If anything ever happens to B, remind me not to marry an African chief. Good friends from our parish are facing what I consider a financial catastrophe as a consequence of the death of the wife's father, who happened to be chief of some Nigerian tribe.
"We have to host and cater a three-day party for 3,800 people," she told me yesterday at Mass. Whaaaaat!!??#$^^&@# And this also involves hiring professional mourners, plus a myriad of other professional death workers, to ensure the chief's send off is up-to-snuff. That's insane in my world, but normal in hers. But it doesn't end there. Before the African festivities, they had to host another huge reception in Toronto and since they cannot cremate the body, it has to be held on ice and then shipped to Nigeria. "You'll be in debtor's prison," I said, channeling Charles Dickens. All told, when I did the math, it added up to about $50,000.
"In our culture, it's tea and a couple of sandwiches over a couple of hours," I said with relief. "Well, is one of your sons going to be chief now?" I asked. "Oh no, that will take months while people jockey for the position." So, you get nothing in return for your effort.
As I said, don't marry an African chief.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Wednesday, February 24, 2016
More bad news
Now the hapless Liberals are going to repeal parts of the Citizenship act which revoke Canadian citizenship for people convicted of terrorism, treason or espionage. To call this outrage folly would be to underestimate its gravity.
"A Canadian is a Canadian is a Canadian," said our toddler PM, demonstrating once again the breathtaking shallowness of his grasp of the law. Oh yeah, I forgot, he studied drama in college, not political science or law.
How can this person be governing Canada?! Now the Saudis, who control the supply and price of oil, are telling us we might as well quit producing in the oil sands because they are going to neither lower supply, nor raise prices, something which must happen if Canada is to be able to extract oil in the expensive way we must.
It's all so scary. If you really want to get depressed, read Jeffrey Simpson in The Globe and Mail today. I have been saying for years that you can't get pipelines past the natives and environmentalists, but he further amplifies the issue. "Why bother spending heaps of time and money on the review or regulatory process when governments aren't going to pay any attention, but rather make decision based on politics," he writes.
He's absolutely right. Those who oppose pipelines oppose them regardless of any regulatory process which might give them a legitimate green light. And anything they don't like, they go to court to fight, dragging everything out until we're all burning the furniture to keep warm.
"It is the triumph of politics and political pressure over evidence-based reviews denounced before they begin and excoriated when they finish. If and when decisions are ever made (about Canadian resource extraction) opponents can always contest them in the courts."
So, if you were having a bad, it just got worse.
"A Canadian is a Canadian is a Canadian," said our toddler PM, demonstrating once again the breathtaking shallowness of his grasp of the law. Oh yeah, I forgot, he studied drama in college, not political science or law.
How can this person be governing Canada?! Now the Saudis, who control the supply and price of oil, are telling us we might as well quit producing in the oil sands because they are going to neither lower supply, nor raise prices, something which must happen if Canada is to be able to extract oil in the expensive way we must.
It's all so scary. If you really want to get depressed, read Jeffrey Simpson in The Globe and Mail today. I have been saying for years that you can't get pipelines past the natives and environmentalists, but he further amplifies the issue. "Why bother spending heaps of time and money on the review or regulatory process when governments aren't going to pay any attention, but rather make decision based on politics," he writes.
He's absolutely right. Those who oppose pipelines oppose them regardless of any regulatory process which might give them a legitimate green light. And anything they don't like, they go to court to fight, dragging everything out until we're all burning the furniture to keep warm.
"It is the triumph of politics and political pressure over evidence-based reviews denounced before they begin and excoriated when they finish. If and when decisions are ever made (about Canadian resource extraction) opponents can always contest them in the courts."
So, if you were having a bad, it just got worse.
Monday, February 22, 2016
Hopeless
Because he has no idea what to do or how to govern, the hapless Trudeau has hired a British guru to tell him.
How unspeakably pathetic.
Sir Michael Barber -- a snake-oil salesman who worked for Tony Blair -- is now BS-ing Trudeau's entire cabinet and senior bureaucrats about what they have to do. Really!? Back in Britain, he made up something called "The Prime Minister's Delivery Unit", which basically told the PM how to get staff to deliver on what he had promised. Good luck with delivering on what Trudeau has recklessly and irresponsibly promised.
Barber has five basic questions, the answers to which our PM should have had without needing to hire outside, high-priced help:
We have the same problem here in Alberta, where our doomed and ill-starred premier is forging ahead with every dumb promise she made -- regardless of the fact that the province is going down the economic tubes. Folks, without pipelines to move our main resource this country is in deep doo-doo.
How unspeakably pathetic.
Sir Michael Barber -- a snake-oil salesman who worked for Tony Blair -- is now BS-ing Trudeau's entire cabinet and senior bureaucrats about what they have to do. Really!? Back in Britain, he made up something called "The Prime Minister's Delivery Unit", which basically told the PM how to get staff to deliver on what he had promised. Good luck with delivering on what Trudeau has recklessly and irresponsibly promised.
Barber has five basic questions, the answers to which our PM should have had without needing to hire outside, high-priced help:
- What are you trying to do?
- How to do plan to do it?
- How will you know if you are on track?
- What will you do to adjust when things go off track? and
- Can you set up a "Delivery Unit" to follow up?
We have the same problem here in Alberta, where our doomed and ill-starred premier is forging ahead with every dumb promise she made -- regardless of the fact that the province is going down the economic tubes. Folks, without pipelines to move our main resource this country is in deep doo-doo.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
What are the odds?
He had ashes in the middle of his forehead, so I knew he was Catholic because it was Ash Wednesday. But surprise, surprise, he was a Messianic Jew. Who knew!?
"Oh," I said, "I had forgotten it was Ash Wednesday," when I encountered him in the waiting area of the local 'First Choice Haircutters' on Country Hills Boulevard. He was the first Messianic Jew I had ever met and told me he had been adopted. He also told me his name was "Gene", my son's name and one one no longer hears. "Hey, I am also adopted," I replied. We bonded.
He told me he was half Catholic and half Jewish. "Very rare," I said. "Not if you are a Messianic Jew," he clarified. "Many of us believe Jesus was The Messiah," he added. Messianic Jews keep all Jewish traditions, but believe Jesus was The Messiah (google it, amazing!).
So, forget your daily beliefs. Sometimes unexpected things happen.
"Oh," I said, "I had forgotten it was Ash Wednesday," when I encountered him in the waiting area of the local 'First Choice Haircutters' on Country Hills Boulevard. He was the first Messianic Jew I had ever met and told me he had been adopted. He also told me his name was "Gene", my son's name and one one no longer hears. "Hey, I am also adopted," I replied. We bonded.
He told me he was half Catholic and half Jewish. "Very rare," I said. "Not if you are a Messianic Jew," he clarified. "Many of us believe Jesus was The Messiah," he added. Messianic Jews keep all Jewish traditions, but believe Jesus was The Messiah (google it, amazing!).
So, forget your daily beliefs. Sometimes unexpected things happen.
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
A drive-by trip to Ottawa
"Pamela Wallin," said the woman I approached in Ottawa's 'Hy's Steakhouse' last Thursday, as she put out her hand. I had, of course, seen her when we had walked by on the way to our table, but had waited until leaving before speaking to her.
"I am a big supporter of yours," I lied. I am not a supporter, but I wanted to talk to her and knew this would be the way to accomplish it. "You have made my week," she replied with a broad smile, handing me her card. I do, however, have to admire her guts and aplomb in bravely frequenting the most political establishment in Ottawa, instead of cowering over a sink eating a peanut butter sandwich in the dark.
B and I had ventured to Ottawa last weekend at the invitation of the daughter of my best friend, who was turning 70. It was a surprise party and I received an invitation. Not considering attending, I nonetheless re-considered. "What the hell, why not go?!" I said to B. So we went. Friday evening arrived and about 20 of us gathered in an upstairs room at 'La Roma' in Little Italy on Preston Street. When "A" walked in and saw the crowd she covered her face and screamed. "Nancy, Nancy! What the hell?!!??" Never in a million years would she have thought I would have flown 3,000 Ks at considerable expense to be there. But I had and was so glad of it.
So, there we were. Twenty of her best friends accumulated over the past 50 years; I was proud to have been among them. A and I met in 1984 when planning Expo '86 in Transport Canada under then-Minister Don Mazankowski. What a time we had over two years, travelling Canada and hitting Vancouver every month. I remember being trapped in a Charlottetown hotel thanks to a huge snowstorm that even the plows could not brave. What did we do? Sat in the bar, drank cognac and laughed. We also wore our mink coats and high heels to Vancouver, hoping some demented anti-fur freak would not spray-paint us. Happily, didn't happen. I had the one of the best jobs of my career and we kept in touch, mainly because we are no BS women.
"Sometimes that's the only word that works," said one of the women at the table, pounding her fist into her palm for emphasis. We were discussing the "C" word. Can't really remember the last time I collaborated with another woman about the merits of the "C" word, but I am in total agreement. Let's face it, some women beg for the moniker. Now, I agree, men can't use it, but women can and know when it applies. Same thing with the "eff" word. One has to know when and how to use it to effect, otherwise it becomes crude. "Nancy, how come when you say that word it never sounds like swearing?" drawled a Southern friend a few years ago. "Because I know when and how to deploy it. And you never drop the "g" when you say it. It must be literal," I replied.
Don't you hate the PC crowd.
"I am a big supporter of yours," I lied. I am not a supporter, but I wanted to talk to her and knew this would be the way to accomplish it. "You have made my week," she replied with a broad smile, handing me her card. I do, however, have to admire her guts and aplomb in bravely frequenting the most political establishment in Ottawa, instead of cowering over a sink eating a peanut butter sandwich in the dark.
B and I had ventured to Ottawa last weekend at the invitation of the daughter of my best friend, who was turning 70. It was a surprise party and I received an invitation. Not considering attending, I nonetheless re-considered. "What the hell, why not go?!" I said to B. So we went. Friday evening arrived and about 20 of us gathered in an upstairs room at 'La Roma' in Little Italy on Preston Street. When "A" walked in and saw the crowd she covered her face and screamed. "Nancy, Nancy! What the hell?!!??" Never in a million years would she have thought I would have flown 3,000 Ks at considerable expense to be there. But I had and was so glad of it.
So, there we were. Twenty of her best friends accumulated over the past 50 years; I was proud to have been among them. A and I met in 1984 when planning Expo '86 in Transport Canada under then-Minister Don Mazankowski. What a time we had over two years, travelling Canada and hitting Vancouver every month. I remember being trapped in a Charlottetown hotel thanks to a huge snowstorm that even the plows could not brave. What did we do? Sat in the bar, drank cognac and laughed. We also wore our mink coats and high heels to Vancouver, hoping some demented anti-fur freak would not spray-paint us. Happily, didn't happen. I had the one of the best jobs of my career and we kept in touch, mainly because we are no BS women.
"Sometimes that's the only word that works," said one of the women at the table, pounding her fist into her palm for emphasis. We were discussing the "C" word. Can't really remember the last time I collaborated with another woman about the merits of the "C" word, but I am in total agreement. Let's face it, some women beg for the moniker. Now, I agree, men can't use it, but women can and know when it applies. Same thing with the "eff" word. One has to know when and how to use it to effect, otherwise it becomes crude. "Nancy, how come when you say that word it never sounds like swearing?" drawled a Southern friend a few years ago. "Because I know when and how to deploy it. And you never drop the "g" when you say it. It must be literal," I replied.
Don't you hate the PC crowd.
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