The University of British Columbia has gone off its rocker by accusing Steven Galloway, head of the creative writing program, of sexual harassment and firing him point blank. It's been a witch hunt of gargantuan proportions, with a couple of female students accusing him without grounds. Just their word against his.
Please.
Everything -- the allegations, report findings and investigation -- has been cloaked in secrecy and non-disclosure while Mr. Galloway's entire life lies in ruins without a charge laid. But the women who have claimed he "came onto them" are out in full force in the public thoroughfare and he has no way to defend himself.
It's all so "yesterday". Rabid feminists have highjacked the public agenda and Galloway is now an uncharged pariah, while they go merrily on with the full support of UBC. It's disgusting and I am ashamed of those of my gender behaving in this way.
These days, women can accuse men of anything under the sun with complete impunity. Just like the female NDP MPs who accused a couple of male Liberal MPs of sexual assault -- even though these women consented to the sex! I mean, seriously! If a woman says "yes", it's "yes". The hapless Trudeau kicked the accused MPs out of caucus, while the women involved were permitted to hide under the desk, unidentified. What an absolute disgrace.
What has happened to university highjinks? Where has reason fled? When I was in university, I dated a professor for two years. Did he approach and come on to me? Hell yes and I was pretty flattered. I was not in any of his classes, so thought nothing of it and I could have discouraged him at any time. But I didn't and the whole "affair" was completely consensual.
From the beginning of time, men have been approaching women and in my view it's all completely normal. If you don't want to get involved, don't. But don't run around screaming "the sky is falling" when it's nothing more than a boy-meets-girl deal. Grow up, ladies.
I am sick of "feminism" and its boring ills.
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Friday, October 28, 2016
A civilian's look at history
Everywhere I turn, Romeo Dallaire is there. Now he's written another book about PTSD entitled, 'Waiting for First Light', an account of his many trials and tribulations as a Lieutenant General in the Canadian Army in various war-torn theatres.
I believe he was not fit for the post. I believe he was promoted because Canada was trying to rid itself of its "white, English" image in the armed forces, just as it was aggressively and blindly doing in the federal public service at the time. In spite of the fact Dallaire is lauded far and wide -- even being awarded the highest US honour that can be bestowed on a foreigner: the Legion of Merit (a sop for guilt over Rwanda) -- I have a problem with a guy who can't handle the heat in the average military kitchen.
These "unchristian" thoughts occur to me as I read a fabulous book by the WW II British General Sir Alanbrooke, one of the most competent generals in history. Reading what he bore, I cannot imagine him or any of his ilk crying or getting drunk on a park bench in the public thoroughfare in the middle of the day; that's what mess halls and private quarters are for. I cannot imagine the likes of Patton, McArthur, Eisenhower, Alexander, Montgomery, Bradley or Crerar, for example, ever doing anything of the like, or writing books about how tough it was and how hard-done-by they were.
Never. Dallaire was simply the wrong guy to promote. Not his fault, he probably thought he was deserving and up to the mark, but in my mind he was not.
Nevertheless, in the spirit of narcissistic shamelessness, the general publically bit the hand that fed every chance he got. What happened? He was handsomely rewarded by being made a Senator in 2005. Conveniently, he resigned in 2014 over.....something or other.....to concentrate on public speaking, where the real money awaits. Oh, and did I mention that by waiting until 2014 he qualified for a full pension? Coupled with all his other pensions, the guy is pretty much in-the-chips.
Affirmative Action at its worst.
I believe he was not fit for the post. I believe he was promoted because Canada was trying to rid itself of its "white, English" image in the armed forces, just as it was aggressively and blindly doing in the federal public service at the time. In spite of the fact Dallaire is lauded far and wide -- even being awarded the highest US honour that can be bestowed on a foreigner: the Legion of Merit (a sop for guilt over Rwanda) -- I have a problem with a guy who can't handle the heat in the average military kitchen.
These "unchristian" thoughts occur to me as I read a fabulous book by the WW II British General Sir Alanbrooke, one of the most competent generals in history. Reading what he bore, I cannot imagine him or any of his ilk crying or getting drunk on a park bench in the public thoroughfare in the middle of the day; that's what mess halls and private quarters are for. I cannot imagine the likes of Patton, McArthur, Eisenhower, Alexander, Montgomery, Bradley or Crerar, for example, ever doing anything of the like, or writing books about how tough it was and how hard-done-by they were.
Never. Dallaire was simply the wrong guy to promote. Not his fault, he probably thought he was deserving and up to the mark, but in my mind he was not.
Nevertheless, in the spirit of narcissistic shamelessness, the general publically bit the hand that fed every chance he got. What happened? He was handsomely rewarded by being made a Senator in 2005. Conveniently, he resigned in 2014 over.....something or other.....to concentrate on public speaking, where the real money awaits. Oh, and did I mention that by waiting until 2014 he qualified for a full pension? Coupled with all his other pensions, the guy is pretty much in-the-chips.
Affirmative Action at its worst.
Thursday, October 27, 2016
One length
"See that woman?" said one of my swim buddies this morning, as we halted at the end of a lane. "She's been swimming here for ten years and hasn't improved one iota. Still fights with the water as if she hates it." He was right, but for some reason this woman always seemed to be just a tad faster than I, which or course, p-ssed me off.
This guy -- by the way, the hottest 68-year-old ironman you have ever laid eyes on -- has become a lane friend, although we never get together clothed and out of the water. That's how it is. You become very friendly with the regulars -- even knowing intimately a great deal about their personal lives -- but you never socialize. Today, he told me to hold my glide longer before taking the next stroke, "and don't kick so hard. You'll be amazed at how much you will improve." So I tried it and in one length I actually easily passed the woman in question -- to both her amazement and my own.
"See," said my friend. "I bet you felt as is you were going slower, but you were actually swimming faster." He was completely right and I am now a much better and more efficient swimmer after just one practice length. When he left I continued the new way and was dumbfounded by how much it improved my swimming and stoke efficiency. The number of strokes it took for me to complete a lap decreased noticeably -- although not to the 10 or 12 he does one in. But I'll get there. Never too late to teach an old water rat new tricks.
I have actually breached the "no socializing" rule by organizing a "Christmas in November" lunch for the regular women I swim with -- and like -- or see in the locker room. Those I don't like aren't invited, of course, but this will be a motely group of women from 30 to 75 -- all of whom are a lot of fun and don't take themselves too seriously. The lane snobs who fancy themselves uber triathletes will not be joining us. To my amazement, we are now up to about 10, all of whom seem delighted to have been included.
And yes, the woman I now pass is included.
This guy -- by the way, the hottest 68-year-old ironman you have ever laid eyes on -- has become a lane friend, although we never get together clothed and out of the water. That's how it is. You become very friendly with the regulars -- even knowing intimately a great deal about their personal lives -- but you never socialize. Today, he told me to hold my glide longer before taking the next stroke, "and don't kick so hard. You'll be amazed at how much you will improve." So I tried it and in one length I actually easily passed the woman in question -- to both her amazement and my own.
"See," said my friend. "I bet you felt as is you were going slower, but you were actually swimming faster." He was completely right and I am now a much better and more efficient swimmer after just one practice length. When he left I continued the new way and was dumbfounded by how much it improved my swimming and stoke efficiency. The number of strokes it took for me to complete a lap decreased noticeably -- although not to the 10 or 12 he does one in. But I'll get there. Never too late to teach an old water rat new tricks.
I have actually breached the "no socializing" rule by organizing a "Christmas in November" lunch for the regular women I swim with -- and like -- or see in the locker room. Those I don't like aren't invited, of course, but this will be a motely group of women from 30 to 75 -- all of whom are a lot of fun and don't take themselves too seriously. The lane snobs who fancy themselves uber triathletes will not be joining us. To my amazement, we are now up to about 10, all of whom seem delighted to have been included.
And yes, the woman I now pass is included.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
53
That's the number of narcissistic women I counted today I have known in my life. There are probably many more, but in chatting with a friend, that's the number we came up with. "What about....?" she said. "Definitely," I affirmed. "And......?" "No, not her." But there were more yes's than no's as we ran through the candidates. Narcissism is defined on the web as:
"A long-term pattern of behaviour characterized by feelings of exaggerated self-importance, an excessive need for admiration and a lack of understanding of others' feelings. People affected by it often spend a lot of time thinking about achieving power or success, or about their appearance. They often take advantage of people around them. The behaviour typically begins in early adulthood."
Well, ahem to that. To me, a narcissist is someone who can't relate to others and sees the world exclusively from their point of view. In other words, people who can't get out of their chairs. Know anyone like that? Of course you do. Funnily and sadly enough, the women on my list are also bitches. In fact, in reviewing my list, I removed a couple because they weren't. I am thinking here of Jackie from the cottage and a woman from the tennis club because, although aggressively self-centred, they were actually "nice", in a way. One thing of particular note is that every woman on the list dislikes me. Funny that. Should I name them? Why not:
Diana, S, Genevieve, Julia, Margaret, Bonnie, Shelia, Anita, Flo, Florence, Cheryl, EJ, Audrey, Jane, Cynthia, Monica, Fay, Barbara, Peggy, Mary, Helene, Marj, A, Jennifer, Janet, Janice, Robin, Robyn, Nancy, Connie, Jennifer, Judy, Sue, Erica, Theresa, Louise, Libby, Sandy, Claudia, Christine, Val, Darlene, Sue-Anne, Lisa, Lorraine, Holly, Pat, Jean, D, M, P and Jean.
Narcissism was on my mind because I was reading yet another story about our hapless PM and his endless selfies. (By the way, his mother is high on my list.) For this exercise, I decided to focus on just women -- from my days at RevCan, to my working life, to the cottage days, to tennis clubs and even relatives. It's astounding that I identified 54 whose narcissism is breathtaking.
They are such bores. Anyone with me here? I bet.
"A long-term pattern of behaviour characterized by feelings of exaggerated self-importance, an excessive need for admiration and a lack of understanding of others' feelings. People affected by it often spend a lot of time thinking about achieving power or success, or about their appearance. They often take advantage of people around them. The behaviour typically begins in early adulthood."
Well, ahem to that. To me, a narcissist is someone who can't relate to others and sees the world exclusively from their point of view. In other words, people who can't get out of their chairs. Know anyone like that? Of course you do. Funnily and sadly enough, the women on my list are also bitches. In fact, in reviewing my list, I removed a couple because they weren't. I am thinking here of Jackie from the cottage and a woman from the tennis club because, although aggressively self-centred, they were actually "nice", in a way. One thing of particular note is that every woman on the list dislikes me. Funny that. Should I name them? Why not:
Diana, S, Genevieve, Julia, Margaret, Bonnie, Shelia, Anita, Flo, Florence, Cheryl, EJ, Audrey, Jane, Cynthia, Monica, Fay, Barbara, Peggy, Mary, Helene, Marj, A, Jennifer, Janet, Janice, Robin, Robyn, Nancy, Connie, Jennifer, Judy, Sue, Erica, Theresa, Louise, Libby, Sandy, Claudia, Christine, Val, Darlene, Sue-Anne, Lisa, Lorraine, Holly, Pat, Jean, D, M, P and Jean.
Narcissism was on my mind because I was reading yet another story about our hapless PM and his endless selfies. (By the way, his mother is high on my list.) For this exercise, I decided to focus on just women -- from my days at RevCan, to my working life, to the cottage days, to tennis clubs and even relatives. It's astounding that I identified 54 whose narcissism is breathtaking.
They are such bores. Anyone with me here? I bet.
Friday, October 21, 2016
Decided not to bother
Reading of the suicide of three young girls in the native community of Stanley Mission La Ronge, I thought about blogging my well-trodden thoughts. But I decided against it.
I mean, why bother writing about the futility of living on these remote reserves and how they turn young people into hopeless addicts? So, I decided against it.
And why bother about writing yet again about the native leaders of these communities who have so dismally failed their own people because they aggressively maintain the reserve system to get money? So, I decided against it.
And why bother ranting about the native leaders who are all over the TV screens, demanding the PM step in and "do something about it". Why bother?
And there's no point asking native leaders for accountability because they fervently deny and avoid any. No answers there.
And as I sit and watch native leaders on television blaming everyone but themselves for the miserable, dreary and dismal state of the reserves and the people they lead, I can only marvel at the outrageous nerve they have in casting blame on the rest of us.
It's breathtakingly shocking.
I mean, why bother writing about the futility of living on these remote reserves and how they turn young people into hopeless addicts? So, I decided against it.
And why bother about writing yet again about the native leaders of these communities who have so dismally failed their own people because they aggressively maintain the reserve system to get money? So, I decided against it.
And why bother ranting about the native leaders who are all over the TV screens, demanding the PM step in and "do something about it". Why bother?
And there's no point asking native leaders for accountability because they fervently deny and avoid any. No answers there.
And as I sit and watch native leaders on television blaming everyone but themselves for the miserable, dreary and dismal state of the reserves and the people they lead, I can only marvel at the outrageous nerve they have in casting blame on the rest of us.
It's breathtakingly shocking.
Tuesday, October 18, 2016
Nothing new here
It happened to me all the time. Globe and Mail columnist Margaret Wente's column today described what life was like in the average office when she began her career. About the same age, I began mine when she did, in the early seventies.
What was it like? It was fending off pass-after-pass-after-pass from male co-workers and bosses, which we did with a laugh here and a chuckle there. It was all part of the office contract about which we didn't give an extra thought. In my case I sometimes used it to my advantage because the deck was stacked against my earning what my male colleagues did, thus I had no qualms about teasing my boss to get what I deserved in my salary cheque. And I got it.
"Fending off the unwanted attentions of men you worked with was just the background noise of life," writes Wente. "I learned that even the nicest guy might mash you up against the wall and slobber you with kisses." Oh boy, can I relate.
Yes, indeed. She says she didn't complain to anyone because what would have been the point? No harm done. No repercussions. She managed. That's what women did. That's what I did. "We spent much of our working lives in a world where crude advances and petty harassment were just something you coped with," says Wente. Was it right? No. Was it a fact of life? Yes.
In my case, I experienced more than just "advances". I will leave that to your imagination, but I got on with it, advanced my career and never looked back. But I am very proud that young career women today do not put up with what we had to take. Good for them. I like to think that those of us who went before in the first vanguard of "women's lib" paved their way.
What was it like? It was fending off pass-after-pass-after-pass from male co-workers and bosses, which we did with a laugh here and a chuckle there. It was all part of the office contract about which we didn't give an extra thought. In my case I sometimes used it to my advantage because the deck was stacked against my earning what my male colleagues did, thus I had no qualms about teasing my boss to get what I deserved in my salary cheque. And I got it.
"Fending off the unwanted attentions of men you worked with was just the background noise of life," writes Wente. "I learned that even the nicest guy might mash you up against the wall and slobber you with kisses." Oh boy, can I relate.
Yes, indeed. She says she didn't complain to anyone because what would have been the point? No harm done. No repercussions. She managed. That's what women did. That's what I did. "We spent much of our working lives in a world where crude advances and petty harassment were just something you coped with," says Wente. Was it right? No. Was it a fact of life? Yes.
In my case, I experienced more than just "advances". I will leave that to your imagination, but I got on with it, advanced my career and never looked back. But I am very proud that young career women today do not put up with what we had to take. Good for them. I like to think that those of us who went before in the first vanguard of "women's lib" paved their way.
Saturday, October 15, 2016
The times in Norway definitely are a'changin'
Finally, a world body has recognized the genius of Bob Dylan and awarded him the Nobel Prize for literature. Love him or hate him, he deserves it.
Personally, I have always loved the guy, from the moment I first heard him. I quickly rushed out and bought 1963's "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" album and played it to death -- much to the chagrin of my long-suffering parents who played 'The King and I' and 'Oklahoma' to the back teeth on the old living room cabinet stereo. Remember those monstrosities? I was 16 and thought Bob Dylan the coolest guy. Ever.
He has been a troubadour and soothsayer for the times since he first sauntered onto the music scene in New York's Greenwich Village in the early sixties. Sinatra (feature it!) was all the rage and yet in wandered a bedraggled guy of genius who schlepped around coffee shops and predicted the future in his wonderful songs and poetry. Seriously. Remember "The times they are a changin'"? They were. They still are. He blew everyone away and continues to do so in his own perverse way.
Starting out a folk singer, he pissed everyone off when he "plugged in". Again, I rushed out and bought that latest album. I still regard him as wonderful, unique and magical -- even though he may be an asshole in his personal life. So many genii are.
Reading all the columnists chiming in about his prize, only two were negative:
Dave Bidini, singer for The Rheostatics. Ever heard of them? Yeah, me neither; and
Someone called "Russell Smith", a junior music review for The Globe and Mail.
Yeah, me neither.
Boys, get your collective acts together and realize that Dylan is right up there with Keats and Byron when it comes to getting a finger on the societal pulse.
Personally, I have always loved the guy, from the moment I first heard him. I quickly rushed out and bought 1963's "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" album and played it to death -- much to the chagrin of my long-suffering parents who played 'The King and I' and 'Oklahoma' to the back teeth on the old living room cabinet stereo. Remember those monstrosities? I was 16 and thought Bob Dylan the coolest guy. Ever.
He has been a troubadour and soothsayer for the times since he first sauntered onto the music scene in New York's Greenwich Village in the early sixties. Sinatra (feature it!) was all the rage and yet in wandered a bedraggled guy of genius who schlepped around coffee shops and predicted the future in his wonderful songs and poetry. Seriously. Remember "The times they are a changin'"? They were. They still are. He blew everyone away and continues to do so in his own perverse way.
Starting out a folk singer, he pissed everyone off when he "plugged in". Again, I rushed out and bought that latest album. I still regard him as wonderful, unique and magical -- even though he may be an asshole in his personal life. So many genii are.
Reading all the columnists chiming in about his prize, only two were negative:
Dave Bidini, singer for The Rheostatics. Ever heard of them? Yeah, me neither; and
Someone called "Russell Smith", a junior music review for The Globe and Mail.
Yeah, me neither.
Boys, get your collective acts together and realize that Dylan is right up there with Keats and Byron when it comes to getting a finger on the societal pulse.
Thursday, October 6, 2016
The best thing.....
.....about watching the Blue Jays is Buck Martinez. After winning the wild card, baseball and the Jays aren't of much interest to me -- unless they go on to win the AL and advance to the World Series.
But Buck Martinez is one guy I love to watch because he is just so sexy. To me, sexy is not really good looking, although Buck has that in spades. No, it's a combination of looks, demeanour, style and brains. Throw in his gorgeous silver hair and mellifluous voice and I'm done. And you can tell he is a real gentleman who respects women by the way he behaves with the young female colleagues he works with during the broadcast. Most veterans like Martinez would hog the mike and talk over a female colleague, but he does none of that. The way he behaves elevates and gives them credibility and frankly, that's just irresistible.
Apart from Mr. Martinez, I can't think of another sports commentator I find even remotely interesting -- especially the goons who call hockey. Yuck. Oh, I forgot Don Cherry. Not that I find him sexy, but his lines, his experience, his take on the game and his bold-faced patriotism -- not to mention his spectacular wardrobe -- make him endlessly watchable.
Unfortunately, what doesn't work in hockey broadcasts are the young women in the studio who call it. Why? Because the thugs obviously don't give an sh-one-tee about what they say or think, rendering them ineffective, invalid and pretty much useless.
Well, that's my take on sports at the moment.
But Buck Martinez is one guy I love to watch because he is just so sexy. To me, sexy is not really good looking, although Buck has that in spades. No, it's a combination of looks, demeanour, style and brains. Throw in his gorgeous silver hair and mellifluous voice and I'm done. And you can tell he is a real gentleman who respects women by the way he behaves with the young female colleagues he works with during the broadcast. Most veterans like Martinez would hog the mike and talk over a female colleague, but he does none of that. The way he behaves elevates and gives them credibility and frankly, that's just irresistible.
Apart from Mr. Martinez, I can't think of another sports commentator I find even remotely interesting -- especially the goons who call hockey. Yuck. Oh, I forgot Don Cherry. Not that I find him sexy, but his lines, his experience, his take on the game and his bold-faced patriotism -- not to mention his spectacular wardrobe -- make him endlessly watchable.
Unfortunately, what doesn't work in hockey broadcasts are the young women in the studio who call it. Why? Because the thugs obviously don't give an sh-one-tee about what they say or think, rendering them ineffective, invalid and pretty much useless.
Well, that's my take on sports at the moment.
Wednesday, October 5, 2016
More predictable tragedy
British Columbia's representative for children and youth has released a report which says that native children in foster care in that province suffer four times as much sexual violence as non-native. This is tragic, but no surprise.
Without going into all the sad and chronic reasons why native children are removed from their families, what is clear is that the "delegated care model" -- the norm for on-reserve children -- is not working. This is the model whereby authority for the care of neglected native children has been delegated to native organizations, along with the money required.
Obviously, it's not working.
What is galling, however, is that in all the columns and articles I read today about this mess -- and believe me I searched -- not one mentioned this glaring fact. Not even a respected columnist like Andre Picard in The Globe and Mail did any research or wrote one word about who these children are being fostered out to. The whole mess has been sanitized and depicted to infer that it is outside white families who are sexually abusing these children. The facts don't bear this out and I am tired of lazy journalists simply picking up a report, reading through it and 'cutting and pasting' without doing a lick of digging into why it is happening.
Here are a few facts:
As a retired, professional journalist, I am appalled by the lack of diligence and integrity applied by today's dismal, irresponsible and lazy gaggle.
Without going into all the sad and chronic reasons why native children are removed from their families, what is clear is that the "delegated care model" -- the norm for on-reserve children -- is not working. This is the model whereby authority for the care of neglected native children has been delegated to native organizations, along with the money required.
Obviously, it's not working.
What is galling, however, is that in all the columns and articles I read today about this mess -- and believe me I searched -- not one mentioned this glaring fact. Not even a respected columnist like Andre Picard in The Globe and Mail did any research or wrote one word about who these children are being fostered out to. The whole mess has been sanitized and depicted to infer that it is outside white families who are sexually abusing these children. The facts don't bear this out and I am tired of lazy journalists simply picking up a report, reading through it and 'cutting and pasting' without doing a lick of digging into why it is happening.
Here are a few facts:
- 48% of 30,000 children in care in Canada are native, yet they are only 4.3% of the population;
- Kinship care neglect is 12.4 times higher for native children than for non-native; and
- In B.C., 55% of native children live out-of-home, but are only 8% of the total population.
As a retired, professional journalist, I am appalled by the lack of diligence and integrity applied by today's dismal, irresponsible and lazy gaggle.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
So
Before they began their eight-day trip to Canada, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge probably envisioned Canada as a vast country of cold, snow, rain and Indians. After their visit, they must still see Canada as a country of cold, snow, rain and Indians.
Their entire visit was centred in BC's Indian territories and that's about all they encountered. Oh, and a depressing visit to Vancouver's downtown east side, where they spent time talking uselessly in earnest to drug-addicted mothers of doomed children. And they sweetly seemed so intense about it all.
How naïve.
Canada is so much more! It is a shame the bleak bits were all they experienced. Thank you "Christie Cream" for arranging such a slanted and depressing view of your province. The Royals will now go back to Buckingham Palace and report to our Head of State over a cuppa about what a dismal country Canada is.
All so sad.
Their entire visit was centred in BC's Indian territories and that's about all they encountered. Oh, and a depressing visit to Vancouver's downtown east side, where they spent time talking uselessly in earnest to drug-addicted mothers of doomed children. And they sweetly seemed so intense about it all.
How naïve.
Canada is so much more! It is a shame the bleak bits were all they experienced. Thank you "Christie Cream" for arranging such a slanted and depressing view of your province. The Royals will now go back to Buckingham Palace and report to our Head of State over a cuppa about what a dismal country Canada is.
All so sad.
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