
63
|
|
AB
|
2,217
|
32
|
52
|
187
|
|
SK
|
1,659
|
2
|
43
|
120
|
|
MB
|
1,279
|
5
|
20
|
110
|
|
ON
|
1,374
|
1
|
8
|
57
|
|
QC
|
1,741
|
0
|
3
|
28
|
|
Atlantic
|
897
|
9
|
31
|
69
|
|
Total
|
1,142*
|
50
|
160
|
634
|
* Population of average reserve in Canada
Thursday, January 17, 2013
I can believe it
"The federal government is at least four to five years behind when it comes to the personal security and data protection of Canadians," said a computer security expert on Don Martin's 'Power Play'. He was commenting on yet another breach caused by a public servant who lost a key containing secure information for about 250,000 people.
I can well believe it. The last job I had in the CRA was running a national case-management program. Over the years, the computer system we used became old and not up to the task. I had the normal, average, everyday, run-of-the-mill, logical, stupid idea to upgrade it -- afterall, we were a small program and all our agents were absolutely top-notch. How hard could it be?
I found out in a hurry. Just try dealing with the computer people at the Canada Revenue Agency. I remember walking naively into one meeting with IT -- all by my lonesome -- and being confronted with....wait for it....18 people!!!! I counted them. Naturally nothing got done, there being too many "experts" around the table who kept telling me I couldn't do this....and there was no way I could do that....and they were in the process of reviewing and evaluating the other...and that they might approve it in a hundred years....so, no Nancy, you can't change your system.
I quickly identified the swami of the gang, the genius to whom everyone around the table deferred. He was the soothsayer, crystal-ball-gazer and chief naysayer. A typical exchange might go like this:
Swami: "Well, there is an interesting system out there (everything was "interesting", never any commitment) that might solve your problem. I have had a number of meetings with the company and it looks good."
Me: "Gee, it sounds perfect! When do you think we could get it running nationally?"
Swami: "Well, the problem is there is another very interesting system in development that might be a better fit. I had a meeting with Joe-blow-computer-guy the other day and I was impressed."
Me: "Oh."
Swami: "It might be ready for testing in 2,500, so we can re-evaluate then."
So, there he was, 10 years ahead of everyone in the ether, but absolutely no help to anyone in the "now". In the meantime, no new system for my agents. That was pretty much how every meeting went.
To add insult to injury, as he was telling you you could not get anywhere, you knew that any system you might eventually get, you paid for every cent of it -- all salary dollars, everything. I always wondered what those guys got paid to do?? I mean, they all got good salaries, for what? To go to meetings and tell program managers what they could not do??
Hate be so negative about it all, but they definitely were not "client-oriented", as a service branch must be. I was trying to help the staff in the trenches work with our clients to be sure the latter paid their taxes and received their entitlements, but it was tough slogging.
So, yes, I can see why the feds are five years behind. Too many fingers in too many pies and way too much navel gazing.
Epilogue: Eventually word got out that I was desperately seeking a solution to my problem and I was contacted by a clever guy from Appeals. He had made an end run around IT and purchased a bootleg national case-management system that was perfect for our needs. We went with that and it's still humming along to this day. Amen.
(Note: With apologies to my colleagues who worked in IT and who presumably believed they had to do what they had to do. Nothing personal.)
I can well believe it. The last job I had in the CRA was running a national case-management program. Over the years, the computer system we used became old and not up to the task. I had the normal, average, everyday, run-of-the-mill, logical, stupid idea to upgrade it -- afterall, we were a small program and all our agents were absolutely top-notch. How hard could it be?
I found out in a hurry. Just try dealing with the computer people at the Canada Revenue Agency. I remember walking naively into one meeting with IT -- all by my lonesome -- and being confronted with....wait for it....18 people!!!! I counted them. Naturally nothing got done, there being too many "experts" around the table who kept telling me I couldn't do this....and there was no way I could do that....and they were in the process of reviewing and evaluating the other...and that they might approve it in a hundred years....so, no Nancy, you can't change your system.
I quickly identified the swami of the gang, the genius to whom everyone around the table deferred. He was the soothsayer, crystal-ball-gazer and chief naysayer. A typical exchange might go like this:
Swami: "Well, there is an interesting system out there (everything was "interesting", never any commitment) that might solve your problem. I have had a number of meetings with the company and it looks good."
Me: "Gee, it sounds perfect! When do you think we could get it running nationally?"
Swami: "Well, the problem is there is another very interesting system in development that might be a better fit. I had a meeting with Joe-blow-computer-guy the other day and I was impressed."
Me: "Oh."
Swami: "It might be ready for testing in 2,500, so we can re-evaluate then."
So, there he was, 10 years ahead of everyone in the ether, but absolutely no help to anyone in the "now". In the meantime, no new system for my agents. That was pretty much how every meeting went.
To add insult to injury, as he was telling you you could not get anywhere, you knew that any system you might eventually get, you paid for every cent of it -- all salary dollars, everything. I always wondered what those guys got paid to do?? I mean, they all got good salaries, for what? To go to meetings and tell program managers what they could not do??
Hate be so negative about it all, but they definitely were not "client-oriented", as a service branch must be. I was trying to help the staff in the trenches work with our clients to be sure the latter paid their taxes and received their entitlements, but it was tough slogging.
So, yes, I can see why the feds are five years behind. Too many fingers in too many pies and way too much navel gazing.
Epilogue: Eventually word got out that I was desperately seeking a solution to my problem and I was contacted by a clever guy from Appeals. He had made an end run around IT and purchased a bootleg national case-management system that was perfect for our needs. We went with that and it's still humming along to this day. Amen.
(Note: With apologies to my colleagues who worked in IT and who presumably believed they had to do what they had to do. Nothing personal.)
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Another visit from Calgary's finest
"What is that beeping?" I called up to B from the laundry room. "No clue," he replied. Suddenly, I started to smell smoke. Racing up the stairs, I grabbed the phone, hesitating just a second or two before dialing 911. Should I or shouldn't I? Decided I had to call because it was definitely smoke and we are sandwiched between two townhouses, one of which was on fire.
"I want you and everyone in the house to get out immediately," instructed the 911 operator. The fire department is on the way, she said. Immediately, the EMS truck pulled up and then a police car. Man, that was fast! Just then the next door resident's door opened and smoke billowed out. She was in her bathrobe and shower cap, obviously having put something to cook on the stove and then forgotten about it. "Oh dear," she said to us. "It's out now, so the fire department doesn't have to come." She looked mortified, but by this time both the police and EMS people had pushed past and were in her house.
Then the fire department arrived; in they went. "You did the right thing M'mam," this entire row could have gone up in seconds." That's exactly what my firefighter son-in-law had said a while back. They stayed inside the neighbour's house for quite a while, presumably ensuring it had not spread into any vents or the walls.
Man, some days you just don't know how close the grim reaper might be!
"I want you and everyone in the house to get out immediately," instructed the 911 operator. The fire department is on the way, she said. Immediately, the EMS truck pulled up and then a police car. Man, that was fast! Just then the next door resident's door opened and smoke billowed out. She was in her bathrobe and shower cap, obviously having put something to cook on the stove and then forgotten about it. "Oh dear," she said to us. "It's out now, so the fire department doesn't have to come." She looked mortified, but by this time both the police and EMS people had pushed past and were in her house.
Then the fire department arrived; in they went. "You did the right thing M'mam," this entire row could have gone up in seconds." That's exactly what my firefighter son-in-law had said a while back. They stayed inside the neighbour's house for quite a while, presumably ensuring it had not spread into any vents or the walls.
Man, some days you just don't know how close the grim reaper might be!
Monday, January 14, 2013
Another pair of high heels
"Didn't see you at the pool this morning," said a fellow swimmer, a tad smugly. "Oh, I was there, but at 5:30 because I have my grandson today," I replied, schlepping through the grocery store checkout. Yep, there we were, grandson and I, having woven our way throughout the store, the weekly "shop" completed.
Then it was off to the mall for shopping and lunch. As I was putting grandson's jacket and hat on before we headed home, B disappeared. "Pop into 'Arnold Churgin Shoes' for a minute," he said as he reappeared. In I went and he directed me to a goregous green patent pair. They were the same shoes I had admired, but not bought, a few days earlier. Amazing. We have exactly the same taste in women's shoes. You'd look great in these, he said.
Tried them on and he bought them.
As I have said so often, shoes make the outfit.
Then it was off to the mall for shopping and lunch. As I was putting grandson's jacket and hat on before we headed home, B disappeared. "Pop into 'Arnold Churgin Shoes' for a minute," he said as he reappeared. In I went and he directed me to a goregous green patent pair. They were the same shoes I had admired, but not bought, a few days earlier. Amazing. We have exactly the same taste in women's shoes. You'd look great in these, he said.
Tried them on and he bought them.
As I have said so often, shoes make the outfit.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
You have to be American
'Lincoln' is a movie about America. Just returned from seeing it and, apart from an acting clinic put on by the incomparable Daniel Day-Lewis, it's a very, very American piece.... which is why it will win a ton of Academy Awards. You can't beat apple pie and ice cream.
Tommy Lee Jones will win a supporting award because he is shown in bed with his black mistress, while also playing the character instrumental in getting the required votes to pass the bill. Personally, I thought he was much better in 'Hope Springs' as Meryl Streep's lost husband in an old marriage. Nevermind, he'll get one for this.
The movie revolves around the passing of the 13th amendment to the American Constitution and the back-room machinations that led to its success. That amendment outlawed slavery, much to the horror of the South. When I visit our southern friends in Louisianna to this day I see what they wanted to retain. In fact, the rich have it still, with their black maids and staff all living off the kindness of their employer.
Is it sacrilege to say the movie was boring? It was one stirring speech after another, but Speilberg could have cut at least half an hour off the final. Nonetheless the sets and costumes were perfect and the lighting was so authentic you could hardly see anything at times. You could actually smell the smoke-filled rooms from fireplaces and candles in many scenes.
Watching the voting tallied in the House of Representatives, I think I finally figured out which side my Missouri forefathers were on. The South. My father, Thomas Raymond Griffith, born in Kansas City in 1899, would have had Confederate ancestors. He never spoke of it. A devout Catholic, my Dad harboured malice towards none.
How interesting that this most "American" of movies plays to sold-out theatres in Canada.
Tommy Lee Jones will win a supporting award because he is shown in bed with his black mistress, while also playing the character instrumental in getting the required votes to pass the bill. Personally, I thought he was much better in 'Hope Springs' as Meryl Streep's lost husband in an old marriage. Nevermind, he'll get one for this.
The movie revolves around the passing of the 13th amendment to the American Constitution and the back-room machinations that led to its success. That amendment outlawed slavery, much to the horror of the South. When I visit our southern friends in Louisianna to this day I see what they wanted to retain. In fact, the rich have it still, with their black maids and staff all living off the kindness of their employer.
Is it sacrilege to say the movie was boring? It was one stirring speech after another, but Speilberg could have cut at least half an hour off the final. Nonetheless the sets and costumes were perfect and the lighting was so authentic you could hardly see anything at times. You could actually smell the smoke-filled rooms from fireplaces and candles in many scenes.
Watching the voting tallied in the House of Representatives, I think I finally figured out which side my Missouri forefathers were on. The South. My father, Thomas Raymond Griffith, born in Kansas City in 1899, would have had Confederate ancestors. He never spoke of it. A devout Catholic, my Dad harboured malice towards none.
How interesting that this most "American" of movies plays to sold-out theatres in Canada.
Now I get it
I have blogged about him before (see "Some swims are better than others", March 14, 2012, and "Scooters and flutter boards", July 20, 2012). Gerry, my friend at the pool. He is very "helpful", to say the least, telling me how to improve my back crawl, teaching me how to perfect a flip turn, etc. And when I injured my arm last March, he knowingly said, "Oh, that'll take months to heal." I was pretty upset at that assessment, but he was right. My arm took about as long to recover as giving birth -- almost nine months and it's still not perfect.
But I am back in the medium lane and back swimming with Gerry. This morning, when he was asking about my spiffy new goggles (I swear I swim faster with them), I finally said, "What do you do?" "I'm a family doctor," he replied. Of course you are. Now I know why you are so didactic and authoritative. You're a doctor.
He suggested a race this morning -- which I won, much to his chagrin. I used to pass him routinely before the arm thing, but now he is a little faster. Except this morning. The things you find out about people in that great equalizer, the Y pool.
But I am back in the medium lane and back swimming with Gerry. This morning, when he was asking about my spiffy new goggles (I swear I swim faster with them), I finally said, "What do you do?" "I'm a family doctor," he replied. Of course you are. Now I know why you are so didactic and authoritative. You're a doctor.
He suggested a race this morning -- which I won, much to his chagrin. I used to pass him routinely before the arm thing, but now he is a little faster. Except this morning. The things you find out about people in that great equalizer, the Y pool.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Waste
"Your biggest virtue is your modesty," said the message in the fortune cookie at lunch. Well, not exactly. B's said, "What you think an obstacle is an opportunity." That fits him, mine does not...although I do think I have a proper "conceit" of myself, both good and bad.
We sometimes go to an authentic chinese restaurant in a mall not far from where we live. I say "authentic" because we are usually the only non-chinese patrons in the place. Today, however, there was another local family nearby........unfortunately. Mom and the two kidlets went for the buffet. About seven and nine, they both rushed up and filled their plates. After no more than two bites, the monsters got up and filled another two plates. Mom said and did nothing. A few minutes later, the kiddies were up for more. By the time they left, five plates sat there, missing about two bites each.
I found it sickening.
Wasting food was about the worst crime you could have committed in our household. I can vividly recall sitting in front of a piece of liver until 11 at night until I finally ate it. If you didn't eat what was on your plate, it reappeared for breakfast..........cold. Looking back, I think it was the right thing to do; I did the same with my kids.
Having gone hungry after the war in England, B hates it if I throw food out. Although I am a master with leftovers, now and then I have to toss something, but I do it when he doesn't see me.
Times have obviously changed.
We sometimes go to an authentic chinese restaurant in a mall not far from where we live. I say "authentic" because we are usually the only non-chinese patrons in the place. Today, however, there was another local family nearby........unfortunately. Mom and the two kidlets went for the buffet. About seven and nine, they both rushed up and filled their plates. After no more than two bites, the monsters got up and filled another two plates. Mom said and did nothing. A few minutes later, the kiddies were up for more. By the time they left, five plates sat there, missing about two bites each.
I found it sickening.
Wasting food was about the worst crime you could have committed in our household. I can vividly recall sitting in front of a piece of liver until 11 at night until I finally ate it. If you didn't eat what was on your plate, it reappeared for breakfast..........cold. Looking back, I think it was the right thing to do; I did the same with my kids.
Having gone hungry after the war in England, B hates it if I throw food out. Although I am a master with leftovers, now and then I have to toss something, but I do it when he doesn't see me.
Times have obviously changed.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Towards infinity
"Now you see me, now you don't." Apparently, Theresa Spence was talked into attending the meeting with Harper today. She even went to Rideau Hall for cocktails with the GG. She and her liquid diet, of course, have become irrelevant -- a sad sideshow, as the main circus rolls on. Man, better get my ass to Rideau Hall! Right now, many talking heads are on various screens blabbing about what happened this afternoon.
Who knows what really happened, or what will happen. But one smart thing Harper did was to stay for the entire meeting. Now he cannot be faulted. His main objective is to get the oil flowing to international markets and that means pipelines over reserve lands. Hence, the cooperation and dialogue he is now demonstrating for the good of all Canadians.
Here's the thing. Of the approximately one million Indians in Canada, 550,000 are off-reserve and only 430,000 on. Do the math. That 430,000 want to hold the rest of Canada hostage. This means that 34 million Canadians are to be dictated to by less that 1% of the population. How does that work?
It's going to get even messier, as a result of the latest ruling that metis and non-status Indians should be included in the Indian Act. That will result in another 650,000 wanting $$$$$. But when the British North America Act was drafted in 1867, metis meant half Indian and half white; non-status meant full Indian, but off-reserve. Where does this leave us in 2013? Many generations later, who is a metis? Who is off-reserve? Who is non-status? How much "white" blood qualifies or disqualifies you?
With a non-status, but full Mohawk, great-grandmother, I may qualify. How ridiculous! Will several generations have to apply and make a case? It's just not workable on any level.
And as to "The Crown", with which the 'Idle No More' gang wish to deal, bulletin, bulletin, bulletin....The Crown is the Canadian government. Our constitution was patriated in April, 1982.
Get over yourselves.
Who knows what really happened, or what will happen. But one smart thing Harper did was to stay for the entire meeting. Now he cannot be faulted. His main objective is to get the oil flowing to international markets and that means pipelines over reserve lands. Hence, the cooperation and dialogue he is now demonstrating for the good of all Canadians.
Here's the thing. Of the approximately one million Indians in Canada, 550,000 are off-reserve and only 430,000 on. Do the math. That 430,000 want to hold the rest of Canada hostage. This means that 34 million Canadians are to be dictated to by less that 1% of the population. How does that work?
It's going to get even messier, as a result of the latest ruling that metis and non-status Indians should be included in the Indian Act. That will result in another 650,000 wanting $$$$$. But when the British North America Act was drafted in 1867, metis meant half Indian and half white; non-status meant full Indian, but off-reserve. Where does this leave us in 2013? Many generations later, who is a metis? Who is off-reserve? Who is non-status? How much "white" blood qualifies or disqualifies you?
With a non-status, but full Mohawk, great-grandmother, I may qualify. How ridiculous! Will several generations have to apply and make a case? It's just not workable on any level.
And as to "The Crown", with which the 'Idle No More' gang wish to deal, bulletin, bulletin, bulletin....The Crown is the Canadian government. Our constitution was patriated in April, 1982.
Get over yourselves.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
A Royal pain
We have been clients (they used to call us "customers") of the Royal Bank for a thousand years, yet they still can't get our name right. It's beyond belief.
Firstly, just moving here and transferring to a local branch was a big mistake. This region doesn't talk to our old region and neither do their computer systems. A year-and-a-half later and we are still not completely moved over! Not to bore you with the gory details, but you get the picture. It was just one screw up after another.
"You have to go into the bank and sign a document," B said to me the other day. You have to understand, that I enter that place under severe duress and only if I absolutely must. "Why?" Well, she just said they need your signature to complete the blah-blah, he said. "It'll be no fuss, the document will be right at the front desk for you, you don't need to see anyone, just sign it," he added.
How did I know it would not quite work that way.
So, in I go. "May I help you," said the young man. He was seated beside another young "helper" woman. I could see a 100 other employees milling around -- not at tellers' wickets, of course, too busy doing.............????...........while the docile customers, long used to no-service, lined up zombie-style waiting.
"My name is....and apparently there is a document here for me to sign." "Mrs. Clarke?" No, Mrs. Marley-Clarke. "May I just see some ID please," he asks. I show it. It clearly says, "Nancy Marley-Clarke". He shuffles around, on and under the desk, looking for what I knew with complete and absolute certainty would not be there. "Do you know who your husband saw?" No. "Let me just look up your account." I hand over my client card. He looks. "No, nothing here about signing any document," he says, now a tad nervous because I am looking daggers at him.
Then we played guess-the-client-advisor. "Was it Sue? No. Lindsay? No. Helen? No. "P" Yes, that was her name. "I'll just go and get her." And up he gets and returns with "P". Apparently, she was in a meeting -- presumably with another annoying customer -- and I had the nerve to interrupt her.
After looking under the desk and staring blankly at the computer screen, she says, "No, there is nothing for you to sign, your husband must have been mistaken." I knew he was not. She departs. The young man says, "Let me just go and see the customer (non)service people and check again." No one in the entire branch had a clue about what I was to sign. "Well, that was a waste of a half hour," I said, as I left.
A day later the phone rings, as I knew it would. "Mrs. Clarke?" No one here by that name, I said, about to hang up. "I mean Mrs. Marley-Clarke," P adds quickly. "We finally figured out what you were to to sign." I guess it took an all-day special meeting for the branch to get to the bottom of the mystery. "The document was there all along, but it was addressed to Mrs. Clarke," she actually said.
"You know, we have been customers for many, many years, it would be nice if you got our name right," I snapped. "Did (the young man) look around? What did he do?" she stupidly asked. "I'm not his boss, I wasn't going to tell him what your procedures are." "Well, can you come in and sign it today?" No.
After uttering a curt goodbye, I hung up. No clue when I will get there again, but any bets the document won't be at the front desk of that hopelessly-muddled, left-hand-right-hand mess when I do!!??
Firstly, just moving here and transferring to a local branch was a big mistake. This region doesn't talk to our old region and neither do their computer systems. A year-and-a-half later and we are still not completely moved over! Not to bore you with the gory details, but you get the picture. It was just one screw up after another.
"You have to go into the bank and sign a document," B said to me the other day. You have to understand, that I enter that place under severe duress and only if I absolutely must. "Why?" Well, she just said they need your signature to complete the blah-blah, he said. "It'll be no fuss, the document will be right at the front desk for you, you don't need to see anyone, just sign it," he added.
How did I know it would not quite work that way.
So, in I go. "May I help you," said the young man. He was seated beside another young "helper" woman. I could see a 100 other employees milling around -- not at tellers' wickets, of course, too busy doing.............????...........while the docile customers, long used to no-service, lined up zombie-style waiting.
"My name is....and apparently there is a document here for me to sign." "Mrs. Clarke?" No, Mrs. Marley-Clarke. "May I just see some ID please," he asks. I show it. It clearly says, "Nancy Marley-Clarke". He shuffles around, on and under the desk, looking for what I knew with complete and absolute certainty would not be there. "Do you know who your husband saw?" No. "Let me just look up your account." I hand over my client card. He looks. "No, nothing here about signing any document," he says, now a tad nervous because I am looking daggers at him.
Then we played guess-the-client-advisor. "Was it Sue? No. Lindsay? No. Helen? No. "P" Yes, that was her name. "I'll just go and get her." And up he gets and returns with "P". Apparently, she was in a meeting -- presumably with another annoying customer -- and I had the nerve to interrupt her.
After looking under the desk and staring blankly at the computer screen, she says, "No, there is nothing for you to sign, your husband must have been mistaken." I knew he was not. She departs. The young man says, "Let me just go and see the customer (non)service people and check again." No one in the entire branch had a clue about what I was to sign. "Well, that was a waste of a half hour," I said, as I left.
A day later the phone rings, as I knew it would. "Mrs. Clarke?" No one here by that name, I said, about to hang up. "I mean Mrs. Marley-Clarke," P adds quickly. "We finally figured out what you were to to sign." I guess it took an all-day special meeting for the branch to get to the bottom of the mystery. "The document was there all along, but it was addressed to Mrs. Clarke," she actually said.
"You know, we have been customers for many, many years, it would be nice if you got our name right," I snapped. "Did (the young man) look around? What did he do?" she stupidly asked. "I'm not his boss, I wasn't going to tell him what your procedures are." "Well, can you come in and sign it today?" No.
After uttering a curt goodbye, I hung up. No clue when I will get there again, but any bets the document won't be at the front desk of that hopelessly-muddled, left-hand-right-hand mess when I do!!??
They just didn't do it
"Babies. The politics of the fiscal cliff deal are outrageous. The economic thinking is even worse," screams the cover of 'Bloomberg Businessweek'. The visual is an overhead of the US Senate, with crying babies throwing tantrums occupying the seats.
'The Economist's cover is also perfect: "America turns European", with a shot of Boehner dressed in German lederhosen and Obama sporting a French beret and striped maillot.
Both magazines absolutely rip the two and their feeble, ineffectual and cowardly deal. I think the only way Washington may get the message is if a great unwashed armed mob stormed the Capitol. Frankly, I don't think it's too far-fetched a possibility.
On another completely unrelated note, all summer and fall we have had a pair of prairie ground birds of some type in our backyard. They come for the leftovers which fall from the birdfeeder. They even visit when the snow is heavy and simply burrow happily into the drifts at my back stoop (love that word, as charming as another we used to hear, "stile"). As I type, our visitor is snuggled so deeply into the snow, only its eyes and beak are visible. Quite adorable.
Sadly, for the past three weeks, only one has been visiting. I think a coyote got its mate. Just took a picture of our "chubby", as I call all wildlife. Will post soon.
'The Economist's cover is also perfect: "America turns European", with a shot of Boehner dressed in German lederhosen and Obama sporting a French beret and striped maillot.
Both magazines absolutely rip the two and their feeble, ineffectual and cowardly deal. I think the only way Washington may get the message is if a great unwashed armed mob stormed the Capitol. Frankly, I don't think it's too far-fetched a possibility.
On another completely unrelated note, all summer and fall we have had a pair of prairie ground birds of some type in our backyard. They come for the leftovers which fall from the birdfeeder. They even visit when the snow is heavy and simply burrow happily into the drifts at my back stoop (love that word, as charming as another we used to hear, "stile"). As I type, our visitor is snuggled so deeply into the snow, only its eyes and beak are visible. Quite adorable.
Sadly, for the past three weeks, only one has been visiting. I think a coyote got its mate. Just took a picture of our "chubby", as I call all wildlife. Will post soon.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Goggles, taxes and scandalous behaviour
"What are those rings above my eyes?" I have wondered for the past few months whenever I peer into the mirror. Usually one has rings below the eye, but I had them over. Finally, duh, I figured out they were caused by my swim goggles.
"Oh no, women our age can't wear those goggles," said my swim friend, D. She sports a very broad pair -- almost like skiing goggles -- so I went out and bought a pair. Also bought a new swimsuit because vanity has reared its ugly head in my ego. The suit I bought a few months ago was on sale at the nearest swim shop and apparently a lot of women also went for it. Problem is, those who bought it are ancient, hefty harridans and I cannot bear to be wearing the same style. I know, I know, it's wrong of me, but there it is. Vanity.
On another note, tax evaders are now using the charter to make their case. You know, it's my charter right not to pay taxes. How ludicrous. Thankfully, CRA overules and takes precedence. I mean how can you run a country without taxes? Even Alberta is finally floating the idea, due to the huge projected deficit facing the province. But as usual, Redford has no clue about what to do as oil prices continue in freefall.
And if you want the skinny on that fraudulent hunger strike, just google Christie Blatchford's piece in today's Calgary Herald. (I call the strike "fradulent" because Spence is not starving, she is living on soup and tea, as well as her considerable girth.) Isn't it amazing that Chief Spence began her terrorism just before that damning Deloitte-Touche audit was released, proving that she and her cronies committed fraud and breach-of-trust in their handling of the $107 million in public funds handed them since 2006. No one has a clue about what happened to the vast sums designated for water, sewage, housing and education.
One wonders who is minding the store on her reserve while she is drumming and entertaining her cronies in a tent on Victoria Island? Who's cleaning up the mess she has made? Who's looking after her people?
"We have to meet with the governor general because he is the Queen's representative in Canada and our treaties are with the Crown," said one of Spence's burly spokesmen to the cameras yesterday. Guess he skipped school the day they taught the part about the GG not actually being in charge, that it's the elected government who runs Canada.
She and her fellow leaders are a disgrace to their trust.
"Oh no, women our age can't wear those goggles," said my swim friend, D. She sports a very broad pair -- almost like skiing goggles -- so I went out and bought a pair. Also bought a new swimsuit because vanity has reared its ugly head in my ego. The suit I bought a few months ago was on sale at the nearest swim shop and apparently a lot of women also went for it. Problem is, those who bought it are ancient, hefty harridans and I cannot bear to be wearing the same style. I know, I know, it's wrong of me, but there it is. Vanity.
On another note, tax evaders are now using the charter to make their case. You know, it's my charter right not to pay taxes. How ludicrous. Thankfully, CRA overules and takes precedence. I mean how can you run a country without taxes? Even Alberta is finally floating the idea, due to the huge projected deficit facing the province. But as usual, Redford has no clue about what to do as oil prices continue in freefall.
And if you want the skinny on that fraudulent hunger strike, just google Christie Blatchford's piece in today's Calgary Herald. (I call the strike "fradulent" because Spence is not starving, she is living on soup and tea, as well as her considerable girth.) Isn't it amazing that Chief Spence began her terrorism just before that damning Deloitte-Touche audit was released, proving that she and her cronies committed fraud and breach-of-trust in their handling of the $107 million in public funds handed them since 2006. No one has a clue about what happened to the vast sums designated for water, sewage, housing and education.
One wonders who is minding the store on her reserve while she is drumming and entertaining her cronies in a tent on Victoria Island? Who's cleaning up the mess she has made? Who's looking after her people?
"We have to meet with the governor general because he is the Queen's representative in Canada and our treaties are with the Crown," said one of Spence's burly spokesmen to the cameras yesterday. Guess he skipped school the day they taught the part about the GG not actually being in charge, that it's the elected government who runs Canada.
She and her fellow leaders are a disgrace to their trust.
Monday, January 7, 2013
The thing about Calgary.........
.......is that you can hop off to Banff for lunch. Did just that today. Returning from swimming, I said to B, "let's go to Banff for lunch. Christmas and the Epiphany are over, I've 'taken down' Christmas, washed, ironed and stowed away the linens, packed up the tree, the ornaments and the outside and inside lights and decorations. Darling, I need a break". Why not, he replied. So we did.
What a drive it is, heading towards the beautiful Rockies. They loom majestically ahead and suddenly, the sky drops, clouds appear right above you and you're surrounded by them. 'The Three Sisters' are on your left, just before Canmore, and beauty, beauty, beauty overwhelms you. Watched 'River of No Return' with Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Munroe, which was filmed around Banff, again the other day and tried to see if I could recognize any of the peaks. Couldn't, of course, there being so many.
We always end up at the Banff Springs Hotel because the view is unbelieveable! Door-to-door, it's only an hour and 15 minutes. We used to go to Montreal for lunch often and that was a little more than two hours. This drive is easy.
"You've come on a perfect day," said our waitress. "The craziness is over." She was right. We were about the only patrons in the place. Valet parking would have been free, the jockies were so generous, but for the fact that I told B to give the guy $10. "Gee sir, that's so generous!"
We were home by 3:30. What a way to start 2013.
What a drive it is, heading towards the beautiful Rockies. They loom majestically ahead and suddenly, the sky drops, clouds appear right above you and you're surrounded by them. 'The Three Sisters' are on your left, just before Canmore, and beauty, beauty, beauty overwhelms you. Watched 'River of No Return' with Robert Mitchum and Marilyn Munroe, which was filmed around Banff, again the other day and tried to see if I could recognize any of the peaks. Couldn't, of course, there being so many.
We always end up at the Banff Springs Hotel because the view is unbelieveable! Door-to-door, it's only an hour and 15 minutes. We used to go to Montreal for lunch often and that was a little more than two hours. This drive is easy.
"You've come on a perfect day," said our waitress. "The craziness is over." She was right. We were about the only patrons in the place. Valet parking would have been free, the jockies were so generous, but for the fact that I told B to give the guy $10. "Gee sir, that's so generous!"
We were home by 3:30. What a way to start 2013.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Unheard of
Watching a documentary on PBS about prohibition, my thoughts turned to my paternal grandmother. Actually, she was the age of a great-grandmother, my father having been 47 when I was born. The images in the film were of the US in the late 1800's and the dress of the members of the Women's Christian Temperance Union was exactly like my grandmother's in ancient photos taken of her and her sister.
Her name was Marguerite Viallancount and she was from Montreal. Must have been born around 1875, as my Dad was born in 1899. A nurse, she and her sister moved from Montreal to Kansas City Missouri to work. When I think about it, who would let their young daughters move to the drunken Wild West when they were in their early twenties? What traditional French Canadian Catholic mother would have thought that was a good idea? But what adventurers the sisters must have been.
I remember being stricken with worry when my daughter moved an hour away to Kingston to go to Queen's. Then I had to worry again when she did post-graduate work for a year in Australia. What must my great-grandmother have gone through when her daughters struck out for crazy Kansas?
Marguerite and her sister were obviously early feminists. They had careers and -- unheard of -- they hit the pioneer road. My father used to tell me of the adventurous cross-country train adventures he and his two brothers were treated to when his mother took them all over the US -- thanks to the free fares she garnered, her husband having been an executive on the railway.
My dad used to talk about meeting Buffalo Bill when he came through town. He also knew Frank James, brother of Jesse. "He ran a hardware store in town," said my Dad, matter-of-factly.
One day I discovered in my dad's papers the discharge papers of one "Greenberry Griffith" from the Civil War. To this day, I don't know which side he would have been on?
Lots of American and independent woman in me.
Her name was Marguerite Viallancount and she was from Montreal. Must have been born around 1875, as my Dad was born in 1899. A nurse, she and her sister moved from Montreal to Kansas City Missouri to work. When I think about it, who would let their young daughters move to the drunken Wild West when they were in their early twenties? What traditional French Canadian Catholic mother would have thought that was a good idea? But what adventurers the sisters must have been.
I remember being stricken with worry when my daughter moved an hour away to Kingston to go to Queen's. Then I had to worry again when she did post-graduate work for a year in Australia. What must my great-grandmother have gone through when her daughters struck out for crazy Kansas?
Marguerite and her sister were obviously early feminists. They had careers and -- unheard of -- they hit the pioneer road. My father used to tell me of the adventurous cross-country train adventures he and his two brothers were treated to when his mother took them all over the US -- thanks to the free fares she garnered, her husband having been an executive on the railway.
My dad used to talk about meeting Buffalo Bill when he came through town. He also knew Frank James, brother of Jesse. "He ran a hardware store in town," said my Dad, matter-of-factly.
One day I discovered in my dad's papers the discharge papers of one "Greenberry Griffith" from the Civil War. To this day, I don't know which side he would have been on?
Lots of American and independent woman in me.
This is rich
Just listening to an interview with Stephen Lewis on CBC. Here he is, blabbing on sanctimoniously about poverty and Africa and charity...and blah, blah, blah. Folks, this is the same guy who pocketed a $10,000 fee a few years ago for speaking at a dinky, little Royal Commonwealth Society dinner.
He agreed to speak and no mention was made of a fee because the RCS is a small, non-profit society, made up of little old ladies, high commissioners and other rickety old-world types. It's not a big deal and we never pay anyone to speak -- no matter who they are. But low and behold, in comes an invoice for $10,000!
Nice.
But Michael Enright is asking him a few hard questions, such as why he didn't work harder for native Canadians instead of for Africans? And didn't he think he could have done more had he actually ever had real power? And what would he have done with it?
Obviously, he was unable to give credible answers.
He agreed to speak and no mention was made of a fee because the RCS is a small, non-profit society, made up of little old ladies, high commissioners and other rickety old-world types. It's not a big deal and we never pay anyone to speak -- no matter who they are. But low and behold, in comes an invoice for $10,000!
Nice.
But Michael Enright is asking him a few hard questions, such as why he didn't work harder for native Canadians instead of for Africans? And didn't he think he could have done more had he actually ever had real power? And what would he have done with it?
Obviously, he was unable to give credible answers.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Don't let your hearts bleed
Calgary Herald columnist, Susan Martinuk, nails it. "At the end of the day, it's about money" is the title of her latest piece about Theresa Spence and her ilk:
"My last column provided background (that most reporters seem content to ignore) on Theresa Spence, chief of the Attawapiskat First Nation. The plight of her reserve drew national attention a year ago when residents were without housing, heat or running water. Spence took home a $70,000 salary while her subjects lived in abject poverty, and the band’s finances were such a mess that accountants couldn’t determine what happened to $90 million in federal funds provided to the band since 2006," notes Martinuk.
"She claims the government is not fulfilling its obligations, but based on her own dubious financial management, and the fact that De Beers mines will pay her band $30 million over 12 years and has awarded it another $325 million in contracts, it’s not clear that she’s the best person to be making the case for more money," she adds.
No kidding. Why are her people still living in sub-third-world conditions? Over to her.
"My last column provided background (that most reporters seem content to ignore) on Theresa Spence, chief of the Attawapiskat First Nation. The plight of her reserve drew national attention a year ago when residents were without housing, heat or running water. Spence took home a $70,000 salary while her subjects lived in abject poverty, and the band’s finances were such a mess that accountants couldn’t determine what happened to $90 million in federal funds provided to the band since 2006," notes Martinuk.
"She claims the government is not fulfilling its obligations, but based on her own dubious financial management, and the fact that De Beers mines will pay her band $30 million over 12 years and has awarded it another $325 million in contracts, it’s not clear that she’s the best person to be making the case for more money," she adds.
No kidding. Why are her people still living in sub-third-world conditions? Over to her.
"It’s long been obvious that the current aboriginal
system works well for the chiefs and band leaders who control the money, but
not for natives themselves," Martinuk concludes.
Mark Milke, another columnist and Fraser Institute expert on aboriginal affairs, wrote an excellent article today in which he points out that Spence and her colleagues earn salaries far above those earned by other leaders in similar hamlets.
"In the remote Ontario township of Algonquin Highlands, for example," says Milke, "with 2,100 people, the entire council was paid just $119,220 in 2011. In Spence's reserve, with only 1,500 people, the total for salaries was $607,364." Do the math, it's outrageous.
Does Spence not know that researchers such as Milke and Martinuk will overturn the rocks and learn what a shameful and disgraceful scam it all is?
Concludes Milke:
"It's tragic that the system allows band politicians to spend money on unreasonable political salaries and on housing for friends, family and political allies first, with everyone else put in the queue. Such fundamental problems with how the chiefs run reserves are what protesters should ponder."
Harper has now agreed to meet with the native leadership, but not necessarily Spence, to discuss, in general, progress on the initiatives agreed to last Fall. He made the announcement minutes before a scheduled NDP press conference to denounce him. The release did not even mention Spence and her hunger terrorism. "It's up to the leaders to decide who we meet with," said the crafty chess player and smartest guy in the room.
Do you really think Shawn Atleo will let Theresa Spence hog the limelight?
Harper has now agreed to meet with the native leadership, but not necessarily Spence, to discuss, in general, progress on the initiatives agreed to last Fall. He made the announcement minutes before a scheduled NDP press conference to denounce him. The release did not even mention Spence and her hunger terrorism. "It's up to the leaders to decide who we meet with," said the crafty chess player and smartest guy in the room.
Do you really think Shawn Atleo will let Theresa Spence hog the limelight?
Friday, January 4, 2013
Food is not art
Bill Deresiewicz, American author and essayist, gave a facinating interview on CBC's 'Q' yesterday. But before I get into this gem, an aside about our Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, 'Q' and its host, Jian Ghomeshi.........
I am sure all of my Canadian consumer's know of Jian and his ecelectic radio program, which airs on CBC One every morning from 10 to 12, but I urge my American readers to discover this facinating and enlightening emmission. It can also be found on Public Radio International and Sirius Satelite 159 in your country and around the world. Google it, it's cbc.ca/Q.
Jian is a Toronto-born Canadian of Iranian descent who represents all that is good about Canada. Yes, he has an ethnic background, but he is a Canadian first. I mean, the guy was the lead of the satirical rock group 'Moxy Fruvous' a while back. Ghomeshi's guests range from ego-maniacal Billy-Bob Thornton -- who delivered a vicous, ugly-'ole-southern-boy racist rant on air in response to Jian who said BB was mainly known as an actor (last time I checked BB, you didn't exactly have a number one hit, not even anything in the top 100) -- to authors, international wits and obscure intellectuals (boneheaded and otherwise)............but I digress..........back to Bill Deresiewicz.
"I used to think, back when all the foodie stuff was gathering steam (this would have been about 1994, when everyone was eating arugula and going on about, I don’t know, first-press organic broccoli rabe) that our newfound taste for food would lead, in time, to a taste for art.
"But what has happened is not that food has led to art, but that it has replaced it. Foodism has taken on the sociological characteristics of what used to be known — in the days of the rising postwar middle class, when Mortimer Adler was peddling the Great Books and Leonard Bernstein was on television — as culture. It is costly. It requires knowledge and connoisseurship, which are themselves costly to develop. It is a badge of membership in the higher classes," writes Deresiewicz.
He's right. When I was growing up, no one talked about food. It was just, well, food. You ate it at breakfast, lunch and dinner and that was it. We used to talk about our careers and what we'd like to do with our futures; food wasn't in the cards. I mean, if you got into the "food" industry, you had failed because you had become a waiter.
All that has changed, he points out. "Young men once headed to the Ivy League to acquire the patina of high culture that would allow them to move in the circles of power — or if they were to the manner born, to assert their place at the top of the social heap by flashing what they already knew.
He concludes:
I am sure all of my Canadian consumer's know of Jian and his ecelectic radio program, which airs on CBC One every morning from 10 to 12, but I urge my American readers to discover this facinating and enlightening emmission. It can also be found on Public Radio International and Sirius Satelite 159 in your country and around the world. Google it, it's cbc.ca/Q.
Jian is a Toronto-born Canadian of Iranian descent who represents all that is good about Canada. Yes, he has an ethnic background, but he is a Canadian first. I mean, the guy was the lead of the satirical rock group 'Moxy Fruvous' a while back. Ghomeshi's guests range from ego-maniacal Billy-Bob Thornton -- who delivered a vicous, ugly-'ole-southern-boy racist rant on air in response to Jian who said BB was mainly known as an actor (last time I checked BB, you didn't exactly have a number one hit, not even anything in the top 100) -- to authors, international wits and obscure intellectuals (boneheaded and otherwise)............but I digress..........back to Bill Deresiewicz.
"I used to think, back when all the foodie stuff was gathering steam (this would have been about 1994, when everyone was eating arugula and going on about, I don’t know, first-press organic broccoli rabe) that our newfound taste for food would lead, in time, to a taste for art.
"But what has happened is not that food has led to art, but that it has replaced it. Foodism has taken on the sociological characteristics of what used to be known — in the days of the rising postwar middle class, when Mortimer Adler was peddling the Great Books and Leonard Bernstein was on television — as culture. It is costly. It requires knowledge and connoisseurship, which are themselves costly to develop. It is a badge of membership in the higher classes," writes Deresiewicz.
He's right. When I was growing up, no one talked about food. It was just, well, food. You ate it at breakfast, lunch and dinner and that was it. We used to talk about our careers and what we'd like to do with our futures; food wasn't in the cards. I mean, if you got into the "food" industry, you had failed because you had become a waiter.
All that has changed, he points out. "Young men once headed to the Ivy League to acquire the patina of high culture that would allow them to move in the circles of power — or if they were to the manner born, to assert their place at the top of the social heap by flashing what they already knew.
"Now kids at elite schools are inducted, through campus farmlets, the
local/organic/sustainable fare in dining halls and osmotic absorption via their
classmates from Manhattan or the San Francisco Bay Area, into the ways of food," he continues.
"More and more of them also
look to the expressive possibilities of careers in food: the cupcake shop, the
pop-up restaurant, the high-end cookie business. Food, for young people now, is
creativity, commerce, politics, health, almost religion. "
The author recounts how it took him some effort to
explain to one of his students that he and his peers did not talk about food, unless it was to decide on which diner they were going
to for breakfast. Neither did my peers and I. We were more interested in which Hull bar we would hit on a Thursday night. “But food is everything!” his student said. He concludes:
"A good risotto is a fine
thing, but it isn’t going to give you insight into other people, allow you to
see the world in a new way, or force you to take an inventory of your soul.
"Yes, food centers life in France and Italy, too,
but not to the disadvantage of art, which still occupies the supreme place in
both cultures. Here in America, we are in danger of confusing our palates with
our souls."
CBC radio and 'Q' offer much.
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