Believe the hype.

Just saw a fantastic flick that was a big hit in the UK last year... no, not that saccharine mess Love Actually (I agree with Mark Steyn who wrote Love Actually is crap, actually)

The movie I am talking about is Shawn of the Dead (see the trailer HERE) described as "RomZomCom" or romantic zombie comedy. Believe it or not, that is a pretty accurate description. Not only is it a wickedly funny film, it has some great gore, if you are into that sort of thing, and well-crafted characters that you actually care about. Set against the backdrop of an outbreak of zombieism in North London , SOTD (as movie geeks have already christened it) tells the story of the disintegration of a thirty-year old electronics salesman's relationship with his long-suffering girlfriend and his efforts to win her back, aided and hindered in turns by family and friends. What is truly hilarious about this movie is that none of the characters seem to notice what is going on around them for the first third of the film. When they finally do, the payoff is really worth the price of admission.

Some critics claim the movie is pointing out that in today's urban society, we humans are half-zombie already, or at least, that we frequently engage in zombie-like behaviour. Now, there is some validity to that, but I prefer to think that what the filmmakers are really saying is that we can all be a bit self-obsessed or disconnected from the ugly reality of our everyday lives at times, and when we are going through a particularly bad emotional experience, it is entirely possible that we become completely oblivious to what is going on around us... Lord knows, I've been guilty of that little sin more than once.

This is the kind of movie you will want to watch again and again, and you'll probably be rewarded as you pick up some of the more subtle jokes or references (and you finally wrap your ear around the english accents of the protagonists) on repeat viewings. If you don't end up enjoying SOTD, check your pulse... you may be a zombie yourself.

Damn... summer's almost over!

Two months!

Two months I've been away.

I'm back now.

Check back soon.

I have rather consciously neglected my blog of late. It's been pretty tough to keep up the writing with work being what it is. I have been exceptionally busy. Today, however, I am prompted to write. I have been watching a TV special on Mordechai Richler, who is probably, by critical consensus, Canada's most talented author of the late twentieth century (although some would give that title to Atwood) and the quintessential unrepentant Montreal anglo. He is known not only for his fantastic novels, which so eloquently captured the soul of the city he loved, but for his forays into polemic writing. Richler fought the nationalists in Quebec relentlessly, dragooning his formidable talents into service to ridicule their pretensions and point out the inherent contradictions of their credo. In the late eighties and early nineties, while the Feds were flirting and unwisely pandering to the separatists, Richler railed against the injustices he saw around him. He saw beneath the surface of "civic nationalism" and exposed the "siege mentality" and the paranoid and obsessive nature of the sovereignty movement, which sought to limit the rights of others in order to safeguard their own way of life. As a French-speaking Anglophone with many nationalist friends who has lived in Montreal, I have my own perspective on the "Quebec question". Simply put, you can dress it up in the garb of "civic nationalism", but the heart of the sovereignty movement is ethnic identity and the duty of minorities to conform to the wishes of the ethnic francophone majority. It is an attitude that proclaims "You may live here, and you may associate with us, but unless you adhere to our philosophy, unless you adopt our language and our ways, you will never be one of us". This is a view entirely at odds with the fundamental beliefs of most Canadians, and it manifests itself in many noxious forms: separatism, anti-semitism, xenophobia. I recall Parizeau and Landry post-referendum eructations on the eve of their defeat ("Money and the ethnic vote"?)and more recent indiscrete remarks, glimpses into their dark hearts. When one reads
Oh Canada! Oh Quebec, one sees that Richler, as so few others did, understood the nature of the fight for the soul of his Province in the late twentieth century.

OK, I'm off my politics kick. The system is broke. First past the post excacerbates regional cleavages. Canadians don't reject the West, but our system sure makes it look like we do. We need to fix it. End of story.

Onto lighter fare. Saw Spidey 2. Loved the heck out of it. I was never a big fanboy as a teenager. I read maybe a two dozen Spider-man comics as a teen, mostly during the McFarlane craze. The Spider-man I am more familiar with is the cartoon from the seventies with the cheesy animation and a very old-sounding Peter Parker.

I loved the first movie because it wasn't the story of a superhero who occasionally adopted an alter-ego to walk among us, but the story of a young man who occasionally had to put on some red and blue tights and fight the bad guys between college classes. It was as much the story of Peter Parker making his way in this big scary world as it was a "superhero flick".

I figured that the one way that Sam Raimi (one of my favourite directors) could botch his second crack at Marvel's flagship franchise would be to focus too much on the spider and not enough on the man this time around. Thankfully, Spiderman 2 is as squarely focused on the trials and tribulations of young Peter as its predecessor. So much more than a summer popcorn flick, it is the compelling story of a kid coming to terms with the life he has chosen, and the price he must pay because of this choice.

One of the best things about this movie is the cast. The performances are universally strong across the board. In his second outing as Spidey, Tobey MacGuire hits his stride. his performance is note perfect. Although Kirstin Dunst would not have been my first choice as MJ, she is growing on me in the role. James Franco: I like the guy alot, but his brooding Harry Osborne is in a holding pattern in SM2, There is, however, a promise of great things in future installments, if this franchise steams along for a couple more movies --as I'm sure it will. Alfred Molina does a kickass job as Doc Ock. Smart and scary and bad, but without being really evil, if that makes any sense. Great supporting turns from Rosemary Harris, J.K. Simmons, and of course a fantastic cameo by Bruce Campbell, my personal messiah!

Because I hate it when people give away the plot of movies, I will say no more. The effects are light years ahead of what we saw last time around. The plot, unburdened with the task of all that exposition that usually hampers any first film in a series, is a big improvement on that of first flick. The dialogue is comic-bookish without being ridiculous, and Sam Raimi, using his trademark whip-pans and funky innovative camera moves, directs with all the gusto he mustered in his classic Evil Dead films... only now, 20 years later, people are giving him bags of money to do his thing. Watch this flick, and I guarantee you'll leave the cinema with a smile on your face, looking forward to the next visit from your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman!

Holy crap!

What happened?

A number of things:

The attack adds worked.

Scary Stephen frightened all the soccer moms in the 905.

Ontario flinched, held its nose, and voted for the devil they know.

BC turned its back on the Conservatives.

Jack Layton's used car salesman schtick went over with a fair number of non granola-crunching Canadians.

Gilles Duceppe proved that you don't have to flog a referendum even if you are a separatiste.(take note Landry)

and Quebec kicked Poll Marton in the balls so hard he'll be feeling until sometime after Christmas, possibly even well into next year (maybe now that his Quebec support has evaporated, people will stop calling him Paul Mar-tain... the guy is from Windsor, for chrissakes).

I said:

BQ would take 57. As of midnight, they are at 53. I figured Lapierre was toast. Shows what I know.

NDP would take 26. As of midnight, they are at 21. I didn't count on Toronto turning chickenshit.

I was WAY OFF about the Liberal and Conservative totals. CBC has it at 137 to 96 at midnight (I didn't count on the rest of Ontario turning chickenshit, for that matter).

Alot of close races... some may not be resolved for days, maybe even weeks, but no doubt about it... the NDP and the Bloc are the big winners tonight. They can say what they like about being a new party, but you gotta figure the Conservatives are disappointed.

The traitors win big, with possibly their highest total of seats ever (we'll see after the inevitable recounts), and the commies now hold the balance of power in our parliament... I suppose it could have been worse... I could have been the reverse. (can you imagine a parliament --with a 50-member NDP caucus no less-- where the Liberals have to grovel before the separatists? Gak!)

Hell... who knows, maybe some good will come out of this Liberal-NDP minority thing!

My predictions on election day -- because it's fun to speculate and then make excuses for why you were wrong!...

These are completely unscientific. They are based on nothing more than my general impressions, gleaned largely from polls, pundits, and a good old fashioned gut feeling about the way things will go down. I am adopting the Steyn-Coyne nomenclature for the major parties (with terms for the Liberals and Conservatives stolen from the last election in France)

Party Seats

Fascists (CPC): 114
Crooks (LPC): 110
Traitors (BQ): 57
Commies (NDP): 26
Freaks (Green): 1

I really believe that if it is anywhere near as close as I am calling it, and if the Liberals get a higher percentage of the popular vote than the Conservatives (as alot of people are predicting), Paul Martin WILL try to govern with a minority (recent comments about "common sense" notwithstanding).

What does this mean? Mr. Martin prepares for the inevitable fallout within his party, tries to reconcile with the Liberal left wing, cozies up to the NDP and maybe even the Bloc, and staggers along for a few months until the next election, which will be sooner rather than later. After the way his people mishandled his campaign and squandered the lead that the Liberals' enjoyed when the election was called, the question is: will Paul be around to lead the next campaign?

Yet another tedious update...

Visit Coyne. He is now writing about a permanent change in the Canadian political landscape. As the Liberal's grasp of Ontario and Quebec slips through their fingers --Several reasons for that, including a couple I mentioned in previous posts (the social and fiscal conservatism of new Canadians, the disenchantment of Canadians with "their" traditional governing party...)-- Mr. Coyne brings up the idea that Stephen Harper's ultimate goal may in fact be the establishment of a permanent (American style!!!) two-party system in Canada...

As I watch a chameleonesque shipping magnate Paul Martin aggressively court NDP voters as he attempts to re-cast himself as a left-leaning warm-and-fuzzy politician, I'm starting to think that Andrew may be on to something...

Update:

HERE, in contrast, is a reproduction of the NP's editorial endorsing the Conservatives. Agree or disagree, you have to admit, it is not a "qualified" or "conditional" endorsement.

This version comes courtesy of the Belinda Stronach site.

Belinda Stronach: Potentially, the hottest Cabinet Minister in Canada's history... damn, she is fine!

I'm addicted to election coverage.

I love the way people like Judy Rebick talk about the horror of "Reagan-Bush-style Government" if the Conservatives come to power. Some people just can't resist kicking the yanks in the nuts every chance they get.

Alan Greenspon has basically admitted that the Globe could have gone either way in their endorsement op-ed. He said the editorial board went 55-45 on the endorsement. It may be an endorsement of the Liberals, but I doubt any Liberals will be crowing about it from the rooftops.

Here is an actual excerpt from this editorial --Remember this is an editorial endorsing another Liberal Government:

To put it succinctly, Paul Martin, or whoever is inhabiting his body, has proved a monumental disappointment since becoming Prime Minister six months ago. His pronouncements have displayed all the consistency of Pablum. Intent on winning every vote in the country, he lived in fear of offending someone, somewhere, somehow. On Iraq and Kyoto, he was incomprehensible. On same-sex marriage, he swung both ways. On missile defence co-operation, first he was openly for it, then secretly for it. He had two Supreme Court openings, but boxed himself into a process corner.

He made enemies of the meritorious (witness Stéphane Dion) and promoted the mediocre (come on down, Jean Lapierre). The only difference between his political manipulations and those of his "friendly dictator" predecessor was that the latter didn't leave bloodied fingerprints at the crime scene.

On health care, we have heard much rhetoric. But Mr. Martin's ideas for shortening waiting lists remain fanciful. As a general rule, he has beseeched voters to count on his reputation for solutions rather than proposing any.

The National Post has highlighted the "outlandish contradiction" of this election:

Many voters, otherwise sensible, believe that the one federal party proven to be irresponsible is the only responsible choice. That would be the Liberals.

Jonathan Kay of the National Post on CBC in response to Alan Greenspon and the Globe's Editorial: "Do you want to give this monumental disappointment another mandate?"

Well, do ya?

Today's lesson: If you and your dog are nice to people, they might just think twice about killing you and everyone in the immediate area...

So please be a nice person! My life may depend on it.

I wonder...

If the day after the election, Paul Martin finds himself at the head of a minority government, will he suddenly develop an allergy to taking on the Democratic Deficit? It's easy to talk about reforming parliament when your majority is so large you don't have to worry about a few renegades breaking ranks once in a while... My guess is that the whips will come out and some Liberal MPs will end up with nasty welts on their backs if they go wobbly on the big guy.

Since Martin's accession to the Liberal throne way back in December, Paul "Porkpie" Wells has been doing a fantastic job of chronicling our PM's early efforts at ending the democratic deficit on his blog. Check out his archives. (it's a fine blog, Paul, don't worry about what mean people say!)

If he gets his job back, I'm sure we can expect more of the same from this champion of democracy.

OK, let me get THIS straight... we need to re-elect Martin because Stephen Harper's party "isn't ready"? I guess them country bumpkins is slow learners, huh?

We wish Mr. Martin had afforded himself the opportunity of an 18-month tryout before going to the polls. Now the voters have the opportunity to impose a probationary period themselves. Whichever party prevails Monday, a minority looks the most likely outcome. We believe Mr. Martin represents the less risky proposition and deserves a second chance to prove himself. We further believe the Conservatives could use more time to pull their new party together and make their positions and predispositions clearer.


... and so, the Globe & Mail reaches the nadir of arrogance.

Michael Moore's lardy posterior is still smarting from the monumental boot-torquing that Chris Hitchens delivers in his review of Fahreinheit 911 (no, I won't dignify the website for this film with a link... it's my blog, and I can do what I like). Read it. Now.

I still plan on seeing the damn film... I am fascinated by demagoguery and propaganda in all its forms.

What do I think of the election campaign?

Well, being the "right-wing reactionary" (my dad's term) that I am, I am encouraged.

That's not to say that politics in Canada is taking a hard-right turn, regardless of what the yank-bashers and guardians of Canadian culture would have you believe. The centre has proved to be a surprisingly spacious piece of political real estate, notwithsanding the efforts of the Liberal Party-- the party of "da Canadian Values" -- to extend their lease there.

I am encouraged because in the wake of the Alliance-Conservative shotgun marriage something surprising happened. Rather than swallowing the rump PC holus-bolus as the Tory old guard of that moribund party (Clark, Stevens, et al)predicted, the giddy newlyweds found that they could accomodate each other. This "hostile takeover" ended up pulling the Western rednecks and social conservatives kicking and screaming over into moderate right-of centre territory, miles away from the goose-steppers and Jesus freaks with whom they had previously been lumped by Canada's liberal media.

I discovered, to my astonishment, that there is more than one "establishment" in Canada. There is, of course, the "Liberal Establishment"... you know, the folks who created the "Trudeaupian" state, as Steyn calls the Canadian polity that has evolved since the late sixties. They have had the run of the joint in Federal politics for most of the last forty years (except for that eight-year Mulroney interregnum of constitutional and free trade squabbles that still makes most good Canadians shudder). With their Charter, their Multiculturalism, their vigorous anti-Americanism and wtheir well-intentioned degradation of Canada's proud military, the Libs put the Canadian identity in a powerful submission hold and squeezed until the monarchists and detaxers tapped out (I was just watching Wrestling, cut me some slack).

Thing is though, there is another establishment kicking around; "The Man" that the hippies warned us about: The Bay Street Boys, the sinister right-wing conspiracy, the old-Canada Cabal: during the nineties, a bunch of middle-aged cranky white guys kept electing fellows like Mike Harris and Ralph Klein at the Provincial level. In spite of having extirpated the Mulroneyites au federal, the Liberals never could deliver the coup de grace to the conservative breed once and for all. Sure, some interesting populist permutations evolved at the Federal level during the nineties, folks who seemed to be more suited to some carny side-show in Saskatchewan than the sombre halls of power of Ottawa, but in the provinces, there remained a right wing establishment, and darn it all if those guys didn't hang in there, and even flourish.

Maybe it was the return of smilin' Brian for the unveiling of his official portrait that signalled the Conservative resurgence. Maybe it was the courtship of Peter McKay and Stephen Harper. Heck, maybe it was the candidacy of BELINDA!... whatever it was, sometime in the last few months, Canadians discovered that a "conservative" was not some odd breed of American that had stolen the 2000 elections from Al.Gore, version 2.0, but honest-to-goodness flesh and blood humans who lived up here among us! Sure, they liked their hunting rifles and hated the Senate and high taxes, but some of them had some pretty interesting ideas about things like eliminating government waste and improving accountability. Most interesting of all, they consort with people we may dimly remember from the eighties, those Crosbies and MacDougalls that used to hang out with Ben Mulroney's dad.

Canadians have finally discovered that the Liberals do not have a monopoly on the Canadian identity. They have a vision of it (or do they? Coyne might dispute that) The Conservatives have a different vision. So do the NDP, for that matter, as bizarre and repugnant as it may seem. Nothing wrong with different visions. In fact, selecting between competing visions for the country isn't a half-bad way of deciding how to govern the country and who should do it. The Liberals seem alarmed that Harper's "Alliance-Conservatives" may have a hidden agenda... if by that they mean a "non-Liberal agenda", they have reason to worry. Harper has been admirably frank about his desire to take the country in a different direction. Polls seem to indicate that there is segment of our society that may be willing to give his version of Canada a whirl. The Liberals may be surprised that some of their "natural" constituents are turning their backs on their benefactors, but you can't have it both ways. If you are going to bring immigrants into Canada and encourage them to preserve their "traditions", you can't get snotty when they politely inform you that their traditions don't include Abdul and Mohammed getting married, or having young Bai Wen saunter home from the abortion clinic and finishing her calculus homework while smoking a big fatty.

That is where the Liberals get caught. They staked out a big spot in the centre, they cast a wide net, and now after one scandal too many, they are finding that in spite of their desperate assurances, they can't hold on to everyone. Is it any wonder that they are bleeding supporters left right and centre?

Question is... are the Conservatives close enough to the centre to pick off just enough disaffected Liberal voters to make this thing interesting? My gut tells me they are... but what will that mean on election night? Stay tuned.

Something was eating at me as I read Dan Brown's novel The Da Vinci Code.

I couldn't quite put my finger on it... I had read the reviews and heard the raves, but somehow, the book just didn't do it for me.

The other day, I was looking up some articles on this controversial work of fiction and it all came together. The reason I didn't like The Da Vinci Code was because, as articles like this one and this one and this one point out, it tries to pass off conjecture as fact. It rewrites early Christian history so comprehensively, that anyone with a passing knowledge of the beginnings of this religion is left shaking their head. Read the aforementioned articles if you don't believe me...

This book didn't so much disappoint me as a reader as offend me as a history lover. I highly recommend this book to everyone and encourage them to read it and enjoy picking out the factual errors...and believe me, there are a lot of 'em.

AW COME ON!

First England blows it in extra time against the hated French, now perenial underachievers Spain limp to a tie with Greece? It's almost enough to make a guy stop following Euro 2000.

The pundits are calling last night's debate a draw... but we know better, don't we, Stevie? Better call the movers, Paul.

DAMNIT!

Anyone know if there are clumps of that balding bastard Zidane's hair on e-Bay?...

I'm making a Voodoo doll.

Started my new job last week... I now work HERE. When people hear that I used to work HERE, they make a funny face... but when they find out that before that, I worked HERE, they curse at me!

New job is fantastic... It is the kind of job that keeps me so busy, that before you know it, it is 6pm and I have to go home. I often have to force myself to leave because I am so into what I am doing.

Am I becoming a workaholic?...

60 years ago today a bunch of 20-25 year old Canadian boys were asked to do the impossible. They were farmboys from around Prince Albert, clerks from Winnipeg, lumber workers from New Brunswick and students from Montreal. The came from all walks of life and from all over Canada. They were not professionals. They were volunteers. Most were probably confused and scared shitless. But they jumped out of the planes, and waded ashore as the mortars fell and the machine guns fired. Alot of them died. Those who didn't had to watch as their friends collapsed and expired, choking on their own blood or crying out for their mothers. It must have been just about the worse thing you could ask someone to do... yet they did it, and they got farther inland than either the Americans or the Brits on that first day of Europe's liberation. Why? Because they had honour and they believed in something.

We owe them so much, and yet we can't repay them... only remember and honour them.

I finally finished putting the photos from my trip online... those of you who want to see them can send me an e-mail and I'll give you the link. I have now started my new job, and my trip feels like something that happened years ago, even though I have been back in Canada for less than a week... if I didn't have the photos and this blog I might almost wonder if I had even gone to Europe...surreal!

After spending so much time in old churches and art galleries, I have developed an interest in the history of the early Catholic church. I noticed that certain individuals who figure so prominently in the religious art of Italy are often represented with the objects of their martyrdom: Saint Peter crucified upside down on a cross, Saint Sebastian tied to a tree and pierced with arrows, or Saint Lawrence holding the grill upon which he was roasted, for instance. There are numerous sources of information on martyrs available on the Web and the details of their gruesome deaths make for fascinating reading... if you have a strong stomach.

Some martyrs appear to have suffered martyrdom willingly, even eagerly. In Westminster Cathedral, on a beautiful mosaic, I read the words that Saint Andrew is supposed to have spoken as he was about to be crucified. He said:

O bona crux que decurem et pulcritudinem de membris oni susepsti. Accireme ab hominibus et redde me magistro meo ut per te recipiat qui per te me redemit,

which in English translates roughly as:

Oh precious cross, which the members of my Lord have made so fair and Godly. welcome me from among men and join me again to my master, that as by thee he redeemed me, so by thee also he may take me unto himself.

That a person would accept and even embrace such horrible torment is almost incomprehensible to us today... but by such incredible faith and devotion was the early church sustained. Is it any wonder it has endured 2000 years?

On my last day overseas, I visited Westerham, the birthplace of Winston Churchill and James Wolfe, whose monument I had seen the day before in Westminster Abbey. I also hung out at a local pub, nd had the best dinner of the trip at a fantastic restaurant run by Corrado, friend of my cousin and her fiance. (It was a Neapolitan restaurant, not an English one). Now I am at Gatwick, reflecting on the fact that all good things must come to an end, sooner or later. I am a bit sad, but I am also looking forward to getting home, and facing whatever th future has in store for me....

The flight from Madrid to Gatwick was a piece of cake (more like an "air-taxi" than a real trip), and upon arrival in Bromley, a suburb of London, I had the pleasure of meeting my cousin Sara and her fiance. It was really was like meeting Sara for the first time, since the driven career woman with the wry sense of humour I got to know a bit last night bears no resemblance to the surly teenager with whom I butted heads when I was 14, literally half a lifetime ago. Danilo, her fiance, is a fantastic guy and a great cook to boot. He worked some strange alchemy on some chicken with lemon and wine that had me considering kidnapping him and bringing him back to Canada to teach how to make food taste halfway decent.

After a few drinks, we called it a night early so that I could head downtown with Danilo today and spend the day doing the tourist thing. London was exactly as it was the last time I was there... seething with people and absolutely mad. There's no way I'm going back there tomorrow, which will be a weekend. Still, I managed to see Westminster Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and hang out around Trafalgar Square. True to form, I also visited the National Gallery which, gasp, does not charge an admission fee (they "suggest" a donation of 4£, however). This museum is extremely impressive, and what it may lack in depth (it does not appear to have a substantial collection of any one's artist's works... or at least, not the sections I saw) it makes up in breadth, covering every area of Europe and every century from the 13th to the 20th. Definitely a must-see for anyone planning a trip to London... I'm almost ashamed of myself for not having been the first time I was in London three years ago.

Tomorrow is my last full day in Europe...

Well, this is it, I guess. Last day in Madrid.As if to put a period at the end of the sentence, I watched Oporto beat Monaco in the Champion´s League final last night. James´ Euro 2004 trip is just about over. I am grabbing an Easyjet flight to London this afternoon. In London, I will be staying with my cousin Sara, whom I have not seen for 14 years. I will also get to meet her fiance, which is great, since I plan on coming to the wedding next June, and this way the groom won´t be a complete stranger ("Nice to meet you... so I understand you are marrying my prima today..")

Yesterday, I spent the day at the Prado. I have now visited 3 of Europe´s -and possibly, the world´s- top museums: The Vatican, The Ufizzi, and the Prado. The Prado is a monument to the glories of Spain´s golden age in the 16th century. Whereas the Ufizzi is small and compact, the Prado is massive. It overflows with works by Goya, Velazquez (Las Meninas is truly one of the most amazing paintings I have ever seen), Bosch, El Greco, Raphael and the "big three" of the Venetian Renaissance: Titian, Tintoretto, and Veronese. It also contains works by one of my "new" favourites, Bellini. Bellini was a very influential painter who sometimes gets overlooked. His canvases are bright and beautiful, truly uplifting.

Interestingly enough, the Prado also bears witness to Spain´s decline, and its troubled history of civil strife. Several of Velasquez´ frank and honest paintings of 17th century Hapsburg royals depict sallow-skinned, bulbous lipped figures with underbites, clearly showing the effects of inbreeding. You can almost see the frustration on Philip IV´s tired face as he sits astride his horse, a sad figure. His empire is crumbling, his son is an imbecile, the women of his family barely have time to squeeze out one child before they croak. Maybe he is thinking "Why can´t it be like the good old days? Grampa had it so much better!"

Then, there is Goya. As far as I am concerned, this artist is in a class by himself. His black period paintings are more frightening and disturbing than anything ever written by Edgar Allen Poe. His earlier works known as "Caprichos" are incredibly compelling, making you feel like you are a part of the action. His portraits are second to none. With 5 minutes to go before closing, I sprinted down the hall to see two of his most famous works, Dos de Mayo and Tres de Mayo, which depicts the Madrid uprising of 1808 against Napoleon and its aftermath. Lets just say that if you go to the Prado and miss these two masterpieces, you are crazy.

I´m not going to say that the Prado is the best museum in the world... I haven´t seen the Louvre, the Guggenheim, etc... but given that I am half-Spanish, could you blame me if I did?

With four days to go in Europe, the pace is definitely slowing for this traveller. In Rome, I was like a hyperactive kid on a sugar rush. In Madrid, I have adopted the leisurly pace of a retiree, seeing one major site a day, spending alot of time sleeping, reading, sitting with my grandfather, or chatting with my aunt. It is just as well. When I got here, I had been driving myself at a relentless pace since the first week of this month. My health was bad, I looked terrible, felt terrible, but was strangely euphoric -A real "travel junkie". On Monday, my first night in Madrid, I crashed hard and slept for 10 hours.

Yesterday, I went and saw Goya´s tomb at the San Antonio de las Flores church. The building is small and nondescript on the outside, but within, on the ceiling, there is a magnificent fresco by Goya depicting the miracle of Saint Anthony of Padua, who resurrected a murdered man to proclaim his father innocent of the crime. I also stopped at Casa Mingo, a true gem of spot, which is right next to the Panteon de Goya (as the Spanish call his crypt). At Casa Mingo, you can sip a delicious glass of crisp apple cider and munch on chorizo a la sidra (cider sausage), while you watch the chefs work the rotisserie. At lunch, the locals guzzle the delicious cider and devour the pollo asado (roast chicken), which is the house specialty. The smell alone will send you to heaven...

Today, I am going to visit the Prado, probably the last museum on this trip, which has been part university art course, part religious pilgrimage, punctuated by the occasional bender! Basically, it has been altogether fantastic.

... to pick up where I left off, my first full day in Barcelona was capped off by a night on the town -which, to me, seemed to be de rigueur considering the circumstances -I was in Barcelona, dammit! Inexplicably, many of the people at the hostel did not seem interested in going out, claiming they were "tired"... In my opinion, if you are on a trip, and you are going to take a night off, Barcelona, widely considered to have one of the best nightlifes in Europe, is NOT the place to do it. Nevertheless, I managed to meet some pretty good guys from the States and Oznur, a girl from Turkey, who were interested.

I had actually seen Oznur before... kinda. She had chatted to the aforementioned Canadian girls on the train to Barcelona as I dozed. Still, we recognized each other and laughed at the coincidence. Barcelona must have a hundred hostels and yet we ended up in the same one. I found it pretty cool to spend time with someone from Turkey, after weeks of hanging around with yanks and other members of the Commonwealth.

Barcelona at night is a sight to behold. La Rambla and the surrounding streets are choked with tourists and locals, street performers, vendors, artists, musicians, vagabonds, drug pushers, prostitutes (one of whom flashed me and grabbed my butt as I walked by... no kidding) and dozens of guys carrying around six packs of beer and trying to sell you one for a Euro. The beerboys can´t possibly do very good business until the end of the night, when people are drunk and lazy, because you can buy tall cans of beer for less than a Euro in grocery stores on either side of the main blvd. That is what I did more than once that night. The American boys opted for 2€ wine, which they drank quickly and efficiently straight from the bottle as we wandered.

We hit a few cool bars, including one (the name escapes me at the moment)that was done up like some psychedelic enchanted forest with gnomes and toadstools and scary trees with faces. We also hung out in plazas, where patrons from bars packed to the rafters spilled out into the main square, drinks in hand, to continue their revelry at the next stop. It was loud, raucous, and plain fun. Being the responsible sightseers that we were, Oznur and I decided to call it a night around 3 a.m. in order to get a bit of shut-eye before tackling the city the next day. The Americans, somewhat mesmerized, stayed out and paid for it the next day... but I´m sure they didn´t really mind.

After a night of torture on the rack in my hostel bed, I got up cranky at around 9 and headed out with Rahim, a guy from Toronto, to check out more of the Barri Gotic and the area East of it. We finally met up with Oznur, who had gone to buy her train ticket to San Sebastian, at midday, at the Sagrada Familia cathedral, Gaudi´s unfinished masterpiece. I thought that I was finally "churched-out" by the time I got to Barcelona, but the S-F proved me wrong. I was captivated by this structure that is, after all, essentially a construction site. At the pace they are building, it should be busy around the time my grandkids bring their children to Spain. I explained the two facades, depicting the birth and early life of Jesus, and the Passion, to my two companions, both of whom happened to be muslim. It was kind of funny to tell this story, which, owing to my Euro-centric point of view, I used to think was universally well-known...

Rahim took off to buy his ticket (I was very happy to have bought mine upon my arrival in this city. Barcelona, for all its charms, is fairly spread out). Oznur and I headed to Parc Guelli, which was designed by Gaudi. I was lukewarm about going there, but decided to take a chance. It turned out to be the highlight of the day. We ended up sitting in this amazing place, sipping a beer in an alcove sculpted from the rock, and enjoying an incredible view of the city. Later, we checked out the Gaudi museum and a few other fantastic sites, before heading back to the hostel. We were only there long enough to change before heading out for supper..It was then that I realized that it was 10 pm already! My two amazing days in Barcelona were capped by another stroll down La Rambla. This city had definitely lived up to expectations and was certainly one of my favourite places. It is weird, elegant, crazy, pretty, fun. It is hard to do it justice with descriptions... you just have to visit, that is all there is to it.

Yesterday, I got to Atocha station in Madrid after a long train ride and was greeted by my Aunt Mila, who immediately took me to see the memorial for the victims of March 11. I was very moved. Upon arrival at her apartment, I greeted my 97-year old grandfather, know to all as el abuelo (literally, "The Grandfather").

Although at times he didn´t know me, there were also flickers of recognition in his eyes, particularly when I gave him the pictures of the family. He held them in his hands and studied them at length. After a few minutes, groaning as he struggled to raise himself out of his chair (my aunt insisted I "allow him to do his exercise"), he walked slowly across the room, and delicately place the pictures on his mantle, alongside other family photos.

I also spent some time with my cousin Celia and her husband, who dropped by after work, and I discovered that Abuelo and I enjoy similar hobbies... since I have been smoking on this trip, we spent alot of time coughing together. It was great to see him again, considering that T thought that the last time, years ago, was really going to be the last time.

Once, today, Diana, my Abuelo´s helper, shouted into his ear (he is quite deaf) "Don Jose, sabes quien es este?" (Don Jose, do you know who this is?). He furrowed his brow and appeared to think for a minute. When told that it was his Grandson from Canada, his face lit up. "hombre!" he said. I laughed.


I have been checking my usual sites for news and commentary. Occasionally, Mark Steyn hits one out of the park and into the next county. THIS ONE is a bat-bursting grand slam, as far as I am concerned.

The hostel sucks, I nearly died trying to get there, but I´m in Barcelona!

Yesterday morning, I grabbed a quick cafe con leche and a smoke (yeah yeah, I´ll quit when I get back!), hit the train station to buy my train ticket to Madrid, and jumped on the metro to get to hostel I had booked for Saturday and Sunday. A few minutes later, I was staring at the big statue of Columbus at the foot of La Rambla. Great! That was easy...now I know my hostel is around here somewhere... 45 sweat-soaked minutes later, I dragged my bloated pack up the stairs of hostel Abba - the place is a hole. I knew it would be, it has a 51% rating on hostels.com, but everywhere else was booked. The dorm is a biohazard (thank God for hostel sheets) and I wouldn´t bathe swine in the showers, but it is a roof over my head while I am in this city.

The place was deserted, so I got out of there as quickly as I could and headed off to do some sightseeing all on my lonesome. I walked up La Rambla, and headed up to check out some Gaudi-designed buildings before grabbing some gazpacho and chorizo and huevos for lunch at a nice little spot away from the tourists. It was dirt cheap and on TV, they had the royal wedding of Felipe and Leticia, his hot TV host princess. Later, I checked out the Cathedral and the Bari Gotic (not Bario Gotico... this is Catalunya, thank you very much). Eventually, I faced the inevitable and headed back to the hostel. After chatting a bit with some fellow travellers, three american guys and Turkish girl and I headed out for an evening on the town...

A night out in Barcelona!....

Barcelona. Oh, Barcelona, you seductive enchantress, you! This is one sexy city. About five minutes after my arrival here last night I knew that giving Nice the bum´s rush had been the right choice. It is clean, elegant, cosmopolitan, and best of all, CHEAP! I had tapas and a couple of beers at a local bar for 7 €. In Venice, I would have had to sell my blood for a crust of bread.

On the trainride from Montpellier to Barcelona (Incidentally, the scenery around Perpignan and the border... WOW. Moutains to to the West, seaside cliffs and beautiful little towns to the East) I met a couple of Canadian girls who were doing all the major European cities... trouble was, they were only spending about a day or two in each. I mentioned Kontiki. Blank stares. They are doing the Eurorail thing and appear to be spending half of their trip on trains. To each his own, I guess. I suppose the "big overview" trip has its merits. It can help you determine what you want to see more of the next time you come to Europe. The girls told me they were on a very tight budget. They also told me their last stop would be Ibiza. Ibiza, with its 30 Euro cover charges and 12 Euro cocktails. Best of luck, ladies!

Heard from my man Dave, who has reached Slovenia, I think.... or some other part of the former Yugoslavia where all the women are absolutely gorgeous. He was surprised that Emily and I vanished in Venice, until I fired off an apologetic e-mail telling him that we had gone Donavan Bailey to catch the train for Nice. Along with Em, Dave has been a great travelling companion. He is the kind of guy who takes things in stride. He wouldn´t say shit if he had a mouthful. Another mild mannered and polite Englishman perpetuating the stereotype. He is on a much longer trip than me, and it is taking its toll on his skinny ass. Don´t forget to eat Dave! ;-)

I realize that providence brought me into contact with some amazing people over the last couple of weeks. Best of all, we all "travel" similarly... that is to say, we were interested in seeing similar sights and doing similar things. I just spoke to a Canadian guy in my hostel here who is travelling with a friend. There is some tension because the friend wants to chill out in out of the way places, while he wants to see the big cities. I guess compromise is really critical under those circumstances. This just confirms why it was good that I did this on my own. I think I might have bored some people to tears with my obsessive scrutinizing of Roman ruins!

Trying to keep up with the playoffs... Go Calgary. Lord Stanley´s cup needs to come back to a Canadian city.

Updaterino for anyone who cares to read it...

I am in Montpellier, awaiting the train to Barcelona. Why did I flee Nice so precipitously, having spent barely 12 hours there? Simply put, Nice is not Nice. I mean, the city repulsed me. Yesterday, the day's travelling began with a 200 yard sprint, me carrying both heavy packs, to an early train that was about to leave from Venice (Yes we really did want to get out that badly.... hadn't worked that hard since Infantry training in Gagetown N.B. in '97).... The day's travelling ended with us stepping off the train in Nice, greeted by the overpowering stench of a big pile of dogcrap that someone had stepped in. The smell actually made my eyes water...

Dogcrap. It is everywhere in Nice. It should be on the city's coat of arms. It is the perfect symbol for this city that Emily and I both found to be quite grimy and unremarkable. Granted... you can say "Aha, James, but you did not take the time to sample the city's many charms" To which I reply, if you have to wade through three football field lengths of manure and detritus to get to those charms, is it really worth it? I have heard people say that Marseilles is the pimple on the otherwise lovely countenance that is Mediterranean France, but I would point out that a nasty boil has developped in the area of the French Riviera.

To be fair, I did make the moronic decision of showing up in Nice sans logement during the Cannes Film Fest and the Monte Carlo Grand Prix, so basically, you can call the Nice fiasco my comeuppance. In spite of everything, I gotta say that the scenery around Monaco, Cannes, Nice and points West on the Cote d'Azur is as good as people say it is. Also, somewhat to my surprise, the Nicois were all very friendly, and none mocked my Canuck accent when I spoke French. Em and I managed to find a shithole room for quite cheap in a city where every fleabag dive appeared to be booked, so to celebrate our success, and mark her imminent departure for England, we did dinner and drinks and managed to salvage something from yesterday's debacle.

Today, we got up early so that she could catch her plane to Gatwick, and so that I could grab the first thing smoking out of the area. I am gonna miss Em, who has been an amazing travelling companion with her patience, great sense of humour, and ability to mix powerful concoctions of narcotics to keep my sickness at bay ;o) Definitely a true friend.

Where to begin? Where did I leave off, for that matter? The last couple of days have been hectic to say the least. I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in Nice, France. A couple of days ago, I was in Siena... but then, you already know that, don't you? The morning after our second night in Siena, Emily and I decided to move on. It wasn't that we hadn't enjoyed the city... as you may have gathered, I'm basically ready to move there... it was that we both had to adjust our schedules to accommodate Venice. In order to do that, we decided to catch a mid-day train to Florence. That turned out to be a crazy decision...

Before leaving, we decided to check out the Church where Saint Catherine of Siena took her vows. It isn't every day you see the mummified skull of a Saint, but there was Catherine, or rather, there was her head, in a little chapel inside the church. I still can't decide what to make of this bizarre holy relic, but it certainly had an impact of everyone there.

We walked out to the train station with our heavy packs... Emily, always the trooper, had a pack that looked bigger than her. Nevertheless, she soldiered on. We realized that our afternoon trip to Florence would be rushed, but we wanted to go to the Galleria dell'Academia to see Michaelangelo's David before bidding farewell to Firenze once and for all.

As it turned out, we managed to rush to the gallery, spend an hour there, and rush back... but I have to admit it was a bit stressful... we only managed to catch our train by a couple of minutes and we had to run like mad to do it. Still.... I have seen David. Massive, magnificent, beautiful, sublime... he was everything I imagined and he was definitely worth the headache. All other sculpture pales in comparison to this masterpiece.

Arriving in Venice that evening, we trudged wearily to our accomodations, but all fatigue disappeared when we went for a walk along the canals. Venice, long past its era of glory, is now delapidated, shabby, and even a bit vulgar. We even heard that barely half of the buildings there are occupied. Still, there is something magical about the place. We wandered the narrow alleys and along the waterways. Every corner was a postcard picture. I almost started to get used to it!

The next morning, we discovered why they call Venice the most expensive town in Italy. It was highway robbery at every cafe, usurious prices for every service, and plain pickpocketing at the souvenir stalls. For the first time since I arrived in Italy, I found myself genuinely annoyed at the temerity of the hawkers and chiselers. There was also an element of contempt about the place. The locals kinda made you feel like you were the scum of the earth. Somehow, we managed to not get fleeced too badly. By suppertime (where we met back up with David, yet again, and a nice Aussie couple who happened to be friends with a friend of Emily's from Melbourne... small world!) we decided that we would be out of Venice the next day, notwithstanding the fact that we hadnt gone for one of those Gondola rides!

So... yesterday was a travel day... a long tortuous trainride from Venice to Milan to Genoa and finally, here I am in Nice... but more on Nice later. I have to get to Barcelona now!

I have good memories of Venice... the Accademia Gallery and Saint Mark's square were particularly impressive, but sadly, the place will always just seem like a novelty and a giant tourist trap to me... a sad fate for the city that was once known as the Most Serene Republic and was considered a world power among the nation states of the earth

After we walked the girls to the bus stop and wished them well on their way to Rome, Emily and I kinda just wandered the streets of this incredible town. Whereas Florence seems to be more of a Renaissance town, Siena is pure medieval, from its the crenelated tower of its townhall, to the historic banners of its 9 subdivisions. Later, we talked and ate the leftovers from lunch for supper as it rained for the first time since my first night in Italy... pretty incredible luck actually!

Around 9 pm, we heard a terrific commotion in the street outside and rushed out of our hotel, le tre donzelle ("the three damsels"-- I noted the connection to our three american friends that we had met a few hours before and found it a bit spooky.

The people of Siena were celebrating the fact that their hardluck football team had not been "relegated" and so were still a part of Italy's first division. It was organized pandemonium. There was singing and bands playing as the horde carried distinctive black and white banners through the medieval streets to the piazza in the centre of town.

Yesterday, we took it easy, seeing the amazing Gothic Cathedral and a couple of other landmarks, but otherwise resting. Emily and I have both caught nasty colds. Luckily, she is a nurse, and has been keeping me doped up with a steady stream of illegal medication (joking). In spite of our sorry state, we got dressed up and went for a great meal at a fantastic restaurant. I am getting spoiled by all this fantastic Italian food! Today, we are going to do a bit more sightseeing, and then it is off to Venice? Why Venice all of a sudden? Do you even have to ask?... it is Venice!

Last night, we went out on the town in Florence. Although a lovely city, the place is not known for its nightlife, from what I can tell. Still, fortified with a couple of bottles of wine a few shots of Absynth with melted sugar (55% alcohol and a kick like an angry mule), Emily, James, and David set off to see what was going on. We ended up in a little bar just down the way from the hotel Bellavista, which, true to its name, has a great view of the hills surrounding Florence. Since I was already gassed on wine --and as I figured out later, allergy medication-- I nursed my beer and chatted with my companions.

A few minutes after we arrived, Katie, Meagan, and Lindsay arrived. They were three american girls accompanied by some local Italian. We kinda naturally gravitated toward them as the only other english speakers in the bar and by the end of the night we had made boozy plans to all come to Siena this morning. As it turned out, David decided to head to Cinque Terre, but the rest of us jumped on a slow train and ended up spending the afternoon picnicking in the Piazza Campofiori and feasting on italian bread, sausages, cheese, sundried tomatoes and olives (with the obligatory bottle of chianti of course). Since the american girls were heading on to Rome, we figured it was a good idea to nurse our hangovers in this beautiful town before they had to tackle the big city.

Lunch with four lovely ladies in a medieval piazza in the heart of Tuscany... I must have done something good in a past life!;-)

Hooked up last night with some friends I met in Rome --Emily followed me up a day later (I think she was getting a bit overwhelmed by the eternal city... quite understandably!) and David had finished his quick jaunt to the south. After a fantastic day alone in Florence wandering this splendid city, I was ready for company again. We had a great supper -you havent eaten steak until you've had Florentine bisteka- and got a bit blitzed on some cheap wine. It seems that all wine here, even the cheap stuff, is good.

This morning, I cured my hangover with a nice small Italian breakfast, and we headed to the Uffizi gallery at 9 pm to beat the crowds. The Uffizi gallery (literally "office" -named for the former public buildings used by the Medicis that it now occupies) is the little Florentine museum that happens to hold a large proportion of the world's art treasures from the Renaissance period. In this gallery, it seems that every second painting is a masterpiece. I'm talking Michelangelo, Carravaggio, Veronese, Rubens, Titian, Giotto, Pontormo, da Vinci and of course Botticelli's "Birth of Venus", which, judging from the amount of posters featuring this image sold in the gallery's giftshop, is the gallery's most famous piece.

We wandered, awestruck, through the 45 rooms, barely aware of the time. At 2pm we stumbled out into the famous Pizza Della Signoria, footsore and slightly giddy. What an incredible feast for the eyes... but, having nourished the soul, we now needed to feed the stomach We grabbed some bread, ham, cheese, and tomatoes from a local deli and headed down to the Arno for a picnic lunch on the floodway. There were a few sunbathers there, crumpled on the concrete slab. With the Ponte Vecchio as a backdrop, Emily, David, and I washed down our little feast with some leftover wine from last night and roasted in the Tuscan sun. I couldn't have imagined a better day!

How does one describe Pompei? It is as if the ancient Romans had departed the bay of Naples in the last couple of years for some mysterious reason and their city had fallen into disrepair... like those abandoned bungalows you sometimes see in rough parts of the city. It is like you are looking at homes that were abandoned 20 years ago... not buried 2000 years ago. The frescoes, stonework, fountains, courtyards... all immaculately preserved, all fresh, alive. It is also immense... acres and acres of buildings preserved beneath the volcanic ash of vesuvius. The echoes of a vibrant city, a city with personality, is what you find there. Not sterile monuments dedicated to a god-emperor, but little touches of domestic life, the life of the ordinary Roman. The grisly plaster casts of the dead of pompei show that death came swiftly to many that dwelt in that city, and their anguished grimaces and contorted limbs show us that their last moments were painful and terrifying. I shuddered more than once.

Now, I am in Florence. Unbearably gorgeous city... My mom's favourite, I seem to recall. I had to rush from the bus to the hostel to the trainstation to make the Naples-Rome-Florence connection, but it was worth it. In just half a day, I travelled up half the italian peninsula. On the train up, I met a nice young american couple who gave me some tips on what to see in Florence.. we also discussed world events. On this trip, I have yet to meet a single American who supports Bush.. and yet the polls tell us that the race is still fairly close... granted, I have met mostly left and right coasters, rather than folks from the heartland... I arrived late last night and, in spite of my foolish choice not to book ahead, I managed to find a room at a little Pensione just a few steps from the Train station and the City Centre. Today, I am going to take it easy. After the hustle and bustle of the Capital, it will be nice to just go slow for a day or two, and savour the sights and sounds... after all, I am on vacation!

Just checked the Playoff standings.

GO FLAMES GO

Bring the Cup back to Canada, willya?

Jarome has just become the most popular name for newborn boys in Southern Alberta

Meanwhile, in Italy... Going to Pompeii tomorrow. Arrivederci Roma. Then it is on to Firenze.

Today, I visited the Campidoglio. Cant believe I almost missed it. An incredible collection of priceless art treasures and more statues than any reasonable Roman emperor could possibly have any use for. Beautiful. Magnificent. Sublime. What else can I say? Par for the course as far as Rome is concerned. Will my streak continue with Naples and Pompeii (Only a day trip)... what about Florence. Lets wait and see!

Yesterday was about unfinished business. Specifically, the Vatican museums and St. Peter's Basillica. Should you visit Rome and leave without seeing the Sistine Chapel and the view from the top of the Dome of San Pietro? Sure, but you would miss two of the biggest highlights... of course, you can't possibly hope to see everything this city has to offer. With this in mind, I jumped on a tour with Emily, another Aussie that I met two days ago. The Vatican museums are so huge, it would take several lifetimes to explore each of them in detail. With a tour, you have the advantage of a guide, you puts everything in context and shows you the highlights. The Sistine Chapel is every bit as exquisite as people say it is. But whereas most people focus on the ceiling, I was captivated by Michelangelo's depiction of the Last judgment on the wall, with St Bartholemew, a martyr who was skinned alive, holding his own skin, within which is concealed a portrait of the artist!!!

After leaving the tour we went to the top of the Dome of St Peter's and hung out for a while, taking in the panoramic view. Later, we walked down some sidestreets, looking for family that Emily had it town... we couldnt find them, but spent an enjoyable afternoon cruising Rome's less touristy streets. Towards the end of the day, we happened upon a church containing the mortal remains of St Ignatius, the founder of the jesuits and patron of my high school! I was pretty blown away.... Last night was the usual amazing supper (just like the night before... kinda getting routine), followed by drinks by the Trevi fountain, and another late night... not sure I can --or should-- keep this pace up!

Ah, I can rest tomorrow!

Another delicious meal last night at a restaurant called Zampano near the piazza della Cancelleria. No tourist trap, this one.. this was the real deal, teeming with Romans. To say the food was splendid would be an understatement. I have never eaten pasta that good, and likely never will again... at least until my next trip to Italy!
This morning, after seeing my american buddy off, I went to the Pantheon, the Piazza Navona, the Piazza del Popolo, and half a dozen other attractions that in any other city would qualify as major attractions. But this is Rome, and you can only take a quick glance at the site of Julius Caesar's murder before quickly moving on to a massive temple raised by a conquering Emperor, or a huge ornate exquisite church crammed with priceless art treasures dedicated to a martyr of the Catholic Church, or some other wonder. Rome hoards its ruins and guards them greedily. There are so many in this city, that they have almost become mundane. Then you remember that some of these works were wrought two millenia ago by the people that laid the foundations of Western Civilization. They are worthy of our wonder.

Lunch, a sandwich of prosciutto and cheese bought from a deli and a little bottle of wine, was eaten on the Spanish steps... at least until David (a bloke from Kent who came along for the walk) and I were approached by a guard who didnt appreciate us eating on this "Monumento Nazionale". I cocked an eyebrow at the guy. To the left were a bunch of clowns eating potato chips out of plastic bags. To the right were some girls smoking and drinking. Whatever. I apologized to the guy, and smiled my best smile at him. Putting a slight crimp in my plans perhaps... but could I really complain when I was enjoying a fine afternoon on the Spanish steps?

Right now, it would take a heck of alot more than that to get me down!

This morning, I woke up at 11 am in a haze of alcohol fumes and dim memories from last night. The pub crawl was amazing!
I'll spare my reader the gory details, but many whiskey and cokes and shots were consumed at five of Rome's seediest and liveliest drinking establishments. I must have met 30 people and forgotten almost all the names (There were at least 50 people on this crawl). One name I didn't forget was Rosalie, the name of a girl from Quebec City who had been living in France for a year and was delighted to speak joual to a fellow Canadian after months of softening her accent for les francais. I went along with 4 other people from the hostel, an american, a brit, and two aussies from Tazmania. We did it up big, no doubt about it! The atmosphere was great, and nearly everyone was very talkative and friendly. I barely remember stumbling back to the hostel and collapsing sometime around 4 a.m.

Today, naturally, was expected to be a writeoff... but I am not one to take things lying down. I convinced my companions from last night to jump on the metro and spend the afternoon on the Via Apia Antica (the ancient Roman road also known as the Apian Way). We also visited some incredible catacombs, where the bodies of early Christian martyrs were buried by the hundreds in the time of the persecutions. I found it interesting that the adherents of this religion, that had suffered such torment at the hands of the empire, used symbols like fish and sheep as their symbols of their faith. In the face of cruelty and degradation, their art was the embodiment of serenenity, not wrath, or despair. Pretty inspiring.

Last night, I joined an american and another Canadian for an unbelievably delicious supper washed down with chianti in the Centro Storico, somewhere in the vicinity of the Pantheon and the Piazza Navona. The former is more magnificent than any picture could possibly lead you to believe. Lit up with floodlights, it is like an exquisite piece of early Imperial Rome transported through time completely intact and dropped down smack-dab in the middle of a 21st century city. We wandered around rather aimlessly staring at jaw-dropping sights until we happened upon a little bar tucked away in some alley. It proved to be full of people so we ordered some beers and sat down. Just as we were settling in, some guy hollered something to those assembled, and they got up as one, and filed out of the place. I quickly asked one of the limey girls whether or not they were on a Pub Crawl.. "Yeah, Rome-ing tours" she told me... I kinda found that funny, for reasons known only to myself and one other person.

Pub crawls seem to be a real hit with the hostel crowd here in Rome (The one I am staying in is both cheap and close to everything, so I will be staying put here for at least a few more days... besides, it looks like most other hostels in the area are full... some of the people here did some checking)... I'll be going on one tonight, God help my liver --two nights ago, I gave that particular organ a pounding watching Chelsea play Milan with an Englishman... I should have known better!

Today, I went to The Vatican Museum and Saint Peter's Basillica with Jinead (who is a pretty good guy, for an American). The Vatican was breathtaking... I was nearly brought to tears by some of the masterpieces of Italian art in there, that is how moving it was. I didnt even get a chance to see The Sistine Chapel (Crazy crowds!) So I'll definitely be going back in a couple of days. Saint Peter's is immense. Worthy of comparison to the great palaces of Europe. It is a true monument to the power and majesty of the Church of Rome in its heyday. I saw the crypt where the bones of St Peter are kept, and those of dozens of other popes besides. Many photos were taken, and most will not do justice to its magnificence... but that is just an incentive for people who see them to come to Rome and see the real things for themselves... I highly recommend it!

SENATUS POPULUSQUE ROMANUS ~ THE SENATE AND THE PEOPLE OF ROME

SPQR

Everywhere you go in Rome, you see those four letters. On the signs, on the manholes, on the buildings... On the ancient monuments that the Caesars put up when the republic had long ceased to be about the people and senate of Rome and the divine emperors ruled from the Black Sea to the Atlantic, it was still stamped on everything... perhaps hearkening back to a nobler, more idealistic time? Like anytime an American politician refers to the declaration of independence, and the idea that they hold certain truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, etc. etc...

Today I walked in the forum, where 2000 years ago Marc Antony delivered Caesar's funeral oration. I gazed upon Titus' arch, comemorating his victory in the Jewish war. Today, I pretty well gorged myself on history, wandering through the Colosseum, where civilized people gathered and gorged themselves on magnificently decadent and bloody spectacles of battle between man and man, and man and beast. -Interestingly enough, I also found out that contrary to popular belief, Christians were not martyred there, but in another location entirely. The Colosseum was about sport... and watching helpless Christians get eaten by hungry lions... well, there isnt much sport in that!

Ive seen so much today... I am almost scared that it will all be downhill from here! Well gotta have FAITH!

*Have Faith!

I'm in Devon today! Visiting my Grandmother. Very isolated area... right now I'm in the Public Library in the town of Barnstaple... Very close to the sea. Words cannot describe the North Devon Coast... I think I know where I want to live when I retire.

Update...

THIS sucks... I'll be in Rome in a few days. This kinda thing reminds me of how quickly fun times can turn tragic.

Oh, yeah! I've found my new playoff headquarters to keep abreast of things while away from my home and native land. With a site called CANOE, ya gotta figure they have the Canadian content covered.

At the risk of angering some, and alienating others permanently... now that the Sens have tanked...

GO LEAFS GO

It has only been a couple of days, and I already miss talking to some of you people... and the one I miss talking to most of all, well, you know who you are... :-)

The swompdonkey chronicles... uk edition.

I'm sitting in an internet cafe somewhere deep within the bowels of Heathrow airport, reflecting on how lucky we are to still be able to move with such ease from one side of the globe to the other in spite of all the crap that has happened in recent years... A few hours ago, I was celebrating my brother Joe's birthday with him and his friends in Mississauga. Now I'm about to hop on a bus to go see my Grandma in Devon. Some had warned me that security in airports was becoming tougher again, after an incomprehensible little lapse somewhere between 9-11 and 3-11 (the Madrid bombings). Well, if it has been tightened, it isn't that noticeable... which I suppose is a good thing. Nobody wants to feel like they live in a police state. No heavily-armed guards at Pearson and I breezed through customs on my EU passport. Almost enough to make you think that we are back to business as usual in this twisted little world of ours...

The question is bound to come up sooner or later: What the heck is a SWOMPDONKEY ?

Well, for starters, it is a corruption of two different words

SWAMP

and

DONKEY

I checked another online dictionary to find the definition of "Swamp donkey", and was pretty surprised that out of 28 different definitions, only one got it right...

Anyone who grew up in Northern Ontario can tell you that "swamp donkey" is slang for Alces Canadensis, a.k.a. the Canadian Moose!

The term is generally used in a mildly pejorative way. For example "Holy jeez, you shoulda been there! I spilled my beer when I almost hit a friggin' swamp donkey with my four-by-four!"

The majestic moose, proud denizen of the Canadian hinterland! A fitting symbol for my blog.

Just out of curiosity, I did a little google search today.... I think that the "RATE MY" craze is getting a bit out of hand. There are certain things that should never ever be submitted for evaluation under any circumstances. Like, for instance, THIS, THIS, and THIS. Then there is THIS site, which must have irritated alot of pimps and mysogynists who visited expecting something else entirely.

Surf on over to Andrew Coyne's Blog and read his opinion on the Kadhrs... I gotta admit, I've of two minds on this one... however, I love the following post by Birdgunner in the comments section!:

Andrew's comment about charging the Khadrs with a crime is germane. Sections 46 and 47 of the Criminal Code of Canada state that:

46. (1) Every one commits high treason who, in Canada...

(c) assists an enemy at war with Canada, or any armed forces against whom Canadian Forces are engaged in hostilities, whether or not a state of war exists between Canada and the country whose forces they are...

3) Notwithstanding subsection (1) or (2), a Canadian citizen or a person who owes allegiance to Her Majesty in right of Canada,

(a) commits high treason if, while in or out of Canada, he does anything mentioned in subsection (1); or

47. (1) Every one who commits high treason is guilty of an indictable offence and shall be sentenced to imprisonment for life.

---

All of this seems pretty clear to me. Whether or not Canada is at war with al Qaeda (or other Islamic nihilists) is immaterial; they are at war with us, and have told us so. On prima facie evidence alone there appears to be grounds for charges of treason, perhaps even high treason, against select members of the Khadr family.

I don't mind if the Khadrs retain their citizenship and enjoy Canadian standards of living and free medical care. I just think that they should be doing it from behind the bars of a federal penitentiary

BULLSHIT!

Edith, i have only one thing to say about this:Shit or get off the pot!

Am I the only one who sees a gross conflict of interest? Here we have a woman dedicating her free time to breaking up the coutry as the new president of the separatist organization "Quebec, un pays".... What does Mme Gendron do as a day job? why she happens to be a Senior Program Officer at Canadian Heritage. Canadian Heritage? Yeah, the department dedicated to promoting "a More Cohesive and Creative Canada". If the government had any balls, it would throw this seperatist out on her ass.

A house divided against itself cannot stand.

Bachelor update 3...this update is given under duress.

OK, so I start watching the Bachelor ten minutes into the show. Jenny S.,the mole- wait, wrong show -the spy is practically in tears about Trish. The ladies are playing that drinking game where you take a drink every time someone mentions something you have done... the game has already turned sexual, if it didn't start that way (I missed the beginning). Trish is tossing back the the plonk like nobody's business. As far as I can tell, she has done everything there is to do of a sexual nature in every possible location, seemingly with half the adult male population of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. Oh yeah, she also has "cheating with a married man" on her resume... and she's still single? What is it about Trish that Jenny S. doesn't like? Hmmm... I wonder.

Back from the break, the boy-genius lets us in on the fact that things may get awkward between
Mandy-Jaye, the sassy Texan and Trish, everyone's favourite, on their double date. If by awkward, you mean "hostile staring-daggers-at-each-other awkward", Jesse, you are indeed a very perceptive young man. M-J isn't alone in her hostility towards the Florida floozy. Trish sees herself as "the craziest woman in the house".... whereas other girls call her a "Gold-digging skank"... but who's to say what the truth is?

Following the break, Jenny tells us that Tara is perfect for Jesse. What this means is that our clueless suitor will no doubt kick her through the uprights and right out of the mansion at the next rose ceremony. Meanwhile back at the house, Trish is offending people with her lewd revelations again. This show should just be renamed "The Gold-digging skank", in honour of its true star. Jesse kisses Tara during the date, in spite of her objections... way to push through that defense, Jess. Just don't spike the ball and do a touchdown dance in the endzone, OK?

The next day, "the shame of Ottawa" as I am begining to think of him, and a bunch of the girls go off on a date to build a house for habitat for humanity. At the group date, Jenny S. gives Jesse the goods on Trish, including this line "You hate divorce... she may have caused one!" OUCH! His response "there are some things I have to confront Trish about" Huh? What the hell is the point of confronting her on anything? She has admitted who she is to everyone else.... it isn't like she is ashamed of her past behaviour. I'm not even sure that someone like that has the capacity for shame.

Back at the loveshack, during a BBQ and hot tub party, charmingly insecure Jessie H. becomes creepily weird Jessie H. in the space of about 10 seconds (I just realized... there are too many damn Jesses on this damn show). Even Jesse realizes he is creeped out... and this is a guy that I'm not sure realizes he is awake half the time. Is this our future stalker?

Before the rose ceremony, Jesse is confused, probably not for the first time that day. Jesse S. does not want a rose, she wants to rid herself of the burden of being the spy... no kidding, your boy is really clueless. You have done everything short of beating him over the head with your shoe to get him to clue in... give it up. Spygirl tells her boy that he should follow his heart.

Rose ceremony... it ain't no longer about first impressions, that's fo sho! Mandy-J gets a rose, adorable Suzy with her wrinkly nose does too, as do coy Tara (well what do you know!), Jessica B-the so-cal hottie, Karen -the weird-looking pageant queen, and Trish... wait-just-a-g-damn-minute... TRISH? Are you kidding me? Jesse needs to wear his helmet during practice more often.

Julie the pro cheerleader is upset that she was overlooked for someone like Trish... our spy says she is "worried"... Jenny, you may be worried.... frankly, I'm terrified!

On the next show... things get more insipid... Hmm looks like Jessie H. who gets the boot in this one, is not our stalker. Could the stalker end up being Trish? That would be too cool!

My brain hurts...

Tonight the dream died...

Until tonight, I didn't believe in curses. But somewhere on that big pond in the sky, as Terry Sawchuk kicks out a wristshot that the Rocket just let loose from the hash marks, the players pause for a minute, cast a glance down at the Air Canada Centre, turn towards the grinning little defenceman and someone says "Jeez,
King, when you gonna let bygones be bygones?"

I believe in curses.

I wanted to pull my eyeballs out of my head after foolishly visiting this site: GAAAAAAAH!

Never been a fan of the babes with the pneumatic chests, and I can't understand why someone would inject a toxic substance into their heads to get rid of wrinkles or get blubber sucked out of their asses or bellies when the stakes are so high.

A friend of mine says that changing one's looks can improve self-esteem and be the catalyst for major positive change in other areas. She points out the success stories from this show.

Conversely, plastic surgery can have tragic results. To wit, the sad case of Micheline Charest.

If there is a more pointless and ignominious end to a life, I can't think of it.

DEFIANT to the last,

hostage "died like a hero."

A Former Baker Shows Terrorist Scum the Meaning of Bravery

Here's hoping I meet my end as well as Fabrizio did.

From Today's National Post:

PM salutes those who stormed Norway's beaches

Anne Dawson

CFB GAGETOWN, N.B. - Paul Martin rewrote Canadian military history yesterday when he said twice that the liberation of Europe began in 1944 with the invasion of Norway. He meant to say the invasion of Normandy.
"Sixty years ago, Canadians were working alongside their British and American allies planning for the invasion of Norway and the liberation of Europe," Mr. Martin said in a speech to 350 soldiers at this training base outside Fredericton.
A few minutes later he repeated the gaffe.
"Today, it is every bit as important that Canada step forward - just as we did during the invasion of Norway," he said before announcing a series of military spending plans.
Norway is roughly 1,300 kilometres northeast of Normandy, where on June 6, 1944, soldiers from across Canada stormed Juno Beach.
No one in the audience acknowledged the mistake, though Mr. Martin's aides whispered among themselves when they picked up on it.
The blunder is reminiscent of the time former defence minister John McCallum confused the site of Canada's First World War victory at Vimy Ridge with the city of Vichy, capital of the Nazi puppet regime in occupied France during the Second World War.
At the time, Mr. McCallum brushed off the error as a "typing mistake."
When Mr. Martin took power last December, he demoted Mr. McCallum to Minister of Veteran Affairs.

...In Paul Martin's head, this makes sense! He thinks Scandinavians are invading our coastline NOW because 60 years ago we invaded theirs!

Bachelor Update: Episode 2

This Jesse guy is already starting to piss me off. I was watching Ottawa lay a pasting on the Leafs, so I missed the first 20 minutes of the show. What do I see when I finally tune in? Jesse and Trish the leggy model, eating on some stage, apparently after some play or something. Trish stares at Jesse with her dull cow eyes, furrows her brow, and says something about not wanting kids. Jesse, tell me that this girl was not your choice your first date. Dude, you are killing me.

Cut to a montage of Trish saying some incredibly obnoxious and borderline offensive things to the other girls ("My mother taught me to be a golddigger"), cut to trish eating Jesse's face in the back of the limo, cut to me losing my lunch. This truly is a woman of little substance. I loathe her already. I need to recover. Back to the hockey game for a bit.

After the break, Jesse goes on a group date...one of the ladies, Suzie, catches a pass. Good for her! Following the pickup game, Jesse sits down for supper and inserts his foot into his mouth as an appetizer. Sometimes, too much truth is a bad thing. Jesse, the ladies don't want to hear about your countless one-night stands, "tired of waking up next to a stranger, eh?" Some raised eyebrows around the table. Yeah, they get it QB boy, you are a stud.

Every guy should have a devious female friend to spy on potential mates for him... Aha! The spy was the championship swimmer girl!!! I knew it! She speaks to our hero about Trish... clueless boy has a look of shock on his face. Trish - high maintenance? Say it aint so! Now I'm the one furrowing my brow.

Back at the house, one of the girls, Tara, calls him on his player ways... Jesse spouts some rubbish... Tara apparently buys it, for now. My favourtie girl of the bunch, Kristy the med student from Michigan drops a bomb on our boy and asks Jesse not to give her a rose. What a classy woman! Jesse tells us he is upset... pal, you have no idea. You just lost an A-lister, my man.

Meanwhile, Ottawa beats Toronto, and all is right with the world.

The rose ceremony: Blah blah blah... some crap about trust and challenge from our guy. Let the bloodletting begin: Katie, the girl who nearly got the boot last week but got through on a technicality, gets the first rose this time. Confirming my suspicion that he is too stupid to listen to his best friend, Jesse gives Trish a rose... and crazy-eyed Karen too? This guy just doesn't seem to have a clue. My brow is now permanently furrowed. Jean Marie looks like she is ready to eat tinfoil and shit bullets.

Next week Jesse is captivated by Trish's charms so his lady friend bitch slaps some sense into him... or something like that... and this show started off looking so promising....

Let the downward spiral continue.

I was reading some of the vitriol spewed over Alfonso Gagliano's testimony in the adscam controversy. The guy may be a crook, but reading some of the posts where people speculate over his possible ties to organized crime HERE, I wanted to laugh out loud.... I mean, COME ON. Do you honestly think that someone like Vito Rizzuto would have anything to do with a mezzo-fanook like Gagliano? Does THIS look like the face of a wiseguy?

MEMO TO HABS FANS:

IT WAS IN.

DEAL WITH IT.

Apparently, the Department of Foreign Affairs is hiring former adult film stars as ambassadors to Middle Eastern States. This story on Fadi Fadel reveals the ugly truth! Dirk Diggler's real life counterpart is attempting to secure hostage Fadi Fadel's release. Mr. Fadel is an unlucky Syrian-born Canadian Aid worker who had the temerity to go to Iraq to help kids and was found guilty of looking like an Israeli by the Mujahedeen Brigades, who are this season's Saddam Fedayeen (Just like Sadr may end up being this week's Ahmed Yassin, if he doesnt keep his eyes peeled).

But back to the stunning revelation!... can we really be surprised that Foreign Affairs has a former seventies porn legend working for them? This wouldn't be the first time a LOWLIFE worked for Foreign Affairs, right?

First pre-emptive answer to an obvious question: Vis Comica is latin for "sense of humour", which is something I hope that anyone visiting this blog will have...

Today, the blog goes public. I realize this opens me up to the scrutiny of both friends and random visitors, but I'm ready for it. Feel free to mock my lousy syntax and ham-handed writing style... send blog-related hate mail and plaudits to

swompdonkey@hotmail.com

Those of you who know me, know where else to reach me. Friends, welcome. Critics, do your worst! I look forward to the backlash.

Tomorrow is Easter.
Have a happy one!

I read this great article on the significance of Easter

For he shall grow up before him as a tender plant, and as a root out of a dry ground: he hath no form nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him.
He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes are we healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.

Isaiah 53, 2-6

And the angel answered and said unto the women,
Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.
He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.
And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead.

Matthew 28, 5-6

I am hooked! I watched the first episode of the latest edition of that insipid and wildly successful show, the Bachelor. The Epic begins with our intro to Jesse Palmer, who I understand is from Barrhaven, near Ottawa. We find out he is one of those all-american types, except for the fact that he is canajan. U of Miami grad, backup QB for the Giants, big hunk of clean-cut manhood, etc... on to the women... nearly all hotties, but AH! There's a twist! One of the babes is actually Jesse's best friend (not a dude in drag, she actually is a girl) deep undercover! She is posing as a contestant and will be reporting to Jesse throughout the proceedings. How machiavellian! The audience doesnt get to see her or hear her real voice, so we are left guessing about her identity too... she is blonde, but so are 13 other women in the house.

We get the usual drive up in the limo and the assortment of bachelorettes trickle out. Some are incredibly dynamic, others nervous and shy. Jesse is poised and charming throughout. This guy is the shit... all the girls think so, because you see their hilarious reactions to him as they enter the house and
play to the camera. Some of them are already acting like nasty bitches and they have been on the show for all of two minutes.

Next, we get the "cocktail", where Jesse chats with each of the ladies, one after another. One of the girls is from Quebec City (naturally, she is a stone cold fox) and Jesse busts out some pretty decent french on her --subtitled for our yankee brethren. He exclaims with delight when he first meets her "you're
from Quebec City? I'm from Ottawa!" Jeah, Jesse. Representin'!

Next twisterino, that obnoxious host guy tells Jesse he has to give a long-stemed rose to the girl who made the best first impression... she will be exempt from the selection process that night. So Jesse proceeds to chose the girl with the longest stems. Some dopey fucking model. James begins to question
Jesse's judgment. "I'm ready for marriage and kids" talk aside, our boy has chosen a pretty obnoxious broad. (cut to shots of her being catty, ungracious, flaunting her rose) Some of the women are appalled. One of the women, the med student, I think, with whom I am already in love, says "who cares who gets the first rose, as long as I get the last one" Testify, sister!!!

There is definitely marriage material in this bunch, but will our hero triumph over wits dulled by years of head trauma on the grid-iron and come alive to this fact? Stay tuned.

Highlight of the night, or maybe lowlight (they build toward this crescendo for the better part of one-and-a-half hours) is Jesse's big fumble... the worst gaffe in the history of the show. It is third and goal... the QB has marshalled his forces for a 70 yard drive down field. The goal ligne seems inches away. He
lines up behind the centre... He calls an audible... Snap! It's the wrong audible! (end of football analogies).

Basically, he says the wrong name for the last girl he is selecting for a rose! The girl springs forward, delighted to take the rose, Jesse stammers, gives it to her, and looks about nervously.. finally calls the host outside, leaving the women perplexed... He explains his mistake (in all fairness, they are similar
names --katie and karen, or something)... the host looks like he is thinking "Is this guy for real"... Jesse is in agony, he feels terrible about the mistake and is sweating under the hot lights. Will the show take a giant shit all over one of the girls as her dreams are crushed and her rose is snatched from her little
hands? The host leaves it up to Jesse what to do.

Then Jesse does something that earns my respect. He owns up: This is serious, we're talking potential marriage here... I made a mistake, now I have to go out there and fix it -- or words to that effect. He marches out and explains what happened to the assembled women, apologizing to them. Class act! The host interjects, telling Katie that even though the rose was not intended for her, she has the option of staying. Tears in her cute little eyes, she elects to do that and "see what happens". A sixteeth rose is produced and awarded to the "right" girl (I use the term loosely, because she is an annoying beauty pageant winner, but anyway)

The jilted suiterettes (suiteresses?) say their goodbyes, and we close with a montage of what the season has in store --so tasty, you could eat it on a bun! I will spare you any more details, but it involves a shocking revelation and a stalker! Gasp!

Needless to say, I'll be tuning in next week... I'm so ashamed.

A psychopath can be described as a person with an antisocial personality disorder, manifested in aggressive, perverted, criminal, or amoral behavior without empathy or remorse. Psychopaths tend to lack normal human emotions such as guilt. They are also often highly intelligent and skilled at manipulating others. Also, psychopaths seem to appear normal. You would probably never guess there was something wrong with them. Maybe the burly thug who slapped his son across the mouth with such force as to draw blood and grinned maliciously at the ticket agent at Logan, daring her to say or do anything was not a psychopath. But the man who gazed blankly at the passengers boarding American Airlines Flight 11, was. Maybe, as the last of the passengers shuffled down the gangway, he bought a coffee and newspaper, checked his watch, and strolled calmly behind the people he was going to murder, feeling NOTHING. That, to me, is a very scary thought.

Less than two hours later, shortly before 9 a.m this flight, carrying 81 passengers and 11 crew members, slammed into the north tower of the World Trade Center in Manhattan. About 15 minutes later, United Airlines Flight 175 from Boston to Los Angeles, with 56 passengers and nine crew members on board, crashed into the south tower.

A half-hour after the second crash, American Flight 77 took off from Washington, D.C.'s Dulles Airport en route to Los Angeles, California, carrying 58 passengers and six crew members -- but crashed into the Pentagon instead. Less than an hour after the third crash, United Flight 93 en route from Newark, New Jersey, to San Francisco crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, with 38 passengers and seven crew aboard. Those were the people who fought back. Just a few of the many people who became heroes that day. In this age of moral relativism, where everything seems to have an excuse or a root cause, I think it is useful to simply look at some facts. In the wake of the Madrid attacks and subsequent developments I find myself thinking back to the actions of the people who "kicked things off" as it were, just over two-and-a-half years ago. Were they psychopaths? How can we know? But we know what they did. The facts can be laid out in stark terms, as I have done below. I don't care what the "root causes" were, I don't care whether or not the young men who did this were being "manipulated", and I don't care why they hated the U.S. To me, these people, and all those of their ilk, have forfeited their humanity, and as I told a friend today, in the wake of the "martyrdom" of the "Tunisian" and his accomplices --on the bright side, that is five less pieces of shit to worry about.

THE FLIGHTS

American Airlines Flight 11
From: Boston, Massachusetts (Logan Airport)
To: Los Angeles, California
Lives: 92 people on board
Crashed into North Tower of World Trade Center at 8:45 AM

United Airlines Flight 175
From: Boston, Massachusetts (Logan Airport)
To: Los Angeles, California
Lives: 65 people on board
Crashed into South Tower of World Trade Center at 9:03 AM

American Airlines Flight 77
From: Washington, D.C. (Dulles Airport)
To: Los Angeles, CA
Lives: 64 people on board
Crashed into the Pentagon at 9:43 AM

United Airlines Flight 93
From: Newark, New Jersey
To: San Francisco, California
Lives: 45 people on board
Crashed into rural Pennsylvania (southeast of Pittsburgh)

VICTIMS

Victims came from more than 90 countries around the world.
The following are the number of people who died at each site:

World Trade Center: 2,823 presumed confirmed dead (includes airline passengers)
Pentagon 125 (not including plane victims)
Flight 11 92 people on board
Flight 175 65 people on board
Flight 77 64 people on board
Flight 93 44 people on board

I'll NEVER forget. Not in another 2 years, not in another 20. how could I... there are sure to be more attacks.