First Draft
An inconsequential spot on my shoe hypnotically expends my attention. It's funny or sad, depending on how you look at life, how accoutrements of any value tend to superficially attract special attention. I look around and come to a realization. A fork in the road if you will.
"Why hasn't anything gone according to plan for me?" I'm not sure what the connection was with my shoe but revelations apparently hit us when we least warrant them.
"Man, all this time strutting around aimlessly like a useless blue-tongued skink kidding myself into accepting that I've learned to cope with my bad fortune." Today is different. Yes sir - or ma'am - today is the day I make a change. I ignore the spot and tie my shoes.
In energetic steps, I head to retrieve the mail. Another rejection letter.
"Shoulda started earlier. I shoulda listened to myself."
Now there's a game one should avoid - The shoulda game.
My grade school teacher Mr. Roth was always fond of saying "It's all about planning, kids." That mantra was drilled into you right up to high school. That a 16 year-old should know what they wanted to do with their life at such a stupid age escaped me at the time.
In any case, I was fucked before the game even started if Mr. Roth was right. I was never much of a planner. There is a planning gene I am sure. But spontaneity is my gig. Insomniacs don't have much patience for planning. But this is a mere hiccup to me. I could not be bothered with the planning of my soul.
An objective of mine in life, from an early age, was to play hardball in the Majors. Some people called this a dream but I saw it as a legitimate goal. I knew that the odds were stacked against anybody making the Big Leagues, let alone some kid from Montreal. I wasn't dumb. Not that my grades supported this assertion. It's gambling, lest anybody forget, on low probabilities that pay out the most. I was terrible at math. I'm still waiting.
Most people, on the other hand, in an effort to make life more balanced, live their lives based on the principles of probabilities. They make sure that the odds are always in their favor. Not me. There is no real reason for this. Some people can exact their budget to the penny. I, on the other hand, can't even spare a lousy 12 seconds to cut a "50 cents off Smucker's" coupon. Couldn't be bothered. You know what they say, a nickel here a dime there retire by 65. I don't have that kind of time to give.
I learnt to keep my hopes and dreams within the confines of my migraine-inflicted head. One gets tired of fighting the negative energies hurled upon you. "Get serious, Jimmy" was a popular phrase. In the end, it was nobody's business what I wanted. It's sad but true. Humans can be a petty and envious bunch of primates.
After my injury, I was forced to get a job. Through a family contact, I ended up in a sooty financial institution. The money was good and it was supposed to be temporary, so I traded in my beloved glove for hip ties. Crashing home plate in a meaningless game turned out to be a split-fingered fast ball into my destiny - the ultimate irony. Though my knee, that crucial joint, would never know. The surgery was a success but it was like having a lobotomy on my leg. It just wasn't the same anymore.
"God, is telling you something," my mother told me. This spiritual epitaph was confusing for a couple of reasons. The first was, if he was telling me something he was a poor communicator. Second, my mother said this because she hated sports. She was happy to see her son in a stable environment leaving home with a fucking lunch and a suit.
My mother didn't understand. Outside the diamond, I could not shake the stench of coming up short on anything I attempted. Once inside, I could do no wrong. It was as close to imagining what it must of felt like within the safe and comfortable boundaries of the womb. Baseball was indeed different in my life. I even had a nickname - The Viper - given for my lethal curve ball. It turned on you so fast it stung you. Left-handers always tend to have an edge in sports and I clearly had one in baseball.
I did not have the classic physique of a pitcher. I was bestowed with small hands, which in turn means I had small feet, which at this point is where all coincidences end. The fingers were strong enough to grip the ball so that's all that mattered. My shoulders were not imposing in their width and I used this to my advantage to hitters who did not take me seriously. Most of them learned quickly enough that I owned them. My tall and slim stature was deceiving, since I was blessed with sturdy legs that gave me the extra leverage I needed for my delivery.
"He looks like he should be wearing Lacoste shorts," I overheard one coach say a few years back.
He was right. I was probably better suited for tennis, but I felt more at home with an old leather glove beaten down with sweat, dirt and spit than a pair of Lacoste shorts. In tennis, you haughtily change your racket as quickly as you do girlfriends. In baseball, you hold on forever to the bat that spawned your first home run. My replay of my life is abruptly ended when I look down at my watch. "Shit! I'm really late now!" I glance back quickly at my place "Tidy enough."
Down on the streets, my irreverent demeanor grants me crooning status. In the investment world it rubbed people the wrong way. To me, I owned the streets - not in any legal or lustful way but more lyrically.
I could never figuratively own an investment house. One would get the sense the feeling was mutual with the neighbors and dwellers of Strada Street; a street that was once home to a strong contingent of Italians from the Mezzogiorno, was now becoming Byzantine in its cosmopolitan make-up. I was one of the last relic of a time long gone. That I was a throwback to an era long gone was obvious just by my attire. I had, without being conscious of it, two styles - one for the galaxy of high finance and one that expressed my true intentions about life. It was Zegna suits by day and converse shoes by night. Instinctively, at least in my eyes, people congregated around me as if to get a glimpse of the past.
The block maintained a certain flare and jive to it unknown to adjacent streets. Kids were part of the decorum and rooted in the architecture. One of them jumps out in front of me, freaking me out a little, "Hey, Viper, we need a coach." I look at my watch as if I have other places to go, but I run with the nipper to help his team out. Along the way Mrs. Farina, a feisty 60-something owner of a local eatery, who clearly possessed shocking beauty in her youth, tries to get a word in as I jog past. "Mr. Tardelli, don't forget about our appointment tomorrow!" "I won't, I won't. I'll be there" while running backwards, all the while the awesome tandem of her pure black hair and eclectic green eyes hypnotizing me.
I was supposed to got meet Thomas. "I'm sure Thomas won't mind. It's not like we don't see each often. I'll call him later."
When I arrived at the diamond the kids were a sad, dysfunctional bunch of isolated sandlot misfits. Their eyes popped wide open when they saw me. I can tell that the parents were pleased too. They told me so. We won 5-4. It was, as I was to find out later, their first win in two seasons. They deserved a pizza and I was more than glad to oblige them.
My place, my lifeline of sorts, was blessed in this manner. After each day from a dreaded corporate job, I would get back in touch with my senses whenever I roamed the streets. "It's a cookie-cutter world and I need to find a nano-niche." There was no better place to do this than at Yogi's.
Yogi's was a place that could not make up its mind. A pizza parlor that served fine ice-cream and imported only Irish beer, as well as special vintage Porto. To me, it was a bistro and I'm sticking to this.
The feel of a place, like a film or other forms of art, is paramount to my accepting it. The place was filled with Yogisms. One could enter the urinals and be entertained for half a minute by reading Berra's quotes. Piss, laugh and zip up.
Yogi's was owned by Mack Cianfrocco, a mulatto man of Italian heritage. His father, of course, was from Italy. Calabria to be exact. Mack loved Yogi Berra, but was a bigger hockey fan. A supreme Habs fan. Go figure. What made Yogi's, though, was its jazzy, smoky and forbidding aura. It was a throwback to the 20s and 30s. I liked that. He inherited the building and left it in its original state. With classic silent films, jazz and blues constantly showing and playing, the place was one big hommage to Americana. To top it all, major sports events always trumpeted all this. All of us who flocked to Yogi's simply adored its inconsistent personality.
The other day Mack pulled me aside. "I need you to do something for me." I stared back at him. I knew he was waiting for me to say something, but I didn't.
He continued "Could you bring this note over to the other side of town to my girlfriend? I'd put it in the mail but I don't want to risk it getting lost. It's not time sensitive but I would like for her to get it within the next few days."
"That's it? The way you approached me I thought you wanted me to deliver a 'package'.
"You wouldn't deliver a package for me?" Mack blurted out with a conniving smile.
"Why me, Mack?"
"I know you work nearby and I won't be able to get there any time soon."
"I don't get it. Why don’t you wait until you see her after work?" I persisted.
"Kid, you have a lot to learn about women." I caught on. Sort of.
"I'll deliver the note." I grabbed my dark blue coat and was off.
As I walked out Thomas spotted me and instantly cranked out
"You ginny bastard! Stand me up will ya?"
"Listen, Tom, I'm sorry. I was called in last minute to help out The Hawks." I explained.
"I have a cell, Jimmy."
"I know. Let's go to Farina's." Given the sudden change in plans I never did end up delivering the note that day, as Mrs. Farina decided to push the appointment up during my dinner with Tom. After two hours of providing financial advice, I was ready for bed. It was all worth it. It usually is when the food comes with no price tag.
The tenebrous hours brought with it, on a silver tray, the embittered reality of my affliction. A scratchy version of Erskine Hawkins 'Tuxedo Junction' original on vinyl plays in the background. Rather than soothing me, it irritated the jazz out of me. I envisioned myself throwing records against the wall. But I was endowed with too much of a tight ass for such an activity. These were expensive records after all.
There was no use in staying in. The fly on the wall was beginning to get the better of my sanity. I look in the mirror and notice my eyes are a darker shade of green. This hasn't happened in a while. I also decided that I needed a haircut. Long hair is nice but a crewcut may shake things up a little. I still feel I'm aging well. Some white hairs are beginning to infiltrate my head but this doesn't worry me. For some reason, the light scar on my eyebrow is annoying me.
Enough. "The diner calls me." I hear, figuratively of course, the sullen sounds of the streets carried forward by an exquisite yet inelastic wind. A sundry of personalities awaits me. A parliament of human owls has descended on the famous local diner. It is my turn to be a poet.
For me, one of the consequences of not sleeping for days is that when I do manage to slip in and steal a couple of hours of sleep, my mind treats me to haunting, if not downright surreal, dreams or nightmares. The impact is so great sometimes that many dreams have stayed with me until this day - as vivid as the day I dreamt them.
In one of my more absurd ones, I'm at a restaurant with two imaginary friends. The hostess politely asks " Table for one?" The tone of the question was one of those open-ended ones that allowed someone to confirm if they were in fact alone. I wasn't. I looked to my right and left. "Three," I tell her. I don't know why no one sees Dan and Gad. It's not like they're lost or imperceptible. She has a look of bewilderment but seats us nonetheless. For this I am most gracious. "Thank you, Flo. And tell Mel to speed it up." They all laugh at the off-the-cuff reference. She comes back with a menu. "Excuse me" I tell her. "We will be needing three menus. Sharing will just waste time." She responds "But... you're alone." "No I am not, Jo-Lene! Bring me three menus!" My tone softens with a dignified "Please." She returns with them. Shortly thereafter she comes back. We give our orders. I had to speak for Dan and Gad, who both went to the washroom at the same time. They always do that. It's a running joke they have. They think I don't know but they fail to assume in their buffoonery that I created them. I'm a step ahead of them today. "Dan will have the sturgeon and Gad will have the duck." They each don't like those dishes.
"Can we have some water, please?" I begin to talk to my friends, sinking in anticipation to see the look on their faces when the orders come in. A man drops a card on me. "Dr. Youp psychologist? Now that's a fifth this week!" Unfazed, we laugh, we argue, we cry. It was a perfect lunch if not for that tin toy soldier staring at me. Its gaze was beginning to warp my sense of reality. Tic? What tic? Why do I have a sudden tic? Oh, tic on my arm. I asked the waitress to move the tin solider who was by now drumming at a furious pace. She told me she could not. I tried to make the best of the situation. I slice my cantaloupe, which I pronounce cantaloop. I don't know why. I just do. Dan and Gad tell me to let it go and ignore the toy soldier, but I can't. It's just too much. I get up and walk towards the tin solider. I was a virtuous vigilante descending upon an officer in all its uniformed glory. I hack it to bits with a mini- axe I carry in my inner pocket.
I return to my table. The service is good here. The food is not bad, either.
The diner, to get back to reality, was another one of those interesting places that was owned and operated by an insomniac who opened the place to occupy his time. Mike was his name. Or was it Mick? I never seem to remember. He had pictures of famous insomniacs plastered tastefully everywhere. Groucho Marx, Joe DiMaggio, Mark Twain, Theodore Roosevelt, W.C. Fields, Franz Kafka, Alexandre Dumas and Judy Garland were reminders that even the rich and famous had hard nights.
Regardless, there is no indication that he belonged behind the counter of such an establishment. He reminded me of a mild Italian version of Woody Allen. Neurotic, witty, careless and more interested in reading King Arthurian legends. Come to think of it, his diner was a clash between 50s kitsch and a Renaissance fair. As funny as it may sound or seem, it worked. If a record would be playing it would have to be where the gyrating pelvis movement of Elvis meets the spiritual madrigal compositions by Palestrina.
The patrons in the place, I am sure, are unaware of the peculiar decor. Caught in their own oblivious vortex, nobody really makes much of an effort to know each other in the diner. Who has time for such networking anyhow? Once a person steps in they are immediately transferred metaphorically, via one of the Rivers of the Underworld, into another realm. They are taken away from the real world to which they physically exist, into one that is purely fantastical in its cartoon-like milieu. Literally, the street I am familiar with in the daytime is clearly different from the one I lurk about at night.
Talking is rare in the diner. The majority of the activity is focused on silent deafening contemplation. The only sounds heard are the ones whereby people give their respective orders. The counter in the diner is the perfect cover. You can just look ahead at the grill if you desire. No need to look to your left or right. If you do, you run the risk of catching someone's desperate eye. If that happens, you look straight into an abyss that may reflect your life. All of these minds… lost. There are indeed, I have come to realize, two versions of myself. If only everyone knew.
On this night, one person bucks the trend and solicits a conversation with me. You can tell that this guy had been places. Everyone in the diner felt his presence.
I've never seen him before. I would recollect a man wearing a sharp navy pin-stripe jacket with orange tan shoes. He looked somewhat beaten down by the years, but you get the sense that he fought this tooth and nail.
"Nice car. Sebring?" he asks.
"Yup," I respond, trying to avoid this going further.
There's no stopping this guy tonight. No sense fighting it.
"Into the classics?"
"I guess. I had a '70 Plymouth Hemicuda once."
"Whoa, what 425 horsepower?" He knew that it was a 425.
He continues. "I remember heading out to the Vineland Speedway in New Jersey years ago. As a matter of fact, I've watched them Maserati's you drive win a race at Pescara in 1954."
Great, now I was interested.
"1950s were the glory years of racing" I proclaim. "Yeah, they sure were. They were good to the Yankees and Habs also." I add, "Just like the 60s were fine to the Packers and Celtics." He laughs. "You do get it."
Just when I was beginning to be engaged, the teaser changes the direction of the conversation. He glanced at my back pocket and noticed a paper I had folded.
"What's that you're reading, son?"
Shrugging my shoulders my response is non-chalant in its delivery. "I always leave my house with reading material. It's a political and literary journal."
"Are you some sort of scholar?" he asks.
"In a sense."
"What are your thoughts about the world today as it stands?"
He is beginning to test my intellectual waters. His question is posed in such a way that one gets the feeling he has the answer figured out. I nonetheless acknowledge the question knowing full well that I could end up in a lengthy discussion.
"Funny thing is that all this reading, hours worth a day, and I still can't make sense of things. The more I know, the less I understand."
"Smart guy. Lesson #1 in life. We all know squat." He shakes his head with resignation
"It's so damn easy to be a cynic these days."
I tend to agree with him. Except I had to go to the bathroom.
"Excuse me for a minute."
Once inside the bathroom, I was treated to an argument between two guys. They seemed to be a couple. They were arguing about getting married. It seems one wanted to and the other didn't. "Welcome to hell boys," I chuckle to myself.
When I returned to the counter, the man with the piercing gray eyes was gone. I was slightly disappointed.
Life goes on. The intimate spaces carried me over to her playful smile. Not much is exchanged as she pours me coffee. I don't drink coffee, only espresso, but who's complaining at this time, in the dead of night? In the process of this routine, I stare awkwardly out into the sullied serenity of the night. Only the natural light of the moon reflects from a damp street.
I look back at her and say, "I'll have the Diner special" in the manner of a hardened man. Except, I'm not all that hardened and there is no diner special at 3am. She snaps me out of my mild trance.
"You're cute but your eyes aren't going to make another order."
"Right. I'll take a lemon and cranberry muffin."
"Low-fat?" she asks.
"Screw the low-fat."
It took me an hour to eat the muffin. The bill had been turned upside down under the coffee cup for at least 45 minutes. When I grab the bill I notice she had written something. It read: "I guess I'll be seeing you." I wink, imagining myself adjusting my fedora, with a chuckle.
The next day I awoke with an odd thought, "I wonder what Jenna is up to". I shrugged it off and prepared for work thirty minutes late. Despite my tardiness, I refused to cheat my health out of a fruit. I insisted on a grapefruit. "Why am I so complicated? Can't I have an apple on the fly?" Five minutes after that I decide to forego work altogether and designed a plausible excuse for my boss.
I'm not cut out to work for anybody. The ghastly, grey aura of office life is perfect for those who engage in gibberish talk. It can also act as a powerful soporific pill. In my estimation, I should not be wasting away in a faceless corporation. Stuffy, faceless and utterly without any sense of humor.
I did not feel guilty for not going in. I got dressed and headed out. The rugged maple trees outside my home, once owned by my great-grandparents, were swaying brilliantly - as most of nature's offspring often do. It didn't matter much to me. I took out the absolute striking '62 Maserati, bought by my grandfather, for this stunningly perfect autumn morning. Even the movement of poorly driven cars by nowhere people on a highway was something I could find beauty in. A good way to deliver Mack's note.
It was one of those days where not even a traffic jam of mythical and staggering proportions, that tends to heighten every paranoid and impatient fiber in my body, could conquer and overcome me. Beating myself up trying to figure out the origin of a traffic melee easily removed seven years from life.
As I drive along, long past the part of town I was supposed to deliver the note, I snap my fingers to loud music that is playing. I furiously search for my wallet thinking I forgot to bring it with me. Over the wallet is the note. I pull it out and drop it on the seat next to me. I'm tempted to read it.
Shortly, my fingers begin to ache with all that snapping - remnant pain from a fastball that smashed upon my knuckles. On this part of the highway the green and rust colors of the city's lethargic skyline become apparent. "This city is looking more and more rickety." "Enough of this. I have to bring this note." Time to turn back.
Just as quickly, I realize that just off this part of the highway was our old hang out.
It was as if I was summoning a new beginning. Those were the days indeed. Of what, to be specific, I wasn't sure. Never did I look backwards, just forward. Fondly, I contemplate the former hang out. It has not been kept well by the city. It was under a small bridge connecting two small towns. There was an unpaved path along the riverbank that allowed us to walk for miles. That was still there but it seems so deserted now.
Then, Jenna entered my mind. Twice in one day?
She was the coolest and prettiest of the lot. "She, as they say, 'got' Jimmy," as one of my buddies put it. I don't recall, strangely, why or how things began to dissipate between us. I didn't marry my high school queen, as modern fairy tales dictate. Now I seem destined to forever intertwine with a new person. Each knew less of me than the last. The longer you go on dating without purpose, the less of your spiritual make-up people are interested in. I miss her.
Today, the hang out is nothing - just a listless spot. Unknown to many who pass it that it once housed people with spirit and high-hopes. Now, those spirits have turned to grime. Life changes and moves forward but in a sense some never really do. They remain suspended and slaves to a different time and era.
We knew how to have a good time in style. We were the kind of gents that would drop a few coinages in a jukebox and sing loudly - not with obnoxious fervor, but with tasteful spirit. We cared little about the other people. Jenna was always present, it seems.
I try to laugh about this predicament of mine. I feel like I'm caught in Spider Man's web without the 'friendly neighborhood note.' A final exclamation mark on the fact that I'm not the contender I wish to be. I see too much absurdity in life's equations and simply accept that I have my fair share, if not more than the next guy does. I figure something will come up. Though deep down I distrust this attitude.
Have I fallen into the definition of 'loser'? I estimate I'm close to it but not quite there. In the hourglass that stares back at me, and arbitrarily I give myself one more year. No, that is much too long. Six months. "That'll give me some time to make something happen."
By this point I have pulled off the road. All my life I fought hard to create a pseudo-conservative exterior. I'm nothing more than a wild bon vivant at heart; more a writer than financier. A troubadour or Bohemian would be a stretch but I'd settle for a modern minstrel of sorts. Income and balance sheets are necessary for a life of luxury and comfort. I reach for my wallet and pull out a card - Max Freder: Literary Agent.
"Shit! I forgot about this guy." It was given to me at a friend's party a few months back. Back then it had no merit to me. Now it seems to not only be taking space in my thin wallet but the weight of regret was beginning to be felt. I hurl the card onto the dashboard. It begins to dance before me, mocking his penchant to defer and procrastinate.
The note is still on the seat. I drift off again. From an early age I never wanted to be an engineer, because my math skills - in case you haven't noticed. I fear numbers - were suspect. Those trains coming at different speeds from opposite directions always confused that unexercised part of my brain.
Nor did I ever once mention that I wanted to be a doctor. I was too out of focus for such an important job. My left hand would have made me a clumsy surgeon. What about a police officer or fire man? My health, it turns out, was dubious at best. My shoulder would give out arresting a suspect. Recently, I had romantic notions, at the age of 34, of being in the Special Forces.
The one thing I seemed destined for was a professional career in baseball, but God dealt me a final crucial and harsh blow when my knee was torn apart during a collision at home plate. "Why I didn't slide head first as I always had, I'll never know." There was no sense in harping. It is what it is. Maybe God dropped subtle hints along the way and I just didn't pick them up? Maybe mom didn't mean it to be literal.
My mind has its own agenda and I return to Jenna. I heard from a boyhood friend, the compassionate pugilist Joe 'Cutter Ace' Diviola, that Jenna was in Chicago. More importantly, that she was single. Then again, Cutter was not exactly a reliable source. To me, because memory can deceive, Jenna just appeared in my life bursting onto the scene. Never did she leave my thoughts.
A complete day can be spirited away, giving way to the night when spent thinking. I was without reason sitting in a fine automobile contemplating much of nothing, holding on to a pendant. Staring at a card of all things. "I don't deserve this car or Jenna," I unfairly intimate.
Unfair as it may sound I drive off and head to the address Mack gave me. I park and begin to examine the establishment. It's an office. I go inside and begin to look around. My body was met with a bolt of energy. My heart began to pump wildly as if I had a condition. The cardio exam I did a few months back showed my heart was strong and healthy. It felt, in any event, weak and highly vulnerable at that moment.
"Jenna?" I mutter in quiet disbelief. I move so as to hide away. "She still moves me after all these years." It finally hits me, slow as I am, whom the note may be destined for.
"It can't be. It just…"
I peak at the top of the letter. "October 5…" I try to impatiently open it up without compromising the privacy of the note. To my shock the intro read: "Dearest Jenna, love of…." I couldn't stand to read anymore. I go outside and into my car. It's past 6pm. I'm too stunned. "I just can't believe it."
I leave and drive home. Confused about what I should do. "The final curtain in the plot that is my life. I just can't take these blows anymore." I thought about going back to Mack and telling him I wouldn't be able to grant him the favor he asked of me. What would I tell him? It would take too long to explain it. I had to come up with another angle. Usually, I am quite adept at solving befuddling situations, but not now. Not when a former love is involved. Did I lover her? Or was it just an infatuation? Now I was desperate. I was reaching. Maybe tomorrow I'll leave and go look for her.
The next day, I leave work early and head out to Jenna's place. I also plan to quit work. A change would do me good. I pause for a moment. I need to go buy kitchen garbage bags. I pause once more - annoyed by my last mundane revelation. I notice a person outside a coffee shop. Crazy spontaneous ambitions are the parking spot of the aimless. My heart is pounding frivolously.
"Jimmy, you're 34 for St.Paul's sake."
I calmly and indifferently recite, with a positive smile, "There's Carlo. He owes me 10 bucks." I park the car, light a cigarette, and look back at the overpass.
There was a time when Carlo and I were standing in line at the movies and we overheard a parent going incessantly about her child. As I recall Carlo quipped, "Could you believe this chick? Already pressuring her kid to dance? Look at the kid. He can’t be older than six. Ugly too." She kept going until Carlo cracked and turned to her. "Be happy my ass. You're just hoping and praying things work out. All these parents and their "he's so advanced for his age" crap. By my calculation, assuming they are right in their damn delusions, the next batch of high fat muffins will be a genetically enhanced generation of super genius aliens from Gondar. Not gonna happen. Some will falter and others will be lazy. It's the way of the world. How else will the system survive? Humans as a species depend on it. Being a sucker and a dumb fuck is the best job your kid is ever going to have, as he will actually contribute to the superior capitalist system. Mediocrity pays if you know how to use it. Now keep quiet and stop denying your child the braces he obviously demands."
I am still unsure about the note, and I think about Jenna. Did I just stumble upon a new lease on life? I wonder. I walk in an enhanced, but assured pace towards an unsuspecting Carlo.
2005-07-13
2005-07-12
July 1st - Just Another Hot Summer Day
It just occurred to me that July 1st just past. Once upon a time I naively thought that just 'thinking Canadian' was enough to revive this country from its sleep walking. I used to use nationalist rhetoric like 'it's time to defend Canadian interests!'. The years have jaded and somewhat tempered these Garibaldi-like notions. The 'Buy a flag, feel good' country.
Canada used to be a rugged and free-spirited nation. A country that depended on individualism to get by. Government nepotism, ineptness and corruption has always been part of Canada's heritage so it should not surprise anyone how the Liberals behave. One just needs to observe Canada's Arctic history to grasp this. Where Sam Steele roamed to protect our interests, the government wallowed in its decision making process.
Like any country I suppose, Canada is filled with fragmented contradictions. Once upon a time this country punched upon its weight and deserved its respect tag at the table of great nations. Today, the country has a lobotomy. Trudeau may have been great for the image of this country, making us cool and all, but his impact was greatest at the policy level. His view of Canada is the view many Canadians assume to be our inherent values. They are not. Who will reverse this trend? I shall not mention the separatist clowns sitting under siege in their bunkers in Quebec City.
This country is in need of real quality leadership and patriots fast. Weird, July 4 resonated more with me this year.
Canada used to be a rugged and free-spirited nation. A country that depended on individualism to get by. Government nepotism, ineptness and corruption has always been part of Canada's heritage so it should not surprise anyone how the Liberals behave. One just needs to observe Canada's Arctic history to grasp this. Where Sam Steele roamed to protect our interests, the government wallowed in its decision making process.
Like any country I suppose, Canada is filled with fragmented contradictions. Once upon a time this country punched upon its weight and deserved its respect tag at the table of great nations. Today, the country has a lobotomy. Trudeau may have been great for the image of this country, making us cool and all, but his impact was greatest at the policy level. His view of Canada is the view many Canadians assume to be our inherent values. They are not. Who will reverse this trend? I shall not mention the separatist clowns sitting under siege in their bunkers in Quebec City.
This country is in need of real quality leadership and patriots fast. Weird, July 4 resonated more with me this year.
2005-07-11
Max: The Contemplating Unemployed Insomniac
I have some serious issues. I haven't slept all that well and it's beginning to ratify my abnormal mind. Most people don't think about, while laying in stillness in a brutally black room, the things I do. Like, for instance, I wish to be like Roosevelt.
The other day I bumped into someone I did not want to really run into. But it was one of those incidences that I could not avoid. Eyes were locked. One that happens I'm cooked. It such an ordeal for me and this time was no different. I immediately blur out of focus and enter a sub-world where the characters before me take new forms. I'm never talking to the same person you are. Ever.
It's becoming harder and harder to turn the other cheek these days. A day doesn't go by where I wouldn't punch someone in the mouth. If it's not someone pushing you back into the elevator, it's some stupid driver on a mobile cutting you off. People in general are bothersome. Here's a picture of me.
They say when you're unemployed you get to do things you never would have. For some, that's a positive. But that's a cracked bowl of shit. There is no routine when you're unemployed. Everything is turned upside down. It's like going through life with vertigo. Actually where vertigo meets a lobotomy. When you have too much time on your hands your brain begins to wonder into places it would normally not. It's what that Maslow guy enumerated for us. How nice of him to neatly package it in geometric form.
Other than that I imagined myself mowing the lawn with one of those plastic lawn mowers that shoots out bubbles and cutting the hedges with rubber shears. Just to see how people react. Someone told me to go fuck myself once. Imagine, again, if someone you know caught you engaging in such a cheap low budget act with a dildo. Worse, you're caught singing the words "...everybody wang-chung tonite...."Now that's a scene. Forget the pie scene in American Pie.
The other day I bumped into someone I did not want to really run into. But it was one of those incidences that I could not avoid. Eyes were locked. One that happens I'm cooked. It such an ordeal for me and this time was no different. I immediately blur out of focus and enter a sub-world where the characters before me take new forms. I'm never talking to the same person you are. Ever.
It's becoming harder and harder to turn the other cheek these days. A day doesn't go by where I wouldn't punch someone in the mouth. If it's not someone pushing you back into the elevator, it's some stupid driver on a mobile cutting you off. People in general are bothersome. Here's a picture of me.
They say when you're unemployed you get to do things you never would have. For some, that's a positive. But that's a cracked bowl of shit. There is no routine when you're unemployed. Everything is turned upside down. It's like going through life with vertigo. Actually where vertigo meets a lobotomy. When you have too much time on your hands your brain begins to wonder into places it would normally not. It's what that Maslow guy enumerated for us. How nice of him to neatly package it in geometric form.
Other than that I imagined myself mowing the lawn with one of those plastic lawn mowers that shoots out bubbles and cutting the hedges with rubber shears. Just to see how people react. Someone told me to go fuck myself once. Imagine, again, if someone you know caught you engaging in such a cheap low budget act with a dildo. Worse, you're caught singing the words "...everybody wang-chung tonite...."Now that's a scene. Forget the pie scene in American Pie.
2005-07-10
Images of Innocence
Apparently there's a film in the works about this gentleman. His name is Jacques 'Money and Ethnic' Parizeau. He loves lobster. He is reportedly going to be played by the Shmoo.
This is what I'm going to do to
Canada when we win. Hello, my
name is Gilles Duceppe and I'm a
Marxist - except once a month
when rent cheques are due to be
collected from the proletariat on the
first of each month. My party's moto
is "We go, but the Federal cheques come
with us."
It was a humble beginning.
O'Canada O'Fat, eh?
www.cmaj.ca/misc/obesity/index.shtml
Now do you see the dangers of picking on the blemishes and shortcomings of other countries? Let me remind for those of you who remain insipidly in denial to grasp the notion that we aren't perfect. Do you think it's time to ease off the maple walnut Horton doughnuts?
Now do you see the dangers of picking on the blemishes and shortcomings of other countries? Let me remind for those of you who remain insipidly in denial to grasp the notion that we aren't perfect. Do you think it's time to ease off the maple walnut Horton doughnuts?
2005-07-09
Idols of the Market Talk
-Proof of our misplaced priorities #4,567,324,345,789: Amidst the insanity of professional sport lock outs, classless pampered athletes and bored celebrities a Calgary teen solved a centuries old puzzle and won a paltry $8 000cdn. I say paltry because considering he solved that 'polyhedral forms could indeed be reduced to two-dimensional forms with no overlapping by cutting along the edges of their faces.' Wha? Huh?
8 grand seems like a small purse. Anyway, what many could not do since the question was posed in the 16th century, this kid did in two weeks. Yet, we pay actors to recite lines in mediocre films to the tune of millions. Who contributed more to mankind? 8K in Canadian dollars is not enough to go to MIT. Alas, talking about J-Ho is much more entertaining. The next time someone babbles about the extreme complexities of golf and Tiger Woods I'll show them this kid.
-Speaking of golf. I simply get annoyed with people who obsess over things - especially golf. The conversations around people at a summer bar-BQ is bad enough to have to listen to how many rounds the boys got in that week and how they can't wait for the next round and how they golfed in Maryland and Rottenville. It's a hobby. Get over it and shut up you're boring me like hell. I'd rather eat a raw onion than watch or take part in any of these dumb mind-numbing conversations. The only time I ever watched golf was when Bugs Bunny played with that Scotsman.
-After consuming a couple of hours of Bava directed horror B-flicks and Fritz the Cat, my wife brought home 'Hitch'. I watched it. I don't get it. I never get formulaic films that try to deviate from the blueprint slightly. It wasn't funny. It wasn't romantic. I saw Kevin James do stand-up. He's funnier than what I saw in that stupid film. And what is it with people jumping to conclusions like that? Do people react impetuously over the littlest of things? Fucking annoying.
What was more annoying was watching the cast on Oprah to 200 screaming bored bitches. Not that I watch Oprah. It's just that her fricken show is ALWAYS on whenever I opened the TV. I keep changing channels and all I get is her laughing diabolically. Anyway, it's just a coincidence that I was changing channels and caught 15 seconds of it. And the conversations are always the same. Every bimbo and bimbette actor is a fucking compassionate genius and so in love on Oprah.
For once, I want to see a porno version of her show. Yeah that's right. An orgy right there. We all know they do it in the back right? Julia 'The Expanding Maw' Roberts and her fucking kids for example. Back stage, of course, she hands them off to her immigrant chauffeur. "Raising kids is soooo hard." as she passes them over to a Filipino nurse. Whenever I watch Hollywood I feel like a whore. I feel like I wasted $10 at the local strip joint getting Chantal the one-tooth sabre rub her soft, sagging big nippled tits on my $125 Zegna shirt.
-Ever notice on television or in the movies people often repeat the question? "Do you believe in God?" "Believe in God?" It irritates the hell out of me because it wastes time. The person heard the question the first time. Unless they are deaf or wear a hearing aid or the other person asking the question is using a voice-box or sounds incomprehensible in their intonation and semantics, there's no reason to repeat the question. "Jack, can you fuck my mouth?" "Fuck your mouth?"
-I recently read someone on some creepy forum (yes, I channel the creepiest sites) dumping all over Magnum P.I. Man. it was harsh. I wanted to peel his skin, tear his head, boil his brain and pinch his cheeks. Magnum is cool. Magnum P.I. still resonates with me. That Mike Post intro and the Ferrari is priceless. Rick, TC and Higgins were a cool posse. Like Bubbles, Ricky and Julian on Trailer Park Boys. I bet you that guy didn't see the episode with Ivan or Frank Sinatra.
-Sesame Street added Muslim Terrorist puppets. Something about reaching out, cooperation, blah, blah. I don't know I tuned out.
-Tom Cruise. I mean really. I mean seriously. Where does he come from? Did he have a lobotomy over at the Scientology lab? He sounds like a typical indoctrinated jibber-jabber no different than the ones found in '1984'. Is he fooling anybody? Bizarre. Again, I don't normally do the 'Access Hollywood' shtick (hosts of these shows are so hopelessly pathetic in their 'look at me I'm talking to the stars' persona) but actors make it so hard not to pick on them. Scratch behind the Canali suit of Versace dress and you find spruce scenting white-trash or tattoo drenched skank from the corniest spots on the continent. How they become so vulnerable to cults is something academics should study. From 3-feet tall Top Guns to violent dingos. Russel Crowe.
What's the point of punching clerks and bellboys? Was it the steady diet of raw platypus liver that led to his brain being as functional as Heliogablus? It wouldn't be a stretch that after such an incident he would do a pitch, as a spokesperson, for Amnesty. If there's a draft, send the most violent people in the entertainment business. If rappers are so fond of fondling women and guns send them off to places where they can participate in all the violence they want. Send them all. Farrel, Oasis, 34cents, the 32 Baldwins - see how they do in Afghanistan. Oh yeah, they are anti-war not anti-violent.
8 grand seems like a small purse. Anyway, what many could not do since the question was posed in the 16th century, this kid did in two weeks. Yet, we pay actors to recite lines in mediocre films to the tune of millions. Who contributed more to mankind? 8K in Canadian dollars is not enough to go to MIT. Alas, talking about J-Ho is much more entertaining. The next time someone babbles about the extreme complexities of golf and Tiger Woods I'll show them this kid.
-Speaking of golf. I simply get annoyed with people who obsess over things - especially golf. The conversations around people at a summer bar-BQ is bad enough to have to listen to how many rounds the boys got in that week and how they can't wait for the next round and how they golfed in Maryland and Rottenville. It's a hobby. Get over it and shut up you're boring me like hell. I'd rather eat a raw onion than watch or take part in any of these dumb mind-numbing conversations. The only time I ever watched golf was when Bugs Bunny played with that Scotsman.
-After consuming a couple of hours of Bava directed horror B-flicks and Fritz the Cat, my wife brought home 'Hitch'. I watched it. I don't get it. I never get formulaic films that try to deviate from the blueprint slightly. It wasn't funny. It wasn't romantic. I saw Kevin James do stand-up. He's funnier than what I saw in that stupid film. And what is it with people jumping to conclusions like that? Do people react impetuously over the littlest of things? Fucking annoying.
What was more annoying was watching the cast on Oprah to 200 screaming bored bitches. Not that I watch Oprah. It's just that her fricken show is ALWAYS on whenever I opened the TV. I keep changing channels and all I get is her laughing diabolically. Anyway, it's just a coincidence that I was changing channels and caught 15 seconds of it. And the conversations are always the same. Every bimbo and bimbette actor is a fucking compassionate genius and so in love on Oprah.
For once, I want to see a porno version of her show. Yeah that's right. An orgy right there. We all know they do it in the back right? Julia 'The Expanding Maw' Roberts and her fucking kids for example. Back stage, of course, she hands them off to her immigrant chauffeur. "Raising kids is soooo hard." as she passes them over to a Filipino nurse. Whenever I watch Hollywood I feel like a whore. I feel like I wasted $10 at the local strip joint getting Chantal the one-tooth sabre rub her soft, sagging big nippled tits on my $125 Zegna shirt.
-Ever notice on television or in the movies people often repeat the question? "Do you believe in God?" "Believe in God?" It irritates the hell out of me because it wastes time. The person heard the question the first time. Unless they are deaf or wear a hearing aid or the other person asking the question is using a voice-box or sounds incomprehensible in their intonation and semantics, there's no reason to repeat the question. "Jack, can you fuck my mouth?" "Fuck your mouth?"
-I recently read someone on some creepy forum (yes, I channel the creepiest sites) dumping all over Magnum P.I. Man. it was harsh. I wanted to peel his skin, tear his head, boil his brain and pinch his cheeks. Magnum is cool. Magnum P.I. still resonates with me. That Mike Post intro and the Ferrari is priceless. Rick, TC and Higgins were a cool posse. Like Bubbles, Ricky and Julian on Trailer Park Boys. I bet you that guy didn't see the episode with Ivan or Frank Sinatra.
-Sesame Street added Muslim Terrorist puppets. Something about reaching out, cooperation, blah, blah. I don't know I tuned out.
-Tom Cruise. I mean really. I mean seriously. Where does he come from? Did he have a lobotomy over at the Scientology lab? He sounds like a typical indoctrinated jibber-jabber no different than the ones found in '1984'. Is he fooling anybody? Bizarre. Again, I don't normally do the 'Access Hollywood' shtick (hosts of these shows are so hopelessly pathetic in their 'look at me I'm talking to the stars' persona) but actors make it so hard not to pick on them. Scratch behind the Canali suit of Versace dress and you find spruce scenting white-trash or tattoo drenched skank from the corniest spots on the continent. How they become so vulnerable to cults is something academics should study. From 3-feet tall Top Guns to violent dingos. Russel Crowe.
What's the point of punching clerks and bellboys? Was it the steady diet of raw platypus liver that led to his brain being as functional as Heliogablus? It wouldn't be a stretch that after such an incident he would do a pitch, as a spokesperson, for Amnesty. If there's a draft, send the most violent people in the entertainment business. If rappers are so fond of fondling women and guns send them off to places where they can participate in all the violence they want. Send them all. Farrel, Oasis, 34cents, the 32 Baldwins - see how they do in Afghanistan. Oh yeah, they are anti-war not anti-violent.
2005-07-06
Current Affairs Comments: America, France, China, SARS, UN Permanent Seats,G7, Kyoto, Karla Homolka
-It's amazing. All I seem to read and hear these days is people criticizing America on a platitude of topics and issues. Just how strong is America's self-esteem? If America was a person he or she would have jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge a long,long time ago. No sane person would be able to withstand the constant and obsessive scrutiny.
Americans can't seem to do anything right for the pessimists, cynics and complainers alike. They are too dumb, fat, slow, ignorant, self-absorbed, obnoxious, loud, trigger happy, excited, short-sighted to be alive for people.
They apparently have an uncaring, sacreligious, Fascist/Nazi inspired racist society filled with right-wing nuts, NRA monsters, dying people without health insurance, rampant crime and self-serving sharks, greedy faceless Wall Street execs, low-IQ Presidents, toothless incestuous hillbilly mountain banjo-playing freaks and superficial consumer materialists.
And oh yes, their history is fictitious built on the backs of slaves and Injuns. Sheesh. I shutter to think about other countries and what their closet might look like. Makes you wonder more about the people who actually believe all this.
Yet, there is America - standing tall, free and strong. People swim through shark infested waters to get into this highly successful society. They may be imperfect (who isn't?) but God only knows how hard they try to make it all better. Some may think a little too hard.
- Black Jack 'The Chic Chick' Chirac, you know that Gaullic leader inserted his big fat crooked brie scented feet in his tannin filled mouth recently. He went off on England about how they apparently never contributed to European agriculture and how because of their diet they could not be trusted. French humour at its pinnacle.
First, a word from the Italians. Ignore the French. They have been making fun of the Italians for centuries only to adopt many Italian ideas that became hallmarks of French cuisine. Yes, the French are masters and artists but they can be a little assholic about it.
Personally, I prefer the diversified and unassuming brilliance of Italian cuisine. Next, London has usurped Paris as an eclectic European culinary town and finally it was the English who started the fricken agricultural revolution along with the industrial revolution.
The bottom line is that French agricultural subsidies and policies are not only antiquated but criminal. I remember years ago when the circus carni's from France met the Cirque du Soleil buffoons in Quebec. During a free press conference one of the French leaders snapped at a reporter for not being able to speak French. As he put it, and I loosely quote, 'You are not worth dealing with if you can't speak the language of sophistication.'
Yikes. I like France. I've been there and not all Frenchmen act in such borrish ways. It has a historical pedigree few countries can match. But man are they losing their minds. They're like a bunch of unionized tiny Napoleon dwarfs bitching and screaming all day long.
-Here's a surprise (insert dead-pan face here), China did a better job of dealing with the SARS outbreak than Canada. Billion body infested communist China outperformed G7 (Russia, please) advanced and democratic Canada. Great job guys. Let's throw more and more $ into the system. Who will beat us next and for which disease? I have said many times before, the negative chirping about the American health care system is greatly exaggerated and the positives of the Canadian one is, in turn, greatly exaggerated.
-When it rains...I had to read this one over and over it stunned me that much. Foreign Ministers of the Organization of the Islamic Conference called for the UN to give Muslims a permanent seat on the Security Council. This demand is not only breathtakingly shocking on the balls-o-meter, it's hilarious in its possibilities. Could you imagine the leaderless, fragmented Muslim world taking the world stage to showcase their inept and bankrupt behaviour? Mind you, they've done a pretty damn good job on their own. It's not like they come out with a humble 'look, we know we have to confront our own problems and that we need to take responsibility and accountability for own actions and yes it is true we need to thin out the Jews-as-rats rhetoric and need to offer stable institutions to our people but Allah dang it we need a real voice'. No, they come out with the 'we deserve it because we represent one-fifth of the world' line. Note to fortunate oil-drenched bearded guy - earn it.
-I was watching the news and saw clowns standing on park benches in Edinburgh, what else, protesting the G7 summit (Russia, please). Some pathetic outfit called the Revolutionary Youth Group of Thumb Sucking Lazy Bored Losers (or something like that) called for a 'global day of action against the G8 summit will be a children's revolution'. I saw this movie once. It was called 'Children of the Corn'. The clowns (clowns scare me) reminded me of the ultra-violent sickos on 'Clockwork Orange.'
-This Commentator is glad that slowly countries are beginning to question the Kyoto Accord. I just can't believe how people have no idea what this accord, if ratified, would have cost.
Russian scientists agree. Now excuse me for thinking this but shouldn't people actually stop and take notice when two of the greatest scientific nations in the 20th century - The United States and Russia - are in agreement? Australia, for its part and for the record, are also against it. If the basic tenets of the accord are flawed and self-serving, just who stands to gain from such a revolutionary attempt?
-Notorious and infamous killer Karla Homolka says the first thing she wants to do when she is released (she did 12 years for her part in the heinous rape and murder of two teenaged girls in Ontario. She cut a deal with prosecutors who needed her testimony to get Paul Bernardo for the crimes) I still remember that story like it was yesterday it was so gruesome) is go and get a Tim Horton's iced cappuccino. When did I injest a bottle of Nyquil and find myself in a vortexed world of utter surreality? The things I hear sometimes blows me away. I wonder if Tim Horton's will make a sappy 'proud to be Canadian commercial' with Homolka in them. "We at Tim Horton's agree with the charitable and humane Canadian justice system. Karla is a proud Canadian and so please join us by supporting her by buying little Maple Leafs with her face on them so you can proudly display them on your back-pacs when you travel'. I know, Horton's would never do this. Then again...nah.
Americans can't seem to do anything right for the pessimists, cynics and complainers alike. They are too dumb, fat, slow, ignorant, self-absorbed, obnoxious, loud, trigger happy, excited, short-sighted to be alive for people.
They apparently have an uncaring, sacreligious, Fascist/Nazi inspired racist society filled with right-wing nuts, NRA monsters, dying people without health insurance, rampant crime and self-serving sharks, greedy faceless Wall Street execs, low-IQ Presidents, toothless incestuous hillbilly mountain banjo-playing freaks and superficial consumer materialists.
And oh yes, their history is fictitious built on the backs of slaves and Injuns. Sheesh. I shutter to think about other countries and what their closet might look like. Makes you wonder more about the people who actually believe all this.
Yet, there is America - standing tall, free and strong. People swim through shark infested waters to get into this highly successful society. They may be imperfect (who isn't?) but God only knows how hard they try to make it all better. Some may think a little too hard.
- Black Jack 'The Chic Chick' Chirac, you know that Gaullic leader inserted his big fat crooked brie scented feet in his tannin filled mouth recently. He went off on England about how they apparently never contributed to European agriculture and how because of their diet they could not be trusted. French humour at its pinnacle.
First, a word from the Italians. Ignore the French. They have been making fun of the Italians for centuries only to adopt many Italian ideas that became hallmarks of French cuisine. Yes, the French are masters and artists but they can be a little assholic about it.
Personally, I prefer the diversified and unassuming brilliance of Italian cuisine. Next, London has usurped Paris as an eclectic European culinary town and finally it was the English who started the fricken agricultural revolution along with the industrial revolution.
The bottom line is that French agricultural subsidies and policies are not only antiquated but criminal. I remember years ago when the circus carni's from France met the Cirque du Soleil buffoons in Quebec. During a free press conference one of the French leaders snapped at a reporter for not being able to speak French. As he put it, and I loosely quote, 'You are not worth dealing with if you can't speak the language of sophistication.'
Yikes. I like France. I've been there and not all Frenchmen act in such borrish ways. It has a historical pedigree few countries can match. But man are they losing their minds. They're like a bunch of unionized tiny Napoleon dwarfs bitching and screaming all day long.
-Here's a surprise (insert dead-pan face here), China did a better job of dealing with the SARS outbreak than Canada. Billion body infested communist China outperformed G7 (Russia, please) advanced and democratic Canada. Great job guys. Let's throw more and more $ into the system. Who will beat us next and for which disease? I have said many times before, the negative chirping about the American health care system is greatly exaggerated and the positives of the Canadian one is, in turn, greatly exaggerated.
-When it rains...I had to read this one over and over it stunned me that much. Foreign Ministers of the Organization of the Islamic Conference called for the UN to give Muslims a permanent seat on the Security Council. This demand is not only breathtakingly shocking on the balls-o-meter, it's hilarious in its possibilities. Could you imagine the leaderless, fragmented Muslim world taking the world stage to showcase their inept and bankrupt behaviour? Mind you, they've done a pretty damn good job on their own. It's not like they come out with a humble 'look, we know we have to confront our own problems and that we need to take responsibility and accountability for own actions and yes it is true we need to thin out the Jews-as-rats rhetoric and need to offer stable institutions to our people but Allah dang it we need a real voice'. No, they come out with the 'we deserve it because we represent one-fifth of the world' line. Note to fortunate oil-drenched bearded guy - earn it.
-I was watching the news and saw clowns standing on park benches in Edinburgh, what else, protesting the G7 summit (Russia, please). Some pathetic outfit called the Revolutionary Youth Group of Thumb Sucking Lazy Bored Losers (or something like that) called for a 'global day of action against the G8 summit will be a children's revolution'. I saw this movie once. It was called 'Children of the Corn'. The clowns (clowns scare me) reminded me of the ultra-violent sickos on 'Clockwork Orange.'
-This Commentator is glad that slowly countries are beginning to question the Kyoto Accord. I just can't believe how people have no idea what this accord, if ratified, would have cost.
Russian scientists agree. Now excuse me for thinking this but shouldn't people actually stop and take notice when two of the greatest scientific nations in the 20th century - The United States and Russia - are in agreement? Australia, for its part and for the record, are also against it. If the basic tenets of the accord are flawed and self-serving, just who stands to gain from such a revolutionary attempt?
-Notorious and infamous killer Karla Homolka says the first thing she wants to do when she is released (she did 12 years for her part in the heinous rape and murder of two teenaged girls in Ontario. She cut a deal with prosecutors who needed her testimony to get Paul Bernardo for the crimes) I still remember that story like it was yesterday it was so gruesome) is go and get a Tim Horton's iced cappuccino. When did I injest a bottle of Nyquil and find myself in a vortexed world of utter surreality? The things I hear sometimes blows me away. I wonder if Tim Horton's will make a sappy 'proud to be Canadian commercial' with Homolka in them. "We at Tim Horton's agree with the charitable and humane Canadian justice system. Karla is a proud Canadian and so please join us by supporting her by buying little Maple Leafs with her face on them so you can proudly display them on your back-pacs when you travel'. I know, Horton's would never do this. Then again...nah.
2005-07-05
Revisiting 'The Last Waltz'
Years ago I bought The Band's 'The Last Waltz' and was immediately enthralled with its essence. It's tough to revisit something you didn't witness live (I was four years old in 1976) but art is all relative. Tomatoe, tomah-toe. In one sitting, I was introduced to rock music in its most pristine comforts. What blew me away was the endless stream of legendary and extraordinary musicians and performers of our time that took part in that concert: Muddy Waters, Eric Clapton, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Ronnie Hawkins, Van Morrison, Ron Wood, Dr.John, Emylou Harris, Paul Butterfield and The Staples among others. Together they produced some of the greatest songs in the pantheon of 20th century music.
A few years after that I caught Martin Scorsese's documentary film on television of that landmark concert in San Francisco. Watching those musicians in the flesh and live some 25 years later was one of those 'wow' moments. In a time where the live concert is less a celebration and movement and more a corporate bottom line exercise, soaking in the gala was a welcomed breath of crystal pure Northern air. Listening to Neil Young gently kick into 'Helpless' still sends shivers down my spine. "There's a place in North Ontario..." It's so rare we hear of musicians chronicling Canadian themes it seems. Come to think of it, who is Canada's answer to Bruce Springsteen? Does Gordon Lightfoot make the cut?
The Band and their success is especially remarkable because they were a Canadian band that emerged during a time when Canadian acts were still in their infancy stage and struggling to gain exposure in America. The Band are a pop culture icon on the rock scene - and they were Canadian. It is only fitting since Canada has contributed much to the North American experience. Many symbols of American pop culture had their origins in Canada. Superman and basketball immediately spring to mind. Still, Canada's list is impressive in the 60s and 70s. What they lacked in numbers they made up in quality - Gordon Lightfoot, Anne Murray, Paul Anka and The Diamonds did their part on the easy listening side of things. Andy Kim, Joni Mitchell, The Guess Who, Steppenwolf, Leonard Cohen, B.T.O, Rush and of course the giant of rock'n roll Neil Young.
Time went by and the movie played again almost 15 years after I saw it for the first time tonight. I still got the shivers. Not just because I'm fighting a flu. Many of us are not terribly impressed with Canada these days, but tonight reminded me of what this country has achieved and accomplished in many fields against great odds. Two of those biggest obstacles being harsh climate and living next to the most powerful, friendly single entity the world has ever known.
Picking a favourite track on the album has proven to be difficult if not elusive. I liked Morrison's distracted but enthusiastic and upbeat version of 'Caravan' if only because it's one of my all-time favorite songs from one of my personal preferred albums 'Moondance'. 'Up on Cripple Creek' for its hint of bluegrass country spirit and Levon Helms pulsating drums and singing. Even 'The Night They Drove Old Dixe Down' and 'I Shall be Released' performed with Dylan manage to hit a nerve. The latter being of no coincidence for being played since this was during Dylan's born again Christian period. The Weight' no doubt remains the quintessential hit. Particularly, the gospel inspired version in the film performed with The Staples is one of the finest interpretation of any song I've heard. For me, however, the song that defined the album was 'It Makes No Difference'. Don't ask me why it just did.
Sometimes what a piece of music does to someone is beyond definition and description. Try and ask someone how to find the proper emotions to explain what Verdi or Beethoven does to them. The mark of great music is how it changes hands from generation to generation and how it transcends gibberish critical scrutiny. Forget Britney Spears, Madonna and Jessica Simpson and the Souless Brothers and Sister of modern pop. Remember the good old time stuff. It's worth it.
A few years after that I caught Martin Scorsese's documentary film on television of that landmark concert in San Francisco. Watching those musicians in the flesh and live some 25 years later was one of those 'wow' moments. In a time where the live concert is less a celebration and movement and more a corporate bottom line exercise, soaking in the gala was a welcomed breath of crystal pure Northern air. Listening to Neil Young gently kick into 'Helpless' still sends shivers down my spine. "There's a place in North Ontario..." It's so rare we hear of musicians chronicling Canadian themes it seems. Come to think of it, who is Canada's answer to Bruce Springsteen? Does Gordon Lightfoot make the cut?
The Band and their success is especially remarkable because they were a Canadian band that emerged during a time when Canadian acts were still in their infancy stage and struggling to gain exposure in America. The Band are a pop culture icon on the rock scene - and they were Canadian. It is only fitting since Canada has contributed much to the North American experience. Many symbols of American pop culture had their origins in Canada. Superman and basketball immediately spring to mind. Still, Canada's list is impressive in the 60s and 70s. What they lacked in numbers they made up in quality - Gordon Lightfoot, Anne Murray, Paul Anka and The Diamonds did their part on the easy listening side of things. Andy Kim, Joni Mitchell, The Guess Who, Steppenwolf, Leonard Cohen, B.T.O, Rush and of course the giant of rock'n roll Neil Young.
Time went by and the movie played again almost 15 years after I saw it for the first time tonight. I still got the shivers. Not just because I'm fighting a flu. Many of us are not terribly impressed with Canada these days, but tonight reminded me of what this country has achieved and accomplished in many fields against great odds. Two of those biggest obstacles being harsh climate and living next to the most powerful, friendly single entity the world has ever known.
Picking a favourite track on the album has proven to be difficult if not elusive. I liked Morrison's distracted but enthusiastic and upbeat version of 'Caravan' if only because it's one of my all-time favorite songs from one of my personal preferred albums 'Moondance'. 'Up on Cripple Creek' for its hint of bluegrass country spirit and Levon Helms pulsating drums and singing. Even 'The Night They Drove Old Dixe Down' and 'I Shall be Released' performed with Dylan manage to hit a nerve. The latter being of no coincidence for being played since this was during Dylan's born again Christian period. The Weight' no doubt remains the quintessential hit. Particularly, the gospel inspired version in the film performed with The Staples is one of the finest interpretation of any song I've heard. For me, however, the song that defined the album was 'It Makes No Difference'. Don't ask me why it just did.
Sometimes what a piece of music does to someone is beyond definition and description. Try and ask someone how to find the proper emotions to explain what Verdi or Beethoven does to them. The mark of great music is how it changes hands from generation to generation and how it transcends gibberish critical scrutiny. Forget Britney Spears, Madonna and Jessica Simpson and the Souless Brothers and Sister of modern pop. Remember the good old time stuff. It's worth it.
2005-07-02
Max: No Sleep, No Job, No Relevance
Jeebies and I eagerly, very much like a child waiting for a stall in a public bathroom, attended a concert tonight. It was a show performed by a talented, as opposed to untalented, individual at one of those bizarre festivals that claims to be something but presents people with something else. Let me explain. Maybe it's me but when a festival markets itself as a 'Jazz Festival' the least I would expect is, well, the venues to be filled with jazz and some blues. Once upon a time this was the case but now it's filled with everything but jazz - only the usual jazz staples are available like Salsa, techno and rock. Call yourself, organizing committee, the International Music Festival and move on. Once again, purists get shafted all in the name of pleasing the lowest fucking common denominator seeking a fricken quick fix through free shows. Routinely and predictably, the usual next day conversation between friends is to tell them it was the 'greatest show you've ever attended.' For some, even if this was their first it would not stop their slight embellishment.
Anyway, the concert tickets I bought were tickets to a rock show at a Jazz fest. It's retarded. Mentally challenged? Handicapped? What is the PC term for retarded fat person? Forget the annoying troublesome fact that no one seems to get nervous, like a neurotic fiend, over such things like I do. A Cuban duo opened. Smooth, sultry and charismatic they were. "Does it exist a bad Cuban guitarist?" I wondered.
Two girls, females, women (what is the PC term for them these days?) were sitting next to us and Jeebies, and you need to know that Jeebies has the attention span of a freshly hatched lizard, began to swarm around them like a school of Amazon piranhas. Before he could actually and swiftly offer a gesture they began, without a flair, making-out. French-Italian-Spanish kiss style. My invention. They were, my ubiquitous audience, a lesbian couple. "Fucking sweet." he says knocking me with his elbow. Why elbows always catch me on my most vulnerable spots is a question to pose to Peter at the Gates one day. I merely mentioned, strictly in plainspeak dead-pan, the obvious that they were gay. Queer. Seeking attention? Some do. To which he responded "Everyone knows lesbians are bi-sexual." He was right on this lusty and muggy occassion. After the show, which was stunning, we had ourselves a party that would make Father Iannucci question and therefore lament humanities moral constructs. Can't wait to tell my friends.
Counting wolves, to battle the insomnia, I was thinking about my father during the night. It was 2:41am to be exact when I decided to embark on such a journey. My borderline fascist, pro-capitalist father. He who has an inherent hatred for anything socialist - and needless to say he's not too fond of perenial under-achievers. He, to unhealthy levels, who detests big slothic nanny-states. What a political-science and psychology study. Often he would go off on rants and soliloquoy's that would make Shakespeare and Dante proud. Or Cicero or any of the rambling men you spot on a street corner in remote parts of your respective cities. Ahead of the logic, as usual, lay an intricate and carefully designed riddle that none of us (siblings and friends alike) could never figure out. Following his artistically mad comments, was akin to walking on a tight rope. You could follow just a little before you inevitably lost balance and fell off. Memory brought forth a time when my family sat around the table, at a typical supper, teasing him during one of his famous polemic tirades. I, in the familiar comfort of pop-culture referencing, suggested we plaster him with question marks. You know, like the fucken Riddler. Laugh we did. Smile he did not.
Misanthropist I may very well be. Perhaps this is why I have no job. Or seek to go through the interview process - which is one of the most degrading and pointless exercise ever invented. As if the wild pink lemur, who nostalgically reminds of Rev. Jim Ignitowski, behind the desk in a dubious suit doesn't know the person he is considering is a complete useless collection of fibres and tissue. A human without the nourishment necessary to make them relevant. Pseudo-humouring, bull shit talk and cv's on steroids. It's all a crap shoot. Everyone's an ambitious go-getter (all-suave-talk mediocre lick dick chump) who thrives under pressure (usually the first to crack or avoid it) and talks the truth (the most articulate and talented back-stabbing gossiper this side of the St.Lawrence, Mackenzie and Mississippi) on this day.
"So? How do you see yourself five years from now?" The dumbest rhetorical question ever. Considering that most companies usually miss their quarterly projections, that's one gosh astounding question to ask. Fucken jerk off who ever came up with that one. No doubt, from a special psychology firm that conducted exhaustive studies that determined what to ask potential employees. For this, he had bestowed upon him (or her, or it. I just don't get modern lingo) from the regal masters of middle-management a trophy for best employee of the month - in all their vortexual perplexed glory. People become millionaires for such things, you know. Which does not say much for the beastly consumers who determine this outcome.
Maybe I'm not a misan-etc. Maybe I just don't know how to interact with others. I never ever was at ease with humans. Humans are so complex in all their codes and decodes. Yeah, it's probably just me the problem. If it really is a problem. Maybe it's a form of autism. 'Rain Man' resonated with me on some level. I confess to be, to all of you, a person who, for some mystical unexplained reason, reads 5 books at a time. I have stacks of books, newspaper articles and magazines that are scattered everywhere waiting to have their print and words absorbed by my over-stretched mind. It seems I'm always out to over-load a body that ironically does not know how to sit and stand still.
Ever notice whenever you're at a bloody (sometimes they deserve to be) function it always seems everyone has a cool or better job than you? Everyone, recall they are better than you, is always off to this city and off to that city. They are exotic buyers and creative managers and all that shit. All jet-set fuckos. Yet, they all act and talk like complete fucking assholes. Know-nothing shitheads who have the best jobs in the world. "Look at me!" Worse, to add to insult, when they tell their stories of how 'lucky' they were to 'stumble' on these fucking great jobs. Not by tirelessly sending cv's like monkey chumps, not by rolling up sleeves and knocking on doors, not by earning their stripes going through the ranks, but having the grace of god dang timing.
My timing, not that it should astonish anyone, is heinously and criminally off. It's to the point where one could claim I'm a 'loser' and I would not object. I'm the guy who is next in line only to have the sold-out sign go up when it's my turn. They, being tiny magical little wise sea or lake wizards, say you create your own luck. Can I book an appointment with these creators of gargoyle inspired cliches?
Since I am on the subject of things that irritate my smallish bones and loose ligaments, here's more. Like, um, for instance people who, um, say, you know, um, a lot, you know. I notice that on the radio too these days. 'Esteemed' people being interviewed about serious subjects saying 'um' is not my idea of direct and complete credibility. Yeah, yeah the message is the content. But still...Or people who jog in 40+ degree celsius weather because 'they have to". As if going off their routine will ruin them. Or people who get addicted to everything and use hyperbole's to make their point. 'Oh my God, I hafta have my coffee in the morning or I'm gonna die." Or "I have to break the gang-bang record." Moderation, it looks like and I guess, is not a strong suit of many people.
Sometimes, but most of the time, I just don't know how I, in a world so out of tune with my chords and keys, get by.
Anyway, the concert tickets I bought were tickets to a rock show at a Jazz fest. It's retarded. Mentally challenged? Handicapped? What is the PC term for retarded fat person? Forget the annoying troublesome fact that no one seems to get nervous, like a neurotic fiend, over such things like I do. A Cuban duo opened. Smooth, sultry and charismatic they were. "Does it exist a bad Cuban guitarist?" I wondered.
Two girls, females, women (what is the PC term for them these days?) were sitting next to us and Jeebies, and you need to know that Jeebies has the attention span of a freshly hatched lizard, began to swarm around them like a school of Amazon piranhas. Before he could actually and swiftly offer a gesture they began, without a flair, making-out. French-Italian-Spanish kiss style. My invention. They were, my ubiquitous audience, a lesbian couple. "Fucking sweet." he says knocking me with his elbow. Why elbows always catch me on my most vulnerable spots is a question to pose to Peter at the Gates one day. I merely mentioned, strictly in plainspeak dead-pan, the obvious that they were gay. Queer. Seeking attention? Some do. To which he responded "Everyone knows lesbians are bi-sexual." He was right on this lusty and muggy occassion. After the show, which was stunning, we had ourselves a party that would make Father Iannucci question and therefore lament humanities moral constructs. Can't wait to tell my friends.
Counting wolves, to battle the insomnia, I was thinking about my father during the night. It was 2:41am to be exact when I decided to embark on such a journey. My borderline fascist, pro-capitalist father. He who has an inherent hatred for anything socialist - and needless to say he's not too fond of perenial under-achievers. He, to unhealthy levels, who detests big slothic nanny-states. What a political-science and psychology study. Often he would go off on rants and soliloquoy's that would make Shakespeare and Dante proud. Or Cicero or any of the rambling men you spot on a street corner in remote parts of your respective cities. Ahead of the logic, as usual, lay an intricate and carefully designed riddle that none of us (siblings and friends alike) could never figure out. Following his artistically mad comments, was akin to walking on a tight rope. You could follow just a little before you inevitably lost balance and fell off. Memory brought forth a time when my family sat around the table, at a typical supper, teasing him during one of his famous polemic tirades. I, in the familiar comfort of pop-culture referencing, suggested we plaster him with question marks. You know, like the fucken Riddler. Laugh we did. Smile he did not.
Misanthropist I may very well be. Perhaps this is why I have no job. Or seek to go through the interview process - which is one of the most degrading and pointless exercise ever invented. As if the wild pink lemur, who nostalgically reminds of Rev. Jim Ignitowski, behind the desk in a dubious suit doesn't know the person he is considering is a complete useless collection of fibres and tissue. A human without the nourishment necessary to make them relevant. Pseudo-humouring, bull shit talk and cv's on steroids. It's all a crap shoot. Everyone's an ambitious go-getter (all-suave-talk mediocre lick dick chump) who thrives under pressure (usually the first to crack or avoid it) and talks the truth (the most articulate and talented back-stabbing gossiper this side of the St.Lawrence, Mackenzie and Mississippi) on this day.
"So? How do you see yourself five years from now?" The dumbest rhetorical question ever. Considering that most companies usually miss their quarterly projections, that's one gosh astounding question to ask. Fucken jerk off who ever came up with that one. No doubt, from a special psychology firm that conducted exhaustive studies that determined what to ask potential employees. For this, he had bestowed upon him (or her, or it. I just don't get modern lingo) from the regal masters of middle-management a trophy for best employee of the month - in all their vortexual perplexed glory. People become millionaires for such things, you know. Which does not say much for the beastly consumers who determine this outcome.
Maybe I'm not a misan-etc. Maybe I just don't know how to interact with others. I never ever was at ease with humans. Humans are so complex in all their codes and decodes. Yeah, it's probably just me the problem. If it really is a problem. Maybe it's a form of autism. 'Rain Man' resonated with me on some level. I confess to be, to all of you, a person who, for some mystical unexplained reason, reads 5 books at a time. I have stacks of books, newspaper articles and magazines that are scattered everywhere waiting to have their print and words absorbed by my over-stretched mind. It seems I'm always out to over-load a body that ironically does not know how to sit and stand still.
Ever notice whenever you're at a bloody (sometimes they deserve to be) function it always seems everyone has a cool or better job than you? Everyone, recall they are better than you, is always off to this city and off to that city. They are exotic buyers and creative managers and all that shit. All jet-set fuckos. Yet, they all act and talk like complete fucking assholes. Know-nothing shitheads who have the best jobs in the world. "Look at me!" Worse, to add to insult, when they tell their stories of how 'lucky' they were to 'stumble' on these fucking great jobs. Not by tirelessly sending cv's like monkey chumps, not by rolling up sleeves and knocking on doors, not by earning their stripes going through the ranks, but having the grace of god dang timing.
My timing, not that it should astonish anyone, is heinously and criminally off. It's to the point where one could claim I'm a 'loser' and I would not object. I'm the guy who is next in line only to have the sold-out sign go up when it's my turn. They, being tiny magical little wise sea or lake wizards, say you create your own luck. Can I book an appointment with these creators of gargoyle inspired cliches?
Since I am on the subject of things that irritate my smallish bones and loose ligaments, here's more. Like, um, for instance people who, um, say, you know, um, a lot, you know. I notice that on the radio too these days. 'Esteemed' people being interviewed about serious subjects saying 'um' is not my idea of direct and complete credibility. Yeah, yeah the message is the content. But still...Or people who jog in 40+ degree celsius weather because 'they have to". As if going off their routine will ruin them. Or people who get addicted to everything and use hyperbole's to make their point. 'Oh my God, I hafta have my coffee in the morning or I'm gonna die." Or "I have to break the gang-bang record." Moderation, it looks like and I guess, is not a strong suit of many people.
Sometimes, but most of the time, I just don't know how I, in a world so out of tune with my chords and keys, get by.
2005-06-28
Why Blogging Matters
In the last few days, I have been thinking about the so called blog revolution. What is its purpose and raison d'etre and does it really matter? Worse, do people care?
The last bit is an elusive rhetorical question to which I won't attempt to rationalize. People don't care about a lot of things. Gauging and studying people's behaviour is a forever changing dynamic. We still don't know what is the psychological profile and preferences of a supermarket shopper with any authority. People are, well, weird.
'Blog' is such an ugly word. It's a name given to an alien in an Ed Wood film. Or on The Simpsons - Kodos, Kang and Blog together again! And yes, there are many, many, many awful, irrelevant and not-so well presented blogs in the blogosphere. It's filled with nonsense and stupidities.
Yet, there are many excellent ones too. And this is where we should focus our energies when we think of blogging. Focusing on the negatives is all too a modern fad. Besides, are there not both great and pathetic journalists out there? Good and bad newspapers? Authors? Blogging is no different.
More importantly, and subjectively, blogging is mutually inclusive and directly compatible with the principles of democracy. It gives a voice to many who have no outlet to express their inner thoughts and ideas. Why should it be restricted to an oligarchy of aristocratic journalists? How many times have we heard about how many journalists "were at the right place at the right time" or were just plain "lucky" with their new jobs?
Let me expand. The last time newspapers expanded in Canada and hired on a big scale was way back in the 80s. For example, all those sports writers who were hired are not retiring soon. So...what to do with people who love to write but have no shot at job security. See where I'm going with this?
This does not to demean the art of journalism in any way. In itself, may bloggers would not cut it as journalists or writers for that matter. Journalists are trained professionals and blogging on this front could never realistically challenge it. Blogging is not a replacement or substitute for journalism. However, many journalists and other accomplished people now blog also.
Blogging is a compliment to journalism. Together they search for "truth" - however one may define this. Where journalism fails (given the sad state of media) blogging can take over. People will allow their perceptions to reinforce their beliefs at the expense of truth everywhere. But blogging is the latest step toward truly democratic environment. One can get information in real time from several different perspectives almost instantly now.
Blogging is the latest step towards a democratic civilization. Traditional media can ignore this but expect to see both print and blog merge in some form one day.
Blogging is also a vehicle by which creative minds can finally express themselves without being at the mercy of a publishing house or corporation. Let freedom reign.
Note: Dedicated to the Parti-Quebecois and L'Office de la Langue Francaise (who would try and silence this blog for being written in English. Too much English on the internet!) and their reactionary ethno-tribal nationalism that hinges on the emotion and rhetoric. The truth will come out. If not already. The fiefdom you seek may still be within grasp but in it you will find the utter banality and contradiction of your existence.
The last bit is an elusive rhetorical question to which I won't attempt to rationalize. People don't care about a lot of things. Gauging and studying people's behaviour is a forever changing dynamic. We still don't know what is the psychological profile and preferences of a supermarket shopper with any authority. People are, well, weird.
'Blog' is such an ugly word. It's a name given to an alien in an Ed Wood film. Or on The Simpsons - Kodos, Kang and Blog together again! And yes, there are many, many, many awful, irrelevant and not-so well presented blogs in the blogosphere. It's filled with nonsense and stupidities.
Yet, there are many excellent ones too. And this is where we should focus our energies when we think of blogging. Focusing on the negatives is all too a modern fad. Besides, are there not both great and pathetic journalists out there? Good and bad newspapers? Authors? Blogging is no different.
More importantly, and subjectively, blogging is mutually inclusive and directly compatible with the principles of democracy. It gives a voice to many who have no outlet to express their inner thoughts and ideas. Why should it be restricted to an oligarchy of aristocratic journalists? How many times have we heard about how many journalists "were at the right place at the right time" or were just plain "lucky" with their new jobs?
Let me expand. The last time newspapers expanded in Canada and hired on a big scale was way back in the 80s. For example, all those sports writers who were hired are not retiring soon. So...what to do with people who love to write but have no shot at job security. See where I'm going with this?
This does not to demean the art of journalism in any way. In itself, may bloggers would not cut it as journalists or writers for that matter. Journalists are trained professionals and blogging on this front could never realistically challenge it. Blogging is not a replacement or substitute for journalism. However, many journalists and other accomplished people now blog also.
Blogging is a compliment to journalism. Together they search for "truth" - however one may define this. Where journalism fails (given the sad state of media) blogging can take over. People will allow their perceptions to reinforce their beliefs at the expense of truth everywhere. But blogging is the latest step toward truly democratic environment. One can get information in real time from several different perspectives almost instantly now.
Blogging is the latest step towards a democratic civilization. Traditional media can ignore this but expect to see both print and blog merge in some form one day.
Blogging is also a vehicle by which creative minds can finally express themselves without being at the mercy of a publishing house or corporation. Let freedom reign.
Note: Dedicated to the Parti-Quebecois and L'Office de la Langue Francaise (who would try and silence this blog for being written in English. Too much English on the internet!) and their reactionary ethno-tribal nationalism that hinges on the emotion and rhetoric. The truth will come out. If not already. The fiefdom you seek may still be within grasp but in it you will find the utter banality and contradiction of your existence.
2005-06-25
Sports Comments: NBA, Tim Duncan, U.S. Grand Prix, Legacies, Hockey Hall of Fame, Ronaldinho
-The NBA realistically and practically struck a deal within days that the unrealistic and impractical NHL was not able to. The NHL lost a whole season before cooler heads prevailed. For some that comes at too high a price. True both sides played hardball but the owners were right this time around and the players association shot themselves in the foot. As a result, they will get a less favourable deal. Lessons, lessons. Learned lessons? What's that?-Tim Duncan was named MVP following San Antonio's game 7 victory over the Detroit Pistons in the NBA finals. Duncan is one of those rare all-round great basketball players who faces each game with class and quiet reserve. Unfortunately, this is not good enough for some fans and the media who want all flash all the time. The bad boy element of the NBA is what attracts the lowest common denominator. It seems the more guns'n tatooes one has the more over-rated they are likely to be. It was interesting to listen to experts on ESPN and other sports shows basically set-up Duncan for a fall if the Spurs would have lost. That he was soft, that he won one championship without David Robinson and so on. He's fine for now. Had he lost we would have seen a great injustice hurled upon one of the all-time great athletes.
-As days have gone by more and more information and revelation comes forth that shows how unprofessional and bias journalists were in insidiously somehow attempting to blame Ferrari at the U.S. Grand Prix. It was a sad spectacle indeed but keep the blame squarely where it belongs - with Michelin.
The teams who refused to take a penalty subsequently came up with a ridiculous 'solution' that amounted to a farce while Max Mosely who refused to make a decision. Ferrari, in the end, made the only decision they could make that was reasonable to their team, fans and sponsors. It was not a hollow victory as they broke no rules. It was not up to Ferrari to make such important decisions. After all it is a competition and had the tables been turned around there would have been no debate about it. The other teams would have insisted that Jordan, Minardi and Ferrari sat down. As far as I am concerned, Ferrari had every right to celebrate at the end. For the anti-Ferrari element, consider F1 without Ferrari. The fiasco showcased two things: the lack of accountability in today's world and the emergence of the egalitarian sports fan that insists on clipping any form of dominance.
-I never understood why in debating the greatest athletes in team sports having won a championship was a determining or major criteria. Surely, winning a title takes a total team effort and some of the great athletes, like Marcel Dionne, Ryne Sandberg, Tony Gwynn, Dan Marino and Charles Barkley (to name a few), did not always play on great teams. This should take away from their greatness. It should come into the equation but it should not be a final determining factor. Too many athletes and their legacy are shafted as a result.
-The Hockey Hall of Fame is a joke by the way. It's filled with players who never dominated.
-Could someone buy Brazilian and Barcelona midfielder Ronaldhino some braces? He could hurt someone with those things. While we're at it, can someone purchase dentures and some Freedent for striker Carlos Teves of Argentina?-World Cup 2006 will have the usual suspects challenging - Brazil, Argentina and possibly Germany. Though some questions remain for Brazil. What of the other great power Italy? Many people lament the state of Italian soccer but this may be imprecise. No nation, besides Brazil, on earth produces as many great players position for position. What Italy lacks is grit and leadership. Their track record is impressive in the 1990s. Consider: 3rd place World Cup '90, finalists in '94 and quarter-finalists in '98 - in each case losing in shoot-out, In fact, they rarely lose outright. At Euro 2000, it took a phantom 4 minutes of added time for them to lose and at Euro 2004 they bowed out without losing a game. Italy is fine, they just some luck and a better attitude among some of their players. Maybe they should look at the '82 club that won. That team was filled with leaders and character.
-I never understood how so-called sports fans or experts on T.V. or the radio can dismiss soccer as being a great sport. In fact, some of them make fun of the sport. Ridiculous. If you are true sports fan you appreciate all sports on some level even the ones you don't get - like synchronized swimming.
2005-06-23
Max: Anti-employed.
Today I was thinking about the direction, or lackthereof, of my life. I tried in vain to try and find a catalyst that could possibly lead me into some direction. Nothing. In between, I make espressos, read the papers and exercise. All events that defer my inevitable decline as a human being. Decline? Shit, you have to reach some pinnacle in order to 'decline'. Empires decline. Me, I'm just a mere collection of wasted bacteria, cells and ameobas. The adipocere will stink the autopsy, if they bother to perform one, table. I was snapped out of this rather unnecessary semi-depressive trance when my mother asked if I wanted salad after meal. Fuck, salad.
You can try and drive away your concerns, by actually driving a vehicle if you desire, but like the grim reaper there is no way to escape it. Don't fear the reaper as that old Blue Oyster Cult went, or you'll go mad. Mad enough to stop in front of a restaurant window where people are sitting, pick your nose and smear the shnott (s) down with your hand wide spread. Or pull out your cock and jack-off and cream on the window and wipe it with a squee-gee. Or just plainly stop and begin to yell animated gibberish.
On a positive note I bought some kitchen garbage bags today. I splurged and bought 'Glad'. You get less but they are tougher. I'm not one of those economic consumers that weighs out every option to derive the most from a dollar. I don't use them. I eat them. Dollar here, dollar there. I figure if that's how I have to live to retire merely comfortably fuck it. These are tough times for our generation. The baby boomers put everything out of whack. The next great age is when they all die and the generation that is present when the last narcissist dies is the one that is going to benefit. Until then, the rest of us work, eat and live to support those assholes. Worse, we even have to listen to them argue about politics on T.V, give their arrogant opinions about history and whatever else these post modern pricks want to shove down our throats.
Oh yeah, positive note. Let's see, let's.....see.
You can try and drive away your concerns, by actually driving a vehicle if you desire, but like the grim reaper there is no way to escape it. Don't fear the reaper as that old Blue Oyster Cult went, or you'll go mad. Mad enough to stop in front of a restaurant window where people are sitting, pick your nose and smear the shnott (s) down with your hand wide spread. Or pull out your cock and jack-off and cream on the window and wipe it with a squee-gee. Or just plainly stop and begin to yell animated gibberish.
On a positive note I bought some kitchen garbage bags today. I splurged and bought 'Glad'. You get less but they are tougher. I'm not one of those economic consumers that weighs out every option to derive the most from a dollar. I don't use them. I eat them. Dollar here, dollar there. I figure if that's how I have to live to retire merely comfortably fuck it. These are tough times for our generation. The baby boomers put everything out of whack. The next great age is when they all die and the generation that is present when the last narcissist dies is the one that is going to benefit. Until then, the rest of us work, eat and live to support those assholes. Worse, we even have to listen to them argue about politics on T.V, give their arrogant opinions about history and whatever else these post modern pricks want to shove down our throats.
Oh yeah, positive note. Let's see, let's.....see.
2005-06-22
Semi-Thoughts on Liberal Intolerance, Quebec as Tin-Pot and American Hegemony
-I read somewhere about Sean Penn's attack on 'Team America-World Police' and it prompted the following thoughts.
Team America is a funny movie. Witty in its logic, writing and parody of Bruckheimer films and modern celebrity. I have very little tolerance for people who speak of freedom (in all its forms) but seek to suppress it when it does not fit their own private poorly constructed ethos. Liberals (insert your own definition) fear the oppressive nature of modern American politics.
Robert Crumb escaped the theocracy for freer spaces in France. One man's tea is another man's coffee or espresso - whatever. At least he made good on his word - not like those cowards who threatened to leave but stuck around.
The problem is not the armada of various branches found in conservatism but of the ironic fact that liberals are acting like traditional conservatives of yesteryear in holding on to their world view. While progressive conservatives, again ironically, seek to preserve all the ideals and inroads brought and fought by the American liberal tradition.
Follow? Me either.
Liberals cling to outmoded and irrelevant philosophies that are hopelessly out of touch with most Americans and they refuse to acknowledge this. Worse, they seem prepared to cram it down people's throats.
Which brings me back to Penn. His self-serving moronic escapades in Iraq and at the UN has not contributed anything insightful to international relations but it has revealed the limitations to celebrity influence. They go from beloved movie stars to irrelevant buffoons in a hurry. As I pointed out in past blogs, there has been a blurring of job lines where everyone feels compelled to over step their boundaries - it's a culture of ultracrepidarians.
Penn is an artist and has decided to publicly attack another artists work. No one seemed to attack Michael Moore's utterly repugnant films in Hollywood. Sure they didn't - it fit their world view. Tyranny, alas, comes in many forms.
-Speaking of intellectual tyranny, on a more local level, right here in Montreal, the Montreal Gazette employs a pseudo-sports writer who condescendingly feels the need to lecture his readers on history and politics through a narrow prism of nonsensical babble speak that would make the Jabberwocky proud.
They say you are only as strong as your weakest link and the sports pages of that paper are poorer for keeping his self-serving and oft hypocritical column in print. He is incredibly personal and intolerant in his reporting. It's all so, well, boring and tiresome. Bring us someone who can offer real deep thought provoking insights free of the stench we find in a dirty University water-hole where narcissistic neo-hippie boomers wallow. The only real zero in Montreal is Jack Todd.
-For you Americans reading this blog if you ever happen to read any stories about Quebec separatism where its political class and masters claim to be democratic do not believe it. This province is a sunken treasure of golden jewelery for anyone interested in studying the contradictions found in a democratic society. With recent confirmed reports about the treasonous and scandalous behaviour of the Parti-Quebecois (a political party on par with 19th century socialist romantic doctrines) and its treatment of voting irregularities in many English speaking polls across the province is something you hear in tin-pot banana republics. Mind you, Quebec is not too far off this reality at times.
Revolutionary protectors of the French culture have taken this paranoid stance a little too far. It has built and designed itself an intellectual framework to justify their exclusionary ideology. Worse, it plays with its citizens future by using manipulative and creative junk rhetoric that exploits people on an emotional level to push their heroin induced madness. They have no plan to secede. They plan to wing-it so to speak. This speaks volumes to the actual maturity level of the independent movement in this sometimes backward political swamp land where free-thinking is dead. And oh yes, unemployment is as high as 20% in some regions. If they secede, the economic engine of Montreal should pack its bags quickly to not be a part of this pathetic exercise.
Here's a small insight into how this second-rate political expression behaves. They have elected officials in Ottawa who have a mandate to break up the country - they earn a Federal pension paid by all Canadians. They talk of killing Canada but want their money - merci. Of course, they argue they are entitled to it. Much like a teenager who wants to rent a loft downtown to express their independence only they expect their parents to pay for it. It is also home to a language watch-dog outfit known as the language police which amounts to public harassment. They literally fine hard-working, law abiding citizens who pay taxes for not observing the provinces repressive language laws. They roam the streets of Montreal with rulers measuring the size of English letters on store windows. I kid not. Such a sophisticated society. The gimme, gimme society where the unions rule all. If its own economic base is not free-standing how could its intellectual classes who are slaves to their inept theories.
-Here are a couple of eye-opening stats about the ubiquitous American hegemony that seeks to dominate us all. While spending on the military is staggering in the U.S. (though it is tiny on a percentage level given the sheer enormity of its economy), U.S. bases (which are being trimmed for strategic purposes) across the globe is smaller than what it was during the height of the Roman Empire. So much for that. America is a disinterested empire that has not yet come to the full realization that it is one. Only when they do will they be able to narrow down the bad public relations image largely built on perceived contradictions. London used locals to build and expand societies liberal traditions. While America's attempt to export this tradition is not as bad as people think, though it has some notable failures, it suffers from a lack of adjustment it needs to make in order to effectively get the job done in place like Afghanistan and Iraq.
One area American hegemony creates much anger is culture - namely through pop culture. True, American pop culture is massively popular and powerful in its breathtaking scope. However, what little is known is how much America imports and borrows ideas. Just look at how many internationals work for and with NASA - including many Canadians. Many famous American shows have been off-shoots and derivatives of programming from places like Canada, Britain and Australia. Its films often borrowed from ideas Germany, Italy and France and more recently Japan (including comics and animation). That is the beauty of America. Its ability to absorb so many ideas and talent from abroad and make it uniquely American. So much for the narrow-minded and self-absorbed American. It seems to me that a society can't be both successful internationally and be self-absorbed internally entirely.
According to 'Screen Digest' a recent study published in the recent 'Foreign Policy' issue Britain leads all nations in total of hours of film exported in 2004. They were followed by The Netherlands, U.S., Australia and Sweden. Notice where America is - in 3rd - though not too far off. Nonetheless, it makes an important statement. India itself produces twice as many movies as the U.S. France, one of the more vocal anti-American culture freaks, imports the most hours. No one is twisting their arm.
On a side note, much is said about anti-Americanism (where it is not uncommon to hear intellectually depraved comments like 'rogue nation' lives) these days as institute like the Pew reveal but I suspect pro-Americanism is much more powerful in the world. The 'we love Americans but not their President' stance is hogwash to me. You judge a country by how many people want to get in it.
There is a direct comparison to be made to Renaissance Italy and its wealthy and remarkable republican city-states. Italy was the gateway to everything coming from Byzantium, the Middle-East and Asia. Italian merchants and artists were constantly exposed to what was happening in what was at the time more advanced societies. The genius of Italy was how it mastered the commercial aspect (thus inventing, enhancing and perfecting accounting and banking practices for example) of trade and more importantly how it learned and added a uniquely Italian twist to all things. Soon enough, Italy became a financial and cultural center that influenced Western culture. Its achievements remain with us until this day. The flowering and expansion of Occidental culture found a rebirth in Italy for the second time (the first being in Rome) only it was now Milan, Florence and Venice who were the purveyors of humanism that led to all remarkable discoveries. It literally woke up Europe. Italy's well-deserved reputation as a brilliant industrial and manufacturing society as well as masters in the art of good taste has its roots in the Renaissance.
America is very much the Italy of modern times. While it is true there is a 'flight of creativity' as Richard Florida put it - youthful talents are opting for places like Toronto, Vancouver and Sydney these days- America remains the center of civilization akin to Renaissance Italy where people from everywhere came to be with the best. Enjoy the experience or you'll miss it.
Team America is a funny movie. Witty in its logic, writing and parody of Bruckheimer films and modern celebrity. I have very little tolerance for people who speak of freedom (in all its forms) but seek to suppress it when it does not fit their own private poorly constructed ethos. Liberals (insert your own definition) fear the oppressive nature of modern American politics.
Robert Crumb escaped the theocracy for freer spaces in France. One man's tea is another man's coffee or espresso - whatever. At least he made good on his word - not like those cowards who threatened to leave but stuck around.
The problem is not the armada of various branches found in conservatism but of the ironic fact that liberals are acting like traditional conservatives of yesteryear in holding on to their world view. While progressive conservatives, again ironically, seek to preserve all the ideals and inroads brought and fought by the American liberal tradition.
Follow? Me either.
Liberals cling to outmoded and irrelevant philosophies that are hopelessly out of touch with most Americans and they refuse to acknowledge this. Worse, they seem prepared to cram it down people's throats.
Which brings me back to Penn. His self-serving moronic escapades in Iraq and at the UN has not contributed anything insightful to international relations but it has revealed the limitations to celebrity influence. They go from beloved movie stars to irrelevant buffoons in a hurry. As I pointed out in past blogs, there has been a blurring of job lines where everyone feels compelled to over step their boundaries - it's a culture of ultracrepidarians.
Penn is an artist and has decided to publicly attack another artists work. No one seemed to attack Michael Moore's utterly repugnant films in Hollywood. Sure they didn't - it fit their world view. Tyranny, alas, comes in many forms.
-Speaking of intellectual tyranny, on a more local level, right here in Montreal, the Montreal Gazette employs a pseudo-sports writer who condescendingly feels the need to lecture his readers on history and politics through a narrow prism of nonsensical babble speak that would make the Jabberwocky proud.
They say you are only as strong as your weakest link and the sports pages of that paper are poorer for keeping his self-serving and oft hypocritical column in print. He is incredibly personal and intolerant in his reporting. It's all so, well, boring and tiresome. Bring us someone who can offer real deep thought provoking insights free of the stench we find in a dirty University water-hole where narcissistic neo-hippie boomers wallow. The only real zero in Montreal is Jack Todd.
-For you Americans reading this blog if you ever happen to read any stories about Quebec separatism where its political class and masters claim to be democratic do not believe it. This province is a sunken treasure of golden jewelery for anyone interested in studying the contradictions found in a democratic society. With recent confirmed reports about the treasonous and scandalous behaviour of the Parti-Quebecois (a political party on par with 19th century socialist romantic doctrines) and its treatment of voting irregularities in many English speaking polls across the province is something you hear in tin-pot banana republics. Mind you, Quebec is not too far off this reality at times.
Revolutionary protectors of the French culture have taken this paranoid stance a little too far. It has built and designed itself an intellectual framework to justify their exclusionary ideology. Worse, it plays with its citizens future by using manipulative and creative junk rhetoric that exploits people on an emotional level to push their heroin induced madness. They have no plan to secede. They plan to wing-it so to speak. This speaks volumes to the actual maturity level of the independent movement in this sometimes backward political swamp land where free-thinking is dead. And oh yes, unemployment is as high as 20% in some regions. If they secede, the economic engine of Montreal should pack its bags quickly to not be a part of this pathetic exercise.
Here's a small insight into how this second-rate political expression behaves. They have elected officials in Ottawa who have a mandate to break up the country - they earn a Federal pension paid by all Canadians. They talk of killing Canada but want their money - merci. Of course, they argue they are entitled to it. Much like a teenager who wants to rent a loft downtown to express their independence only they expect their parents to pay for it. It is also home to a language watch-dog outfit known as the language police which amounts to public harassment. They literally fine hard-working, law abiding citizens who pay taxes for not observing the provinces repressive language laws. They roam the streets of Montreal with rulers measuring the size of English letters on store windows. I kid not. Such a sophisticated society. The gimme, gimme society where the unions rule all. If its own economic base is not free-standing how could its intellectual classes who are slaves to their inept theories.
-Here are a couple of eye-opening stats about the ubiquitous American hegemony that seeks to dominate us all. While spending on the military is staggering in the U.S. (though it is tiny on a percentage level given the sheer enormity of its economy), U.S. bases (which are being trimmed for strategic purposes) across the globe is smaller than what it was during the height of the Roman Empire. So much for that. America is a disinterested empire that has not yet come to the full realization that it is one. Only when they do will they be able to narrow down the bad public relations image largely built on perceived contradictions. London used locals to build and expand societies liberal traditions. While America's attempt to export this tradition is not as bad as people think, though it has some notable failures, it suffers from a lack of adjustment it needs to make in order to effectively get the job done in place like Afghanistan and Iraq.
One area American hegemony creates much anger is culture - namely through pop culture. True, American pop culture is massively popular and powerful in its breathtaking scope. However, what little is known is how much America imports and borrows ideas. Just look at how many internationals work for and with NASA - including many Canadians. Many famous American shows have been off-shoots and derivatives of programming from places like Canada, Britain and Australia. Its films often borrowed from ideas Germany, Italy and France and more recently Japan (including comics and animation). That is the beauty of America. Its ability to absorb so many ideas and talent from abroad and make it uniquely American. So much for the narrow-minded and self-absorbed American. It seems to me that a society can't be both successful internationally and be self-absorbed internally entirely.
According to 'Screen Digest' a recent study published in the recent 'Foreign Policy' issue Britain leads all nations in total of hours of film exported in 2004. They were followed by The Netherlands, U.S., Australia and Sweden. Notice where America is - in 3rd - though not too far off. Nonetheless, it makes an important statement. India itself produces twice as many movies as the U.S. France, one of the more vocal anti-American culture freaks, imports the most hours. No one is twisting their arm.
On a side note, much is said about anti-Americanism (where it is not uncommon to hear intellectually depraved comments like 'rogue nation' lives) these days as institute like the Pew reveal but I suspect pro-Americanism is much more powerful in the world. The 'we love Americans but not their President' stance is hogwash to me. You judge a country by how many people want to get in it.
There is a direct comparison to be made to Renaissance Italy and its wealthy and remarkable republican city-states. Italy was the gateway to everything coming from Byzantium, the Middle-East and Asia. Italian merchants and artists were constantly exposed to what was happening in what was at the time more advanced societies. The genius of Italy was how it mastered the commercial aspect (thus inventing, enhancing and perfecting accounting and banking practices for example) of trade and more importantly how it learned and added a uniquely Italian twist to all things. Soon enough, Italy became a financial and cultural center that influenced Western culture. Its achievements remain with us until this day. The flowering and expansion of Occidental culture found a rebirth in Italy for the second time (the first being in Rome) only it was now Milan, Florence and Venice who were the purveyors of humanism that led to all remarkable discoveries. It literally woke up Europe. Italy's well-deserved reputation as a brilliant industrial and manufacturing society as well as masters in the art of good taste has its roots in the Renaissance.
America is very much the Italy of modern times. While it is true there is a 'flight of creativity' as Richard Florida put it - youthful talents are opting for places like Toronto, Vancouver and Sydney these days- America remains the center of civilization akin to Renaissance Italy where people from everywhere came to be with the best. Enjoy the experience or you'll miss it.
2005-06-21
The Great Canadian Mirage
In the United States, people there seem bent on imploding internally by obsessing on the failures or shortcomings of the American experience. In Canada, it's the opposite. If Canadians could boast more they would explode.
On the surface we seem like we're pulling our weight, with rock icons like Bono ridiculously addressing Parliament pleading the world 'needs more Canada'. Well, after the Liberals naturally used him like cheap Irish whiskey, it came to Bono's humanity that Canada wasn't all that.
Bob Geldoff, of Boomtown Rats and Live Aid fame, demanded that Canada bring up its foreign aid to .7% of GDP or don't bother attending a G8 meeting on poverty in Africa with him. Never mind that he is right that Canada has a terrible foreign aid policy, why is this man dictating our policies to begin with? The problem with concerts and humanitarian aid, like the tsunami one before it, is that too often the money is sent and promptly disappears.
George W. Bush has it right, you want our money you will be held to democratically account for it - this drives aid activists mad. But how else to ensure the money goes to the right places and is subsequently used properly?
'We're the best country in the world' is a popular slogan used by politicians, citizens and advertisers alike. Not bad for a supposed quiet and reserved people. When I visit family in Europe, Canadians are rather nerdy and annoying with their assumption that a Maple Leaf will earn them immediate recognition and respect. A typical Canadian trait these days is to be respected and loved without earning it.
Canada does have much going for it. For example, it attracts creative and talented people seeking a conducive atmosphere for art and bio-technology. But we're in the process of mocking our institutions and heritage. For years I was convinced that a 'Golden Age' of Canadiana was ready to conquer the world. It never happened. True, 'The Economist' not so long ago had it's 'Cool Canada' piece and Canada is held in high regards but in the place where it matters most -U.S.A.- we remain an obscurity.
How we measure ourselves is largely based on what parameters we choose to define our failures and successes.
All this is made the more annoying given our pathetically anti-American reflexes. The roots of anti-Americanism in this country are long and is not be the point here. We should treat polls with suspect.
Nonetheless consider one poll conducted by the International Policy Attitudes at the University of Maryland. In this country, a whopping 60% of Canadians view Americans in a negative light.
What's more appalling is how Canadians view the other countries. Specifically, only 39% of Canadians view China in a negative light? Communist China and all its human rights abuses is more respected in Canada! Only 19% of Canadians view France in a negative light. So France managed to pull a fast one on the public relations front. Big deal. France is also a mythical socialist paradise. Like I said, take polls with a grain of sea salt.
There is indeed a democratic deficit in Canada. To be sure, Canada is a stable and functioning democracy with a judicial and legislative process that is the envy of the world in many respects. But as I have mentioned, we are mocking this with our incredibly naive, childish and corrupt behaviour.
If Renaissance humanists came to Canada and rated this society for its achievements and contributions it would possibly earn a failing grade.
Best country in the world? In our little minds perhaps. Let's start acting like one.
On the surface we seem like we're pulling our weight, with rock icons like Bono ridiculously addressing Parliament pleading the world 'needs more Canada'. Well, after the Liberals naturally used him like cheap Irish whiskey, it came to Bono's humanity that Canada wasn't all that.
Bob Geldoff, of Boomtown Rats and Live Aid fame, demanded that Canada bring up its foreign aid to .7% of GDP or don't bother attending a G8 meeting on poverty in Africa with him. Never mind that he is right that Canada has a terrible foreign aid policy, why is this man dictating our policies to begin with? The problem with concerts and humanitarian aid, like the tsunami one before it, is that too often the money is sent and promptly disappears.
George W. Bush has it right, you want our money you will be held to democratically account for it - this drives aid activists mad. But how else to ensure the money goes to the right places and is subsequently used properly?
'We're the best country in the world' is a popular slogan used by politicians, citizens and advertisers alike. Not bad for a supposed quiet and reserved people. When I visit family in Europe, Canadians are rather nerdy and annoying with their assumption that a Maple Leaf will earn them immediate recognition and respect. A typical Canadian trait these days is to be respected and loved without earning it.
Canada does have much going for it. For example, it attracts creative and talented people seeking a conducive atmosphere for art and bio-technology. But we're in the process of mocking our institutions and heritage. For years I was convinced that a 'Golden Age' of Canadiana was ready to conquer the world. It never happened. True, 'The Economist' not so long ago had it's 'Cool Canada' piece and Canada is held in high regards but in the place where it matters most -U.S.A.- we remain an obscurity.
How we measure ourselves is largely based on what parameters we choose to define our failures and successes.
All this is made the more annoying given our pathetically anti-American reflexes. The roots of anti-Americanism in this country are long and is not be the point here. We should treat polls with suspect.
Nonetheless consider one poll conducted by the International Policy Attitudes at the University of Maryland. In this country, a whopping 60% of Canadians view Americans in a negative light.
What's more appalling is how Canadians view the other countries. Specifically, only 39% of Canadians view China in a negative light? Communist China and all its human rights abuses is more respected in Canada! Only 19% of Canadians view France in a negative light. So France managed to pull a fast one on the public relations front. Big deal. France is also a mythical socialist paradise. Like I said, take polls with a grain of sea salt.
There is indeed a democratic deficit in Canada. To be sure, Canada is a stable and functioning democracy with a judicial and legislative process that is the envy of the world in many respects. But as I have mentioned, we are mocking this with our incredibly naive, childish and corrupt behaviour.
If Renaissance humanists came to Canada and rated this society for its achievements and contributions it would possibly earn a failing grade.
Best country in the world? In our little minds perhaps. Let's start acting like one.
2005-06-18
Today's Program is Brought to you by the Number '7'.
What is with the number 7 and 'how-to' and 'secret ways' books? Seven ways to become rich, 7 tips on a successful marriage, 7 how to wipe your ass book, 7 ways to date. 7 ways to handle bitchy dates, 7 ways to order food from a menu, 7 secrets on how to deal with assholes.
Even George Carlin had his hilarious 'seven dirtiest words in the English language' bit. I think the anonymous author of the epic Arthurian poem 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' also makes mention of the number 7.
Consider: 7 days of the week, 7 wonders of the world, 7 deadly sins, 7 seas, 7 daughters of Atlas, 7 ages of man, 7 levels of hell, 7 primary colors, 7 notes of musical scale, 7 categories of absolute judgement, 7 objects in span of attention.
Apparently the number 3 also has a special significance. Yeesh.
Sesame Street never touched on this mystery....or coincidence. Damn that Bob and The Count.
Even George Carlin had his hilarious 'seven dirtiest words in the English language' bit. I think the anonymous author of the epic Arthurian poem 'Sir Gawain and the Green Knight' also makes mention of the number 7.
Consider: 7 days of the week, 7 wonders of the world, 7 deadly sins, 7 seas, 7 daughters of Atlas, 7 ages of man, 7 levels of hell, 7 primary colors, 7 notes of musical scale, 7 categories of absolute judgement, 7 objects in span of attention.
Apparently the number 3 also has a special significance. Yeesh.
Sesame Street never touched on this mystery....or coincidence. Damn that Bob and The Count.
Reflecting on an Era Long Gone
I'm one of those 30-something lads that derives pleasure in anything from the past. During a conversation on film and music, an older lady innocently took for granted - because of my age - my knowledge on these arts. She was barking up the wrong tree.While for most people being contemporary was enough, for me looking to the past was special. I made it a point to watch films like Citizen Kane, Sunset Boulevard, Duck Soup, Singin' in the Rain (the last two being personal favorites) and host of other films from the Golden Age of film (anywhere from 1930s to the 1950s). Not to mention my brief obsession with Vaudeville and the silent comedy with Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Fatty Arbuckle and other Mack Sennett (an early Canadian film pioneer in Hollywood) Keystone features.
The lady was stunned when I reminded her of Birth of a Nation and Cecile B. DeMille not to mention the lost Library of Congress 1915 watershed film The Italian. Al Jolson's The Jazz Singer enthralled me since it was officially the first 'talkie'. And my interest is not restricted to just Hollywood either. International films have always interested me. Nosferatu in 1922 and The Bicycle Thief (Germany and Italy respectively) immediately spring to mind.
My taste in music is also ancient so to speak. I'm usually vulnerable to Okeh recordings of forgotten old blues legends like Mississippi John Hurt or rare live recordings of Billie Holiday during her Decca years or collaborative works by Chick Webb and Ella Fitzgerald during the big band years. And so on.
Standards (jazz interpretations of, for example, Gershwin, Porter and Berlin) and show tunes (though I'm far from an expert on the latter) have always piqued my curiosity. Mind you, show tunes never sounded better than on Bugs Bunny cartoons."They" tell me this is all rare for a 30+ year old - though I know for a fact I'm not alone. We're just an obscure bunch.
I must admit, I have a hard time adjusting and finding that 'shiver' factor with today's music. Each time I commit myself to learning more about the modern sound (Madelaine Peyroux is one such performer that impresses me greatly) I resort back to my comfort zone.
I recently bought a CD featuring the Rat Pack. They were cool without trying to be. They did not need to swear (though I'm sure they were just as vulgar as any modern rap singer). As I sat back listening, I realized they just don't make 'em like this any more. Sure, there has been a neo-crooner revival but none even remotely match the incredible hip suaveness of the real Rat Pack (did you know Humphrey Bogart led the original pack?) The only ones I think that are in the same league as Martin, Sinatra and Davis jr. are Louis Prima, Bing Crosby and Tony Bennett.
Back then, they wore Italian-cut suits or a tux with French cuff links. They always dressed as though it was their last day of existence. Only they could pull off singing by holding a glass of martini or scotch with a cigarette. As well as stop in mid-song to speak to one another or to a lovely gal in the crowd. It was all so tragically and fascinatingly hip. To borrow a cliche, they threw away the mold when these guys moved on.
This group can be extended to the great dancers of the era with Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. Their films usually mesmerize me. When Gene Kelly breaks into 'Singin' in the rain' it still captivates me like I saw it for the first time. It always passes the 'shiver' factor. Imagine, they made tap-dancing cool - as did Gregory Hines did years later. Hine's role in Broadway's Jelly's Last Jam not only introduced me to Jelly Roll Morton and the Ragtime era but to tap dancing as an art form.
Even the comedies had a special character. From the dead-pan Keaton, to the slap stick sophistication of the Marx Brothers to the charming brilliance of Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon in Some Like it Hot.
Yup, they don' make 'em like this anymore. Today, it's all gold chains, guns, pimps and thugs that get the exposure. None of it is cool to me. There's no class left.
I realize I speak of my personal experience and tastes but I do lament a time long gone.
This much I can appreciate. Once upon a time a man wore a suit on an evening with his dame to go and listen to the giants and genius of 20th century music of any genre.
Today, people go in shorts and sandals. Something got lost in the translation.
2005-06-16
Current Affairs: Abortion, Gay crusaders against the Church, Sharia law in Quebec, China and Microsoft, NDP, Greenpeace
Three, no four things caught my ears and eyes over the last couple of days that has compelled me to write about. I'm usually a comfortable mugwump when it comes to certain popular debates.
Like abortion for example. Pro-choice is tolerable provided that it is responsible. But how do we determine the line of what is 'responsible?' We can all agree that a thirteen year-old teenager is not acting responsibly when she engages in unprotected sex. A teenager can be forgiven if she was not properly guided. But what of an adult who rolls the die and who knew better? In the end, we all make mistakes. We should never judge others whatever the decision a person takes.
Two things bother me about abortion (and I'm deliberately avoiding the medical and legal aspect for brevity) - the first, we are probably not doing enough to teach children about abstinence and safe sex. Easier said than done of course. We are more educated than ever on both the pleasures and dangers of sex. The power of pop culture and its subtle and overt glorification of 'sex as cool' provide a strong temptation. Even those of us not influenced by outside cues, who act responsibly, still manage to practice unprotected sex. Should they be denied an abortion? Sex is natural and inevitable indeed but it doesn't mean we should be indifferent to how we approach it.
The abortion problem, it seems to me, would be partially curbed if we empower our kids with knowledge. A mature and sophisticated approach to sex in our schools and at home is essential - it sounds as though we are weaker in the homes as parents and are not quite sure how to handle this. In general, the boy is easier in that we let them figure it out on their own and feel completely unable to confront our daughters - ignoring by ignorance if you will.
The second is the psychological impact an abortion has on women that is rarely mentioned. A woman who has an abortion as a result of rape has a right to choose. A woman who is irresponsible and promiscuous should not. Again, the problem with this is how does one determine this? We fall in danger of moralizing and judging. Though I believe we should carry a card that read 'we should know better' knowing full well we don't always do. Feminists have done a terrible disservice to their gender on this front. Those who claim that pro-life will put a strain on the economy have a dubious argument at best.
This is just a superficial point to make on a complex debate, I realize that. To me, it is not black and white.
Since I'm on a slight roll I shall indulge on other issues.
-Mr. Kevin Bourassa has a problem and dilemma. He has declared in typical hyperbolic fashion (is there any other way for special interest?) wants religious institutions, in all their zany zealotic bigotry no doubt, to comply with the Charter (specifically, if they oppose gay marriage laws that are expected to ram through Parliament without much debate) or else risk losing their charitable donation status.
What is remarkable in his demand is that 1) he and his ilk are no different than any fundamentalist on either side of the ideological divide 2) his shocking disregard for freedom of religion and speech in his anti-democratic reactionary and myopic attitude and 3) more importantly, he obviously does not care about the funding the Church uses to run homeless missionaries or food care packages to families during the Christmas Holidays.
Thankfully our politicians are having none of it and will seek to ensure protection for the Church. This is a secular society and there is no need to go after religious institutions. His campaign will prove to be counter-productive and gays should distance themselves from this nonsense.
-Recently Arab leaders were seeking to make Muslim Sharia laws legitimate in Quebec. As usual, like anybody with an agenda they play down the significance of their request. "No, no you are over reacting." Are we??
Here's the thing, and I'm no expert, but someone, anyone has to remind newly arrived Muslims that this is, at its core, an open and tolerant Christian-based (majority) secular society that will ensure human and equal rights before the law for all.
I'm not entirely sure what and how Sharia would function. Is it a case where it would trump our laws? If so, can it live side-by-side within a constitutional democracy with its own established legal codes?
I think for the time being, Jean Charest and the Liberals have shown wisdom in not allowing this.
Surprise surprise at the Can-Can. China has asked Microsoft to ban certain words on an internet service they provide in that walled up country- excuse the bad pun. What's bizarre is how a country with a remarkable historic civilization can be so utterly backwards. Oh yes, that's right they are communists. Or Marxists or Leninists or Maosits. Whatever, a million killed here, 50 million there it's all good.
Chinese web log users are prevented from using words like 'independence', 'human rights', 'democracy' and 'demonstration.' Wow, do you think the ideologues in Quebec City are taking notes? Microsoft complied. I'm not about to jump on MSFT on this one. They are a business and as such they must do what is in the best interest of their company and international stockholders. It's not their job to be the defenders of liberty. That's for the people and their respective governments to work out.
-"Let (the bastards, morons etc.) Americans freeze in the dark" so says NDP MP Pat Martin in response to Bush's plan to divert Devil Lake into Manitoba that may pollute its waters. Forget the issue, where Canada has a point, and focus on the delicious irony. The New Democratic Party, the name in itself is oxymoronic since they are socialists, is a party that, in part, hinges on compassion. They claim to be caring and not like the 'other' parties. How does this statement fit with their moral ethos? The NDP are morons.
-In the most ignorant thing I have heard yet section I present Greenpeace. The same Greenpeace that had one of its ships sunk by the 'peaceful' French. It seems the brass over at GP headquarters are playing the all too familiar 'let's find a parallel' history game. They recently published a report comparing Guantanamo to the 'gulag of our times.'
The comparison between the two ends within seconds of comparing them. If GP wants to make the world a better place they should go by the Way of the Truth Dante spoke of. Using historical inaccuracies is a crime against the arts.
As for the Americans, it's time they just swallow a pill by Pfizer and just admit that they are an empire. If they would, things would go much easier for them in the eyes of public opinion. It would eliminate the gluttony of contradictions in their actions and behaviour. Can it be nations are annoyed that Americans in fact deny they are an empire? It's as if the world is saying "Hey, you're the new Rome and London. Act like it! Stop acting like softies."
Like abortion for example. Pro-choice is tolerable provided that it is responsible. But how do we determine the line of what is 'responsible?' We can all agree that a thirteen year-old teenager is not acting responsibly when she engages in unprotected sex. A teenager can be forgiven if she was not properly guided. But what of an adult who rolls the die and who knew better? In the end, we all make mistakes. We should never judge others whatever the decision a person takes.
Two things bother me about abortion (and I'm deliberately avoiding the medical and legal aspect for brevity) - the first, we are probably not doing enough to teach children about abstinence and safe sex. Easier said than done of course. We are more educated than ever on both the pleasures and dangers of sex. The power of pop culture and its subtle and overt glorification of 'sex as cool' provide a strong temptation. Even those of us not influenced by outside cues, who act responsibly, still manage to practice unprotected sex. Should they be denied an abortion? Sex is natural and inevitable indeed but it doesn't mean we should be indifferent to how we approach it.
The abortion problem, it seems to me, would be partially curbed if we empower our kids with knowledge. A mature and sophisticated approach to sex in our schools and at home is essential - it sounds as though we are weaker in the homes as parents and are not quite sure how to handle this. In general, the boy is easier in that we let them figure it out on their own and feel completely unable to confront our daughters - ignoring by ignorance if you will.
The second is the psychological impact an abortion has on women that is rarely mentioned. A woman who has an abortion as a result of rape has a right to choose. A woman who is irresponsible and promiscuous should not. Again, the problem with this is how does one determine this? We fall in danger of moralizing and judging. Though I believe we should carry a card that read 'we should know better' knowing full well we don't always do. Feminists have done a terrible disservice to their gender on this front. Those who claim that pro-life will put a strain on the economy have a dubious argument at best.
This is just a superficial point to make on a complex debate, I realize that. To me, it is not black and white.
Since I'm on a slight roll I shall indulge on other issues.
-Mr. Kevin Bourassa has a problem and dilemma. He has declared in typical hyperbolic fashion (is there any other way for special interest?) wants religious institutions, in all their zany zealotic bigotry no doubt, to comply with the Charter (specifically, if they oppose gay marriage laws that are expected to ram through Parliament without much debate) or else risk losing their charitable donation status.
What is remarkable in his demand is that 1) he and his ilk are no different than any fundamentalist on either side of the ideological divide 2) his shocking disregard for freedom of religion and speech in his anti-democratic reactionary and myopic attitude and 3) more importantly, he obviously does not care about the funding the Church uses to run homeless missionaries or food care packages to families during the Christmas Holidays.
Thankfully our politicians are having none of it and will seek to ensure protection for the Church. This is a secular society and there is no need to go after religious institutions. His campaign will prove to be counter-productive and gays should distance themselves from this nonsense.
-Recently Arab leaders were seeking to make Muslim Sharia laws legitimate in Quebec. As usual, like anybody with an agenda they play down the significance of their request. "No, no you are over reacting." Are we??
Here's the thing, and I'm no expert, but someone, anyone has to remind newly arrived Muslims that this is, at its core, an open and tolerant Christian-based (majority) secular society that will ensure human and equal rights before the law for all.
I'm not entirely sure what and how Sharia would function. Is it a case where it would trump our laws? If so, can it live side-by-side within a constitutional democracy with its own established legal codes?
I think for the time being, Jean Charest and the Liberals have shown wisdom in not allowing this.
Surprise surprise at the Can-Can. China has asked Microsoft to ban certain words on an internet service they provide in that walled up country- excuse the bad pun. What's bizarre is how a country with a remarkable historic civilization can be so utterly backwards. Oh yes, that's right they are communists. Or Marxists or Leninists or Maosits. Whatever, a million killed here, 50 million there it's all good.
Chinese web log users are prevented from using words like 'independence', 'human rights', 'democracy' and 'demonstration.' Wow, do you think the ideologues in Quebec City are taking notes? Microsoft complied. I'm not about to jump on MSFT on this one. They are a business and as such they must do what is in the best interest of their company and international stockholders. It's not their job to be the defenders of liberty. That's for the people and their respective governments to work out.
-"Let (the bastards, morons etc.) Americans freeze in the dark" so says NDP MP Pat Martin in response to Bush's plan to divert Devil Lake into Manitoba that may pollute its waters. Forget the issue, where Canada has a point, and focus on the delicious irony. The New Democratic Party, the name in itself is oxymoronic since they are socialists, is a party that, in part, hinges on compassion. They claim to be caring and not like the 'other' parties. How does this statement fit with their moral ethos? The NDP are morons.
-In the most ignorant thing I have heard yet section I present Greenpeace. The same Greenpeace that had one of its ships sunk by the 'peaceful' French. It seems the brass over at GP headquarters are playing the all too familiar 'let's find a parallel' history game. They recently published a report comparing Guantanamo to the 'gulag of our times.'
The comparison between the two ends within seconds of comparing them. If GP wants to make the world a better place they should go by the Way of the Truth Dante spoke of. Using historical inaccuracies is a crime against the arts.
As for the Americans, it's time they just swallow a pill by Pfizer and just admit that they are an empire. If they would, things would go much easier for them in the eyes of public opinion. It would eliminate the gluttony of contradictions in their actions and behaviour. Can it be nations are annoyed that Americans in fact deny they are an empire? It's as if the world is saying "Hey, you're the new Rome and London. Act like it! Stop acting like softies."
2005-06-15
The Many Faces and Sounds of Springsteenian Eloquence
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. The name should immediately conjure up images of our mundane and free-spirited youth, our realized and shattered dreams, our invincibility and vulnerablity.
Springsteen's human depictions of our collision with life's twisted and predictable plots and themes seem all too real and easy in their connectability. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are the apex of an evolution begun with timeless and immortal rock legends of a bygone era. In Springsteen the ghosts and spirits of Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison and Bo Diddley find a voice. Springsteen, however, is not just about rock'n roll and guitars though this is his leitmotif. Springsteen is both Wagnerian and Verdi-esque in his operatic stances and chants. He has a soul. Mahalia Jackson, Aretha Franklin and Curtis Mayfield and other conveyors of gospel too have a voice in his music. Like jazz is...Bruce is. He literally and figuratively transcends rock as a form of music. "One, two, three four! The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive....!"
Yes, we all drop into a tenth avenue freeze-out when listening to the scope and poetic lyricism that is Sprinsteenian elegance and eloquence. Best of all, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band make us head for our imagined cars like Jimmy the Saint on an unclear mission. Just like 'James Dean in that Mercury '49' with our tailored version of Rosalita in our arms and ride into a long empty San Diego highway in the summertime, in a sunrise or sunset it doesn't matter, into nowhere. Nowhere too eventually has a point. A point of origin - a new beginning and an impossible end.
No one loves, races and laments quite like a Bruce Springsteen figure. All were born and made in the U.S.A but they know national boundaries. They are international citizens too. At their core, make no mistake, they are instinctively and distinctively American and bound for glory.
Who can forget being thundercracked for the first time? Love is an elusive yet conquerable reoccuring theme in the timeline of human consciousness known to sometimes crush and redeem a soul. In the end "ain't nobody like to be alone." Who wouldn't want to race in a "hot stepping hemi with a four on the floor"? Metaphorically, "she's a roadrunner engine in a '32 Ford." The Magic Rat too had a purpose. We all 'stood stoned at midnight suspended in my (our) masquerade." The "flag of piracy" flew a little to high for some. We all seek respect in this oft tiresome and challenging world. "Mister, I ain't a boy. No, I'm a man and I believe in a Promised Land." Yes, there is hope. Even though "I've done my best to live the right way" and sometimes nothing good comes of it. We want it all "poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king and a king ain't satisfied till he rules everything." Internal and eternal personal satisfaction can be elusive and destructive. Navigating deep into ourselves is a daunting and haunting task.
Yes, there is a 'darkness on the edge of town' on an isolated Nebraska highway in the dead of winter and yes 'growin' up' is tough enough without the Chicken Man lurking about. We all leave or left our homes "with skin like leather and the diamond-hard look of a cobra" with no intentions of being saints in the city since, as he put it, it was so hard to be so. But if you care enough, just a tiny bit, there is a call to 'the rising' in all of us. We can go 'racing in the street' to a 'Cadillac ranch' or the 'Seaside Bar' or on the 'backstreets' or down 'Thunder Road' with 'no surrender' to "pull out and win". But smitten, we will always want to 'give the girl a kiss' and this keeps us coming back for more of life. It keeps us honest and just. There is a Sandy, Wendy, Mary, Linda and Bobby Jean for all of us.
There is an eternal plot to Springsteen. "Her brains they rattle and her bones they shake. Whoah she's an angel from the inner lake." "Madman drummers bummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat." "Well, maverick daddy got a one-eyed bride she glides like a monkey-mule kicking on the back side." "Come waltz with me tonight senorita 'cause only fools are alone on a night like this." "Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays." Let it all unfold before you. Let it....
Springsteen's human depictions of our collision with life's twisted and predictable plots and themes seem all too real and easy in their connectability. Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band are the apex of an evolution begun with timeless and immortal rock legends of a bygone era. In Springsteen the ghosts and spirits of Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison and Bo Diddley find a voice. Springsteen, however, is not just about rock'n roll and guitars though this is his leitmotif. Springsteen is both Wagnerian and Verdi-esque in his operatic stances and chants. He has a soul. Mahalia Jackson, Aretha Franklin and Curtis Mayfield and other conveyors of gospel too have a voice in his music. Like jazz is...Bruce is. He literally and figuratively transcends rock as a form of music. "One, two, three four! The highways jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive....!"
Yes, we all drop into a tenth avenue freeze-out when listening to the scope and poetic lyricism that is Sprinsteenian elegance and eloquence. Best of all, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band make us head for our imagined cars like Jimmy the Saint on an unclear mission. Just like 'James Dean in that Mercury '49' with our tailored version of Rosalita in our arms and ride into a long empty San Diego highway in the summertime, in a sunrise or sunset it doesn't matter, into nowhere. Nowhere too eventually has a point. A point of origin - a new beginning and an impossible end.
No one loves, races and laments quite like a Bruce Springsteen figure. All were born and made in the U.S.A but they know national boundaries. They are international citizens too. At their core, make no mistake, they are instinctively and distinctively American and bound for glory.
Who can forget being thundercracked for the first time? Love is an elusive yet conquerable reoccuring theme in the timeline of human consciousness known to sometimes crush and redeem a soul. In the end "ain't nobody like to be alone." Who wouldn't want to race in a "hot stepping hemi with a four on the floor"? Metaphorically, "she's a roadrunner engine in a '32 Ford." The Magic Rat too had a purpose. We all 'stood stoned at midnight suspended in my (our) masquerade." The "flag of piracy" flew a little to high for some. We all seek respect in this oft tiresome and challenging world. "Mister, I ain't a boy. No, I'm a man and I believe in a Promised Land." Yes, there is hope. Even though "I've done my best to live the right way" and sometimes nothing good comes of it. We want it all "poor man wanna be rich, rich man wanna be king and a king ain't satisfied till he rules everything." Internal and eternal personal satisfaction can be elusive and destructive. Navigating deep into ourselves is a daunting and haunting task.
Yes, there is a 'darkness on the edge of town' on an isolated Nebraska highway in the dead of winter and yes 'growin' up' is tough enough without the Chicken Man lurking about. We all leave or left our homes "with skin like leather and the diamond-hard look of a cobra" with no intentions of being saints in the city since, as he put it, it was so hard to be so. But if you care enough, just a tiny bit, there is a call to 'the rising' in all of us. We can go 'racing in the street' to a 'Cadillac ranch' or the 'Seaside Bar' or on the 'backstreets' or down 'Thunder Road' with 'no surrender' to "pull out and win". But smitten, we will always want to 'give the girl a kiss' and this keeps us coming back for more of life. It keeps us honest and just. There is a Sandy, Wendy, Mary, Linda and Bobby Jean for all of us.
There is an eternal plot to Springsteen. "Her brains they rattle and her bones they shake. Whoah she's an angel from the inner lake." "Madman drummers bummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat." "Well, maverick daddy got a one-eyed bride she glides like a monkey-mule kicking on the back side." "Come waltz with me tonight senorita 'cause only fools are alone on a night like this." "Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays." Let it all unfold before you. Let it....
Articles of Interest: Politics
I hope to do this on a fairly regular basis. Here are some articles that caught my curious yet tired eye courtesy of Daniel Pipes.
www.arabnews.com/?page=7§ion=0&article=58456&d=3&m=2&y=2005
www.victorhanson.com/articles/hanson010705.html
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/users/login.php?story_id=2737&URL=http://www.foreignpolicy.com/story/cms.php?story_id=2737
www.arabnews.com/?page=7§ion=0&article=58456&d=3&m=2&y=2005
www.victorhanson.com/articles/hanson010705.html
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/users/login.php?story_id=2737&URL=http://www.foreignpolicy.com/story/cms.php?story_id=2737
Max: In the Dole - Unemployment Rate 100%
I was thinking. The unwillingness of our snollygoster's (and I use this word loosely) to tighten the democratic deficit in this country makes me want to hurt their feelings. Maybe it's time a good citizen like myself strikes back. I ain't going to be no gongoozler.
Whenever society feels powerless and overwhlemed by crime and evil it produces a superhero - Batman, Spider-Man, Superman, Fantastic Four, Captain Marvel, The Avengers, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Blue Beetle, Badger, Fatman, Duck Dodgers, Angelfood McSpade, Fritz the Cat, Rocket Robin Hood and Mighty Mouse to name a few. Well, I have decided to strike back. One major impediment is that I have no special powers. Hoo-ha.
I was not born on another planet or bitten by a toxic worm. Imagine that, a radio-active worm (of all things) bites my ass and I become Worm-Boy! I slither and sliver to the rescue licking and sticking my tongue in cataglottism in every respectable gals resting and unsuspecting vagina!
So, no powers. Can't fly and can't run at Mach-7 speeds. That sucks. God really hampered me on this front. Nothing annoys me more than wanting something badly enough only to be prevented by God's will. No wonder there are atheists among us. But! But, I have been endowed quite handsomely. Perhaps, I thought, I could use fornication to instill fear into our leaders! The decision was made, over a bowl of cereal (Froot Loops), to attack like a wobbegong and fuck every woman married to a politician like jackalopes. I will use my skills and gift of gab to infiltrate the upper echelons of power (though the word power in Canada has no meaning) - gallant soldier that I am. I may even get the Order of Canada - heck, David Ahknew has one.
My first victim, well she was not really a victim. How can she be one when she screamed, whimpered and begged for more? It was a sad spectacle. The real victim was her arrogant and crooked husband. Some may question my fiendish skullduggery but that's just gallimaufry. This is for the greater good, man.
We made love like passionate amoral dogs. I took pictures. I brushed my teeth. I went home.
I sent a letter (I used gloves to avoid finger-prints) to Parliament that was read on the floor in the House of Commons. It stated in part "I hereby decree that for every act that injures democracy in this great land, I will take one of your wives. If you are a woman, you are safe. I will not touch your husbands but you yourself are not safe. I will make senseless love to them honorificabilitudinitatibus (with honors). I will not be held accountable for my actions. Why should I? Parliament rarely is. Hear my cachinnatory! Moo-haw-haw!
I need a shtick. Perhaps a rose or a picture of Pepe Le Pew to leave behind. I'm not sure. I may also need a costume. Hmm, being hero takes work.
Such are things I think about while playing with my Superfriends figurines. It was a bloody war on an epic scale when they had to fight the Star Wars gang, the A-Team and cowboys and injuns. Welcome to my jungle, punks.
Whenever society feels powerless and overwhlemed by crime and evil it produces a superhero - Batman, Spider-Man, Superman, Fantastic Four, Captain Marvel, The Avengers, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Blue Beetle, Badger, Fatman, Duck Dodgers, Angelfood McSpade, Fritz the Cat, Rocket Robin Hood and Mighty Mouse to name a few. Well, I have decided to strike back. One major impediment is that I have no special powers. Hoo-ha.
I was not born on another planet or bitten by a toxic worm. Imagine that, a radio-active worm (of all things) bites my ass and I become Worm-Boy! I slither and sliver to the rescue licking and sticking my tongue in cataglottism in every respectable gals resting and unsuspecting vagina!
So, no powers. Can't fly and can't run at Mach-7 speeds. That sucks. God really hampered me on this front. Nothing annoys me more than wanting something badly enough only to be prevented by God's will. No wonder there are atheists among us. But! But, I have been endowed quite handsomely. Perhaps, I thought, I could use fornication to instill fear into our leaders! The decision was made, over a bowl of cereal (Froot Loops), to attack like a wobbegong and fuck every woman married to a politician like jackalopes. I will use my skills and gift of gab to infiltrate the upper echelons of power (though the word power in Canada has no meaning) - gallant soldier that I am. I may even get the Order of Canada - heck, David Ahknew has one.
My first victim, well she was not really a victim. How can she be one when she screamed, whimpered and begged for more? It was a sad spectacle. The real victim was her arrogant and crooked husband. Some may question my fiendish skullduggery but that's just gallimaufry. This is for the greater good, man.
We made love like passionate amoral dogs. I took pictures. I brushed my teeth. I went home.
I sent a letter (I used gloves to avoid finger-prints) to Parliament that was read on the floor in the House of Commons. It stated in part "I hereby decree that for every act that injures democracy in this great land, I will take one of your wives. If you are a woman, you are safe. I will not touch your husbands but you yourself are not safe. I will make senseless love to them honorificabilitudinitatibus (with honors). I will not be held accountable for my actions. Why should I? Parliament rarely is. Hear my cachinnatory! Moo-haw-haw!
I need a shtick. Perhaps a rose or a picture of Pepe Le Pew to leave behind. I'm not sure. I may also need a costume. Hmm, being hero takes work.
Such are things I think about while playing with my Superfriends figurines. It was a bloody war on an epic scale when they had to fight the Star Wars gang, the A-Team and cowboys and injuns. Welcome to my jungle, punks.
2005-06-05
Jackie Robinson - A Montreal Royal Forever
I used to watch 'This Week in Baseball' quite a bit in the 1980s - the Golden Age of Montreal Expos baseball for some. Others believe it to be the 60s and 70s were the Golden Age -which would make the 80s the Silver Age I suppose. Labels, labels such a fascination. Anyhow, perhaps on a romantic level it was, but the 80s was an era where the Expos, Nos Amours, were most competitive.Regardless, I don't watch TWIB much anymore but I recently caught parts of the latest episode on June 5th. And how about that? right off the bat, excuse the mediocre pun, TWIB continued an age old American bad habit of ignoring this city's baseball heritage.
The show stated that the Brooklyn Dodgers were baseball's first integrated ball club. They were not. They were 'Major League Baseball's' first integrated team but not the sport of baseball. That distinction clearly belongs to the Montreal Royal - three time Junior World Series Champions- home to such legends as Roy Campanella, Tommy Lasorda, Don Drysdale and of course Jackie Robinson.
I won't recite the Royals legacy here since I already have in a previous blog but I will say that baseball was enormously popular among all Quebecers - French or English speaking - as attendance figures at DeLormier Downs reveal. Baseball has a 100-year story here, yet Americans never quite appreciated or accepted baseball locating in this province. They always wanted to believe their own perceptions that we Canadians know or knew little of the sport.
That TWIB overlooked this is nothing new. It just continued a long tradition of American media outlets completely ignoring Montreal -which explains the shocking ignorance and indifference they showed with the demise of the Expos. The message was clear; the Expos were a plague. Baseball epic documentaries like Ken Burns' '9 Innings' were also guilty of this. When I watched his brilliant work, I was disappointed at the subtle gloss over of the Blue Jays World Series victory and the role Canada played in the development of this great game. He sadly looked over the Jackie Robinson experience in this town. Selective history does not do justice to history - or in this case to baseball.
Montrealers poured their hearts, souls and energies into the baseball experience. It is unfortunate we failed to market this so that Americans took notice. Today, the diamonds are still filled with garage and organized leagues in the summertime. Sadly, it all feels so empty. The loss and departure of the Expos left a void that is inescapable.
As for, Jackie Robinson, he will forever be a part of the sports fabric of this town; TWIB notwithstanding.
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