"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.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
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.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Taking it to the end
Read in The Economist there is something called the "Spartathlon" -- an uber-extreme-extreme version of a marathon. I mean, after you do a marathon or 10, what's next? This is next. It's a 245 km run -- almost six consecutive marathons -- that has to be completed within 36 hours. Of the 310 who started this past September, only 72 finished.
The 30th, the Spartathlon was inspired by Pheidippides, an Athenian who made the journey to Sparta in 490 B.C. His mission was to ask the Spartans for their help in fighting the invading Persians. Apparently, he reached Sparta the day after leaving Athens, hence the 36-hour time-limit to finish.
"Vomit, bleeding nipples and hallucinations. Why would anyone in their right mind run the Spartathlo?", asks The Economist. Why indeed? Even competitors who trained by running 10-12 hours a day didn't even make it to ancient Corinth. Those who drop out are retreived by "the death bus, which slowly makes its way to Sparta, stopping to pick up non-finishers and occasionally to let off passengers to throw up".
At the finish, where the destination is a statue of King Leonidas, leader of the 300 Spartans who died defending the pass of Thermopylae, runners touch the feet of the king. But euphoria is fleeting. "Within a few minutes, joints start to seize up. After the race, the town resembles the set of a zombie film, as participants lumber slowly around on legs that will not bend. Toenails have been lifted clean off, great chunks of dead skin cling to the soles of feet. And the itch to do it all over again soon appears. The end of a very tough event can leave a runner feeling unmoored." Please.
The difference is that Pheidippides had to run back again.
I hope no one I know ever gets this itch.
The 30th, the Spartathlon was inspired by Pheidippides, an Athenian who made the journey to Sparta in 490 B.C. His mission was to ask the Spartans for their help in fighting the invading Persians. Apparently, he reached Sparta the day after leaving Athens, hence the 36-hour time-limit to finish.
"Vomit, bleeding nipples and hallucinations. Why would anyone in their right mind run the Spartathlo?", asks The Economist. Why indeed? Even competitors who trained by running 10-12 hours a day didn't even make it to ancient Corinth. Those who drop out are retreived by "the death bus, which slowly makes its way to Sparta, stopping to pick up non-finishers and occasionally to let off passengers to throw up".
At the finish, where the destination is a statue of King Leonidas, leader of the 300 Spartans who died defending the pass of Thermopylae, runners touch the feet of the king. But euphoria is fleeting. "Within a few minutes, joints start to seize up. After the race, the town resembles the set of a zombie film, as participants lumber slowly around on legs that will not bend. Toenails have been lifted clean off, great chunks of dead skin cling to the soles of feet. And the itch to do it all over again soon appears. The end of a very tough event can leave a runner feeling unmoored." Please.
The difference is that Pheidippides had to run back again.
I hope no one I know ever gets this itch.
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