Two Things:

ONE

John Ivison makes a good point in last Wednesday's column:

One suspects that Gomery's relatively measured language was in part dictated by
his desire not to give the sovereigntists too much ammunition. Regardless, in
the short term, his report should help the Bloc sweep away many of the remaining
Liberal seats outside the federalist salient of Montreal at the next election.
Martin may have escaped censure yesterday, but a near wipeout in Quebec could
leave his hopes of a majority government in tatters. He could still eke out a minority government but, in that event, his life
expectancy as leader would be similar to that of a fruit fly.
For the rest of the country, Gomery has presented a challenge: Are you prepared
to hold your politicians accountable when a judge finds members of the ruling
party were running an elaborate kickback scheme in order to fund that party?
If we are not, we can hardly blame Quebecers if they decide they want no part of
it.

TWO

Maybe we should not want any part of a Province that seems to so maliciously predisposed to take offence at
anything.

Memo to Quebecers outraged by the conduct of the GG: One of your two major political parties wants to elect a guy who, by his own admission, liked to snort the occasional line of coke into his head while he was a Minister of the crown,both commiting a crime and indirectly supporting the activities of Les Hells. The GG made some jokes about it. Deal with it.

The real joke here is a party that would actually consider having this piece of crap for a leader. Pathetic

PQ, please pick this guy as your leader!

November 2, 2005
Gov. Gen. blasted for coke joke

SAGUENAY, Que. (CP) - Andre Boisclair, the front-runner in the Parti Quebecois
leadership campaign, says he is upset by comments made about him by Gov. Gen.
Michaelle Jean.
Jean referred to Boisclair in a speech she gave at the annual Parliamentary
Press Gallery dinner on Oct. 22. In her speech, Jean cracked several jokes about
Boisclair, including one that played on the dual meaning of the word coke, and
saying that Boisclair always follows the party "line."
The event was broadcast on a cable television network.
In mid-September, Boisclair admitted to using cocaine in the 1990s while he was
a minister in the cabinet of the provincial government. But he has revealed few
details.
Speaking prior to a debate between PQ leadership hopefuls on Wednesday,
Boisclair said he was shocked at Jean's behaviour before the 600 invited guests,
including Prime Minister Paul Martin.
"The images speak for themselves and everyone who saw those images understand
that they're out of place," Boisclair said.
"Mrs. Jean was not participating in a private event. Mrs. Jean was participating
in a public event, televised, taped."
Jean's speech, in which she also joked the only reason she was appointed to her
vice-regal post is because she is "hot," has drawn the ire of other PQ members.
Interim party leader Louise Harel and the party's intergovernmental affair
critic Jonathan Valois both criticized Jean's comments as inappropriate earlier
this week.
Boisclair's past has been an issue in the leadership campaign and it was again
before and after Wednesday's debate.
Four of his rivals stated publicly before the debate that the former cabinet
minister should come clean about his past.
"I invite him to stop running away and to answer the questions. He answers or he
withdraws," Pierre Dubuc told reporters. "We can't continue like this."
Another candidate, Jean Ouimet, expressed concerns about what other revelations
about Boisclair's past might come out during an election campaign against the
Liberals.
Boisclair's main rivals, Pauline Marois and Richard Legendre, were not among the
group.
Following the debate Boisclair was confronted with the question yet again at a
news conference.
He told reporters he did cocaine "a few times."
When pressed for more details on the time frame of his use, he replied "seven or
eight years ago."
"Listen, I made a mistake and I regret it very much. But it's a mistake of the
past. A long time ago. I never had a dependence problem," he said.
Boisclair also declined to say who supplied him with the drug and became visibly
frustrated when a reporter asked him if that person had ties to organized crime.
"Honestly, do we ask Jean Charest where he bought his pot from? If the person
who sold him pot had links to criminals," Boisclair said before cutting the news
conference short.

Pure douchebaggery!

Gomery

Here is the comment I would have written on the Canada.com sound off board, if only I had not been at work....

Bravo Allan Cutler!

Remember folks, one honest man helped start the avalanche... More than ever,
Canadians should see the value of a strong public service, governed by ethics
and in the public interest, and politically neutral. The alternative is more
unethical scumbag bureaucrats like Chuck Guité. Guité facilitated the operation of a
parallel unaccountable bureaucracy run by PMO for the benefit of filthy bastards
like the sorry parade of Quebec operatives and politicos that we saw at the
Gomery inquiry.

Even after 13 years of uninterrupted Liberal Government, it is worth the effort
for public servants to remind themselves that they while may work for the
Government, but they don't work for the LIBERALS.

The Liberals are finished in Quebec for a while, I think.

If people are looking for real reasons to fret about the Middle East, I submit for your consideration:

Exhibit A: The first stirrings of civil war in Iraq, and perhaps eventually, in the islamic world between Shia and Sunni

An increasingly Bellicose Iran

Iran has a long term strategic interest in supporting the Shia majority in Iraq, particularly once the yanks are gone, against the Sunni insurgency. However, just about every other neighbouring arab nation is Sunni. Will Iraq be the battleground for islam's version of the Thirty Years' War? With recent sectarian violence, are we witnessing a prelude to the start of a major war within islam?

Duceppe calls for the creation of an army for Quebec. OK, to do what, exactly? In the last two centuries, Quebec Nationalists never saw a conflict they weren't ready to denounce as British or American imperialist aggression... and we all know how things turned out for them the last couple of times Quebecers took up arms...

W's brother cynically uses his skillful handling of Hurricane to crap all over whiny incompetent douchbags from nearby state

From Saint Petersburg times, by way of Cox and Forkum:

Gov. Jeb Bush praised Florida emergency management officials on Monday while
blasting the efforts of Louisiana officials during Hurricane Katrina.
Bush said Florida responded successfully in the aftermath of Hurricane Wilma
because the state relied on the expertise of local emergency managers. He said
relying on federal emergency officials can be a fatal blunder.
"Our system is a bottoms-up system," Bush said. "In the case of Louisiana it was
left to the federal government to fill a void and the consequences are there for
the rest of the world to see."
"This is the model for how to respond to hurricanes," Bush said of Florida.
"Compare this to what happened a month and a half ago in other parts of the
country."

Happy Saint Crispin's day

On Today's date, 590 years ago, King Harry's English whipped some French monkey ass at the battle of Agincourt:

This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day: then shall our names.
Familiar in his mouth as household words
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare's Henry V

Randomosity

I watched the first part of CBC's Trudeau II, which has gotta be the cheesiest and nonsensical title for a this TV movie they could come up with. It's actually a prequel to the Trudeau movie they did with Colm Fiore a while back. That one covered his years in public life. This one covers the years he spent going to university, and his time as a lawyer and left-wing intellectual. From what I can gather from this movie, Trudeau spent most of the war acting petulant and supercilious with authority figures, whining about conscription, and being cold and distant to his girlfriend while Canadian boys were fighting the krauts across France, Belgium and Holland. I note he also spent some time growing a really stupid looking amish beard, traveling the world so that he could hang out in chinese opium dens getting high and learn some yoga. His time bouncing from university to university studying whatever caught his fancy is also mentioned in passing. A disconcerting picture of this Liberal icon emerges: that of a thoroughly unsympathetic provocateur and dilettante --a term he actually uses in conversation with another character when talking about himself.

I'm not sure where the creators of this telepic were going... Are we meant to grind our teeth over the injustice of Trudeau being denied a Rhode Scholarship, knowing as we do what the future had in store for the man? Are we meant to laugh along with the ineffectual "silk stocking socialists" of the Quebec intelligentsia (another term used in the movie) as they mock the hidebound establishment and ossified clergy that propped each other up in the Duplessis years? The main character in this biopic is nervy, restless, unfocussed, moving from one incident to the next without any sense of who he is or what he wants to accomplish

By the end of the first part of the miniseries, I felt pretty ambivalent about the Trudeau character as rather unsympathetically portrayed -- by two different actors, mind you -- and yet, I'm not sure that was the intent of the producers. While the film is far from a hagiography, the several messianic references are too blatant to miss. Not knowing much about Trudeau's life before his meteoric ascent to the pinacle of Federal politics, I can only assume that things will pick up for the guy in the next instalment, which covers the late fifties and sixties, and that the writer and director will get to the point.

Earlier, I watched the Parliamentary Press Gallery Gala on CPAC. That's the annual dinner where the GG, PM, and leaders of the other party give speeches poking fun at themselves and each other. A dorky Canadian roast, I guess is the best way to describe it. I think this kind of thing should be required viewing for voters. At times entertaining, even gratifying, but most importantly, illuminating. A PM normally bereft of eloquence sheds his nervous manner and aggravating stammer to crack a few funny and surprisingly self-depracating and self-aware jokes at his own expense. A stiff cold-fish of a Leader of the Opposition emerges as a witty and genial guy with a knack for mimickry. Even the NDP boss came across as a funny guy, singing a clever little medley of songs about his party's lamentable recent tendencies towards whoredom.

If people could see more of the lighter side of these three blowhards, and if each of them were just a little more natural and frank about their opinions with the electorate... if they could only be themselves a bit more, speak a little more plainly, and pay a little less heed to their handlers and spinners, we might start to have decent voter turnouts in this country.

The Secret Past of Gil Grissom Uncovered

With Cronenberg's A History of Violence coming out in theatres, I found myself thinking about the idea of people re-inventing themselves.

Do many people realize that the bearded, somewhat heavyset, hard-of-hearing shift supervisor with the sardonic gaze on the CBS hit CSI is none other than the star of two of the coolest flicks of the 1980s?

A few years ago, a friend turned me onto Michael Mann's 1986 movie Manhunter, a stylish adaptation of Thomas Harris' novel "Red Dragon", later to be re-adapted in 1992 by Brett Ratner as a "prequel" to Silence of the Lambs and Hannibal. William Petersen, who stars as Will Graham (a role played ably by Edward Norton in the Ratner version), blew me away with his intensity and the compact physicality he brought to the part of the deeply damaged FBI profiler investigating a series of grisly murders.

One year earlier, Petersen played the lead in William Friedkin's To Live And Die IN L.A., a gritty crime drama about a Secret Service agent's obsession with the counterfeiter who killed his partner. I just saw both movies again quite recently and, notwithstanding the dated 1980s soudtracks of each flick, I am amazed at how well both films have aged.

I'm equally amazed that after back-to-back star-making performances like that, Petersen simply disappeared. Here we had a charsmatic, athletic (Petersen went to Idaho State University on a football scholarship), and genuinely talented actor whose career seemed to have real "heat", as they say in the business. Indeed, a role that would have cemented his status as a Hollywood A-lister, a part in Oliver Stone's Platoon, was offered to him.... and he turned it down.

So what did Petersen take on instead? A part in that well known 1987 made-for-TV opus Long Gone. Never heard of it you say? Indeed. And from that point on, no one heard much about Petersen, either. At least until 2000, when he appeared in The Contender, and began playing Grissom on CSI. The rest, as they say, is history

This is an interesting case of someone forsaking stardom only to have it thrust upon him anyway - A man on the cusp of stardom gave it all up, it turns out, because he didn't want to spend too much time away from his family... and ended up getting a second shot.

Good for him!

Politique

My "priviledged" position as a someone "in the know" on certain policy trends currently making waves in the Government prevents me from commenting at length on what I have observed in the past couple of weeks.

But that don't mean I can't hop up on my soapbox to talk politics for a minute or two...

First off, the Dingwall thing. I gotta wonder why they can't just cut the guy loose sans severance. From what I gather, this guy is a second-rate Cape Breton political hack, grown fat through his abilities to exploit the patronage culture that pervades Atlantic Canada (yeah, I said it). A thoroughly unremarkable MP and mediocre cabinet minister under the Chretien regime, I doubt he is in tight with the Martinites. Why the kid glove treatment? Paul Martin didn't hesitate to sack several other Chretien appointees when it suited him, including another former bag-man, Alfonso Gagliano. Does this guy know where the bodies are buried?

Next, Pete McKay. I like the guy, don't get me wrong, but I wonder if he made the right decision in staying with the Federal Conservatives instead of jumping to the Nova Scotia Tories. Full disclosure: we lived on the same floor of one of those awful downtown Ottawa apartment buildings a couple of years ago --the kind that Edward Norton referred to as a filing cabinet for young professionals and old ladies in The Fight Club. Back then, when I asked the then-deputy-leader of the PCs what he thought of the Alliance, he scoffed "Regional Protest Party! No vision for the whole country." If he pulled a Jean Charest, he could be premier of Nova Scotia within weeks, if not months. Instead, he will continue to be second-banana in a perenial second-place party that has stalled out in the polls and appears to desperately need a shot in the arm. It's looking bad on the right side of the political spectrum in Canada right now, folks. Don't believe me? Ask THIS GUY. Maybe Elmer's boy, with visions of a Mulroney-style renaissance (OK, maybe not quite Mulroney style!), is taking the long view and biding his time as his party languishes in the political wilderness.

Finally, pizza. What is the deal with Liberals and controversial pizza? First we had Judy Sgro's problems with the pizzaman, and now, it is outrage over a certain Minister's famous $136 pizza. If this trend continues, stay tuned for a kinky panzerotti sex-scandal to complete the italian-food-scandal trifecta...

Cognitive dissonance

I'm increasingly blown away by human imaginativeness, creativitiy, and our odd ability to brainwash ourselves into holding contradictory viewpoints.

Take for example, these good folks at a recent peace rally in San Fran. You or I could never hope to convince them that the people they are making common cause with view them with disgust and contempt, and some would gladly butcher them like pigs given half a chance. Whereas the state they oppose actually accepts and tolerates their lifestyle choice.

Reminds me a bit of folks who trumpet a woman's right to choose and then lament the demographic timebomb that is ticking away right now, threatening our social safety net. Uh, anyone see the correlation? No babies now means no one to pay mom and pop's hefty medical and pension costs in two or three decades. Immigrants, you say? Ah, yes, lets go abroad and recruit an underclass of young labourers to support our aging baby-boomers and pay increasingly greater amounts into pension plans that will be depleted by the time they are old enough to use them. How very progressive of you!

September 2005 MTP Grads and sweatlodge survivors 

Sweatlodge - Good for what ails ya! 

Near Mont Tremblant - The lake we swam in after our sweatlodge 

SWEATLODGE

Just spent a week in St-Donat, in the wilds of northern Quebec, on a work-related retreat. It was actually the final course of the four-year management trainee program, designed to help with participants' transitions into permanent positions within the Public Service of Canada.

It was one of those-touchy feely courses, all about getting back to nature and getting in touch with your inner self. Normally, I don't go in for that kind of stuff, but I had an upbeat attitude going into the course, and was determined to get something useful out of it. If nothing else, it offered me a week away from work --just what the doctor ordered.

I knew that the course integrated elements of traditional first nations teachings, and having already taken an aboriginal awareness course three years ago, I was interested to see how the "native" angle was going to play out.

As it turned out, I had a truly amazing experience on the third day of the course, when I participated in a Algonquin sweatlodge, led by a local elder. I made an entry in my journal shortly after the "sweat", which I am transcribing here now:

I went for a run this morning. Needed a bit of a kickstart for the day and it felt good to breath some fresh mountain air into my lungs. After a hearty breakfast, we headed out to the site and split into several groups. While the women left to perform some traditional duties (gathering pine bows for the sacred area, and other stuff like that) the men broke into two units. The first group built the lodge out of birch poles and heavy tarps, the second group, the one I was in, built the sacred fire.

After gathering the "grandfathers", thirty-three football-sized stones, in a pile in the middle of the pit, we began piling the logs with care, building a sort of wood wall around them. I reflected on the fact that these stones represented our ancestors, and that their presence inside the lodge would symbolize the idea that our ancestors were in there with us. Denis, the Mohawk warrior and drug addict-turned spiritual guide, spoke to us as we worked, providing us with many fascinating teachings. I really enjoyed the morning we spent together, even though I was thinking about the coming ordeal the whole time.

After lunch, we made our final preparations for the sweat. My own preparation had begun two days before, as I had been thinking and writing alot leading up to moment I would enter the lodge's embrace. Having already gone through a sweatlodge ceremony three years before, I knew what to expect. Most of the others didn't, and it showed in the worried expressions on their faces. We stripped down to bathing suits and bandanas, which all men are required to wear for the ceremony, and walked down to the lodge, towels in hand. After purification with burnt sage, I made an offering of tobacco to the fire next to the lodge that we had built that morning, and that was now a roaring blaze heating the stones until they glowed. I also consigned a roll of birch bark upon which I had written some personal things to the flames. Then, I said a short prayer, crossed myself, and crawled through the small opening.

The heat of that small space is almost unbearable when you first enter. I greeted the ancestors ("Mushums") and crawled over my colleagues to get to my spot near the pit in the centre. A sweatlodge is not very roomy --maybe five feet high and 10 feet in diameter. I was one of the last to come in, and the enclosed space was packed with over twenty people, and pitch black.

To my dismay, I realized that I would be sitting nearest to the stones, so I wrapped my towel around my bare legs and tried to stay as far from the pit in the middle of the lodge as I could. Dominque, the Algonquin elder, spoke a few words, some of which none of us understood because they were in Algonquin, and handed us his medecine pouch, and a couple of other sacred objects. I myself held my own medicine pouch clenched tightly in my left hand. Then, one by one, ten stones, glowing red-hot, were handled into the lodge using a metal shovel and placed in the centre of the pit. With each stone, the temperature rose, and already, some people were gasping and chuckling nervously as we greeted them with the cry of "Kwe Mushum!" or "hello Grandfather!". Then, the flap of the door came down, and the dark, hot space was plunged into darkness.

Almost immediately, two individuals spoke up, asking to be let out of the lodge. Once the shaken participants had made their hasty exit, we settled in for a good sweat. I was actually quite surprised, but at least the sudden departures had made a bit of room for the rst of us, and I took the opportunity to slink to the back of the lodge, away from the glow of the mushums, where I rested my back against the warm canvas of the already-stuffy tent.

The first of the four "doors" was hard on me --a sweat is broken into four doors of varying lengths, between which the lodge is opened, aired out, and more stones are brought in. I felt, to my suprise, a fair bit of anxiety. It took me several minutes to get control of my breathing. From the sounds around me, I could tell, however, that other participants were going through the same struggle I was, and that gave me comfort. Gradually, I felt my chest begin to loosen as I grew accustomed to the suffocating heat. Dominique's words were a faint drone to me, but somehow, I felt like I was taking them in, and taking comfort in them, too. I gripped my medicine pouch ever more tightly as the sweat poured off my body. Water was poured onto the rocks, making them hiss, and causing a great cloud of steam that made the lodge even hotter. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, Dominique cried "DOOR!" and light flooded into the dark space as an opening appeared in the side of the lodge and some of the heat escaped. This was the end of the first door.

Then, the exodus. Alot of my colleagues had been shocked by the heat, and disconcerted by the darkness. I'm sure that more than a couple of them also had a bit of difficulty in dealing with what was happening inside that lodge and inside of them--something indescribeable that you could say was of a spiritual nature. Unlike my first lodge three years ago, those who elected to tough it out for the next door stayed inside the lodge... no smokebreaks on this job!

The second door, which brought ten more grandfathers into the lodge to join the ten that were already keeping us company, was also a terrible ordeal, and I realized at some point that I was weeping. I could also feel something raw inside me being scraped away, scoured away in that heat. I guess I was taking care of some stuff that needed to be taken care of... and that realization made me want to tough it out all the more. Dominique began chanting, and soon, many of us had joined him, singing in a language we didn't know, but feeling the meaning all the same. Others were moaning and a few cried out in anguish, probably suffering more, emotionally, if not physically and mentally, than they ever had before. Dominique spoke to us of his life, his beliefs, and the teachings of his fathers. He used a spruce branch to douse us with water, then he doused the grandfathers, and the dreaded steam engulfed us again. Then, just as before, at the moment I was ready to pack it in, the door flung open, and light flooded in.

By the beginning of the third door, when eight more mushums made their presence known, I felt as weak as a kitten. I drank a cedar potion between doors, and didn't mind the taste at all. If the natives say this stuff is good for ya, well... I needed all the help I could get! I was in pain, inside and out, but this was a good kind of pain, a cleansing pain. I though about the suffering of Jesus Christ, and the legion of martyrs who suffered in his name. I tried to imagine their torment, and all things considered, supposed that mine simply wasn't that bad after all. In the healing heat, I think I may just have seen my ancestors. For a minute, I felt like my grandfathers and other people I care about were in there with me, and the thought brought me comfort. I also took solace in the fact that I was with my colleagues, and that we had the support of people outside the lodge, who responded to our cries of "tabac!" by echoing the shout. Tabac was something we had been told to shout when we felt like we could not hold on anymore, and surprisingly enough, hearing the word shouted back to us outside the lodge was a real tonic.

The final five stones joined us in the lodge, which, after several more departures, was starting to get positively roomy. There were only about a dozen of us left when the fourth door began. I had annointed myself with bear grease, which felt great, between the third and fourth door, and I found that this stage, while difficult, was not nearly as hard as the first three had been. As I held hands with the persons to the left and right of me, I started to feel peaceful and even a bit euphoric. Sweat was now bubbling out of my skin and pouring to the floor of pine branches in audible drips as I listened to Dominique's teachings, and as he painted a vivid image of a vision, I saw it all.

To everyone's surprise, at the end of the fourth door, Dominique announced a "warrior" door, and as the flap came back down, he doused us and the thirty-three grandfathers with cedar water,which opened up my lungs and felt wonderful. I was now leaning unselfconsciously on Abder, who was sitting to my right, for support. We both grinned as the door came up a final time, and laughed with relief, bringing the ordeal to a satisfying conclusion. I had squeezed my medecine bag so tight that sweat had soaked it through, and was now pouring through the bottom. The palm of my hand was stained brown from the leather.

As I crawled out of the lodge, I embraced the elder and thanked him for being with us in the lodge. My feeling of euphoria was dampened a bit, when I saw the faces of some of my colleagues who had fled before the end, and now regretted their hasty decision. But, as we were told, we had all been there together, and those outside had allowed those within to stay there by their support and their presence, which had given us strength. I found out that at the very end, they had been physically embracing the outside of the lodge to give us their energy. Truly, a generous act.

After sitting by the sacred fire for a few minutes in quiet contemplation, I went down to the lake to bathe in the cool waters. My skin felt like that of a newborn. Water never felt so good to me. I was reinvigorated, revitalized, and content.

On the way back past the lodge, I thanked Dennis, who had tended the sacred fire throughout the afternoon, for all of his teachings. He smiled at me. I was calm, content, and serene. What an incredible gift we had shared.


Later, we discussed the length of the sweatlodge. No one was sure. According to one of my colleagues who had stayed outside and had their watch with them, the whole thing lasted three hours. I wouldn't have been surprised if someone had told me it had lasted 30 minutes --or 13 hours for that matter. Inside the lodge, time did not seem to exist. It was only when we emerged, like newborns out of mother earth's womb, that the strange wonderful dream ended, and we went back to being what we were: Ottawa bureaucrats on a retreat in the wilds of Northern Quebec

Ottawa. August 28, 2005 --In an epic battle destined for the ages, FRESHMAKERS battled back to claim a 15-14 victory, in the Thursday night Tier 5 consolation semi-final. This "battle for the bottom" match cemented the team's status as a force to be reckoned with among the fitness-challenged elite of Ottawa's Ultimate community.  

Miscellaneous Musings

Does anyone miss "regular" CBC programming? As far as I'm concerned, the lockout can continue... at least until Ron and Don are due back in the Coach's Corner and I can no longer find anything online to fill the void that Rex Murphy's "Point of View" has left.

*******

Normally, all the best content at Steyn Online comes from Mark himself, but this week there is a particularly thought provoking, if somewhat vitriolic letter entitled THE FICTION OF THE 'PALESTINIAN' IDENTITY from some Aussie guy, I think, in the Mark's Mailbox section of the site. Check it out, and consider the critical role of the media and media-savvy agitators in framing the issues of our day.

*****

Sometimes it is fascinating to watch someone's worldview completely transform before your eyes. Precious few witnessed the online transmogrification of some of the most dogged pro-WOT bloggers, who went from amiable mountain bike enthusiasts writing about their favourite trails, to online activists and campaigning with the fervour of evangelists. But the change is there, laid bare for all to see. Recorded in their sites' archives. Go to your favourite "right-wing wacko" sites and compare the postings from August 2001 to those from September and October 2001, if ya don't believe me.

Matt Welch quotes Orwell, and his issues with the Pacifists of his day:

Pacifism is a psychological curiosity rather than a political movement. Some of
the extremer pacifists, starting out with a complete renunciation of violence,
have ended by warmly championing Hitler and even toying with antisemitism. This
is interesting, but it is not important. 'Pure' pacifism, which is a by-product
of naval power, can only appeal to people in very sheltered positions. Moreover,
being negative and irresponsible, it does not inspire much devotion.
On the relationship between intellectuals and patriotism:
England is perhaps the only great country whose intellectuals are ashamed of
their own nationality. In left-wing circles it is always felt that there is
something slightly disgraceful in being an Englishman and that it is a duty to
snigger at every English institution, from horse racing to suet puddings. It is
a strange fact, but it is unquestionably true that almost any English
intellectual would feel more ashamed of standing to attention during 'God save
the King' than of stealing from a poor box. All through the critical years many
left-wingers were chipping away at English morale, trying to spread an outlook
that was sometimes squashily pacifist, sometimes violently pro-Russian, but
always anti-British. ... If you were an intellectual you sniggered at the Union
Jack and regarded physical courage as barbarous. ... Patriotism and intelligence
will have to come together again. It is the fact that we are fighting a war, and
a very peculiar kind of war, that may make this possible.

Parallels can be drawn... I'm just saying....

I'm trying to wrap my head around the whole Iraq thing...

I'm willing to accept the necessity of bringing the enterprise to a successful conclusion on the U.S.'s terms, for all the good that will do --as a Canadian, my support or opposition means exactly jack squat to American pollsters and politicos. But I can't help but notice the glaring inability of the Bush administration to provide a solid rationale that will connect with the American public for their ongoing presence there.

The whole "honouring the sacrifice of those who have already fallen" set of talking points does not seem to be getting across as a justification for continuing the struggle, notwithstanding the protestations of die-hard hawks. Ever since David Frum, an Iraq war supporter if ever there was one, posted an article critical of the administration's current approach to selling (and conducting)the war on August 23, 2005, his online diary has been deluged with readers who share his frustration. The current concern of the neo-cons is that Bush is losing the Public Opinion war in the U.S. to Cindy Sheehan, Michael Moore and their ilk through simple inertia. This is a fight they cannot afford to lose.

Articles like this can provoke an angry reaction from jingoistic chest-thumpers, insensed that some of the right-wing intelligensia appear to be flagging in their support of Bush, but they should also provoke some soul-searching and reflection.

Why is the Bush White House struggling to get a positive message across? Some may think that is because there is nothing positive to report on, but a quick survey of several Warblogs and soldierblogs written by those on the ground in that country paint a compelling picture of some very significant achievements amidst the the litany of setbacks and deterioration that the media has been deluging us with.

Still, there is no denying that we have a mixed bag of good news/bad news/very bad news coming out of Mesopotamia. To me, the increasingly prominent role of Iran in the sectarian violence is particularly troubling. Also, there does not appear to be a long term plan and set of clearly defined objectives --at least none that I can see --just a rather arbitrary timetable for achieving democratic government in what currently appears to be a very unstable country. It remains the task of Bush, Condi, and company to convince the U.S. public to stay the course in a place where everything seems to be falling apart.

As someone in the communication biz, I watch with interest, waiting to see whether or not the Bush administration can come up with a rationale and "storyline" that will convice Americans that what they are doing in Iraq is worth doing, and that the sacrifice of American blood and treasure will pay dividends in the long run.

What happens next in Iraq will set the tone for the prosecution of the War on Terror --or whatever they are currently calling the struggle against radical islamism-- for years to come. Everything hangs in the balance...

He comes from Atlantic Canada...

He is a person of colour...

He works for the CBC...

His contributions to Canadian culture are too numerous to mention...

Ladies and gentlemen of the PMO, for your consideration, Newfoundland's own Raj Binder for Governor General in 2009!

Ever since the CBC went on strike, I have been surfing the web to get info on news and current events...

America needs to know!

concerning the Supreme Court:
The Supreme Court is a lifetime appointment, and America needs to know whether
___JOHN ROBERTS___ supports the GOP's secret plan of a Rush Limbaugh Jesus army
of unwanted, unquestioning fetus zombies programmed to urinate on the Korans of
Guantanamo detainees.

New Spokesperson for the Taliban urges immediate withdrawal of U.S. troops from Afghanistan:

In her first statement since leaving Crawford, Cindy Sheehan speaks at a "Support Our Troops" rally:

Allah ordered us ... to purify Muslim land of all
non-believers,... We are surprised this question is coming from Americans....
American history does not distinguish between civilians and military, and not
even women and children. They are the ones who used the bombs against
Nagasaki.... America does not have a religion that will prevent it from
destroying all people.... We believe that the biggest thieves in the world and
the terrorists are the Americans... We are sure of Allah's victory and our
victory against the Americans and the Jews as promised by the prophet peace be
upon him....We predict a black day for America and the end of the United States
as United States.

Oops... wrong quote. That was noted philanthropist Osama Bin Laden, going off topic, I believe, on one of those taped rants sent to Al Jazeera following the capture of anAl Qaeda operative in the mountains of Waziristan. By the way, I think the enemy combatant was subsequently sent to Guantanamo, where he was urinated upon and disposed off down a toilet during one of the Koran shortages which has plagued the facility.

Here is what the latest standard bearer for the peace movement actually said on Hardball with Chris Matthews:

MATTHEWS: All right. If your son had been killed in Afghanistan, would you have a different feeling?

SHEEHAN: I don't think so, Chris, because I believe that Afghanistan is almost the same thing. We're fighting terrorism. Or terrorists, we're saying. But they're not contained in a country. This is an ideology and not an enemy. And we know that Iraq, Iraq had no terrorism. They were no threat to the United States of America.


MATTHEWS: But Afghanistan was harboring, the Taliban was harboring al-Qaida which is the group that attacked us on 9/11.

SHEEHAN: Well then we should have gone after al-Qaida and maybe not after the country of Afghanistan.

MATTHEWS: But that's where they were being harbored. That's where they were headquartered. Shouldn't we go after their headquarters? Doesn't that make sense?

SHEEHAN: Well, but there were a lot of innocent people killed in that invasion, too. ... But I'm seeing that we're sending our ground troops in to invade countries where the entire country wasn't the problem. Especially Iraq. Iraq was no problem. And why do we send in invading armies to march into Afghanistan when we're looking for a select group of people in that country?

So I believe that our troops should be brought home out of both places where we're obviously not having any success in Afghanistan. Osama bin Laden is still on the loose and that's who they told us was responsible for 9/11.

Yeah... like Homer Simpson told Bart: If something is hard, it isn't worth doing.... now lets all have a big ol' swig of moonbat juice.

TV Crack

My addiction has gotten worse. Within the last three weeks, I bought seasons 1-3 and watched them back to back to back over 14 days. During lunch hour at work, I surf the web for info on season five. I obsess over the minutia of each episode. I find myself wondering whether CTU is part of the CIA, or whether it is part of the Defense Department, for crissake.

As far as I'm concerned, 24 is the coolest thing on TV.

I don't know whether it is because Keifer Sutherland is so perfectly suited to play Jack Bauer, or because, season after season, he is surrounded by the best supporting cast I have ever seen, or because every season, the producers and writers have raised the stakes time and time again with graver threats and more adrenaline-pumping drama... but I can't get enough.

Sure, the show has its flaws. What show doesn't? Increasingly, they have begun playing fast and loose with the real-time factor, so that by season 4, characters can get anywhere in southern California within minutes. Some of the plot twists have been pretty damn lame (the infamous amnesia subplot and the cougar from season 2 springs immediately to mind), and the revolving-door of characters who appear suddenly and are liquidated just as quickly can be irritating at times.

But come to think of it, the fact that no character is indispensible might be one of the show's greatest strengths. this trend was established in the finale of season 1, which featured one of the most daring endings I have ever seen. You really never know who is gonna get there ticket punched. I was particularly struck by the demise of so many significant characters in season 3, including one of my favourites, played by Paul Schulze (Father Intintola from the Sopranos). The way that guy went out was so shocking, I could barely believe what I had just seen.

With Jack Bauer "dead" at the end of season 4, I can hardly wait to see what happens in Season 5. I'll be glued to the boob tube for that season premier. I guarantee it.

Recent discoveries:

Gitmo Authorities fear mass conversion of radical islamists to wicca! Thanks, J.K. Rowling

Clever mulitculturalism satire by Iowahawk by way of LGF.

On the day that we find out that we have, in our new Governor General, "more of the same", the last of a breed has gone to his rest, and this nation will never see his like:

SMOKY SMITH, V.C. Dead at 91.

VORSICHT! BISSIGER SCHWEIN!

BERLIN (AP) — Coming across a 100-kilogram wild animal with bug eyes, a big snout and pointy ears is nothing unusual in many Berlin neighbourhoods.

Up to 7,000 wild pigs inhabit the forests in and around the leafy city and often make themselves at home in residential areas. The result: uprooted gardens, frightened pets and annoyed homeowners.

Marlis Goetze has lived in Eichkamp, one of the most pig-invaded neighbourhoods, for over 12 years. She often takes her golden retriever for a walk in the bordering forest, and says there are lots of the swine lingering around town.

“I am still in shock, I just saw a huge boar in the woods,” Goetze said, making quick steps while leaving the forest with her dog. Often the boars come as close as three metres, she said.

Authorities get some 4,000 complaint calls a year about wild pigs ravaging backyards, tearing up fences and eating their way through vegetable gardens, with onions a particular favourite of the pigs. Learning to tolerate the frequent visitors is part of being a Berliner.

“When you live here you kind of get used to the piggies,” said wild pig victim Peter Bebiolka. Last year three boars dug up his yard and turned it upside down.

“I had to plant new grass but my lawn is still full of humps,” he said. “You can feel the humps when you walk across the yard.”

In the anti-pig camp are Hans and Gila Ruge, a couple who has lived in Eichkamp for decades. “It is absolutely annoying, they come and eat what they can find in my garden,” Hans Ruge said.

This year the pigs — who prefer to ravage yards at night and in groups as large as 15 or 20 — broke into the Ruges’ garden three times. They can easily get in by digging into the ground and pushing up the edge of the fence with their snouts. “Every time they steal my potatoes and eat my onions,” Ruge said.

Derk Ehlert, the city’s administration wildlife expert, says people shouldn’t be afraid of the pigs despite their size. “Wild pigs are extremely peaceful, and only aggressive when they fear their own life is at stake,” Ehlert said.

Sows with piglets can often be more aggressive than boars. While the boars will often be content with a strong push with their snouts, an attacking sow may bite.

Ehlert said the growing population meant that a record high of 2,700 pigs were killed by hunters and cars last year — 1,683 killed during hunting season, while 900 more died in other incidents such as being hit by cars or being shot by city-hired hunters after they cause disruptions such as blocking traffic.

Residents can call for assistance getting a pig out of their yards, but regulations require that city workers must first try to shoo the pig back into the forest. Only when the pig won’t go peacefully or becomes aggressive can deadly force be used.

The biggest mistake people make, Ehlert said, is feeding them. “Home owners often leave their garbage out for days. And sometimes, they even purposely feed the pigs because they think the pigs are so skinny,” Ehlert said.

Feeding wild animals, which makes them lose their fear of people, can draw a fine of thousands of dollars, Ehlert said.

Reports of injuries to people are rare, although several years ago, a sow wandered onto a school playground and aggressively pushed one of the kids, who fell but wasn’t hurt, he said.

“There’s wild pigs all over Berlin but they are very calm and almost never aggressive,” said Marc Franusch, spokesman for the Berlin city forestry department.

“Just don’t monkey with them.”

Shocking news! Soldiers' job is to kill people!

My jaw hung open as I read a recent Globe and Mail Article that quoted statements made by General Rick Hillier, Canada's recently appointed Chief of Defence Staff (Top General):

"We are going to Afghanistan to actually take down the folks that are trying to blow up men and women," Gen. Hillier said.

He also gave a blunt assessment of the role of the Canadian Forces, which he said are designed to protect Canadian interests at home and abroad.

"We're not the public service of Canada, we're not just another department. We are the Canadian Forces, and our job is to be able to kill people," Gen. Hillier said.

Naturally, condemnation was swift in coming. Maude Barlow, Chairwoman of the Council of Canadians and my own personal favourite idiot, responded:

"I'm feeling it's time for people to be as calm as possible. . . . I would love Canada to play a thoughtful, moderating position in this," she said, denouncing Gen. Hillier's comments as "very aggressive."

Naturally -- because when you are going up against the head-hackers and woman-stoners of the Taliban, a gang of thugs who blew up a couple of Canadian soldiers the last time we sent our troops over, it is important to be "thoughtful and moderate". Al-Qaida leader Osama bin Laden was equally thoughtful when he declared Canada a "legitimate target" in March 2004.

Newfoundland-born Hillier, who earned the crossed-swords on his shoulder straps as an armoured officer in the Eighth Canadian Hussars and Royal Canadian Dragoons, is not one to mince words, characterizing the enemy --and that is what they are, THE ENEMY -- as "detestable murderers and scumbags".

This will shock those who think that Canadian soldiers are trained to hand out lollipops, but when I was on basic infantry training in 1994 --a year that saw Canadian soldiers deployed on several peacekeeping missions in the former Yugoslavia and elsewhere -- they were teaching us that the role of the Infantry is to close with and destroy the enemy. To the best of my knowledge, they are still teaching that very same thing.

The General, described as a soldier's soldier, may have shocked some of the Ottawa establishment with his blunt language, but he he is a man who knows what his job is.

--Stephen Staples, a military analyst at the Ottawa-based, left-leaning Polaris Institute, found Gen. Hillier's comments "rather alarming."

"Are we seeing an Americanization of the Canadian Forces?" Mr. Staples asked.

But other prominent lefties seemed to be cool with it. Jack Layton's reaction:

"Controlled anger, given what's happened, is an appropriate response," NDP Leader Jack Layton said. "We have a very committed, level-headed head of our armed forces, who isn't afraid to express the passion that underlies the mission that front-line personnel are going to be taking on.

"A bit of strong language in the circumstances, I don't find that to be wrong."

Jack Layton said that? What the hell is going on? OK, by this point in the article, I'm grinning. In another G&B article, Hillier is quoted again:

"We're not going to let those radical murderers and killers rob from others and certainly we're not going to let them rob from Canada," he said.

He pointed out that during the Second World War, Canadian soldiers did not shy away from fighting the Nazis.

"Did they say, 'No we might be attacked over here if we actually stand up against those despicable murderers and bastards?' No, they did not," Gen. Hillier said..

One question: Where have they been hiding this guy?

I KEED! I KEED!!! 

Triumph the Insult Comic Dog and Eminem bury the hatchet

Eminmem's Ass Like That video has confirmed my suspicion that Marshall Mathers III continues to be a master of image manipulation. About a year ago, he was ridiculed for panicking and shoving a bodyguard in front of him when Triumph ambushed him at the MTV music awards --A video of the incident is available here.

It was later explained that Eminem's momentary discombobulation was supposedly because he was unfamiliar with the puppet-dog's shtick. Fast-forward several months, Eminem has now co-opted (exploited?) the popular character's persona for a hit single and featured the real Triumph in the Crank-Yankers inspired video.

The media-savvy Detroit rapper has walked a fine line over the last half-decade, jousting with the media over accusations of homophobia and mysogyny while juggling three distinct personas on each of his albums: There is Eminem, the main character --a mainstream rapper with real street-cred who relishes his beefs with Benzino of The Source magazine, and Irv Gotti's Murder Inc; there is Marshall Mathers, (Eminem's real name)--the doting father and troubled-man persona who tends towards introspection in some of the artist's more thoughtful songs... and then there is Slim Shady, the juvenile, puerile, vulgar, and borderline-insane dark persona whose every utterance seems calculated to shock. Each of these personalities appears distinct and fully-formed, as far as I can tell, differing in their style of rapping as much as their respective songs differ in their content.

A glance at some of the lyrics on "Ass like that" would seem to set it clearly in the Slim Shady catalogue. But for this song, Eminem has adopted yet another alter-ego: His former tormentor, Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.

I think the reason this song works so well is that Triumph (Robert Smigel's alter-ego) and Slim Shady are cut from the same cloth: They are characters whose outlandish and offensive statements are somehow mitigated by the fact that they are cartoons -- a rubber cigar-chewing puppet and a grotesque parody of a mentally-deranged sociopathic gangster-wannabe: both are so completely absurd and over-the-top that no one can take them seriously.

Throughout the song, Eminem does a pretty-passable imitation of Triumph's distinctive accent and uses many of the acerbic canine's trademark phrases like "I KEED! I KEED!" --one catchphrase that could easily apply to Slim.

In one verse of the song, he raps:

If I offend I'm sorry, please, please forgive
For I am Triumph, the puppet dog, I am a mere puppet
I can get away with anything I sing, you will love it

and in another verse:

I am Triumph, Britney Spears has shoulders like a man
And I can say that and you'll laugh cuz that is a puppet on my hand

Eminem reveals a deep understanding and complicity with the puppet. He knows how to dissociate himself from all the controversy he has churned up, claiming that people who get offended don't "get" the joke: Slim Shady, like Triumph is definitely NOT to be taken seriously. When it comes to Triumph, Eminem gets the joke, because it is the same joke he has been playing on everyone for years.

An Idiotic Knife to her Heart

A GOOGLE search on Natalia Glebova, the Russian-born Canadian winner of Miss Universe 2005, reveals numerous alarming possible scenarios of mistaken-identity.

A Czech golfer, a 35-year-old Russian internet bride, and a Webcam girl all share this name, which I imagine must be something like the russian version of "Jane Smith".

Anyway, in an idiotic move by the City of Toronto, OUR Natalia, a stunning raven-tressed, blue-eyed 23-year old Ryerson student, was recently banned from the Thai festival at good old Nathan Philips Square this weekend on the grounds that

"Activities which degrade men or women through sexual stereotyping or exploit the bodies of men, women, boys or girls solely for the purpose of attracting attention are not permitted on the square."

I don't know what the Thai festival folks had in mind, but I can't imagine it would have involved much exploiting of Ms. U's body, which, unless I'm mistaken, usually appears sheathed in a full-length dress topped by a tiara and circled by a sash. The whole HIV awareness thing that Glebova has adopted as her pet cause doesn't exactly lend itself to the raunchy bikini contest antics that the bylaw was designed to prevent.

Sexual stereotyping? Hmm... debatable. Some would say --but I wouldn't-- that pageants are inherently exploitative and therefore, anyone who wins one is being sexually stereotyped and degraded.

However, I'm certain that it could not have been too long before somebody at City Hall pointed out that, given the City's enthusiastic endorsement and participation in other "cultural" events like Gay Pride and Carribana, both of which feature multitudes of gyrating and thrusting quasi-nude men, women, boys or girls, it might be best to interpret the by-law with a bit more discretion.

The response on the Canada.com
Sound-Off board to this case of political-correctness-run-wild has been incredulous and highly entertaining to read, to say the least.

Mayor Miller has since rescinded the ban, claiming the by-law was "misinterpreted" and left some apologetic messages on Ms. Glebova's voice-mail. Don't hold your breath for that return call, Dave.

R.I.P. Jimmy Doohan

Scotty died today. Paul is wearing a black armband and sipping Glenfiddich as he watches old VHS tapes of the OS. Let's face it, Kirk was a pantywaist. Bones was a one-note character who grunted and bugged his eyes out alot. Spock? Totally overrated.

The true heart and soul of the show was the Scotsman in the bowels of the ship, sweating it out over those dilithium crystals, always trying to give 'em more power! The guy who played Scott was a Canadian WWII vet, who stormed the beaches on D-Day and took four kraut bullets, one of which robbed him of a finger.

Why he never kicked Kirk's ass and took over the controls of the ship, I'll never know.

Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live. John Milton
 

"Getting on with it"

July 7th, 2005 was my thirtieth birthday. Far from ruining it, the terrorist pigs gave me a reason to be proud. I am honoured to call myself English, and have nothing but admiration for the way the people of London conducted themselves in the face of tragedy... but then, Londoners have always had a remarkable capacity to "carry on" in the midst of adversity, haven't they?


One day after luncheon the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Kingsley Wood, came to see me on business at No. 10, and we heard a very heavy explosion take place across the river in South London. I took him to see what had happened. The bomb had fallen in Peckham. It was a very big one -probably a land-mine. It had completely destroyed or gutted twenty or thirty small three-storey houses and cleared a considerable open space in this very poor district. Already little pathetic Union Jacks had been stuck up amid the ruins. When my car was recognised the people came running from all quarters, and a crowd of more than a thousand was soon gathered. All these folk were in a high state of enthusiasm. They crowded round us, cheering and manifesting every sign of lively affection, wanting to touch and stroke my clothes. One would have thought I had brought them some fine substantial benefit which would improve their lot in life. I was completely undermined, and wept. Ismay, who was with me, records that he heard an old woman say: "You see, he really cares. He's crying." They were tears not of sorrow but of wonder and admiration. "But see, look here," they said, and drew me to the centre of the ruins. There was an enormous crater, perhaps forty yards across and twenty feet deep. Cocked up at an angle on the very edge was an Anderson shelter, and we were greeted at its twisted doorway by a youngish man, his wife, and three children, quite unharmed but obviously shell-jarred. They had been there at the moment of the explosion. They could give no account of their experiences. But there they were, and proud of it. Their neighbours regarded them as enviable curiosities. When we got back into the car a harsher mood swept over the haggard crowd. "Give it 'em back," they cried, and "Let them have it too." I undertook forthwith to see that their wishes were carried out; and this promise was certainly kept. The debt was repaid tenfold, twentyfold, in the frightful routine bombardment of German cities, which grew in intensity as our air-power developed, as the bombs became far heavier and the explosives more powerful. Certainly the enemy got it all back in good measure, pressed down and running over. Alas for poor humanity!

Winston Churchill, The Second World War, Volume II: Their Finest Hour

I watched the Live 8 Concert yesterday... yes the whole thing. I just spent two weeks in Spain and the splendour of the Canadian Summer is lost on me at this point.

Altogether, a mixed bag. Some bands were as good live as I expected them to be, some surpassed my expectations, and some should never be permitted to play live again, because their offensively poor performance may risk turning public opinion against the cause they are trying to help.

I'm fairly certain that some of the acts were not entirely sure of what the point of Live 8 was. You could tell by the way they spouted vague inane cliches between songs: Come on, people, we gotta do the right thing! We need justice! We need to make those leaders understand! We have the power!. I think one moron from A Simple Plan spouted something about "Your Vote"?

Did anyone else also notice that each of the concerts, while offering a variety of acts, seemed to be centred on a particular type of music?

For instance:

Toronto (yeah, actually Barrie, but who outside of Canada has heard of Barrie) featured:

ClassicRock/fogey music - BTO and Deep Purple, who were both great; Neil Young and Gordon Lightfoot who were, um, themselves.

Can Con - Simple Plan (derivative wannabes playing generic pseudo-punk); Les Trois Accords (some Quebec band that nobody has ever heard of); Two dreadlocked Quebecoises who I found obnoxious; Brian Adams; The Hip; Barenaked Ladies; Celine Dion, who is better off in Vegas: She was boed in Barrie, but the Vegas crowd loved her.

80s Hard Rock - Could anyone else understand what the hell Vince Neil was singing? I figured he couldn't remember the lyrics to the bloody songs!

Philly

Hip Hop - Will Smith (formerly known as the Fresh Prince, before he became an actor)

Hip Hop and Rock - Jay-Z and Linkin Park, who tore the mother down

Hip Hop featuring members of the Marley family - The grossly-overrated Black Eyed Peas

Did I mention Hip Hop? - Kanye West

London

Legends - Sir Paul, U2, Pink Floyd (those three alone worth the price of the DVD)

People who think they are legends, but ain't - Robbie Williams (know outside the UK as "Who the fuck is that?"; Coldplay and Richard Ashcroft; Madonna (looking pissed-off at the crowd); Sir Elton John (OK, he's a legend, I just don't like him)

Paris

Terrible music - cuz that's what the French like!

Berlin

Current Rock and Punk - Audioslave, Green Day
One-hit wonders - A-ha (man, did they look uncomfortable!)

Moscow

Gay acts from the eighties - A very mellow and grey Pet Shop Boys

Tokyo

Strictly B-listers - Good Charlotte, anyone?

Rome

Country music, naturally! - Faith Hill

Johannesburg

Music destined to never be televised - Various African acts

I seem to recall there being one more city, but I'll be darned if I can remember it!

Got my Eurotrip 2005 pictures up on the Kodak site... drop me a line if you want to see them and I'll send you a link. Here's one of Ness and I on the day of the wedding... it sure was a scorcher. 

While in Madrid, Nes and I took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, do some laundry, and spend time with my cousin Celia, who now lives right in the centre of town. We had a great time with her over two nights, eating and going from bar to bar enjoying Madrid´s incomparable nightlife. The second night was similar to the first, except that my Dad and sisters tagged along, having arrived from Torrelavega a day after us.

Finally, on Wednesday morning, we jumped on an Ave train and headed south to Cordoba. Arriving in this old Andalucian town in mid afternoon was a shock to the system. The thermometer said 43 degrees celsius. We quickly made our way to our air-conditioned hotel and, after waiting out the mid-day heat, headed for a walk around town. We were struck by the incredible distinctive architecture, the highlight of which was the Mezquita, a former Mosque-turned-cathedral smack-dab in the centre of town. We also ate an a great arab restaurant and enjoyed a Flamenco performance before turning in for the night.

The next morning we got on a bus headed to Granada (but we didn´t stick around), and then on to La Manga, a coastal resort in S-E Spain where we have spent the past three days. I can´t think of a better place to finish off the trip... on the beach surrounded by family. Tomorrow, we have to go back... I´m sad, but relieved, in a way... it has been an amazing four weeks!

I hope will forgive my horrible spelling and bizarre punctuation (question marks? randomly? inserted¿?¿?¿)... these Eurokeyboards are pretty funky.

So the wedding on Saturday was everything we hoped. Bizarre, unseasonably warm weather in Cantabria (a supposedly humid, temperate mountainous region in northern spain), meant that we enjoyed a good post-ceremony roast in the sun, sipping cocktails outside the church, before we headed in for a belt-busting lunch in the hall next-door. The area around Torrelavega is absolutely beautiful, if nothing like what people expect when you say "Spain". It is lush vegetation, towering mountains, and misty valleys.

The night before, we had had a big Segura family reunion feed in the centre of town. The enviable lifestyle of spaniards means that even completely untouristy towns like Torrelavega (which does not even rate a mention in Lonely Planet) still has a bustling nightlife scene most days of the week --when DO these people sleep?

On Sunday we packed into cars to visit Santander --San Sebastian´s somnolent coastal cousin, and then Santillana del Mar, where my parents got married 31 years ago. We went to mass in a medieval Romanesque church, where the same priest who was there three decades ago still presides over his flock. He remembered my parents, and my brother Joe, who was baptised by him. The place was a 11th century dream, and a definite recommendation for anyone looking for a romantic spot to slip away to.

After a busride to Madrid, we are now enjoying the blast-furnace temperatures of Spain´s capital in the midst of June. It promises to get worse when we head south to Andalucia tomorrow... God help us!

My family has abandoned the use of e-mail!

What is more likely is that most of my messages are not getting through. I´ve been having trouble sending e-mail through hotmail... but one can´t complain about the quality of a service that one is getting for free right?

After fleeing Paris for the relative calm of Chartres, where we spent Tuesday admiring the incredible cathedral (beats Notre Dame hands down), Nesrine and I jumped on a train to Bordeaux, planning on spending one or two nights there, depending on how much we liked the place. Ultimately, we spent one day in Bordeaux (which is nothing special) and we are in San Sebastian now, which is quite beautiful, and will be taking a bus to Torrelavega tomorrow. Since I haven´t heard from anyone about the name of the hotel where we will be staying, I may have to wing it! I´m actually going to give Tia Celia a call today to let her know that we will be arriving in town and I will try to come up with some rendezvous point for me to meet up with the familia. If any of you read this, I miss you all and I hope everyone is OK. All my best to all.

On Friday, we checked into our oddly-brazillian themed hotel, the Acacias St-Germain in the Montparnasse area and took a stroll around. Eventually we ended up eating at a nice restaurant in the quartier Latin called Perraudin. Next we headed down to Place Saint Michel to browse the tacky tourist stalls and take in the atmosphere. By the time we arrived along the banks of the Seine, night had fallen, so we wandered West along the left bank, enjoying the view of Paris at night.

The next morning, we grabbed the obligatory petit-dejeuner at a cafe and jumped on the Metro (which ain't half as bad as some people make it out to be) and headed for Notre Dame. While I found it impressive, I can't say it is the most awe-inspiring church I have seen on this trip, and I was put off a bit by the inevitable tourist hordes. Next, we wandered across Ile Saint-Louis and towards place de la Bastille. The Marais is really a fantastic neighbourhood during the day? but I bet it is even better at night... of course, because this is Paris I'm talking about, you could probably say the same thing about half-a-dozen other neighbourhoods. Eventually, we ended up walking dozn the Rue de Rivoli, which kind of reminds me of Saint Catherine street in Montreal....times 100. The crowds were insane, but we got occasional respite by wandering up side streets and taking in the magnificence of Place des Vosges or Les Halles. Finally, after exhausting ourselves with all the walking? we left Eglise Saint Eustache and jumped on the metro to see the Arc de Triomphe. This is one monument that a photo can simply not do justice to.... the thing is IMMENSE, a true tribute to the glory of Napoleon, who started it, and to the history of the French nation over the following two centuries, whose leaders expanded and added to it? so that it is now a tribute to the achievements to all veterans since Napoleon.

We then meandered our way down the Champs Elysees before jumping on the metro to Montmartre, which provided the first real surprise of the trip. Montmartre has to be one of the coolest and most delightful places I have ever visited. Even the throngs of tourists cannot detract from the charm of its winding streets and charming buildings. It is bohemian and down-at-the-heels in some parts, but altogether spectacularly romantic. We ate at a tiny restaurant called la Maison Rose, and then checked out the Basilique du Sacre Coeur, where a crowd was gathering because, unbeknoznst to us, a big fireworks show was being put-on. We listened to a narrator trace the past two centuries of Paris' history, with syncronized music and lights as well as the fireworks? the overall effect was fantastic. What a great way to round out the day!

Sunday saw us grab a coffee and viennoiserie in the Saint Germain area, which I loved. It has some amazing historic buildings, including the oldest Church in Paris, for which the area is named: Saint Germain des Pres, which was first founded in the Merovingian period 1500 years ago ( it was named in honour of the first bishop of Paris, Saint Germanus). Next, was the Louvre. No words can do this place justice. It is the sine qua non of art collections, surpassing even the Vatican in scope. I managed to see all the must-sees, including the Mona Lisa, but I also took in some personal faves of my own that certainly pleased me. Eventually, after an exhausting few hours of touring this gargantuan palace of art, we took in a fez more sights, including Place Vendome, La Madeleine, and Place de la Concorde, before heading back to Saint Germain to eat at L'Arbuci and enjoy the incomparable nightlife.

Finally, having decided to head to Chartres in the evening, we checked out the Eiffel Tower (I think there is actually some kind of law for tourists that they can't leave the city without visiting the metal arparagus, because the place was crawling with sightseers). We walked up the stairs to the second level to avoid the queues for the lifts and got a great workout as part of the bargain. Finally, we parted ways for a couple of hours - Nesrine wanted to shop, I wanted to indulge my inner military history nerd and visit les invalides (which featured an incredible collection of Napoleonic memorabilia in its museum) and l'Eglise du Dome, which houses the Tomb of Napoleon --a monstrous thing that could easily house the bodies of Napoleon; all of his Marshalls, and his beloved Josephine all at once. By 4 pm we had met up back at the hotel, exhausted and exhilerated. We strapped on our packs and headed for Gare Montparnasse, thrilled with Paris, but definitely ready to move on to something a little slower paced. So we headed for Chartres.

I'll save that story for my next update....

Paris is everything the tell you it is... and more. What a whirlwind two-and-a-half days here in La Ville-Lumiere. Can't possibly go into details now, particularly since my internet counter is running rapidly down to zero, but I just spent a lovely evening with Nesrine in the F-B Saint-Germain on the left bank... that contrasted nicely with a fantastic evening spent in Montmartre last night... and an amazing evening walking along the Seine and dining in the Quartier Latin the night before. It is absolute heaven here... I haven't seen half of the things I wanted to, and yet I have seen so much! Hopefully, in the next couple of days I will be able to put it all down... for now it is just a blur! Next stop: Versailles.

Ghent has been one pleasant surprise after another. Yesterday, after taking in an impressive number of sites, I grabbed a quick nap at the hotel (something I never do back in my "normal" life), and then headed off to find a place to eat. This city is absolutely lovely at dusk --people wander the streets and sit outside the cafes, the canals bestowing an air of tranquility and laid-back coolness you just don't seem to find many places. This is not a city that tries to seduce you. It just shows you what is has to offer and lets you decide if you want to take the relationship further.

Instead of finding a place to eat, I ended up wandering into a canalside pub that I remembered was highly recommended by Lonely Planet. I struck up a random conversation with an ex-pat Canadian guy who wqs soon joined by some colleagues from work: a Belgian and an American. We chatted away for hours, sampling the variety of incredible brews --including one called Delirium Tremens, which has a pink elephant on the bottle (a warning?). Before I knew it, I was stumbling into a frites shop for that long-deferred dinner before stumbling the rest of the way back to the convent. I slept a nice long boozy sleep.

Today, I have hit a few more can-t miss sites, including a twelfth century castle in the heart of the city knozn as Gravensteen... and the day ain't over yet!

Tomorrow, I head to Paris to meet up with my main squeeze. Hope it lives up to the hype....

Today, I arrived in Ghent, a beautiful historic city in Western Belgium. It is very close to Bruges, which I had originally intended to visit, but I'm not so sure I will anymore.... I like it too much here!

I am staying in a fantastic guest house, Monasterium Poortackere, that used to be a convent and I am only a hop skip and jump away from the centre of this town, which in the middle ages, was the biggest city north of the alps after Paris... Just my kind of place... crammed full of history!

I arrived here today from Brussels, after spending the day wandering the Capital of Europe and visiting various sites like the Centre Belge de la Bande Dessinee-- which prompted fond recollections of reading Tintin, Alix, and Asterix as a kid. After 2 days in Brussels (not including my side-trip to Waterloo, I was more than happy to leave. Don't get me wrong, I like the place fine, but somehow, it felt a bit too close to Ottawa for me, with all the Eurocrats running around;

One thing I will always remember with great pleasure is the beer --my God, the BEER! After tasting beer in this country, I dread returning home and drinking the stuff we have in Canada, which no longer qualifies as beer to me. I have sampled Lambics that tasted as though the angels themselves had crafted them, Trappist brews with a kick strong enough to knock you on your ass, golden brews; chocolaty rich ale delicacies... and my God, I want MORE!

I have a feeling I will be spending alot of the summer working off the beer-belly that will be the inevitable result of my new hobby....

WATERLOO (not the ABBA song/not the town in Ontario)

was a truly mindblowing experience. I am sure that most people go there, see a bunch of rolling fields and placid Belgian countryside, a couple of monuments, and a big pyramid with a lion on top, shrug, and move on....

But I saw The Guards poking muskets out of loopholes in the Hougoumont chateau, firing blindly as canister rattled against the stone walls and the Prince Jerome's troops screamed forward with eagles held aloft through the orchard. I saw Sir Thomas Picton crash to the ground with a bullet in his brain as his highlanders tore into a French column. I saw the union brigade, swords held high, stream over the ridge south of Mont Saint Jean and savage the French infantry columns just below the crest. I saw red-haired marshall Ney, the bravest of the brave, leading the flower of the French Cavalry in a mad charge around a dutch-belgian batallion formed into square. I watched men groan and die under the hail of musketry and the flail of grapeshot as the King's German Legion abandoned La Haye Saint to the victorious French and I heard the Imperial guard chanting "VIVE L'EMPEREUR!" as the climax of the battle grew close. Suddenly, Wellington shouts "Now's your time!" and redcoats sprout like dragon's teeth on a ridge turned into a nightmare of carnage and pour volley fire into the Emperor's pampered favourites! LA GARDE RECULE! Then a wave of the hook-nosed Duke's cocked hat and the line flows forward! The Prussians are sweeping in from the West! Blucher has arrived. The guard dies, the guard does not surrender... and so it does, as Buonaparte is borne away in defeat. Many on the field do not stir to follow the battle south. Many will never stir again. I hear mournful pipes play and watch the smoke waft across a field were tens of thousands lay dead or dying....
well, I could have sworn for a minute there anyway....

bloody Belgiqµn Keyboards!!!

If ever you have the misfortune of having to type something on a computer in belgium.... know that i feel your pain. I have encountered foreign keyboards before, but nothing like this é"&àççà!!!!!

Anyway, just got to brussels... lovely city but terrible weather right now. No matter, a good beer and soome moule frites will raise my spirits! I have a room in the coolest part of town and a few euros to my name... life is good!

Seen 24?

Amazing show! Just got hooked this year (Season Four). I Also watched Season 2 on DVD --in three days-- just before leaving on my trip. One weird thing about 24... it happens in realtime, and yet nobody is ever shown eating, drinking water, or going to the washroom. Are CTU agents trained to fast and "hold in" in a crisis situation? While looking for trains and flights, I took an "internet detour" (I goofed off for a couple of minutes). It seems that next season, producers will address fans' nitpicks about lack of normal bodily functions in series:

Upcoming '24' Focuses on Jack Bauer Eating a Sandwich

My favourite line: "Listen to me,I need you to take the pickles off now. There's no time to explain – you're going to have to trust me."

OK, so flying the red-eye rules.

I had a great flight over, and the plane was alot nicer than I expected, for a charter. I got on board, buckled in, and nestled my head against the window... next thing I remember, I was waking up as they served breakfast and the pilot announced our imminent arrival.

Once on the ground I bought a train ticket at Gatwick --and a pack of Marlboroughs-- and jumped on the train to East Croydon. From there, I caught the bus to Bromley, but I actually hopped off halfway to grab a bite to eat at a pub in West Wickham around 3:30 before getting back on. London being as HUGE as it is, Bromley (which is considered part of London) is over an hour away from the airport... Eventually, I made it to Bromley, and was met by Sara's fiance.

It is really great to be with my cousin Sara again... she is alot of fun to be around, as is Danilo. We are all getting excited for their wedding, which will be the first time I meet alot of family as an adult (last time I saw some of these people I was 15... or even 12.) Sara and Danilo are insisting I stay at least until Saturday, and right now, being in a nice place that is very far from the craziness of work, I am in no particular hurry to leave.

OK.... I'm outta here! My four-week escape begins now. Next stop: LONDON

A few hours from now, I will be getting off the plane in Gatwick, hopefully with a few hours of shut-eye under my belt.

I'll keep you posted

Pat, Raha, George, James and Nesrine in downtown T.O. 

Visiting George in Toronto 

7 days and a wake-up, I'm off to Europe. With all the craziness around planning a four-week vacation and putting my affairs in order at work, I needed a serious break. On Friday, I went to the cinema at noon to see Revenge of the Sith with some friends who, like myself, happen to be unreformed Star Wars fans.

You may recall, if you have been reading for a while, that I tried to speculate on how this final movie would be viewed. Well, it is too early for a final verdict, but early indications are that there is unlikely to be a Phantom Menace-style backlash, where people were initially blown away, but once the hype died down, the disappointment set in. It has broken 4-day box-office records and is being received by the fan community and critics alike with enthusiasm and a positive response not seen since 1980's The Empire Strikes Back. I consider myself neither a hater nor a Lucas apologist (as far as labels go), and I gotta say... I really really liked this movie.

Aside from a couple of brief groan-inducing moments (all the movies have those: "Tochi station power converters" anyone?), I found the whole thing very satisfying. There have been countless reviews of ROTS, but I haven't seen any that pointed out how long this movie acutally is. I think it has a running time of about 2:20, but I could have sworn it went on even longer. This thing is DENSE. Lucas himself admits that he packed in about 60% of the overall prequel story he wanted to tell into this one film --something that would explain the pacing issues and filler found in the two previous entries in the prequel trilogy.

In spite of the dark tone, it is a cround pleaser, and in my book, ranks in the top three of the series. The FX are basically better than anything seen in any other movie ever (how is that for a superlative?)I find this movie superior to Jedi, and if pressed, I might say it is on par with A New Hope in terms of overall quality. The plot would seem to make sense --to a nerd like me, at least, the sense of fun is back, and more importantly, characters recognizable from the original series (the Emperor, Yoda, and Obi-Wan, in particular) emerge as the strongest performances and come to the forefront in a way they hadn't in the previous outings.

Of the three aforementioned characters, Palpatine, most of all, steals the show, using that same slow, staccatto delivery I remember from Jedi ("Quite OP-ER-A-TION-AL!")once he is revealed as a Sith Lord. As Chancellor-turned-Emperor, Ian McDiarmid is over-the-top, terifying and hilarious all at once. Kenobi and Yoda finally show us what true kick-ass Jedi can do in a series of freewheeling fights and duels with their adversaries. Both even get in a couple of quips and inside jokes that will have Original Trilogy fans chuckling.

Problems? Performances of course. Hayden, although less wooden and much improved, still doesn't quite get to where he should be in terms of performance-- I mean, this is Darth Vader we are talking about. Sam Jackson still looks to be sleepwalking in Episode III, that is, until he <> bites it in a key scene --His promise to "not go out like a punk" has been kept. Portman: Pretty to look at, but still hasn't gotten the hang of acting in Star Wars flicks. Whatever... nobody goes to Star Wars for Oscar-worthy performances. We go because it is fun, and each new Star Wars reminds us of our childhood, and the days when we could marvel at what was on screen and think of the possibility that all of this really happened a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

In discussing the movie "Finding Neverland", the film in which Johnny Depp plays J.M. Barrie, the creator of "Peter Pan", Dustin Hoffman spoke about the importance of never growing up: "By all means, be an adult, but never grow up". He was talking about the importance of maintaining our ability to dream, and to use our imagination.

Now that Star Wars is all over, just what is a thirty-year old kid like me gonna do to ensure that he never grows up?

THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE

REVENGE OF THE SITH has been hovering around the 80% fresh mark for the past few days over at rottentomatoes.com (In contrast, the first two movies in the prequel trilogy ended up around 60-65%)

A. O. Scott, the New York Times Critic says "This is by far the best film in the more recent trilogy, and also the best of the four episodes Mr. Lucas has directed. That's right (and my inner 11-year-old shudders as I type this): it's better than "Star Wars."

My own inner 11-year-old is starting to get seriously amped about this last movie. Here's hoping George pulled it off.

Fault lines shifting

Are we heading for a major re-alignment in the political landscape? Like the Federalist/Sovereignist divide in Quebec, the issues of the role of the Federal power and how power is shared among the different orders of government cuts a swath across the political spectrum, bringing quasi-commies and borderline libertarians under the same ideological umbrella:

What is your vision of this Canada

Big Federal Government in a strong Federation: NDP-Liberals

Small Federal Government in a loose Federation: Conservatives-Bloc

Big Federal Government in a loose Federation: Liberals-Bloc

Small Federal Government in a strong Federation: Conservatives-Liberals

Throw each party's attitude toward the U.S. into the equation and well....

it's enough to make your head spin!

This just in:

PM no longer cool

UPDATE:

PAUL WELLS is stealing my brainwaves!

A laboured analogy

Paul Martin reminds me of a guy I went to high school with in Thunder Bay. He was a couple of years ahead of me and several steps above me in the social echelon. He was the younger brother of a student who had been very popular, and had,with little effort, inherited his sibling's mantle. Above average athlete, clever enough to get by, winning personality, but his most noteworthy attribute, as far as I could tell, was his incredible ability to ingratiate himself with the teachers. He was a permanent fixture on student council and sailed to the presidency in his final year, which meant that he spent a ton of time out of class. I doubt that this guy did half the schoolwork of a normal student. He always seemed to be organizing this, or spearheading that. Too busy for silly stuff like homework, you see. I'm pretty sure he was on a first name basis with most of the teachers, both of the VPs and our weird Principal, who wore white socks with every suit he owned, no matter the color. If ever there was a chosen one, this guy was him.

I remember hearing teachers saying that this guy was destined for big things. I was perplexed. I found it remarkable that a guy who apparently spent so little time in pursuit of academic excellence managed to pull off straight As, but as some students noted sourly, teachers are a forgiving bunch, if you make the right noises, and you know which buttons to push. Needless to say, on paper, the guy was a scholastic superstar, a real leader who had been heavily involved in running the school from nearly the first moment he arrived in Grade nine as a snot-nosed greaseball in a Club Monaco sweatshirt and Zubaz pants. Universal admiration gave way to adulation when the faculty and student body heard the news that our man had made it into one of the best schools in the nation. A promising young man justifies the faith of his legion of supporters. And yet.... there were whispers of skepticism. Some questioned if this guy, who had coasted on charisma, could cut it as a small fish in the much bigger university pond. Could he meet the impossibly high expectations that had been set?

Fast forward one year later: Total wash out. Having had it easy, having had everything handed to him on a silver platter for five years, he was completely unprepared to take it to the next level when push came to shove. Maybe the doubt began to set in the first time he spoke up in a lecture. Instead of obsequious head-bobbing from cronies and a benevolent smile from the teacher, his words were greeted with the hostile stares of his fellow freshmen and a dismissive chortle from a prof thoroughly unimpressed with his intelect.

Maybe he found himself dismayed to discover that his quips, which played so well in the cafeteria, bombed in the pub, surrounded as he was, by wittier and cleverer guys.
Was he shocked to see the kind of guys he had dismissed as dull nonentities back in high school become the stars of their new fraternities, puking their guts up after shotgunning a couple of wobbly-pops behind the bleachers at the game? How about those weird hippy guys who were so terribly tiresome in high school, with their social activism and their hemp clothing... what were they doing chatting with the brainy co-eds in the student centre? When did they get so cool? Maybe he tried to join some clubs, but it wasn't the same. He was deprived of his ready-made high school social network and someone else, some other alpha-male, had usurped his spot as "the man".

I'm sure he tried to work those relationships with the faculty. But an overworked prof is too busy meeting with grad students and lecturing dozens and dozens of students to pay much attention to an anonymous freshman. Didn't do your assignment? Tough. Failure compounded failure, and the golden boy eventually found himself on academic probation. Eventually, our hero dropped out of school, and returned to his hometown, defeated and chastened.

"What happened?" incredulous observers asked. I think that ultimately, he was crushed by the weight of expectations, and reaching the dizzying heights to which he had aspired, a position that by rights, he was told, BELONGED to him, he found that he simply wasn't cut out for the gig.

Oh, to have been tested and be found wanting.

The Rock Under John Paul II

Father Ray DeSouza in the National Post speculates on the name choice of the new guy, whom has already been pilloried in the media for his rigour and orthodoxy -- as if those were flaws in a Pope:

...what then did the new pope wish to say to us? Vocabor Benedictum. "I will be called Benedict."

Commentators immediately looked to Benedict XV, the last pope of that name, who, assuming the papacy in 1914, tried to stop a Europe on the brink of the First World War from committing suicide. With Europe today in an advanced state of cultural decline and demographic suicide, the comparison is apt.

Yet it was likely that the newest Benedict had in mind none of his predecessors on the Throne of Peter, but St. Benedict himself, the father of Western monasticism and patron saint of Europe. Benedict (ca. 480-547) studied in Rome as a young man, but was soon disgusted with the decadence and degeneration he discovered amid the detritus of the Roman empire. He fled the city, and so attracted to himself the monks who would found the monasteries that would preserve the cultural patrimony of the West during the Dark Ages.

There will be no fleeing from Rome for Pope Benedict XVI. He must now attend to what he indicated on Monday was the pressing need of preserving the Christian patrimony of faith and culture in the third millennium.

Easily the funniest thing I have read on the Internet in months:

I may be mistaken...but I think John Ratzenberger from "Cheers" and "The Empire Strikes Back" has just been elected the new pope. Now that's unexpected.

I nearly peed myself.